Oh, What the Hell

There’s something bizarre in having someone tell you point-blank that your personal choices means you’re morally corrupt and unable to perform a job. A job which you’ve done countless times before without incident.

It’s no secret that I’m a writer and editor. My writing is, well, bloody. There’s sex. There’s profanity. There’s a shit ton of questionable behavior from fictional people on my page. The key word there is fictional. I’m certainly not traipsing around the globe impregnating women with demon babies.

But today, after waiting half a week to receive a manuscript I’d already billed for, I was told my personal writing is problematic and I didn’t have the job. Great. That means I’m out an entire month’s pay. Because someone wanted to foist their shoddy morals on my shoulders.

Since I’m all about rubbing noses in messes this week, here’s a letter to that writing team:

Yeah, no I can’t let this one go on that note. I’m not Christian. I severed ties with them ages ago because of backhanded comments like your, “…leaving the judging to Christ.” I’ve read the bible and I’m pretty sure if it were real, Jesus wouldn’t bat an eyelash at my life—except when interacting with people determined to judge my entire worth from one website.

My personal writing style doesn’t mean I’ll force a client to add blood, sex, or profanity to their manuscript. My personal life doesn’t mean I’ll force fragile Christians to come out as bisexuals in their books. I have a child I adopted, does that mean I’ll force a weepy adoption story into client’s books? No.

My personal *anything* has nothing to do with the way I conduct editing business. Several clients are friends, and I’m harder on them than I am anyone else when it comes to making a manuscript shipshape before publishing. Once I negotiate a job, it’s exactly that, a job, no matter the client. So why do you all—and [name redacted] doesn’t get a pass after that judging dig—get to decide I’m morally corrupt for writing what I do?

I’m tempted to charge a nuisance fee. You not only demanded I send an invoice, but then waited five days to tell me you weren’t going to use my service based on this flimsy moral high-ground. This is after I’d set aside an entire weekend waiting for your manuscript so I could work quickly since you said there was an eight day deadline.
I cared about your project. I wanted to see you succeed in the publishing world. I gave you a larger discount than I give friends who use my service. You shot back with accusations that I’m somehow less because my personal writing offends you. Gee, thanks.
I’m not going to win friends or new clients with that letter. That’s not the point, here. The point is, I’m tired of defending my life to others. Christians love to pretend they’re a caring bunch, but all they do is weigh your perceived sins against their own. It’s a rigged game, though. That Christian will never believe they’re less than perfect because Christ gave his life and yadda, yadda, yadda. But me, the outspoken bisexual with a beef against judgmental people, I’m obviously super evil since I don’t think a book—written and translated so many times no one knows what the original texts actually said—is the end all, be all of moral compasses.
Yeah. Real evil with my fluffy dog and collection of stuffed cows. The next step is obviously overthrowing Satan so I can rule Hell. Only the cool kids are invited to my crowning ceremony.
Folks, if you need a book to tell you how not to be shitty, seek therapy to deal with your underlying mental issues. If a threat from some higher being is the only reason you’re not out stealing and raping, you’re the problem in the world, not me. So what if I ditched the hypocritical teachings of the Christian church? I didn’t turn around and MURDER anyone the next day. Instead I wept because my father pretty much disowned me. He died before his Christian teachings would allow him to forgive me. What kind of god is okay with a father dying without telling his eldest daughter he loved her, and all because I didn’t like grown men telling 14 year old me that I was evil for being attracted to women. I didn’t feel evil then. I don’t feel evil now.
The evil is in the White House. It’s the Freedom Caucus making near-daily threats to women’s rights on the basis of the same Christian teachings which robbed me of the final two years in Dad’s life. They want to literally kill women with lack of health care.
But I’m the problem in the world because I took my depression and used the nightmares to write horror stories. Sure. That makes perfect sense.

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