For the Southern Baptist Conference, sexual assault is more forgivable than being a woman

I’ve blogged a lot over the years about the Southern Baptist Conference’s (SBC) long history of ignoring and covering up sexual abuse, harassment and assault by members of the church hierarchy (here, here, here and here, for instance). The Houston Chronicle’s blockbuster investigation some seven years back found 700 credible victims and 400 culprits over the previous 10 years. Given that the SBC also covered up that Paul Pressler — one of the men who shifted the SBC into a Republican Party arm in the early 1980s — assaulted underage boys, I suspect there have been many more victims in the decades in-between (and Pressler unsurprisingly never stopped). As Karen Swallow Prior says, this man, with his warped view of power, gender and morality, shaped the SBC as it is today. Perhaps it’s not surprising they’re such a mess.

As attorney and abuse survivor Rachael Denhollander said back in 2022, the SBC did right in commissioning a third party review of its practices and failures. That’s more than the Catholic Church has ever managed, or many other churches (for example). However, she said, they were also 10 years behind most organizations in their understand of sexual abuse and best practices for dealing with it. In the four years since, things have not improved; plans for a better reporting system and a database of accused church leaders have come to nothing.

Electing Willy Rice, a conservative who thinks SBC is too woke and “the SBC’s sexual abuse crisis was more hoax than reality” presumably means the effort is dead for the foreseeable future. Rape apologist and Trumper William Wolfe is a loyal ally. And once again the convention passed the Mohler Amendment against women becoming pastors — they can manage to take action on that, but not on preventing abuse. And they hate that SBC women have opinions on this.

The standard defense Wolfe, and some conservatives I’ve known is that the SBC is no worse than any secular organization. And no question, lots of secular organizations have horrible track records on this. Um … so what? There’s a systemic pattern of rape and harassment in the SBC, plus refusal to deal with the problem. That is objectively wrong, immoral and unacceptable. “Other people are just as bad” is not an excuse, any more than “I haven’t raped as many people as Bill Cosby or Harvey Weinstein” excuses rape (though many bad judges have decided first-time rapists shouldn’t be punished). Particularly in the case of an organization that claims its policies are based on a higher morality which is why they should get their way.

The SBC does not, however, can talk about its moral superiority all it wants. Its actions give it the lie. I believe religious groomers, because they can invoke God as their authority (as discussed in the documentary Shiny Happy People), are the worst kind. And in the case of the SBC, their theology is the fruit of a poisonous tree and no good fruit can come of it.

As someone put it on Facebook, the SBC can forgive a man for being an abuser. They can’t forgive a woman for being female.

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An example of a bad cover

The one below, by Peter Stevens.

It does convey this is a story of exotic Arabia, with harems, sultans, turbans and swords. But what is the dude doing? Leading an attack on the women? Pointing at where to kidnap them? Or just going “Yeah, chicks!” And why is the seated woman doing what appears to be jazz hands?

And why does the swordsman keep one of his weapons tucked into a belt right over his groin?

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Southern Discomfort: my big idea was not what I thought

For umpty-zillion years, John Scalzi has been doing Big Idea columns on his blog: authors get to tell his sizable following what the big idea of their latest work was. My small self-published books are nowhere close to meeting the requirements. However there’s no reason I can’t use a similar format here to discuss Southern Discomfort. And needless to say, I’ll be discussing it a lot until it comes out next month.

As I’ve probably mentioned in past posts, the genesis of this novel goes back to the 1990s, when I read Born to Run, one of Mercedes Lackey’s SERRAted Edge books, about wizards and elves in Los Angeles. The back cover blurb gives the premise: where would elves go in the modern, urbanized world to live comfortably? California, the funkiest, flakiest of the states, where the unconventional and magical would seem normal!

My immediate thought on reading this was no, elves would be much happier in the South.

The South, where it’s still heavily rural (so is a lot of California, but the SERRAted books are urban fantasy). Where life moves slowerl and there’s much stress on tradition. And at least in the last century, there was a lot of emphasis on respecting your elders — and who’s going to be older than elves?

