Dita's Den

The war of the words

noreply@blogger.com (Dita Parker) — Tue, 07 May 2013 07:50:00 +0000

Temperature: 12.5/54.5

Eating: at some point, sure

Drinking: Why do you keep asking that? I do not have a drinking problem. I have no problem whatsoever having a drink on occasion.

Watching: Rock the Ballet later today!!

Listening: Eels: Wonderful,Glorious

Reading: Graeme Thomson: Under the Ivy: The Life and Music of Kate Bush

Writing: I can't tell you. I'm sorry. (But I miss you. More than I thought I would.)

Feeling: professional pride

This is an occasion for genuinely tiny balbriggans

noreply@blogger.com (Dita Parker) — Mon, 22 Apr 2013 07:28:00 +0000

More proof of global warming, Earth Day edition.

Exhibit number 1. Summer of 1908.

Exhibit number 2. Summer of 2013.

I rest my knickers.

Hale

noreply@blogger.com (Dita Parker) — Mon, 15 Apr 2013 09:35:00 +0000

Temperature: 5/41 degrees, on the fifteenth of frickin' April

Eating: lost my appetite, my will to live! see above (just kidding)

Drinking: might as well get juiced; see above (didn't mean that either)

Watching: Searching for Sugar Man (If you only watch one documentary this year...)

Listening: to Tortured Soul by Nicole Willis & The Soul Investigators

Reading: Joshua Foer's Moonwalking with Einstein: The Art and Science of Remembering Everything

Writing: a thank you note

Feeling: uplifted

Herstory

noreply@blogger.com (Dita Parker) — Mon, 01 Apr 2013 10:35:00 +0000

We regret to inform you that Dita can't come to the blog right now. She is on a Super Secret Mission to... It's not very secret if we tell you what it is, is it now?

Don't hold your breath, this may take a moment. For proof of life, subscribe to the RSS feed (below the blog's header), or contact Dita via ms dot ditaparker at gmail dot com.

In the meantime

With a comma, not a full stop, and with love, always,

Your knight in dented armor,

D.

Advice for the smutty at heart

noreply@blogger.com (Dita Parker) — Sat, 23 Mar 2013 12:11:00 +0000

It's Dita day again at 69 Shades, my last. So I don't have a backlist from here to the moon. It doesn't mean I haven't been paying attention. This much I know.

Craic

noreply@blogger.com (Dita Parker) — Sun, 17 Mar 2013 12:40:00 +0000

May you have the hindsight to know where you've been,

The foresight to know where you're going,
And the insight to know when you're going too far.

The Ides of March

noreply@blogger.com (Dita Parker) — Fri, 15 Mar 2013 08:30:00 +0000

Temperature: an unseasonable -15/5 degrees; this ain't funny

Eating: all done

Drinking: coffee to wake up, tea to keep warm

Watching: some northern lights later today, mehopes

Listening: to Biffy Clyro

Reading: Rolf Dobelli's The Art of Thinking Clearly

Writing: all manner of stuff

Feeling: a wee bit weary

Let's hear it for the girls

noreply@blogger.com (Dita Parker) — Fri, 08 Mar 2013 08:05:00 +0000

A girl passed me by the other day, her coat open. It wasn't that warm but at least it had stopped raining, and standing in the sun you could bask in the illusion of spring warmth. She was about fifteen. She could have been seventeen. I'm not sure. So much eye shadow. Even more mascara. I remember myself at that approximate age, putting on extra years by applying too much makeup.

She was young. She was lovely. And she was stacked. Her breasts were oozing out of a v-neck top one size too small, a top that revealed more cleavage than it concealed. They were beautiful breasts, no two ways about it. They were also so prominently on display I couldn't help but notice. Or stare, just for a second or two, before I jerked my eyes back to her face. She looked quite lost in thought, not at all conscious of my ogling. Or maybe it was the confidence of youth, the one that alternates with deep uncertainty.

I had the sudden urge to stop her and ask her what she wanted to say with that chest so...out there. That she thought her breasts were beautiful? That she hoped others noticed exactly how beautiful? Or maybe that her coat was too warm for such a lovely day so she had opened it and the top was what she happened to be wearing? Does it matter? Since I've been obsessing over that sight for days now, wondering why it plagues me so, maybe it does. Since today we celebrate International Women's Day, I say it does.

