Hate mail. The internet just wouldn’t be the same without it.
This is not a new letter. I received it about a year ago and originally posted it on my last blog, which disappeared into the ether a few months back. I stumbled over it this morning and so here it is, for the viewing pleasure (or protest) of anyone who didn’t get to see it the first time around. Here is the book that spawned it:
And here is the letter I received:
‘You wrote a book titled “The Suffragettes.” I’ve studied the actual women who campaigned for suffrage. They were imprisoned, tortured, and some killed in their efforts. Nevertheless, they were demeaned by the people around them. They fought their way uphill. They knew more about the law than the majority of their critics and they invested great time and thought into articulating moral arguments with great intellectual rigor. Many of them did all the work required for advanced degrees but were denied the dignity of graduating solely because of their sex.
Today the full scope of their bravery and sheer human brilliance is not recognized as it should be. And you have to come along and write a story about how suffragettes were overly “emotional” and that’s why they did what they did. And how they just needed a man to nonconsensually strike them until they were broken down into sniveling wrecks for his pleasure and male domination reigned supreme. You use their names to write the worst slander against everything they believed in: the dignity of women’s souls, their inalienable rights over their bodies, their rights to some fundamental *respect.*
These women gave up the best of themselves to *fight a long, hard war* for your rights and in return for that you violate and smut their names? You turn them into playthings and twisted parodies of themselves? You spit on them like their enemies spat on them back then? And sell your birthright, given to you by our foremothers for a mess of pottage in the form of book sales.
Everything worth having that we have is because of them. And they’re just playthings to you.
Shame on you.’
Now, normally I don’t feed the trolls. However, after much consideration, I thought a response to this would be appropriate. The writer shared her two-cents with me, it’s only fair I reciprocate.
Obviously, you have great difficulty separating fantasy fiction from reality. It’s also just as obvious that you never read my book. If you think for one second emotion was not involved at any point for any of the women who threw themselves heart, body and soul into the suffragette movement, then you haven’t studied it as thoroughly as you think you have.
I would also like to point out that I didn’t write about the Movement, I wrote about two people falling in love. Shame on me? Honey, I’ve never been ashamed of anything I’ve written ever in my life. Nor am I ashamed of my sexuality. I am a strong, independent and fully capable woman. I am headstrong, I am free-willed, and I love being spanked. ‘The Suffragettes’ is the kind of historical romance I like to read, with a man who loves and cherishes his woman enough to turn her across his knee when she needs it, even if she doesn’t want it. Consensual spankings have their place in the real world, just like non-consensual spankings have their place in fantasy. And since my book is clearly advertised as a spanking novel and since you so obviously aren’t into this beautiful kink yourself, I can only surmise that you picked up my book for the sole purpose of flinging your vile, venomous tripe in my direction.
Shame on me? Shame on you, because I’ll be damned if my foremothers walked those streets, burned those corsets and bras, campaigned despite all the violence and threats and imprisonment so a man-hating bigot like you could tell me what I can and can’t write. I love people, I love spanking, and I really love people who spank. I am woman, hear me roar, and if you’re lucky enough to get me back into the bedroom, then you’d better spank my ass because I’ve been a bad, bad girl!
You have a nice day now.