In the light of all-things-Alice trending again with strange remakes, reworkings, and wonderful new material being published about the actual historical figures, it seems important to set something straight.

First, the obvious. (Albeit, maybe controversial.)

Dodgson was not a paedophile. Alice Liddell was not innocent.

Oh, and if you’d like to argue that point? Have a look at one of the most famous photographs ever taken by Dodgson – ‘The Beggar Maid’ from 1858, featuring, of course, Liddell.

Go on.

Yeah. Look at those eyes. I rest my case.

Holy eyes, Batman! How would you feel if you were a repressed Victorian gentleman on the other end of that?

Why Miss Liddell was quite the strange charmer of men at such a young age, nobody truly knows, and she, of course, never dared to say. (After all, it’s horribly un-lady-like to discuss one’s personal business in mixed company — or, let’s face it, at all.) All we know is that, given the evidence that’s been left behind, certain testimonials and memoirs — she was. And, unluckily perhaps for Dodgson, with whom she shared a close and somewhat precarious friendship for most of her youth, he got the brunt of it.

Was it playful? Her mother, Lorina Liddell, the wife of the Dean certainly knew how to wrap men around her finger. The newer (last 5-10 years) biographical material argues that a lot of the personality for the famed Queen of Hearts came from none other than the domineering Lorina, given the power and control she had over all of Oxford. If you wanted to be somebody, then she had ultimate say over it. (Yikes.)

Being from a domineering mother myself, I understand how a little girl can watch her prime feminine role-model’s behaviour with men and draw all sorts of conclusions. And if they practically bow to, defer, and treat her as if she holds their life in her hands … well … it sends a hell of a message.

So, on that front, can we really be that surprised when a fumbly, well-meaning Oxford don shows a great deal of interest in photographing and spinning tales of incredible imagination and wit with an insatiable (and very precocious young mind) that, given her background, she’d pull immediately from how she thought women were supposed to engage men, despite her years?

Dear God.

It was a Victorian recipe for ultimate disaster — and I can only hope I capture (at least) the spirit of it in my novels. (I think I do.)

So, as a result, we have lots of pages ripped from diaries, the rest of those journals burned, misunderstandings, gossip, and eventual estrangement.

Sigh.

I’m not even sure the little Alice had any idea — at first. She simply thought this was male-female interpersonal dynamics worked, and it must have been great fun to evaluate the power she no doubt held over Dodgson. He was seeking a free-spirited and adventurous cerebral playmate. One who wouldn’t be hung-up on all of the tropes and trappings of the Victorian era; who chose against operating by it. Which is why her nice dresses were always splattered with mud, her hair constantly tangling, and her eyes positively full of mischief. (Again. Look at the challenge in those eyes! Goddamn!)

As a result, I’ve always felt a kinship with her. The real Alice. As, I have to admit, it reminds me a lot of how I operated as a youth. Watching my mother, I had a very sure sense of this is how stuff worked, and … I suppose given the numbers, I encountered enough submissive boys to have it somehow proven right.

I had ‘boyfriends’ for every day of the week. I wish I was kidding. They each knew when it was or wasn’t their day, and politely backed off in those times. They were also all very aware of each other — and as a result, some of them got into a few fights on the playground, while others were great friends. I hadn’t realised at the time what a disservice I was doing to my girl-friends at the time. What elementary schoolgirl does? (Oh, did I forget that part? I was … let’s see. 8? Maybe ’til round-about 11? Something like that.)

Of course, I had no designs on anyone. They were perfectly free to court any of the other girls in our classes, and, of course, some did. And we’d all play tag and steal kisses on the cheek and run away. Even some of the girls — which, at that point, is a pretty natural exploration of sexuality. They’re your sisters, and they might later become your lovers, and they might not. We’re all figuring it out at that point. For me, I ended up playing for the opposite team, but I never faulted any of my sisters that chose otherwise. Hell, I respect and support them for it. (But that’s another story. Speaking of other stories — ask me about the monogamy versus polyamoury ‘experiment’ I unwittingly held that year. That’s a trip in and of itself.)