A part of me wanted to compliment that girl. You got it? Flaunt it! The other part, the maternal, protective part, wanted to walk up to her and zip her up, tell her she didn't have to do that to feel good about herself, or beautiful. Because I sometimes feel that all we've accomplished is the right to take our clothes off when and where we please. And that maybe we shouldn't, you know, not everywhere and all the time, as if the only woman worth listening to and noticing and taking seriously is a half-naked one and that's no way to represent, not until we are free of misunderstandings and misrepresentations.

But the only way I know of getting there is acting as if we already were. Maybe she had arrived. It's just that she may have meant that sexy semaphore for someone in particular, or only herself, but she was flashing all the world while at it. Then again, you can't control how your messages are received and you're not responsible for the reactions they invoke. It's our responsibility to keep our hands and thoughts to ourselves, not assume what someone does is for our pleasure, that it's a mating call, anything at all besides, for example, a pair of very nice breasts. Luckily, not all men have to be reminded of that. Unfortunately, the most obstinate ogres will never get it. But we are free to set them straight. We are free. (Ladies, please exercise that freedom, even when it begs the question why are we forced into these situations time and time again in the first place.)

But never forget it wasn't always so and that for too many women in this world, it still isn't. For centuries, women's bodies have been a battleground. For cultural reasons. Religious. Historical. Socioeconomical. Political. Personal. You name it, they have had their say, even if no woman asked for their opinion. Our bodies come with baggage, baggage a girl has no concept of when she's born. As she grows, the contents of that bag are gradually revealed. In looks, comments, touches. Some welcome and well-meaning, some unwanted and unjust.

On a global scale, Western women in general and Scandinavian women in particular are men, equal in rights and responsibilities and in no danger of being arrested, jailed, tortured or killed for being women. (Not by our governments, at least.) But are we free to define what and who we are, free of the baggage, free of the interpretations and beliefs and definitions, caricatures, stereotypes, simplifications, competing with our own, a woman first, everything else we are second? Anyone else feel we are called to task for them, slapped in the face with them every time we open our mouths? Or our coats?

I don't know a single woman who hasn't been sexually harassed at some point, verbally or physically. You never forget your first one. I had just turned fourteen. He was pushing forty. I was helping out my aunt over the summer holidays. He worked in the same building, an office close to hers. It started quite innocently in the break room, hello and what you're eating or reading there. I thought nothing of it. I certainly didn't think that politely answering his questions would lead to the day when he would bluntly tell me what he had dreamed of doing to me for weeks, and if I was even a bit curious or interested, he would pay me for the privilege.

I should have gone to my aunt that very instant. Called my parents. Called his wife. Told him off. He's long dead but he lives in my head, an animal disguised as Average Joe, a predator I never talked to or glanced at again but who surfaces on occasion. I must have done something, said something, to make him say and think such things. That's how he made made me feel. That's how he made it sound. That's what he said, that I had reeled him in, become his sweet summer dream one day and word and gaze at a time. And here I thought I was merely going about my day, living and breathing, having a snack and trying to be courteous.

Of course it didn't matter what I said or did or didn't. Apparently my mere existence was a provocation. I was somehow responsible for his actions, reactions and impulses. How's that for twisted logic? That is still the logic and responsibility thrust upon women and girls day in day out all over the world. I don't know how else to fight it except to refuse it, time and time again, by being and doing what I want and saying to those who stare or snarl or snap that you don't own me and you can't talk to me like that and that you don't get to boss me around, my body and my mind and my choices are exactly that, mine and mine alone. Act and talk like you do with an unruly child who has to be told a hundred times what goes and what doesn't, a thousand times, before it starts to seep in and have some effect.

It's a tiresome task that takes guts and constant alertness when you'd rather not represent every woman or girl on the planet, when you'd rather just go about your business thinking let them shout or stare, fuck you very much, see if I care. It's a tedious task but you gotta do it, you just have to because if you don't stand up and talk back talk back talk back nothing's ever going to change and you can't stand the thought that nothing's ever going to change, for anyone, and you contributed to that, and that that animal had no right, you were just a kid, but you're all grown up now and never again. Not you. Not anyone.

