So, Mr. Peacock.....

Okay... so the geek girl issue doesn't seem to wanna go away. Evidence? Here

And while John Scalzi did a brilliant job of taking the issue apart, there is a point that I need to answer.

Because Mr. Peacock popped into the comments of that post and said this:

The only point I wish to make: you are stating “Who gets to be a geek? Anyone who wants to be.” I agree with this wholeheartedly, and stated such in my piece (and in many previous pieces). In fact, it’s my entire point: the people I’m talking about in my piece DON’T WANT TO BE.

Did I ask them? On occasion, yes. I’ve asked booth babes and con groupies in the past about their affiliation with the culture. Some will tell you it’s a job, and they’re in it for the paycheck. Jordan Carver deleted her entire blog from 2011 because of a post she made on her experience cosplaying as Jessica Rabbit, stating quite plainly “These geeks felt honored because they’ve never been around a woman like me." 

One. It is a job. Promotional modeling is a modeling gig like any other. You go. You put on the outfit/costume *they provide you* and you do what you are paid to do. Be friendly. Take pictures. Get customers to come to the booth in question and engage them once they are there. It is a JOB.

Are some of those girls prima donnas? Do they have inflated "9" opinions about themselves when they are "6"? Sure. Absolutely. But take a sample of any group of slightly-better-than-average looking people and I bet you'll find that isn't unique to the promo model profession.

So Mr. Peacock, I'm a promo model. I get paid to represent companies because they want a pretty girl to be brand ambassadors for them.

I am also a nerd.

I don't have the chops that John Scalzi has. In fact, I don't even live up to your own vaunted place on the Nerd hierarchy. I've written a few indie comic books. I've seen all the Star Trek movies (even the one with the whales). I happily argue with people over the superiority of DC vs Marvel comics ( Marvel is better). Han shot first and I'm a little ticked off that Maria Hill spent so much time in the Avengers movie biting her lip and being Nick Fury's bitch.

But yeah. That's me, tied up with *multiple* gaming control cords. I admit. I'm not much of a gamer. Mea culpa.

Thing is... As both a nerd and a promo model... I can tell you... I CAN'T BOOK the cons. They don't want me. Why? Lotsa reasons. I'm not 21. I'm not "hot" enough. I don't have comic book tits. 

So whose fault is it that the cons are full of non geek, young, voluptuous women? The girls getting paid $20 an hour to dress in almost nothing and listen to guys talk about stuff they don't understand and nod and smile and hope like FUCK you don't say something wrong and become the subject of NERDRAGE? 

Or the people hiring these chicks? The ones that won't hire me (and countless other women like me) because we aren't *whatever* enough? 

If you really feel like you are getting a room full of deluded "6s"  then tell the companies hiring them. Hire the girls who know they are 6s, but also know a Cardassian from a Kardashian. 

Love,

Lela Gwenn

Confession... for tha LADIEZZZ

Okay, internets. I admit it. I'm VAIN.

And since I started modeling again, it is crazy obvious *just how vain* I am.

I get pictures--Sometimes hundreds-- and each one is stared at, vetted, picked apart and (usually) discarded.

And then I post the one, maybe two photos that I like out of the throng and enjoy the adoration of .. well, the 6-10 people who notice.

This isn't new. Models do it all the time. But thing is... it's kinda fucked up. I mean, it's a part of the game and I get that I should maintain my perfect facade ...but please. Anybody who's been paying attention for more than 10 seconds knows that I'm a nerd. And a dork. and I'm not even a little bit cool.

So I wanna share a picture with you.*

Picture by Andy Jonelis

I love this picture. The ropes. The costume. The expression on my face. I even like that my hair is mussed. 

But it didn't make the cut. Why? 

That. I was wearing tights under my costume and it pushed up some skin and I ended up with a little bit of muffin top action. Human beings need a little extra skin to move around. I know this. I also know I work out and have a fairly flat belly and all that. Didn't matter. That little bit of stuff freaked me right out.


So, what's the point of this little diatribe?**

I love all the ladies. That's the point. All the people, really (since I know guys are just as freaked about body issues). And well... confession is good for the soul, right? I'm Lela and I have skin on my stomach. Sometimes it freaks me out.

* this is a completely unretouched photo as far as I know. please be kind and ignore the 1000 other flaws. Andy did a great job shooting me and I assure you there are other flawless photos that will come out of the shoot.

** I feel like I lost the plot somewhere in the middle of this, but hopefully y'all understand.

Hey y'all...Imma be published :D

A while back Tiffany Reisz put out a call for erotic flash fiction for an anthology. The added challenge? The theme was to be office supplies. At first it was a lark, a joke on Twitter, but the more she thought about it... the better the idea looked.

