Every single girl has been called this at one point or another, whether to our faces (common,) or behind our backs (even more common.) It's an insult slung whenever a woman dares step out of her place, because for some strange reason they think that this particular word is offensive enough to hurt/shame us enough to force us to behave.
I think *technically* they're calling us dogs, or maybe they're reducing us right down to our primary reproductive function, either way: it's been a paintbrush they've used to color all women at some point, generally whenever we step anywhere out of line.
We're supposed to care about such things. We're supposed to WANT to be nice, docile, loving creatures.We're supposed to REJECT anything outside that narrow definition of femininity.
Needless to say, I've been saying, "Fuck that," since the 80s.
I learned very early on the true power of the word Bitch, particularly when used as an insult.
It's a feminist war cry.
Whenever a guy wants to tear down another guy, THIS IS STILL THE INSULT HE USES. Toxic men find guys doing anything that are at all *girly* (i.e. submissive/weak) every bit as threatening as a gal doing anything masculine - like claiming total power over herself. Therefore a toxic patriarchy uses it to diminish ANYONE who dares to defy the conventional male/female roles.
I'm a bitch because I'll never be your bitch, but he's a bitch, because - even though he's NOT a bitch - he can be controlled like you want to control all your bitches.
In your impotent rage, you spew the word like it's some kind of venom, but the only people it will work on are the people who are already under your feet.
For the rest of us it's a word all about male control that ONLY works if it controls us - and it so doesn't.
Hence, why you call us bitches.
Back when my kids were young and facing school bullies who would call them names, or worse - call their dead father names - I would tell them there was no sense getting upset over things that weren't true. "If they call you a banana, does that make you a banana?"
My son still remembers this to this day. He will tell you that because I reduced it down to its basic absurdity, he learned how much power he needed to give words. If they're not true, you can dismiss them. If they are true, you can dig deep and find the strength to embrace them.
If you ARE a banana, be damned proud to be a banana. Let that banana freak flag fly. It's you, and you're allowed to be you.
And no one can hurt you with a word you enthusiastically accept as an identifier.
Back in the 80s, girls like me embraced the word "bitch." Someone even created an acronym around it: Babe In Total Control of Herself. I believe I even had a pin.
If a bitch is simply a woman who cannot be controlled, there ain't no shame in that, my friends. No shame at all. That is my fucking objective. There is literally zero sting to the word. Instead, it pumps me up. I'm quite gratified that you noticed. That means I've done my job properly. I want the world to know that I don't WANT to be controlled, so y'all best recognize. I told you about my book of poems being stolen in the ninth grade, coming back to me with "Fat Bitch" (anonymously) written all over it like it was some devastating insult.
Meanwhile, me:
The 80s were a good time for Bitches. Jackie Collins wrote a book about it. Her sister Joan made a career out of it. The end of the decade witnessed the rise of Roseanne. Nuff said.
I really never considered it an insult. It bothered me more if they called me a slut, though that's changed over the years too.
Back when I was in my 20s, I bought a T-shirt that read, "I'm not A bitch, I'm THE bitch, and it's MS. BITCH to you." It was the kind of shirt, along with my "fuck off" personality and "get the hell away from me" size, that parted crowds in front of me like the Red Sea.
Needless to say, I wore the CRAP out of that shirt.
By the 1990s, we bitches even got our own theme song:
"So, take me as I am. This may mean you'll have to be a stronger man."
I embrace the word so whole-heartedly that you can't even offend my sons if you call them a son of a bitch. I told them a long time ago they are, and that was something to be proud of.
They've been taught it isn't a bad thing.
It both amuses me and surprises me that so many people still find it offensive. Many are repelled by the word. It still slaps people in the face a little.
I'm such a bitch, I use that to my advantage. When you're a writer, your weapons of war are your words. You think about what you're going to use and how you're going to use them for maximum effect.
It is no surprise that my book's title is a very abrasive and unapologetic BIG FAT BITCH. There are a couple of things I wanted to address, in a very ME sort of way. I'm tired of living in a society where women are demonized for coloring outside the lines.
There are certain things in this world we women are not allowed to be if we want to be fully embraced by society. We can't be fat. We cannot be a bitch. And we must not, under any circumstances, be a fat bitch. Polite society finds such things to be horrifying. (Hence why my anonymous bully way back when thought calling me such would be so humiliating.)
When I crafted my topsy turvy Beauty & the Beast retelling, it was a no-brainer to cast the "monster" in this story as a fat bitch. She's a size-14 that will tear your life to pieces if you dare cross her.
Sofie Vincent is so self-possessed that if you called her a bitch, she'd take it as a compliment.
Sofie passed Davina’s dressing room on the way out, so she paused to talk to her friend. “How’s it going?”Hell, she has it on her freaking license plate. Sofie Vincent gives NO fucks.