Expatriate games

noreply@blogger.com (Dita Parker) — Thu, 28 Feb 2013 13:17:00 +0000

Temperature: A sunny I don't care what degrees because the sun!

Eating: Just had lunch, thanks.

Drinking: Hmm, no.

Watching: Fry's Planet Word.

Listening: It's Black Tie Rave day (not that I'm going, but if I left now would I make it?) so what do you think?

Reading: About a very tempting offer. Those bastards. Just when you think you're out...they try to pull you back in.

Writing: Blog posts on the F word for March 8, a Very Important date if you're lady. Or a gentleman. Or a human being.

Feeling: A desperate need for light and the outdoors. Hurry, spring!

And the nominees are

noreply@blogger.com (Dita Parker) — Sat, 23 Feb 2013 10:38:00 +0000

It's Dita day again at 69 Shades where I'm talking movies; the hot, the pass-the-fan, the oh-wow. So what's your all-time favorite?

Just push play

noreply@blogger.com (Dita Parker) — Thu, 14 Feb 2013 10:50:00 +0000

Happy Valentine's Day, sweetie darlings!
Love, D.

Flicker

noreply@blogger.com (Dita Parker) — Mon, 11 Feb 2013 13:25:00 +0000

I feel a sense of rebirth every time I travel. It starts the moment I leave home because I know the person that steps through that door...I never see them again. I come home transformed, sometimes in some minor way, sometimes in major ways, and that metamorphosis is not dependant on either the destination or the length of the journey. Neither do you know in advance what will touch you, move you, shock you, disturb you, and what will leave you cold.

That's the beauty, the horror and excitement of travel. If you do it with all your senses engaged and open, and all your electronic devices closed (OK, take a picture if you must, but remember: by the time the camera is out, the moment is usually gone, wasted), something always happens to derail the way in which you view the world, think about it. And yourself.

I rarely travel alone these days, but even with friends and/or family in tow, I always try to find a moment all to myself, go where I've never gone before, see something I've never set eyes on. It's a moment of zero reason and logic and total concentration and connection. All emotion, all sensation. Animal existence. Often fleeting, flashing, but I find there's something terribly healthy and healing in those moments. It's a chance to reboot. (I hate these computer terms, but in lack of a better term to explain the inexplicable...)

What you're seeing is of course totally indifferent to you. It demands nothing, asks for nothing, expects nothing. In that moment, you see exactly how tiny a place you occupy on this planet and how big an influence and importance you grant things that are of no consequence. Human pursuits seem mad, our aspirations moving, our fears ludicrous, and much of what is going on absurd. And your life...

You know the person who walks through your door upon return will feel strange. Strange because of what they brought home. Strange because of things they left behind. Some without thought. Some on purpose. This person who now occupies your house starts a string of interrogations. They question everything. Your thoughts. Your actions. Goals. Aspirations. Is this who you are? Is this what you commit yourself to? Is this what you want? Are these your thoughts and choices? Still?

Some things in this life bulldoze you with their implications and consequences. And then there are moments like the sting of a bee. More may be revealed to you in such a moment than you might find in a decade of determined search. What you do with that vision...now that's an altogether different journey.

And I think to myself

noreply@blogger.com (Dita Parker) — Thu, 07 Feb 2013 07:31:00 +0000

...what a wonderful world.

Sunset over Cape Pakarang, Thailand

That was the week that was

noreply@blogger.com (Dita Parker) — Sat, 19 Jan 2013 14:15:00 +0000

Sweetie daaarlings, what have you been up to these past two weeks? I've been trying to manage four week's worth of work in fourteen days. And in the middle of all that, I've managed to write, creatively, fiction, can you believe it? I guess when you start running on a certain gear, anything is possible, but you run out of steam eventually so the trip we're taking comes not a moment too soon. Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love you tomorrow, you're only a day a-waayy...

My shrapnel-shredded feet healed fast, so I've even been able to exercise almost as usual and am contemplating some sort of workstation revolution. All this sitting, it's getting harder and harder to bear. I don't know why. What I do know is I gotta solve it and soon. Winter returned, which is nice after that dreadful weather we had around New Year's. But I'd be lying if I told you I'm not violently happy to be taking off the skis and skates and stepping into some flip-flops. The sun'll come out tomorrow...

