Star Wars: Rogue One. A riff, a razz, a review.

Narrated version here

Content Warning. I use the word Rape as hyperbole. I can’t really take it out, because I’m not re-recording this whole blog post. But you should be aware that I DO use that term.

I’m a survivor, but the word doesn’t hurt me. If it does you, be aware it’s there please.

So. I saw it. I hated it.

Hate is a strong word, right? Okay, fine. I LOATHED it.


I’m going to try not to post spoilers, in case anyone hasn’t seen it yet.

Given that it’s a box office best seller, AND rated 8.2 on IMDB, how in the world can I possibly dislike it? How can I dislike a movie that so many people are raving about and going to see two, three or four times in theater?

So, so many reasons. I bitched about it for hours (days) after. I wanted brain bleach and a toilet brush. It was freaking terrible. (In case you’re wondering, I went in with reasonable expectations. I’d seen the reviews of “I loved it” & “I really needed a movie like that now” as well as the “Well, the character development is a little lacking” and for what it’s worth, I really WANTED to love this movie. I mean, it’s STAR WARS, how do you fuck up star wars to this extent?? I mean, seriously?)

First 20 minutes-ish of the movie is dark, blurry and I sat there wondering if it was me? (so did my husband who has better than 20/20 vision, just so you don’t doubt my eyesight)  Or just a piss poor attempt at gritty cinematic filmography. I guess it must have been the latter.

We’re tossed into the middle of an action scene with minuscule lead up as to who these people are and why I should care. This is a poor pacing issue, you’ve seen other editors complain about books/movies starting in the wrong place? Yeah, Rogue One starts in the wrong place.

I think (without spoilers) that the persons who had the things happen to them were supposed to be poignant and sad, or maybe even heart wrenching, but I didn’t know them or care about them yet, so that fell flat. Big time. (Gods, riffing a movie is so hard without posting spoilers, just so you know!)

We slide over a decade into the future, and again, bad things happen to people I’m maybe supposed to care about? But it’s a poorly plotted point. Daring escape that is glossed over and we shift characters, again. (poor pacing, if this were a book I were editing, I’d be pointing that out to the author). Here we’re with the MC, and something bad has happened to her. Okay… maybe the movie is finally starting? (This is about 25 minutes in by the way, and we’ve bounced, roughly between characters and settings and time periods quite a bit. I’m not grabbed by the throat by any of this, I don’t know who the people are, where they are, what they’re supposedly fighting against or anything.)

THEN: In the middle of an action scene, the visuals finally clarify and everything becomes crystal clear.

Character development sucked ass. I mean, seriously? Who wrote this? The actors did an excellent job–with what they had–which honestly, wasn’t much. Even Forest Whitaker couldn’t do SHITE with that role. He tried, he really did. The acting (for all of the actors) came over as boring, flat and trite.

The bloody robot was the best character in the entire film, even with Diego Luna and his delicious accent. There just wasn’t enough ‘character’ for the actors to portray. Ugh.

Lol, I’d loooove to rape this entire film for its flaws, but… SPOILERS.

Action scenes make no sense, at all. Not even close. Throughout the whole film, I have massive edits on the action scenes. We get to the point at the end of the film where I’m wondering whether the ‘military’ alliance has any military intelligence whatsoever, or if the writers were suddenly replaced by inept marshmallow soft sci-fi writers who don’t even follow their own bloody canon. (I’m trying so hard to be polite. This movie is shit.) Look, it IS Star Wars. Sort of. No… the movie is star wars (waves hands in flapping motions) shaped. The insides are filled with rotten egg smell and if you’re a die-hard fan of the films, grew up on 4,5,6 (like me) it may leave you feeling extremely dirty for having witnessed its “glory”.

Gah… even thinking about it induces memories reminiscent of early morning hangovers in which projectile vomiting and oh-my-gods-what-did-I-eat diarrhea featured. Something oh, so, memorable and which you desperately wish you could forget. (oh, please, gods, let me forget!) Just spending this much time recalling the disbelief of how they could fuck up a by the numbers storyline so badly is making me ill. (I haven’t been this pissed off since I watched Transporter 3 or the Pirates of the Carribean (On Stranger Tides). In movies like these, there is a formula, tropes and a series of events that make it possible for a watcher to suspend their disbelief long enough to lose themselves in the entertainment of the world set in front of them, for a little while. You can play with and twist the tropes, sure, you can juggle the series of events, but there’s a formula, that people come to expect. You can’t dump it all out on the floor and crush it under bad writing boots and expect the movie to be a success just because it’s Star Wars! I couldn’t suspend my disbelief long enough because of the flaws in this movie (by Star Wars Canon even!) to enjoy it.