Plus the South has its share of eccentrics; if you’re accepted as part of the community folks may not bat an eye at you being something other than a baseline normal human. Though the “if” is the key — not everyone’s accepted and then things can get cruel.

I get lots of ideas. Many of them don’t stick in my head; as one writer once said, it’s the ones that stick around that are worth writing about. This one stuck. And I had the perfect twist for the climax. The classic weakness of elvenkind includes cold iron; my twist was that cold iron means literally iron. Not steel. Definitely not titanium-steel alloys or the like. That means the fae are way less likely to encounter iron than they would have been a thousand years ago. The climax would be someone stabbing Olwen McAlister with a steel knife, then discovering that while injured, it doesn’t instantly kill or burn her the way cold iron would. The killer goes down hard.

That concept stayed in the book all the way through; the twist did not. As a twist/reveal it was nowhere near strong enough for the climax. As an explanation of how Olwen can move comfortably through the modern world, it worked great.

At that point, “elves in the south” and the cold iron twist seemed like my big ideas. They were good ideas but my good idea came some time and several drafts later. The problem with most of the early drafts was that my protagonist — a tough guy from New York invited down by a friend to help find the killer — didn’t work at all. At first he was a tough, dangerous guy modeled on John Travolta in Get Shorty! Then he became a burned-out veteran; alas, if there’s anything good to be done with that character type, it won’t be by me. Turning the veteran into a woman didn’t help either.

I think what triggered my Big Idea was reading one of Lia Matera’s Willa Jansson mysteries. Jansson is a “red diaper baby,” the daughter of 1960s radicals and her parents politics constantly seep into her cases. In this one — 30 years later, I can’t identify it — the mystery centers on Chris, a former activist whose group turned to violence when it seemed there was no other way to make the government listen. Chris turned her friends in before they could commit murder, a decision that’s come back to haunt her.

Click. Suddenly I had (I thought) my protagonist, a radical who’d made the same decision Chris did. Which meant I was no longer writing a contemporary novel; it would have to be set in the 1970s. A militant today would be a radical right-winger and I did not want to make one of them my protagonist.

That decision, to set it in the 1970s, was my Big Idea. I’ve been working on this book for several years; almost all my political and pop culture references would have become dated, along with the slang. In 1973, things are static. Joan will always have a shelf of Dark Shadows paperbacks on her bookshelf. Maria will always have grown up reading the Cherry Ames nursing Y/A novels. The politics are likewise stable; there’s a lot of politics in the book and if it were contemporary I’d have had to throw in another rewrite the past year or so.

I had my idea, I had my setting. My protagonist still needed work. Stay tuned.

All rights to images remain with current holders. Southern Discomfort by Samantha Collins, Born to Run by Larry Elmore.

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“The people who write that kind of stuff never fight”: masculine shaming rituals

The title comes from George Orwell’s scathing comment about British “jingoists” — warhawks — of the early 20th century: “The people who write that kind of stuff never fight; possibly they believe that to write it is a substitute for fighting. It is the same in all wars; the soldiers do the fighting, the journalists do the shouting, and no true patriot ever gets near a front-line trench, except on the briefest of propaganda-tours.” The same thing, I think, applies to masculinity: a great many people who aren’t tough, manly men will talk very, very loudly about manhood and toughness as if that were a substitute for being a man.

This is not a new thing. More than a decade ago, Rush Limbaugh was whining that the NFL doing better to shield football players from concussion was a sign America was becoming “chickified.” Easy for Limbaugh to say, as his high school football days were long behind him. Like Orwell’s “true patriot” he wasn’t getting anywhere near the front lines. Back in 2021, Sen. Ted Cruz whined that an Army recruiting ad focusing on a female corporal meant our military — in which he’d never served — was emasculated. How could a girl compare to the might of Putin’s testosterone-laden Russian warriors (the same ones now getting their asses kicked in the Ukraine)?