What else? Oh... To any extended family members reading: TMI alert. So. Why is it that what you'd rather post on FB/Twitter is the last thing you can? Because people would go, "I knew it! Nymphos. Each and every one of them." No. Hedonists. At least I am. But I got nothing on dearest, hottest Hubby. He's cooked and run errands, more so than usual, and he knows all work and no play makes me berserk. So one day, Inspector Gadget, conspirator and inspirator and provocateur extraordinaire, surprised me with some toys of my trade I don't remember mentioning or eyeing while roaming selected stores with him. Let's just say it was a massage with a happy ending and leave it at that. What? I'll grant you those toys are not always worth the money spent but some are, and fun too, and fun is good. Besides, you gotta know what you write. Or was it write what you know? I forget.

What else? If you're in NYC and not doing anything on February 28, (no, that doesn't sound right, if you're in NY and not doing anything, check your pulse to see if you still got one) The Swedish House Mafia would like to invite you to their Black Tie Rave. (Band and crew will work for free and all profits raised will go directly to the Mayor’s Fund to Advance New York City & the Hurricane Sandy New Jersey Relief Fund. Black tie/ballgowns, only. Auction 2 coming soon!) Exceeded my rave limit back in the day, but if you could cover for me, I'd be forever in your debt. No, I'm not giving you a massage with a happy ending, but surely we can think of something else you'd enjoy.

What else? The awesome contest we have going on 69 Shades is still running so run along and take part if you haven't already! And tell a friend! Tell two!! Don't make me look bad now. Spread the word!!!

I will see you in February then, dearest denizens. And if for some reason you never hear from me again (such is life, you never know, you know, it's tsunami coast and all), behave or I will haunt your ass. No massage with a happy ending for you, my friend. A massage with a medieval ending. Think about that while I'm gone, and be good. Willingly good. Except when you're being naughty. But even then you gotta treat 'em right or I'm coming after you and you don't want that. Are we clear on this? I said, are we clear on this? G o o d. As you were. Or as you wish things would be.

105 years of de Beauvoir

noreply@blogger.com (Dita Parker) — Wed, 09 Jan 2013 14:01:00 +0000

“I wish that every human life might be pure transparent freedom.”
~Simone de Beauvoir

As the days go by

noreply@blogger.com (Dita Parker) — Tue, 08 Jan 2013 13:50:00 +0000

It's Dita day again at 69 Shades, where I'm doing my best to compensate for the lack of inspiring start-of-year content here at the den. My post is about time, why it seems to go faster and faster as the years gather, and how you can try to slow it down a notch. Swing by, but not before you read the following:

Don't forget to follow the blog, especially now that we have a contest dipped in awesome sauce running through January 31. Check it out!

Bohemian rhapsody

noreply@blogger.com (Dita Parker) — Fri, 04 Jan 2013 11:40:00 +0000

Happy 2013, dearest denizens! I racked my brain trying to come up with a super inspirational new-age-can-eat-poo-this-is-the-shit post to ring in the new year, but I drew a blank, a total carte blanche you should actually fill because I have no idea what sort of end-of-year reviews you did or what hopes you have for the next twelve months. Do share, if you dare! If there's anything I can do for you this year, on the blog/elsewhere/otherwise, let me know. Always glad to be of service.

"How about you stop blabbering and go write a book, a bit faster than you have done, if it's all the same to you." I hear you, sweetie darlings, or maybe it's just that voice in my head, echoes from the writer's wishing well. I do have a plan for this year and a plan to implement said plan but let's save you from disappointment and moi from embarrassment and celebrate completion of aforementioned plan if and when it's a done deal, shall we, because I have nothing to show for it yet besides two incomplete manuscripts I'm not ready to show to anyone at this stage. Gang aft agley, don't they, best-laid plans.

In English, please! Yeah yeah yeah. I count myself fortunate, being able to switch languages when one culture or continent starts bugging me. That is my forte, absolutely, and it's my weakness, no doubt about it, because that's what I often do when FTS is how I feel. (In case you've ever wondered where I've gone for varying amounts of time. In case you're wondering what would ever make me feel FTS, well, that's a post for another time, a post about a disturbance in the force if you will, in the esprit de corps of the writing community. Don't tell me you haven't noticed. There's an elephant in the room, neon orange and playing the trombone. No? OK.)