Plot… sigh. Apparently whoever wrote this tripe hadn’t ever studied the vagaries of human nature, or bothered with the basic associations of the laws of nature or physics. By the end of the film there were so many miraculous hijinks that we’re left wondering how the characters could survive, much less survive to enact battle against the empire. I have a list in my head, but… spoilers.

And no one, has ever, missed a pot-shot moaning about how their companion has died in the midst of combat. In the middle of a fire-fight is not the time to fall to their knees and bemoan the fate of their deceased companion. I mean, has no one heard of snipers?

They’re a thing.

Most enemy soldiers wait for a moment, a bare second, for anyone to stand still long enough to take a kill shot. Yet we have monologs and no one is getting hit with all the stray bullets/laser beams? Really? Pffft.

Look. I’m not against the whole emotional UMPH… I’m actually really good at writing that, but, after all the freaking WW2 movies we’ve seen, have writers learned nothing about emotional gut-punching and basic assassin techniques? After seeing so many movies featuring wars, (or, ya’know, reading good books) we KNOW, deep down, that the person who hesitates, or who doesn’t take cover. Dies.

Gah. My tongue feels fuzzy at even THINKING about this movie.

Canon. Can we talk about canon?

It takes time (a lot of time) to build or repair a fleet. (Spoilers!)

This movie is like… what, Star Wars three point five? Ish?

So yeah, the end makes sense because there isn’t any other way for the characters, but really? It needed to be written in a more realistic way. The event that ends the movie, the characters escaped at the beginning of the very same movie, but they just sit down for it? Um. What?

Romance… Um. This movie is so going to be lauded as one of the ‘greatest romances of EVAR!’ Sort of like Romeo and Juliet.


Whoever wrote that? Needs to read about and understand romantic beats.

Or, maybe just read romance in general.


Then we get the whole… wait, that’s not physically possible with the ‘injury’ aspect to the movie. If you’d been injured like that, you’d be dead, dying or at the very least, immobile, not doing what that character just did. (this happened to multiple characters over the pace of the final battle).

We have disappearing, reappearing, disappearing and reappearing again extras.

We have a kinder egg with unlimited multiplying enemies on a base where there weren’t supposed to be that many, and which they even state in the movie were 70 or so after recon… until the battle, in which there are hundreds? Um. What??

Oh, and isn’t this like, futuristic? Given the space ships and lasers and… I thought it was set in the future, no? Yes?

So, why do we have massive communication dishes (like old satellite dishes?) on the top of towers? That’s not a spoiler cause the image is out there already.

Space doesn’t work like that. There isn’t any gravity or friction, so that thing that happened in the space battle? It wouldn’t work. Like, at all.

I get it, star wars is soft sci-fi and I don’t have a problem with soft sci-fi. I LIKE soft sci-fi (or I wouldn’t like star wars) but there’s ‘soft’ and omfg, that-would-never-work-even-based-in-the-story-universes-own-canon concept of quicksand soft.

I wonder, how many engineers are looking at this movie and wondering WTF??

I’ve had several people ask me why I didn’t like Rogue One. I needed far more than 140 characters on twitter to riff the movie as badly as it deserves (and I can’t do that ’cause spoilers).

What, my panties are in a wad? You betcha, I wanted to love this film as much as I loved the rest of the Star Wars films. 1,2,3 weren’t my favorites at all, but even they were better than this tripe.

None of it makes a lick of sense, by physics, laws of human nature, plot/character arc/storytelling/filmography and they completely ignored their own bloody canon.

So, that’s why I didn’t like Rogue One. Just cause it’s Star Wars doesn’t make it a good movie. (I so wish it did.)

(One suicide mission is not enough to unbind panties and suddenly make them drenchingly wet) gah, now I am going to go watch a good movie and hope the taste of R1 fades fast and I never think of it again.

UPDATE December 30, 2017.

I did it, I watched it again yesterday. I still hate it.

I did catch a few good one liners that I didn’t actually filter out of all the bad the first time I watched it. So there’s that.