Or Donald Trump Jr. arguing that Joe Biden is such a wuss, he doesn’t scare our enemies the way Trump Sr. does. Sure, Junior’s never accomplished anything that didn’t depend on Daddy’s name, but his Daddy can beat up Hunter Biden’s daddy!

Or pundit Matt Walsh, who demonstrates masculinity by screeching bullshit online, declaring that women want to marry manly heroes like the first responders in 2017’s Hurricane Harvey — that’s manhood! Dude, if that was true, you wouldn’t be married, neither would I. Neither of us meet that standard of manliness, which isn’t a standard at all (plenty of women are first responders).

Now we’re seeing the same dynamic play out with Texas Senate candidate James Talarico, a liberal Christian Democrat. He appears to be decent and not all toxic-masculine, therefore his masculinity is invalid. Todd Starnes, a career pundit, sneers that Talarico wears “frilly underpants.” Ted Cruz (again) sneers that nobody would think of Talarico as masculine. Jesse Watters, Fox News’ smirking chimpanzee, claims Talarico is a low-testosterone loser who doesn’t eat enough meat or know enough about football to be a real man (he also claims California Gov. Gavin Newsom is too effeminate). GOP Rep. Brendan Gill hints Talarico’s not only gay but a pedophile.

As I’ve discussed earlier, part of this is the toxic-masculine insistence that there’s only one way to be a man. Because if there are alternatives, then that concept of manhood — it doesn’t matter if we’re toxic, we’re guys, we can’t help it! — becomes invalid. It’s one option among many. Which means meeting the benchmarks of stereotypical guyhood — chasing women, smoking cigars, watching sports or whatever — no longer prove you’re a man. And without proof of manhood … OMG, what if I’m not one?

On top of which, Cruz, Walsh and Starnes are engaging in the toxic-masculine equivalent of slut-shaming. In the book Slut! Leora Tanenbaum discusses how women slut-shame each other as proof of their own virtue: “Sure, I’ve blown a couple of guys but I’m not a slut like Janet! She’s a total tramp!” What the guys are doing is the same thing. Watters is obsessed with sneering at other guys’ masculinity — it’s effeminate to use a straw! It’s effeminate to eat ice-cream cones! By so doing, he (in theory) shores up his own masculine cred. Which I imagine he feels a need for, given his manliness consists of sitting on a Fox News set and sneering at other people’s behavior.

Don’t get me wrong, I have no problem with Watters or Cruz or Walsh not being tough, macho guys; I’m not either. Being a pundit rather than a first responder or a soldier on the front lines is a perfectly legitimate choice. And while it does make their macho strutting pathetic, even if they were tough guys, that wouldn’t excuse sneering at other men for not being butch enough; right-wing pundit Jesse Kelly served as a Marine in Iraq and that doesn’t make his bashing other men any better.

Celeste Davis has a related post here.

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Women in books, mostly fictional

Proceeding in order from weakest to best … THE MARVELOUS HAIRY GIRLS: The Gonzales Sisters and their Worlds by Merry Weisner-Hanks is nominally the story of the Gonzales family, Canary Islanders suffering from a genetic quirk that grew hair all over their bodies. In the late 1500s this led to Pedro Gonzales and later his kids getting swapped around the courts of Europe like baseball cards, passed from the court of one monarch to the next.

That would have made an interesting book but Weisner-Hanks is more interested in the cultural backdrop that would have shaped how monarchs and courtiers responded to them. Beliefs about hairy savages of the New World. The eternal enthusiasm for stories of fantastic monsters and unbelievable wonders. The complicated rules of court life. The uncertainty whether someone like them should be seen as intelligent beasts or human freaks. It’s interesting but the family’s life story fades away in the middle of it all, and ultimately that hurts the book.