Ah, digressions.

I know why I’m not innocent, and haven’t been since the age of seven. As for Liddell … who can say? It may simply be modelling. Some of mine may also be due to the very same.

Either way, thanks for letting me soapbox there. Since so much new information is coming out about Dodgson’s life and sexuality, (namely, that he actually had a drive of which to speak, and it vacillated between periods of long celibacy and bursts of passionate interlude) I felt it important to fill in some blanks there, as a result of my own extensive research over the last decade or more.

We’re quick to paint someone a paedophile if there was any sort of involvement with children. We don’t even examine the interaction or relationship. And, I realise, being as insistent about this as I am, being a survivor myself of childhood sexual abuse, it’s a bit contradictory. But you might say it’s also kept me from becoming dogmatic and exclusionary.

My personal understanding and definition of abuse involving a minor is when a child is lured into sexual situations of which they have no understanding or ability to evaluate. Their privileged trust is used against them by the one seeking to satisfy their illness, or, simply encounter a sexual relationship without having to go through the necessary work to achieve one with a consenting adult. And that is something for which I have equal if not greater passionate detestation which knows no bounds.

Anyway.

It’s seemed pretty important for me to bring some necessary clarity to this subject which is often confused, clouded, and as misunderstood as it was accused back when it was first happening. Give the ghosts some peace, for chrissake. Sometimes, it feels like that’s what I’m trying to do, in a way. Set the record straight, and let their story conclude with the same sort of truth that only they ever knew.

So. Thanks for listening.

First off, I’d like to say two things:

1, I wish I had time for making this post today, but I really don’t, since my first choice for a supporting role is coming by to audition in … 40 minutes, and there are several more throughout the day.

2, I’m touched that I received such a response — surprise, shock, concern — from so many people regarding the ‘kink break’ post. (Which you can find yourselves. You’re fantastic, but I don’t have time to direct-link you at the moment.)

Any rate, I’m slightly amused that there was this much of a kerfuffle to begin with; if you go back and read my reflections regarding the Moonlight Whispers film, (again, Google; you’re big boys and girls — those fingers need exercise!) you’ll notice that the take-home message seemed to (very clearly) be:

‘Kink always wins’.

Bearing that in mind, you can only imagine what transpired pretty soon afterward. A long, intense conversation (due to a 22.5-hour drive split into 10.5 and 12 hour trips — a  couple of which I drove — yay! — and a couple of differently themed scenes subsequently) focusing directly upon our individual needs in kink, and how to better satisfy them. (Refer to prior post to see what it is that I was specifically missing, or what need of mine was not being met — the Reader’s Digest version being, realism.)

Things are better. They’re continuing to be. We’re not there yet, but I feel confident we can get there with some time and mutual effort. In the meantime — it’s good. Part of the kink break wasn’t even directly a result of needs being unmet, but there just not being time for it at present.

I mean, you try taking care of a kid for nigh 24/7 for a week, (a kid who just doesn’t sleep, mind) tutoring, posting casting notices, scheduling auditions, and then auditioning those potential cast members — along with handling ALL the rest of life: clients, porn stuff, clips for the new clips stores, friends … family … migraines …

It gets to be a bit. Sometimes we all need to throw up our hands and say, ‘That’s it! I’ve had enough! I need a break!’ To stop, rewind, re-evaluate, and approach things from a better, more satisfying angle.

On that note: what in your life could you put the brakes on, re-evaluate, and come up with a perhaps better solution to? What’s been a niggling issue for awhile that’s preventing you from moving forward in an area you’d like to? Maybe it’s time to hit the pause button and look at things from a new perspective. After all, continuing to do the same thing over and over again, and watching it continually fail, is just wasting time. Life’s short, and the road to achieving our goals (and dreams) is long. We need all the time we can get.

Maybe the time to change that … is now?

Think about it.

More to come.

It’s no wonder that my masterpiece would be a derivative works — for those unfamiliar, known as Hunting Alice, soon to be an audio drama series and broadcast on the Internet.