Now, I don't know anyone who hasn't fantasized about getting laid but good on their desk... but I couldn't just write a story about our heroine getting bent over the copy machine, right? So I slaved over a story that I hoped was hot and had lots of help getting it in tip top shape. I broke my own rules, foisting the story on reader after reader like a sailor on shore leave. Finally, I had something I was proud of.

Today, I found out my story made the cut! Happy New Year to me!

The money from the anthology is going to charity. If you want to be notified when you can buy these little morsels of smut-filled joy, go here and enter your email address.

(Many thanks to Team #Stabbylove , @ZombieJoe , @unruley700, @kestrelrising, @JLeaLopez, @colorblind72 and of course @Tiffanyreisz . Follow them all. They are all fabulous people)

It all started with a door to door salesmen...

Okay, so my parents weren't always the most... well, parental. But today, On this Thanksgiving Eve I want to take a moment to be thankful for a small thing that changed my life.

When I was about 4, a door to door salesmen came calling. ( I know, I know-- this is the set up to a horror movie or a porn, but I promise, not this time)

He was selling books. Big, hard cover kids books with colorful illustrations. They weren't baby books with one or two words per page... NO. These were classics, real books with lots of words. I remember The Ugly Duckling being a particular favorite. At four I couldn't read. But these books were extra special. They had cassette tapes that went with them. In my memory I can still hear the crisp *bing* that indicated that it was time to turn the page.

My parents didn't really read to me. In their defense they both worked and blah blah blah... These books with tapes really changed everything for me. They taught me to read. They taught me to love books.

We moved a lot when I was a kid, and I have no idea when those books, tapes and the My Little Pony cassette player that served them tangibly disappeared from my life-- but in the most real way, they never did. In a life full of mad dashes across the continent and an every changing cast of characters (Tonight the part of Dad will be played by....) books were a constant.  If my copy of Lion the Witch and The Wardrobe got left behind in one of our rushed moves...it was okay. Where ever we were going would have a library and in that library would be my book. The page number might be different, the cover might have changed, but fundamentally the book would be there, a trusted friend.

Okay, enough being maudlin. Today I am thankful for door to door salesman, the Ugly Duckling, and most especially books.

Cliff hanger!

So in an effort to win a contest (competitive? Me? Noooooo!)I am posting a snippet from my finished novel. The constraints? 500 words, ending in a cliffhanger. Hmmm here we go....

“Princess, I can't say any more than I have.” I could hear the pain in his voice. “Back to my inappropriate laughter. You have a choice. Do you want to go to your full moon meeting weak and easy to overlook? Or will you walk in with all the powers you were born to have?”

“What do I have to do?”

“The faeries of the Star Court get their magic from the stars and the water. I laughed because I was afraid you didn't have any real magic. You have a glow. You radiate a weak power, and you haven't been in a source in sixteen years. Mandi, you take after your mother.” For once, Hayune sounded like his old self.

He was warm, but my heart was cold. Tears welled up in my eyes. “You mean I'm weak? That I scurry around after a man that isn't fit to rule dogs?” As soon as I said it, I regretted it.

“No one knows why our queen defers to her king so. It defies tradition.” I could almost feel his cold facade snap into place.

“Do you even notice you go all stiff whenever you talk about them?” I missed Yuni. I wish I knew a way to get him back. I mulled over all of the things he had just told me. “Hey! You called me Mandi!”

He didn't answer, just grabbed my hand and led me out of the dark woods. We crossed out of the woods and stood near the shoreline. He turned to me.

“What is your choice, Princess?”

I gaped up at him, tears pooling in my eyes. If I wanted to find out who killed my father, if I wanted to walk into my meeting with King Spinel with any leverage, if I ever wanted to be all I could be, I had to face my greatest fear. And damn it, he was back to calling me 'Princess' again.

“Are we going for a swim?” He goaded me.

It was as simple as that. Face my fear and accept a new, possibly dangerous, fate or stay dry and unremarkable, but safe. And dry. I scanned the dark lake; the sound of the water lapping against the beach taunted me.

“I didn't bring a bathing suit. Hell, I don't even own a bathing suit.” It was weak, but I had to put up some resistance.

He looked at me a wry smile on his face. “Neither do I.”

“If you expect me to strip down here and just walk into that lake...” I could feel the panic rising. I tried yoga breathing, but just ended up heading toward hyperventilation.

“Do you trust me?”