THE LIES THAT SUMMON THE NIGHT: A Songs for the Sinless Novel by Tessonja Odette is a romantasy set in a world where artists are criminals, as making or performing art draws Dark Powers to feed on it. The protagonist is a performer forced into service to a demon-hunter whom she finds the Most Obnoxious, Most Irritating Man She’s Ever Met (we know where that’s going) — which unfortunately comes too close to the romantic set-up of Arcana Academy. That doesn’t make Odette’s novel bad, it’s simply that I don’t need two series with that trope (which people more versed in romantasy says is common). I was more frustrated that it’s obvious from the get-go that everything the protagonist believes will turn out to be a lie. I was also bugged (I realized this is an odd complaint) by how contemporary the cussing felt, with everyone dropping the f-bomb as if they lived in the 21st century. In any case, I gave up after 100 pages.

THE NIGHT RAVEN: Crow Investigations Book One by Sarah Painter (cover by Stuart Bache) is an urban fantasy variation on the old crime-drama plot where the hero wants to quit but They Keep Pulling Her Back In.

The hero in this case is Lydia Crow of the Crows, one of the four crime families who run the London underworld. The Pearls can sell anything to anyone, the Silvers are hypnotically persuasive and the Fox family are super-seductive (at least I think that’s it). Curiously the Crows have much stronger powers — or used to, as the magic of all four has dwindled over time. Lydia’s only ability is a spider-sense like flair for detecting magic.

Lydia’s career as a PI in Scotland has flatlined so she’s back in London briefly. But wouldn’t you know, her conniving Uncle Charlie has a little, completely harmless job for her, finding a missing college-student cousin. Sure, why not? Spoiler: there’s more going on than it seems, but you probably knew that.

I enjoyed that this is a relatively low-level magical world, compared to all the series that try to stand out by going over the top. The downside is that outside of Lydia’s ghostly roommate this would work just as well if it were a straight mystery story with no magic. It’s also anticlimactic in the ending reveals and resolution — seeding for future books I guess — and the detective on the case jumps into the sack with Lydia way too quickly. Enjoyable overall, but I don’t know if I’ll pick up Book Two.

THE GIRL WITH A THOUSAND FACES by Sunyi Dean was really good. It starts off like a standard urban fantasy as Merry, an amnesiac ghostbuster in 1975 Hong Kong, discovers the corrupt secret behind a recent boom in hauntings. All is not as it seems and midway through we go into a flashback, something which often ruins fantasies for me. Not this time. The twists are clever, the characters are good and the sense of Hong Kong is much more vivid than Highfire Crown‘s sense of Johannesburg.

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Two leftover images

From our recent trip to the natural history museum, this chameleon.

From my April trip to Charleston, this morning shot of the beach.

Photos bring back good memories.

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It’s a quirky indie film shot in Durham. I wish I liked it more.

The only reason I know the 2025 movie EVERYTHING & THE UNIVERSE (2025) exists is because our local newsmagazine, The Indy, wrote an article about it last month. It’s an indie film shot in Durham, NC but even the businesses that appear in the film didn’t know it’s now streaming.

Before you go any further, be warned, spoilers follow.

Naturally I caught it once I found the time. The Durham skyline is visible in several shots and I know at least one location, the Arcana Bar, though not well enough to recognize it. The film has the “quirky indie” vibe down (though unlike the Indy, I wouldn’t call it a rom-com). Despite being enthused to see it, Everything & the Universe didn’t work for me.

The plot: Henry (E.J. Bonilla) and Jane (Nicolette Pearse) meet as they get on a plane to Durham. When it makes an unplanned emergency landing, Jane can’t find transportation and accepts a ride with Henry. It turns out they’re both headed to a wedding — Sam (Chelsea Gilligan) is Henry’s ex, Jane’s BFF and also Jane’s secret love fantasy (Jane’s lesbian), but Sam’s marrying Brian (Luke Roberts). Henry thinks he and Jane have been brought together to derail the wedding and leave Sam up for grabs. Hilarity, character interactions, personal crises and the wedding ensue.