It's strange but rather convenient how little these lives and roles intersect, but I think I'd be wackier than I already am if they did. Then again, writers are masters at keeping count of and marshaling copious amounts of personas, usually fictional, of course, but sometimes very real, as well, those writing under multiple pen names, for instance. But how do they do it? All that comes with the territory these days, social media and such, how do they juggle it? I don't have to worry about getting lost in transition, only in translation, because language barriers are mighty borders indeed, globalization or no globalization. Still, what you see is what you get. So what can I get you in 2013?

"Another book would be nice." I'm on it. I am! At it, as soon as I press Publish, promise!! Sorry I'm not faster. So much to do in one lifetime. So much to do in the next two weeks and then we're off for a vacation we've been planning and saving for for a long time. Not a bad way to start the year, going on an adventure. Rest assured it's not all R&R. A writer's brain never vacations. It's always hunting and gathering; sights, scents and sounds, tastes and textures. I hope to come home with a treasure trunk oozing with inspiration.

And I'm feeling much better, thanks for...not asking, and I think I asked you not to, didn't I? It's just that when you suffer from a mild case of Superwoman syndrome, you start thinking that nothing short of a deadly disease is at work. But what did I do just yesterday afternoon? Got dinner started by dropping a glass lid, which naturally shattered at my bare feet. I got two minor cuts and one that's really nasty but nothing a Steri-strip won't fix. No exercising with these feet for a while, though, and just when I had a really nice indoor rowing routine going. Oh well. Another scar for the Parker Collection. What this poor skin of mine has had to endure.

My apologies for such a rambling post. The start of the year always means list-making and organizing and sorting aplenty and right now the creative side of my brain is screaming to be let loose. But I think it was E-P Salonen who said that you achieve nothing without self-discipline, even if you are a Bohemian. So. I second Jack Rebney, Winnebago Man: "I don't want any more bullshit anytime during the day, from anyone. That includes me!"

Let's get cracking with this new year of ours, shall we? Have a most prosperous, productive and proactive one, sweetie darlings. Even if you are bred-in-the-bone Bohemians.

Come one, come all*

noreply@blogger.com (Dita Parker) — Fri, 28 Dec 2012 14:33:00 +0000

Just wanted to let you know that All Romance Ebooks is having a 50% rebate promotion for Ellora's Cave books, including mine, through December 31st.

Go! Before it's too late!! Tell a friend!!! Surprise a friend!!!! Send more exclamation marks, I have now officially used up this year's allowance.

*Pun totally intended. The girl can't help it.

Cool Yule, sweetie darlings!

noreply@blogger.com (Dita Parker) — Tue, 25 Dec 2012 10:00:00 +0000

Any dream will do

noreply@blogger.com (Dita Parker) — Sun, 23 Dec 2012 22:15:00 +0000

We have a winner! If you took part in my Lucky 13 XXX-mas giveaway, Santa's sexy helper may have something naughty yet nice waiting for you... Go check it out!

We're getting ready to start celebrating in earnest up here on top of the world. Christmas Eve is reserved for Santa, who visits most every family. (How does he do it? For one, he lives close by. The rest is Christmas magic, I guess.) Eve evening is also when we open gifts, so there's no waiting for Christmas Day, which is reserved for baby J. Both gents have a day of their own and everybody's happy. Except those who hate both gents and all that they represent. They're never happy. Or any fun. Boxing Day, in turn, is when we meet up with friends and/or family we didn't get to see on Christmas Eve or Day.

A full schedule but a fun one. Good food and good times with loved ones. Sis-in-law's family is visiting with the in-law's so the kids get to play with their cousins. My sister sent her love from roasting Rio and my mind goes back to the Christmases spent in the tropics. Then I look outside where it's a winter wonderland and think how life is a strange thing. And how to be an artist maybe you shouldn't have a family or even friends, pets or even houseplants, a past or even a future, nothing but time to indulge your passion, but would that be the life or even a life worth living, and how sometimes no amount of time is enough and how sometimes time runs out and how sometimes there's nothing you can do about it, about things, about anything.

My mind also wanders ahead, to things to come, and how you should always have something to look forward to, however small. As long as it makes you happy, as long as it's something you know you'll enjoy, anything goes. Hang on to those, sweetie darlings, and hang on to your dreams. I hope you don't get everything you wanted this Christmas, or ever, because that's the day you stop dreaming.