The robot is still the best damned character in the movie.

I think the thing that pisses me off the most with R1 is that it COULD HAVE BEEN so good. They had the bones, the formula and everything. They just fucked it up so badly that it’s beyond redemption.

Bullying vs Standing Up

Narrated version here:

There’ve been a few of these diversity bingo cards making the rounds on twitter and facebook lately. A few threads have brought up the concept of bullying in regards to marginalized authors.

This is going to be unpopular. I don’t care. I’ve been a victim of bullying my whole damned life, I know exactly what is looks, smells and sounds like. Here’s the unpopular part, especially ’cause I pass as straight, abled, white and I’m cis. (I’m not any of those things except for cis-passing… that one is a bit fuzzy ’cause I do ID as non-binary/genderqueer.)

Some of the most outspoken voices who are PoC, Trans, Gay, Bi, Pan, non-Christian, Mentally ill, Disabled, et cetera are ALSO bullies. Some of the most outspoken allies of PoC, Trans, Gay, Bi, Pan, non-Christian, Disabled, Mentally ill, et cetera are also bullies. This is within writer twitter, for the most part, but I’ve seen it on other social media platforms as well. Simply because someone is PoC, Trans, Gay, Bi, Pan, non-Christian, Mentally ill, Disabled, et cetera doesn’t give them a free pass on bullying behavior. If we’re all striving for equality, then it applies here too.

Here you go… wiki definition of bullying:

In case you don’t feel like reading a long definition on what is definitely a difficult topic, bullying is, in essence, use of force, threat, words or coercion to abuse, intimidate, or aggressively dominate others. The behavior is often repeated and habitual. The Rationalizations for such behavior sometimes include differences of social class, race, religion, gender, sexual orientation, appearance, behavior, body language, personality, reputation, lineage, strength, size or ability.[2][3] If bullying is done by a group, it is called mobbing.[4] 

It’s possible to be both an outspoken activist, social justice warrior AND a bully.

It’s also possible to speak out about your pain, your opinion, your experiences and to stand up for something that is right (like equality and the right to speak one’s pain, the right for accurate and thoughtful representation) without being a bully.

I’m going to break it down.

Bullying IS:





It is also:

Leaving someone out on purpose

Telling other people not to be friends with, follow, or do business with someone

Embarrassing someone in public

Making fun of someone

Threatening to cause harm, physical, emotional or to another person’s livelihood.

I’m not going to get into the physical representations of bullying, because I’m speaking about online bullying. Cyberbullying. (FWIW, not every twitterdrag or call out is a case of cyberbullying. It just isn’t, which is why it’s important that we understand the definition and which actions are/are not bullying.)

Bullying is NOT

Disagreeing with a person’s opinion or words.

Disagreeing with a person’s faith (really, it isn’t)

Speaking out about your own experienced pain, marginalization et cetera without attacking another person.

Speaking out from an educated standpoint on a book with bad representation.

Speaking out to say something along the lines of ‘XXX person/author did XXX, it hurt me. (I may not agree with doing this publicly, but it is not bullying)

You know, I’m extremely passionate about diversity. I’m marginalized in so many ways myself and I get it, when we’re in pain, it’s easier to lash out than to stop and sit with our pain long enough that we can act/react rationally.

I see many social justice advocates who manage it. Marginalized voices who succeed in their self-driven choice to provide educational threads, blogs or posts about their own experiences of being marginalized, of being PoC, of being one or more of the QUILTBAG/LGBTTQQIAA2sP acronym, of being mentally ill, of being ____, who manage to do it without bullying.

I also see the people who do bully in the name of a good cause.

Now… here’s the thing with that kind of behavior, it makes people not listen to you.

Even people interested in working for social justice. Even people who want to learn so they can do better.

I’ve followed people I hoped to learn from, because I am only passing PoC, I’m not Trans, I’m not Christian, I’m not a lot of things, and the only way I’m going to learn is to google, to listen with an open mind and heart to those willing to do the work to put their voices and their experiences out there. I don’t live the experience of having a darker skin in this world, I don’t live the experience of feeling like I’m born in the wrong body, I don’t understand wanting to be part of the Christian faith, I don’t understand or know a lot of things I need/want to know about. So I read and listen and follow because I want to know and learn from those willing to speak out on what those experiences are like, so I don’t hurt anyone like I’ve been hurt in other ways.