This, strangely enough, is not about that … exactly. This is about something else. Deeper. The roots of Roulette, in some sense. While I am always aware of myself, I do have momentary lapses of … treason? No. Season? Hmm, not quite. And ‘reason’ doesn’t cut it, since they’re not always unreasonable; but they do change me.

There are many people milling about in my head — many of which whom are my own creations, and present themselves in my fiction works. But sometimes, I get a bit too method. Certain characters, unfortunately, are so deeply ingrained within me that when something triggers them (or someone) it’s all I can do to keep firm hold of myself. It’s just so otherwise natural to slip into the masque of someone else.

(Yes, this is why I did so much theatre in my youth. Why, had I my druthers, I would be an actress as well. Moving on.)

One such character is Dr Penderan Fauste. That’s a name you’ll be hearing much more often, you can be sure of that. While it’s new to you now, it’ll one day be uttered with such casualness you’ll hardly remember the time in which he was a non-entity. Do mark my words; it’s not hyperbole.

Fauste is a funny sort, though. Trouble is, while I am his writer, I’m unable to ever assimilate the character completely. I must always entrust him to another (which I recently have, and could not be happier.) Alas, something incredibly curious takes place once that … vessel has been found. His counterpart, soul-mate — the yin to his yang — the other side of the coin — does fight to take hold of me: Riley Wingate. (Another name you’ll soon know, well, though not as readily as Fauste.)

She is the Alice for a chaotic, modern world; a controversial heroine, and inquisitive investigator of the strange, curious existence in which we find ourselves, and cursorily term ‘reality’. Regularly, she’s a wonderful person — very compassionate, empathetic, and … a bit unaware of the depth of the tumult around her. She tends to find herself at the heart of massive conspiracies which serve to unhinge her sanity, disturb her inner peace and leave her a very different person than she started out.

Of course, according to my brain, there is a kind of chronology. In some sense, being that I have written all five novels, and I do know the ending of our strange tale, Riley does not appear as easily to me in her earlier, innocent stages. She comes out in full-force as what she has become: something powerful, and in many cases, to be reckoned with — quite carefully.

This doesn’t work in my everyday life. She’s too much; too intense, too forthright, too dominant, too antagonistic. If her world is not perfectly ordered, she just about blows a gasket. (And not quietly.) All of the docile, peace-keeping, harmony-seeking, submissive years which left her bewildered, brokenhearted, and forever changed are long gone. One extreme to the other.

Yes, yes, I know, I know. It does seem the story of my life, does it not? To constantly seek the balance. That’s Riley’s journey — and it appears it’s mine, too. Days like these, when she comes to me so easily, tend to remind me that I’m not there yet. She’s still disturbed, still seeking resolution, closure — some sense to why her world was so casually destroyed; why the only one that seems to care about the fact that she was left to gather the pieces, alone, was — no doubt — her.

There’s an anger there; a rage, unsatisfied. Powerful, and a bit frightening. She is my dominant side, strangely enough — and she was born of a sort of enforced submission. A requirement to be gentle, appease, placate, and be at the beck and call of others. She was never such to begin with, and when her dominant side came into being, it did not do so quietly. (Of course, to tell you more, I’d spoil the whole thing. You should read the books instead — and well, purchase the audio drama episodes on iTunes when it premieres; that particular scene is brilliantly presented in the audio drama — if I do say so myself.)

And, yes. The whole thing is very, very kinky.

At any rate …

I fear there is much that is resonant — and reminiscent — with me, and my own. That, in many ways, she is my means of coping. She is the tangible existence that my own journey is underway. And I remain just as perplexed and unaware of where the destination is to lead.

So, while we are engaged in demo recording, script revisions, rehearsals, and intensive characterisation — bear with me, as there may be many days like this, where she overtakes my good sense, because a part of me is too enthralled with the notion of just giving in.

It will be curious indeed.

Stay tuned.

This guy’s creativity is amazing!