Happy holidays, dearest denizens, wherever you are.

Under the North Star

noreply@blogger.com (Dita Parker) — Tue, 18 Dec 2012 11:35:00 +0000

Temperature: -6/21 degrees

Eating: egg noodles with chili pepper and sesame seed sauce

Drinking: kefir (that sauce was as hot as the cook!)

Watching: The Story of Film: An Odyssey (directed and narrated by Mark Cousins)

Listening: to Bat For Lashes

Reading: Christmas cards

Writing: yes, as Dita, too, promise!

Feeling: I plead the 5th

Lucky 13

noreply@blogger.com (Dita Parker) — Mon, 10 Dec 2012 12:05:00 +0000

Happy Monday, dearest denizens! Did you have a good weekend? Hubby and I celebrated our 12th wedding anniversary and reminisced about that summery winter/wintry summer day in December 2000. The dress was crimson, the flowers were white and the priest had forgotten his glasses. Lucky for us, he knew my husband and he knew our story and he gave a moving speech about the power of love and perseverance.

I remember my father asking me before the ceremony how could I be so calm. I told him I had no reason to be nervous. I had never been so sure about anything in my life. Twelve years on, I still feel the same. Lucky for me, so does Hubby. *sigh* Sorry to go all mushy on you, but February or Valentine's is nothing compared to December. This is the most romantic time of the year for me and always will be.

To celebrate it to the fullest extent of holiday folly, I held a contest last year, remember? No? Never mind, that was then and this is now. So. I'm at 69 Shades with the Lucky 13 XXX-mas giveaway, open to every smutty adult on the planet! Come toss your name in the mojo bag by December 22 and a $13 Ellora's Cave gift card could be yours!

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some writing to do.

Once upon a December

noreply@blogger.com (Dita Parker) — Mon, 03 Dec 2012 11:50:00 +0000

So. December. It will be magic again. But first things first. Finished NaNoWriMo or took part in Movemeber? Congratulations! You may look a little, hmmm, disheveled, but I bet you feel great. I still feel out of sorts. And never ever try to self-diagnose. Just the other day, Google gave me lymphoma, and when there's been cancer in the family, all kinds of malignant possibilities come to mind. But enough about that since nothing is certain either way. On with the show.

What have I been up to then? Not growing a lady tickler, that's for sure. I did have a project with an end-of-month (Nov) deadline, so writing, creatively, had to take a backseat, which is a drag since WIP and I were getting along swimmingly. Now, with the holidays closing in, it's a race against time to get more words on screen and paper. (Yes, I still write on actual paper on occasion. Good for the brain, too, practicing those fine motor skills.)

In other news, winter is here! To stay? We'll see. Fall was rainy and gray to the max so I welcome snow with open albeit tired arms, moving it around is hard work, and while the spirit is willing, the body feels oddly weak at the moment. (Crap. I said no more on that. But it troubles me, sweetie darlings.) My sweet escape to Barcelona feels like a dream but then I remind myself that it really happened, I was there, the sun still exists and one day it will shine on top of world again even if our face is turned away from her for the time being.

In yet more news, many of us at the 69 Shades blog will host a giveaway to celebrate the holiday season. Lots of books up for grabs, that much I know, so bring a friend, spread the word and make sure you stop by regularly for gifts of the smutty kind! I'm up on the 8th, as usual. It's my wedding anniversary weekend, but I'll work it out one way or the other.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm having lunch with Hubby then going back to a discussion my characters were having. His friend is trying to talk some sense into him because she thinks she knows what he should do. He knows she's right. But if he goes through with it...the second he gets what he wants, he has to leave it behind. Hmmm. Hell of a conundrum.

Safe from harm

noreply@blogger.com (Dita Parker) — Fri, 30 Nov 2012 12:36:00 +0000

It's World AIDS Day, so you know what I'm going to say, don't you...? If you can't be good, do be careful, sweetie darlings!

P.S. And I pressed the wrong button. It's tomorrow, December 1. Oh well. Forewarned is forearmed!

Last night a DJ saved my life

noreply@blogger.com (Dita Parker) — Wed, 28 Nov 2012 07:25:00 +0000