The movie started to go wrong in the opening scene, in which Henry is getting manic about bringing a carved log with him on his flight (it’s a memento of a sexy afternoon with Sam). He proceeds to disregard boundaries, pushing for Jane’s last name when she doesn’t want to tell him, talking to her when she’s on headphones, asking why she can’t smile more. It’s obviously a conscious choice by writer/director Sarah Scarlett Downing and it’s consistent with Henry’s personality throughout the movie — a pushy jerk who keeps heading for what he wants regardless of what anyone else wants or needs.

Possibly Downing thought this was realistic (it is); possibly she was trying to create, as the old phrase goes, a character you love to hate. Trouble is, I didn’t love to hate him, I just hate him. As I’ve said before, sexist jerks do not make good protagonists. When he offers her a ride — I get it, she’s desperate, but I can’t help thinking a guy like Henry would make her choose the bear. Instead they bond, becoming squabbling best friends.

The other problem is that the indie drama aspect — everyone getting together and interacting, like John Sayles’ Return of the Secaucus Seven, working out personal problems (or not) — fits oddly with the nominal plots of a)Jane wanting this to be a friends-to-lovers romance and b)Jane and Henry trying to break up the wedding. Brian turns out to be a jerk … or is that just jerky behavior as most of us engage in? Sam reciprocates Jane’s feelings after all … or does she? There’s an odd moment at the wedding where one of Brian’s male students declares his love for the professor; it comes so out of the blue, I assume it’s some trick by Henry. Then again maybe it wasn’t. Random moments work fine in a character study. Not so well in a rom-com plot.

In the end, the cast and crew execute the film well … but it still doesn’t work. “There is no use running from the moon — even when you can’t see her, she’s there.”

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One of those “God says ha!” weeks, but he didn’t laugh too loudly.

The title, for anyone who hasn’t heard the phrase refers to the line “if you want to make god laugh, tell him your plasn.” After the mess of our a.c. dying for two weeks, last week was a welcome lurch back toward normal. I’d hoped this week would be better still. Instead it turned way chaotic, though I still got some work done.

First off, I’m happy to report that feeding Plushie a fatty treat last Friday did not bring on a surge of pancreatitis or diarrhea. Phew! However pet drama did suck up a lot of time. There’s some utility work being done in our neighborhood so a crew went through last week and painted lines on lawns to indicate existing cables, pipes and conduits. Plushie rolled on the paint Monday, getting it all over his face. We had to give him an unplanned bath before he started licking it off, which consumed quite a bit of time.

Then because Trixie’s been licking and chewing on her paws, I took her in later that afternoon. They gave us some antibiotic wipes for her paws; they seem to be doing the trick.

Tuesday we’d planned to take Snowdrop in for his annual checkup. There was a miscommunication with our vet so that didn’t happen. However TYG worried Plushie had a new eye problem so I took him in to the vet. No eye problem as it turned out (other than the old ones). I’d tease her about it but she’s right often enough it’s wise to listen when she worries.

Wednesday I had my annual dermatology checkup (all good). Thursday I structured my schedule around lunch with a friend but they had to cancel. I think I’ve managed one lunch out with friends this year — either they’re busy or stressed or sick — and it’s disappointing. Today we had a plumber coming to fix an outside tap (under warranty so no fee), the gutter cleaners and Wisp has a sore spot so I was supposed to take her to the vet. She did not cooperate so we had to reschedule but only after a quarter-hour’s efforts.

All those things chop up the day into smaller chunks. Each time I finish one it takes added time to refocus. The non-writing time adds up. Plus I had another lousy week of sleep: Plush Dudley’s been fidgeting night after night, and since he likes to lie next to me (or sometimes climb on me) that doesn’t work out well.

That said, work did get done, mostly editing on the final section of Savage Adventures. And Southern Discomfort will definitely go live as an ebook next month as I’ve worked the last kinks out of the manuscript. I think I’ve fixed the cover for the paperback version; I’ve ordered a copy to be sure. Preorder links to follow.

Speaking of links, here’s my account of Carrboro’s storm season preparations. At Atomic Junk Shop I look at the Bronze Age and processed cheese.