I’ve also unfollowed the ever living fuck out of people and put them on a ‘do not ever associate with them’ list when I witness them repeatedly bullying others. (No, I won’t name names because that would be bullying.)

I do that for my own mental health because, like I’ve said a million times already, I’ve been bullied and I won’t allow that to happen to me again. Even witnessing it hurts.

I just have to wonder how many other people (I know of a few, personally) who’ve had to do the same thing? Unfollow people who bully in the name of a cause?

I wonder how people I’ve seen who have been the victims of these bullies (even if it IS for a good cause, it is still bullying and still damaging) are coping with being cyberbullied? I wonder at the sheer amount of pain it takes to believe, deep down, that you are not guilty of bullying others?

The thing I’d ask, if you’ve gotten this far in my attempt at education is this, are you bullying in the name of a good cause? If you are, think about that?

You can read more about the topic simply by looking up the difference in the definitions of bullying vs conflict. One of them is healthy, one of them isn’t.

Growth is painful. It really is, if you read this and realize you’ve been the bully. You can choose not to do that again. Just like I can choose not to harm with my words/actions because I was raised a certain way.

You can still get your message across, honestly and more effectively, without bullying.

There are people who want to hear the message. I promise. You don’t have to be guilty of harming others because you’ve experienced harm.


Holidays are hard for me. Especially Christmas. They are for a lot of survivors.

I go through the motions of the holidays for my kids, because it’s expected, and the joy on their little faces makes the work and the pain worth it. (I do enjoy some things about it, but, by and large, I’d skip it, just get a bunch of new books or movies, grown up snacks and hunker down ’til it passed, or I’d write my way through it.)

I guess a little background is in order.

Back when I was a kid, I lived in a very ‘Brady bunch on the surface’ type of family with my mom, dad, (brother lived elsewhere), and little sister. We seemed like the perfect family. We went to church every Sunday and some Wednesday evenings, we took part in the community (as much as they let us, long story, we’re mixed race, wrong side of the tracks… ‘nother time). Dinner was ready on time, every night, we sat around the table together… you know, the illusion of normalcy.

Both my parents came from abusive backgrounds, and as an adult, I can see they were probably doing the best they could with what they had, maybe better. They tried, I think. For a while.

Unfortunately… mom’s way of trying involved drinking when no one was looking, smoking like a chimney, and maxing the credit cards to give mounds of presents to us kids (when I say mounds, I mean, you literally couldn’t see the tree because of all the gifts) to give us a ‘happy Christmas morning’.

The gifts we didn’t immediately play with were returned because we didn’t like them enough and well… she’d maxed the cards to get them, (we weren’t even close to middle class) so if we didn’t like them, no need to keep them.

She used to wake us up at 4am just to prove that Santa had come and given us such munificence. I don’t remember enjoying most xmas mornings because I was so sleepy, and later–when I knew what the scent was–the reek of alcohol on her breath. At 4am. (I have no issue with adults drinking responsibly, binge drinking as frequently as my mom did isn’t responsible.)

We’d have a few hours to play with our gifts while mom went to bed, then she’d be up and stuffing us into itchy clothes and dragging us to church (which, to be completely honest I hated every second of, always. Too many lies for my autistic brain and no one to help me understand why the lies existed.)

Then dragging us home, drinking while she made dinner (socially acceptable to drink on the holidays ya’know) and stuffing us into handmade (mom was a seamstress) period reproduction gowns to greet the extended family for Christmas Dinner.

Something she cursed through making every year and sobbed into her wine after everyone had left. Most of my extended family wouldn’t know the meaning of kindness if it smacked them over the head, especially the women. The guys are a bit better, but they’re all from abusive homes, and that old maxim of ‘abuse begets abuse’ was accurate at the time. (I’ve been through years of therapy to deal, learn, et cetera, and I’m hopefully not a terrible parent.) It was always catty comments and tear downs aimed at my mom. (Woman wasn’t perfect, but she was still trying, then.)

Something people rarely understand about autistic people is that we (most of us) SEE everything. We HEAR everything. Even if it doesn’t seem like we’ve heard or seen, trust me, we have. Most of us have memories like a steel vault, too (I can remember the color of every one of those gowns, and how they itched, I remember the arguments… )

So I saw it all. I heard it all and gods I wish I didn’t remember it. Some things no child should ever have to see or hear.