Davina gave her a rueful grin as she munched on crudités. “Not too bad. Just eating dinner.”
She leaned against the door jam. “Tell me you’re going to eat more than that.”
Davina shrugged. “You know I have to drop more weight.”
Sofie pursed her lips. She knew Davina’s doctor had told her to drop a hundred pounds. That had been over two years before, and she had lost about fifty so far. Since she was a little older, it was taking a little longer than she liked, but Sofie thought she was doing great.
Maybe a little too great.
Sofie had never planned on transforming her character into someone much thinner. She had hired Davina with a specific purpose: to put someone on TV who didn’t look like everyone else. Much to the surprise of many, her middle-aged diva had managed to steal the hearts of America despite being overweight and over 40.
Frankly, Davina’s losing weight would virtually blow what made their dynamic special. But Sofie could hardly hold a grudge, particularly since it meant so much to her. “How much is left?”
“Forty-seven pounds and two ounces,” she chuckled. So did Sofie.
“Shall I write it in? That you’re trying to lose weight to impress your wandering husband?”
Davina rolled her eyes. “Girl, please. I could weigh 99 pounds and he’d never agree to do a love scene with me. I am not his type.”
They shared a glance. “Thank God.”
Both women were older, had been around the industry a good long while. Men like Gregory Todd were a dime a dozen, and neither of them had the patience to pretend otherwise.
“Fine,” Sofie conceded with a sigh. “I’m gonna go get ice cream.”
She turned before Davina could throw a stick of celery at her. “You’re a bitch,” she announced, but in good humor. That was just the relationship they had. Sofie knew Davina would always keep it real.
“Don’t ever forget it,” Sofie called behind her before heading down the hall.
So, why should I? I don't need to dance lightly around the subject. She's a bitch! That's what made her a whole lot of fun to write. She was empowering. She made a name for herself doing things her way, no matter what anyone else had to say about it.
If she was a man, she'd be president of the fucking United States.
For a female candidate, that's a liability. If you don't believe me, check out the comments for the YouTube vid for Elton John's "The Bitch is Back." MANY commenters made the oh so pithy observation that the song must be Hillary Clinton's theme song.
They skipped the irony of the situation entirely. Hillary is A bitch, but she's not THEIR bitch, and that's they hate her. Empowering that person with lyrics that say, "I can bitch, I can bitch cuz I'm better than you," turns the punchline of their "joke" around on them, frankly. Karma works so much faster when the targets in question are stupid.
Which makes it that much funnier for a bitch like me.
You gotta be willing to face the hate if you do the bitchy thang and speak up for, well, anything. I knew this when I named my book. I KNOW it's going to put some people off, which is a damn shame because the story itself can be universally read by anyone, even my own sons.
My biggest fan was my grandmother-in-law, who sadly passed before this book was conceived. She would have LOVED this novel, and - in fact - it wouldn't have existed without her. Like always, I take on some pretty deep issues despite the trappings of a fairy tale. This story simply wouldn't have existed without the experiences I had when Grandma was on hospice care, which plays to the Beauty and the Beast angle.
BFB's wilting Rose is a real person. And she's really dying, which sparks our whole fairy tale into motion.
This wasn't an easy subplot to write for me after the scary ass year I've had facing off with my OWN mortality. Still, because the tale is so important to me, I couldn't afford to step lightly. I faced, head-on, everything that scared me about it. That's kind of how I'm doing everything now, in a very skydiving, Rocky-Mountain-climbing, doing-2.7-seconds- on-a-bull-named-Fumanchu kind of way.
(Except I'm not doing any of THOSE things.)
On January 4, 2018, I was faced with the possibility that there wouldn't be enough time to tell this story or any of the other dozen stories I have lined up to tell. Once I emerged victorious from that battle, it would have been a slap in God's face to half-ass ANY of it.
I ain't half-assing anything anymore. If someone should call me a bitch because of it...
The very day I finished the book, I went to a local concert where the Bullet Boys sang their version of Elton's Bitchy anthem. I knew then the universe had recognized my boldness. I sang loud and proud, high-fiving God for the cosmic shout-out.
Why, yes I AM back, thank you very much for noticing. This story is full of the pure Ginger magic so many of you have come to love. This is my love letter to you, and my middle finger to anyone left who thought I couldn't pull it off.
That's the beauty of being a Bitch. You get to be full of interesting complexities like that.
And if you can get past the prickly thorns wrapped around the title (and its bitchy heroine,) you'll find the beauty of my fairy tale, I guarantee.
September 25 is only 16 days away. Soon you'll meet Sofie, my BFB, and Fletcher, the beautiful man who is brave enough, and strong enough, to reveal her beauty anyway.
It's the only fairy tale that a bitch like me could write. So, let's fall in love... *our* way.
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