And on a happy note, yesterday TYG and I celebrated our fifteenth anniversary. Astonishingly she’s not done with me yet. Which suits me fine. We had dinner at Sage, which remains our favorite Durham restaurant and traded gifts (honey and cookies for me, a medical book for her).

Send positive thoughts that next week will be more productive.

Cover art by James Bama, all rights to images remain with current holders.

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Filed under Doc Savage, Personal, Southern Discomfort, The Dog Ate My Homework, Time management and goals, Writing

The Toddler of the United States is bored

War is one of the most serious things a president (or any leader) can undertake. Ending a war is serious too.

The Toddler, however, has announced that he doesn’t care whether peace talks with Iran continue or not because they’re boring. Which is true, I’m sure they are. Negotiations and diplomacy aren’t flashy and dramatic They require thoughtful, detailed work and the Toddler is not into detail. I’m sure his vision of the war involved things going Boom Boom Boom and then big strong Iraqis coming to him with tears in their eyes, begging him for mercy as they completely surrender. Then everyone acclaiming him the bestest little baby president of all time. We’ve heard plenty of accounts of how his security and policy briefings have to be super-simple or he loses interest; I doubt his tiny brain can take in complex negotiations at all.

Much like W before him, this war was supposed to make him a great War President whom everyone loved and admired. Now that it’s turned into a millstone around his sinking popularity, he’s lost interest. It’s the same way he declared he wouldn’t upgrade the Kennedy Center once a judge took his name off it.

So he’s become obsessed with something he can control and which appeals to him: remaking Washington in his image. The ballroom. The UFC fighting arena (which he wants to make permanent). The reflecting pool. It reminds me of the insider stories of how the border wall became an issue: the Toddler couldn’t stay focused on immigration until they put it in terms of building a wall, something concrete he could talk about. He can focus on building monuments to compensate for his small … hands. Only poor Toddler, they’re still opposing him. As I’ve said before, it’s an interesting display of male privilege. If Clinton or Harris were this obsessed with a ballroom in time of war, the mockery for their girliness would define their presidency. Of course, with the Toddler, there are so many other things to mock.

The thing is, “Trump appears to have given up on governing — even governing aimed at consolidating his own power and legacy. He wants to punish everyone he imagines has wronged him but has lost all interest in making the government work, even for nefarious purposes.” Except finding new ways to impose his precious tariffs. I can’t say the removal of the Toddler as a political force is a bad thing. Then again, this country without a functioning president is not a good thing. “Everywhere one looks, the U.S. government is imploding under the weight of incompetence.” And possibly his dementia.

And he’ll still be using his power to persecute everyone who hurt his snowflake fee-fees, like E. Jean Carroll. The hardcore schemers among the right-wing are still at work advancing their agenda, which means nothing good. More roadblocks to anyone immigrating here who’s not a white South Afrikaaner. And more roadblocks. Pogroms against immigrants already here. New Homeland Security head Markwayne Mullin refusing to obey the law. SCOTUS’ racists embracing white supremacy. Agriculture Secretary Brooke Rollins bragging that kicking people off SNAP is the American dream.

As Krugman says, “they are continuing to support him, and they are continuing to do so not just in concrete ways, but verbally, which matters. They continue to cover for him” The DOJ, for instance, says the Toddler could legally tear down the Statue of Liberty. With the Toddler no longer an invincible political force, some of the Republicans are starting to back away, for example, killing his $1.776 slush fund (though I’ve read that Actin AG Todd Blanche refuses to officially revoke the fund). But turning on him now, while good, doesn’t change that they empowered him for years and many still do. We have Hegseth and Kennedy wreaking havoc in their departments because so many senators supported them, then expressed qualms when it was too late.

I’m still unsure how this all ends but the fight definitely goes on. Let’s do all we can to win.

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It’s a paperback cover Wednesday!

Cover by Jack Faragasso

This one’s by Richard Powers, natch.

An odd but eerie one by Ed Soyka

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