Dad would go off to his current affair after dinner while mom got us to bed, then she’d sit with her music and her wine and cry.

Or they’d argue.

My sister is too young to remember, how they argued and fought, and to this day she blames my mom for their divorce. I don’t, nor did my brother when he still lived, they were better apart than together, by far. If they were together on any holiday, they’d argue.

Next morning, we’d be shuffled together for Christmas dinner at my mom’s family, as guests, and I’d have to sit on my creepy FAR too touchy-feely step grandfather’s lap while he passed out gifts until I was old enough that he picked one of my younger girl-cousins…

Step grandfather was a five-star chef when he wasn’t drinking, could still cook well even sloshed, so at least the food was good.

Then it was all over but the fallout.

Every year it got worse.

You know… I forgave my parents a long time ago for doing the best they could with what they had. They did better than their parents did by them. Part of therapy is often forgiveness. Though that forgiveness is for YOU and YOU alone. You don’t owe anyone a place in your life. Not even blood.

Yet… the things I just can’t get over are the crap my mother still does to this day. Look, I’m well aware that as an abused child, you tend to be emotionally stunted in some ways, slower to learn/grow/feel. Mom was abused, no doubt about it, but she’s also been an adult for decades (I mean, I’m 40, she was in her 20’s when I was born.) Yet, to this day, it’s All About Her. (Updated Dec 9, 2017. I no longer have contact with my mother. I can’t, she went too far the last time.)

I try to think of anything that hasn’t been about her, for my entire life, and I honestly can’t come up with a blessed thing. I couldn’t be in my Aunt’s wedding and wear a princess dress (gods, I wanted that so badly) because mom was mad at her sister. Mom didn’t come to my University graduation because she was fighting with her Mother (my grandmother and an Aunt I didn’t know well came, my dad came… I was the first person in my family to go to University, much less graduate.) There hasn’t been a single thing in my life that’s been ‘about me’ that she’s had anything to do with.

Maybe when I was a baby and she took care of me? I mean, I’m here, so she didn’t drown me in the bath or leave me anywhere but a bar, and that was just one time. I was 7 the first time I took my sister out of the room to get away from an argument.

Maybe younger than 7, I don’t know for certain.

This whole shit-storm about the election, and more importantly the fallout with my mother has made it crystal clear that she doesn’t care about ‘me’ (not the idea of me, which she looooooves, but, you know… the real me… The non-binary, kinky, pansexual, polyamorous, pagan, open-minded me). (My dad is another story, but I don’t have a lot of bad memories of him, mostly cause he wasn’t around much ’til after the divorce. I don’t have a lot to do with him either, for which I’m grateful, but we do still speak.)

She messaged me this morning because I’ve been too busy (and disinterested TBH) to send her my new address.

She wasn’t polite, she was vituperative, and ended the conversation with ‘Fine, I’ll send my grandchildren their Christmas cards.

I just wonder, does she think a piece of printed paper is going to change the fact that they’ve rarely seen her face because she doesn’t bother to come see them? I’d let her. I want nothing to do with her for myself, but if my kids want to know her and she behaves, fine.

In her mind, did the plethora of gifts (many returned) make up for the fact that ‘happy families’ will always be a myth to me except in my little family (and that my husband and I work hard to maintain for ourselves and our children?)

Does her self-justification (she still hasn’t asked, never will, why I was so hurt by the results of the election) make it right that the perception of reality was (still is) so much more important than the reality of our lives?

The older I get, the more I just don’t understand how that woman thinks.

I dread this time of year, every year. It’s hard, physically, having fibromyalgia and the sheer amount of work that goes into playing Santa each year (kids are still young enough to believe) is nuts. The emotional burden of it though is what hurts the most.

I dread the advent of Christmas music starting as early as November first, I don’t even hate Christmas music, there are some songs I genuinely enjoy, but it’s the reminder.

This year, there were Christmas decorations next to the Canada Day (July 1st) decorations.

I get it, it’s the most wonderful time of the year for most people.

For people like me, though (and there are so many survivors of abuse/war) it’s a hard time of year to get through.

Which is okay. It really is.

We can get through as best we can, do what we can manage to do, and it’s really, truly, okay. IT’S ENOUGH.

If we have to avoid stores to avoid seeing the decorations, and not listen to the radio because we feel like we’re going to gag on the xmas carols. That’s okay.

