An Announcement: VERY IMPORTANT

My dearest followers,

 

When I started this blog, my first wordpress site, I had no idea that I’d wind up falling head over heels in love with the platform, and I had no idea I would garner so many followers. I truly admire all of you, and I want to thank you for all the support.

 

This is where things get sad.

I have recently taken the big step and bought my own domain name here. I feel as though I am ready to take the next step in my career with this new site and blog, and I am very excited.

However, this new step involves a bit of trimming. I currently manage more blogs than I have time for, and I need to reduce my number to be able to provide better content for all of them. At the end of this month, I stop updating this website.

I would like to thank you all for your patronage. That sounds stupid. I’d like to thank you all for coming along with me on this journey. I would love to have you join me over here, where I will continue producing awesome content for y’all to enjoy.

 

So long and thanks for all the fish,

 

Kelsey J.

 

Advertisements

Hugh and I: A love story.

I was 11 years old. In the clutches of puberty. Boys were starting to look like more than worthy playmates. Everything hurt.  Then, I discovered a book by chance in the library.

It was an encyclopedia about x-men.

I was enamored. I became obsessed with x-men. I bought comics for the first time ever. I went to the store with my little allowance and bought both movies.

I was watching them, innocently enjoying the fight scenes and the social comment, and then I saw him.

The most beautiful man I had ever seen.

Hugh.

Jackman.

My little mind was blown open as hormones I didn’t understand flooded my brain. I was hopelessly naïve then, and hadn’t the first clue about reproduction, but I wanted to kiss that man senseless. I watched the x-men movies over and over, and devoured the behind the scenes features. The more I watched Hugh Jackman, the more my feelings grew from a simple pre-lust to full on love. Or whatever the twelve year old equivalent of that is.

He was funny, he was Australian, and he was so kind. He could dance (this was very important to me) He was articulate and beautiful and very, very married.

Shit.

And it was then that I knew heartache for the first time.

However, the fact that he was married and the fact that he was old enough to be my father did not deter me. I was head over heels in love with Hugh Jackman, and I still am.

#

Some fun facts about Hugh: he owns a tea shop. He had a one man Broadway show. He visits hospitals in cities he’s filming in. his eye colour is hazel, and he was born in 1968. He’s 6’1. He’s a Libra. He apologised to his fans on twitter and Facebook for not posting much, and proceeded to post more after that.

I don’t actually know Hugh, but I feel like I do. I’ve seen enough pictures of him in various stages of undress, after all. Not intentionally. Most of the time.

I’ve even had boyfriends get jealous of my love for Hugh.

Hugh and I are very alike. We both love little dogs. We both share the same sign. We both enjoy volunteering in hospitals. Our parents are accountants. We both have hazel eyes (his are almost as beautiful as mine). I like tea.

When it was announced that Hugh had skin cancer, my heart broke into a million pieces. It came on the heels of my grandfather dying of cancer. I was devastated. I realised after his death that one can’t keep their feelings inside forever. One must learn to share their feelings now, before it’s too late. Hugh has long since recovered, of course, but the idea of writing him a fan  letter turned over and over in my head.

So I wound up writing a letter to Hugh, but I decided that I had to share my love! Everyone must know of the greatness of this man (and my insanity).

If Hugh Jackman is reading this, I have this to say to you; Hugh, marry me. I’m good with being a 2nd wife and cleaning the house.

For everyone else: please don’t call the cops. I swear I’m not a stalker. A bit deluded, maybe. One day this will probably fade, but for now? I’m sharing my first experience with love, lust and tea shops.

I have a mouth but I’m still screaming

An experiment in creative non-fiction.

Kelsey J. Mills

When I was 11, I thought that boys would never want me because they never had before, and I was at the age where I was starting to notice them and they noticed me but not in the way I wanted them to so I sought to control what they saw of me but enough of myself crept back (in like a raccoon to a garbage can that they all screamed like girls and dropped their groceries and went inside).

I realised then that whatever I was was toxic and ugly and it would have to be gone to get someone to want to hold my hand (despite the warts on my thumb and ring fingers of the right hand) but I couldn’t suppress it like a fart in class so I resigned myself to being crazy but pretty too smart to be loved.

When I was 14 boys started…

View original post 299 more words

Things I learned at When Words Collide, 2014

Every year I attend a writing conference in Calgary called “When Words Collide”. Every year I have an absolutely supreme time, and this year I thought I’d share some of what I learned with the internet at large. 

 

1) Desire + Obstacle = Conflict

This should be common sense, but I had never heard the question of conflict explained in such a way before! Thanks to Anna Maria Bortolotto for this lesson!

2) It pays to be friendly

Especially at a writer’s conference.  I guarantee that literally everyone there has one thing in common: they like to read. I guess if that fails, you can always talk about the weather. 

It also pays to be friendly in marketing–give first. Your mom was right, you catch more flies with free bookmarks than with vinegar. 

3) There’s a lot more to editing than finding new ways to tell people that they suck. 

I’m still convinced that “dental draft” is a euphemism for something. 

4) No one can agree on whether or not digital publishing is a good thing. 

5) Editors really like in medias res. 

6)  You don’t always get rejected because you’re crap. Editors are actually pretty nice people. Mostly. 

7) The cake isn’t a lie, but the chocolate might be

This one is a bit of a story: there was supposed to be a chocolate social on Saturday night of the conference. My gaggle of pals and I waited for about 2 hours. No chocolate. It was all a lie. 