If we can’t bear to go to a holiday dinner, or if we have to duck out early, or hell, if you have to cope by having a glass of wine or three (as long as you aren’t driving) do it.

If you want to eat special chocolate or smoke a little (and it’s legal) do that too.

If you need to curl up in a ball, bury yourself in a book or write your way through the holidays, that’s okay too.

It really is.

Cause you know what?



So did I, and for that, we’re big damned heroes.

Grab what sharp, bright moments of happiness you can out of this season, cling to them and share them if you can. Even if the only bright moment of happiness you can see is that it’s almost over.

I’d hug every one of you if I could, but know that I hold a spot in my heart for every survivor out there.

We got this.

…and if you’re still going through it. Hang on, survive, reach out for help if you can. There’s a lot of life beyond abuse, much of it heart-wrenchingly gorgeous, and so worth it.


One those days

The good ones.

I know, right? Lately, I’ve been a bit doom and gloom here, but, I go through phases. Today I accepted a job offer as an Editor at Thurston Howl Pub which had me giggling and happy for hours. (Still am, and I have a project to edit, too.) AND I got some extremely needed feedback on the book I’ve been querying and not getting anywhere with.

You know… the kind of feedback that lights your soul up like a 100 watt and helps you figure out exactly what you’ve been doing wrong?

Yeah, that kind of feedback.

I FINALLY know what I’ve been doing wrong with that book, and my gods… I needed to know that so very badly. I can edit the living daylights out of someone else’s writing, and they usually thank me for being kind while I do it. For my own work? I’m at sea. Even great writers need editors, and I finally got the feedback I needed.

So. Once I get done drafting Ace Assassin, I’ll return to Ilavani and fix it. Then start another round of querying. If no one wants it then I’ll indie it and you all can judge what I’ve been talking about for yourselves.

Regardless of what happens, I hope to gods you’ll love it as much as I do. That book, the characters and the world it’s in are my heart child. I love all of my characters and worlds, but Ilavani is that one that I just couldn’t shelve forever. (I have books on the shelf of oh gods I’m never going to look at them again they’re so bad, trust me) I didn’t want Ilavani to stay there.

Now, maybe it won’t have to.


I feel like I should blog, but I don’t really have anything to say, so newsletter-y type stuff until I manage to figure out HOW to do a real news letter. (It’s on the list to do for next year.)

We’re moved, finally, into our new house. It’s tiny, far too small for the four of us, but my daughter isn’t getting bullied anymore and she loves her new school. So that’s a win.

Especially since that was part of why we moved.

We’re no where near settled yet, because of my fibromyalgia, it’s taken me a good two weeks to almost regain ‘standard functionality’ levels. I need to move one more time in my life, and that’s it. I don’t mind traveling, but moving? It’s so hard on me physically, even harder emotionally/mentally due to my asperger’s. So, somehow have to get to a point in my life where we can afford a mortgage again, buy a house I can live in the rest of my life… ideally one without too many stairs.

Stairs are the very devil for me due to the fibro.

So is the hill I have to walk up twice a day to get the kids to/from school. It feels like I’m climbing Everest when I’m trudging up it, especially when I have to slog through a lot of snow, like this morning.

It’s exercise though, so in that sense it’s good. (Even if I do loathe and detest the snow.)

I’m up to 30k words in my WIP Ace Assassin, and it’s slow going. Moving threw my writing for a loop as well as my body/mind. But I’m slowly reasserting my routines.

I failed nano- spectacularly. I had about 23k by the time Nov 30 occurred. Between the move, the election and my issues with my blood family… I just couldn’t do it.  The book will still get finished, but it’s taking longer than I’d hoped. I’m usually a 2k a day kind of girl, but I’ve been lucky to get 500-1000 words per day lately.

I have other irons in the fire (aside from being mom, wife and home maker as well). My editing business is picking up with new clients, my project for January is looking like it will happen, and I’ve submitted some short stories for anthology calls. I’d hoped to have a Yule themed erotic piece for the holidays, but it’s only half written. I blame November.

My weekly Twitter chat has been slow to pick up, probably because the topic is one of those things people don’t like to talk about frequently in public. I do know by the number of people who’ve thanked me privately that there are far more who are reading the questions and answers than are taking part in the discussions. So at least the information is out there.

With that, I’m going to go get back to work.

Oh! Head over to the Auction page to bid on things to help Standing Rock.