They did let us have leftover cake from the banquet, so the cake? All truth. 

 

 

I Love Men

When I tell people I’m a feminist, they assume I hate men. On the contrary. I love men (just ask my friends: I never shut about Hugh Jackman). I think men are fantastic.

I don’t get them.

I think it all started when I was a little kid. I saw it in TV shows, heard it from my relatives, and it was the excuse that teachers gave when I cried to them about two boys who made fun of me for eating paper and erasures (I was an odd kid). I was told, basically, that guys will be dicks to you if they like you. Then none of the guys I was friends with did that, because they’re decent human beings, and I was so confused.

Also, I was told that boys were only interested in one thing before I knew what the “one thing” was. Was it food? I wondered. I also am only interested in food. Does that make me a boy?

Then, after the magic of puberty began, I was (implicitly) told that I had to be this thing that no man I met who was worth a damn actually cared about and I was even more confused. Of course, on my side, I was told to expect a Disney prince who was perfect and romantic all the time. I’m still waiting.

I started to wonder if men really knew what they wanted. I mean, it takes my boyfriend forever to decide what to order at a restaurant.

I could understand that, that was for sure. I never knew what I wanted either

When I got older, I realised that men were in charge of most of the media telling us these things. Then, it got even more confusing. Why were men creating and marketing these things when it wasn’t what they actually wanted?

And that’s why I don’t get guys. This stuff is screwing with me too.

I wish I could see the world in terms of “human” and “other human with more/less hair”, but I recognise the gender differences. And the brain differences.

Nobody is doing anything we’re supposed to be doing. I don’t understand it. Stop it.

Fandom Friday: When Villains aren’t Victims

I love villains. I love villains so much I often call myself a “villain whore”. Maybe it’s because I always felt vilified for being different. I think it’s because the villains are often more complicated (because no one ever is evil just because, but people are good just because). Maybe it’s because the villains are the hidden id. Maybe it’s because the villain always gets the funniest lines. Who knows.

However… I often hate other villain fans with the same level of passion my dark idols reserve for their respective nemesis.

 My expertise (if I can call it that: I’m basically a dork with a laptop) is in the realm of comic books and comic book movies. I’ve noticed superhero movies build and build in popularity before crescendoing with the Nolan Batman films and Marvel’s The Avengers. This had led to a “mainstreamification” of some of my favourite characters—notably, the villains. The examples I’m going to use in this post, mostly because of their popularity, are Magneto (X-men) and Loki (Thor, The Avengers). If you look at social media *coughtumblrcough* these two are the among the most popular.

These are villains that do things that everyone who isn’t an evil human being has a problem with, namely, genocide. They have complicated motivations and lives. Magneto is a holocaust survivor who was experimented on in the camps, and Loki was raised in a world he doesn’t belong to and was made to feel inferior to his older brother, Thor. Both turn to evil out of a desire to do the right thing, to the point where it blinds them to the people around them who care about them.

However, fans tend to reduce them to “woobies”.

Woobies, according to TV Tropes, are “…any type of character who makes you feel extremely sorry for them. Basically, the first thing you think to say when you see the woobie is: “Aw, poor baby!” Woobification of a character is a curious, audience-driven phenomenon, sometimes divorced from the character’s canonical morality…An important aspect of the Woobie is that their suffering must be caused by external sources. A character who suffers as the result of their own actions is a Tragic Hero and does not qualify.” The page goes on to list subtypes of woobies, but that isn’t important right now.

I don’t know if it’s because the characters are portrayed by attractive actors, or because the struggles with family (Loki) or inequality (Magneto) are things that resonate with the audience. But it happens, and these complicated villains are reduced to one-note woobies.

How can you tell that a character has been “woobified”, you may ask? If you hear fans defending the characters genocidal actions because they “believe they’re doing the right thing” or if you hear fans saying the character is “misunderstood”. For example, I recently saw a picture set of villains on Tumblr with the words “A villain is just a victim whose story hasn’t been told” featuring Magneto, Loki, Anakin Skywalker (Darth Vader), Gollum, and Khan, among others (http://ericscissorhands.tumblr.com/post/88703071937/a-villain-is-just-a-victim-whose-story-hasnt

You guys do know that Magneto was purposely written to have similar ideals to Hitler, right? And he admits to this in X-men: First Class.

As a writer, this annoys me. Real work went into writing these characters, creating them to be complicated and interesting. And these “fans” just ignore all of that! It would be like, for the non-writers among you, if you spent all day making a delicious cake and all anyone could talk about was how sad it was that the little icing flowers you added to the corner were wilting.

Why is this frustrating? Referring back to the post I mentioned, subsequent rebloggers have said it’s putting the abusers feelings above the abused, and implying that any victim is going to turn into an abuser. As an abused person, this pisses me right off. This is a problematic message: if you have a tragic backstory, you can do whatever you want. My abuser has a pretty tragic backstory. That does not make what he did to me okay.

You know who else has a tragic backstory? Hitler, and Stalin.

There are examples of woobies in the same universe as Loki and Magneto who have had similar and often worse (not the holocaust, though, I don’t imagine it can get much worse) things happen to them.

 In the same universe, What about Spiderman, or Batman, or Wolverine? They have tragic backstories, but they realised that they have a choice: let the sadness consume them and let the rage and hatred become them, or make a difference

And that’s the choice that all of us have.

So stop doing a disservice to the writers. Or I will become a supervillain. See how many people think I’m misunderstood then.