Eyes of a Devil

At the start of my employment, my boss showed me videos of people stealing, and we both had a chuckle about it. How silly they were! There was a camera overhead, and it’s not to watch the shoppers. See, we can’t actually stop shoplifters. They get away with it maybe nine out of ten times. But we, who are watched and tallied and witnessed? We are always caught.

At first it was hard to hold one hundred dollars bills. An amount I had never seen before. An amount that didn’t exist in my household. It’s normal now. Here is something that is not for me.

“What the hell, I’ll take another,” says the man, pondering our 200 dollar watches. What the hell. Total comes to 580 and not even a flinch in his face. I have been working for 11 hours today and made only 110 dollars. It will go to my rent. Today I work for free, it feels. When I get my check, I will have 35 dollars left for food and saving.

The six hundreds he hands me go into the cash register. For a moment, I imagine having money. Then I put it away, counting out his change.

I know for a fact we sell our products for double what they are worth. That I could be making commission. That they could hand me those 580 dollars and change my life and not even mark the difference in their checkbooks. He’s not the only sale they make today, but I am the reason they made it. He’s not the only one spending 600 dollars, but if I hadn’t spent two hours with him telling me about his life, he wouldn’t have spent any. I go home. I don’t own a watch.

I have watched and rewatched a video on how to make salmon four ways. My shopping list is always the same. Pasta. Rice. Tuna. If I can afford butter it was a good week. I dream of the world I will never walk in, where I can throw the best fish fillet in the cart with a shrug. I hold hundreds in my hand and look up at the camera. I put them under the cash drawer.

I go to work. I scrap together my savings. I eat my bowl of rice slowly. My manager takes a paid week off from work just for his birthday. He owns a yacht. 

i was part of their college program. i moved to the state for it. they legally owned the building i was living in and still charged me rent. i ostensibly was being charged to work for them. it was a 2 bedroom apartment and they placed 6 adult women in it in forced triples.

as many as one in ten disney employees have experienced homelessness while working for the company. despite huge efforts to unionize, strike, or otherwise demand fair treatment; disney has refused to increase employee quality of life.

disney admits publicly that a good portion of their success is because the employees (“cast members”) are dedicated, passionate, and selfless. this is never reflected in pay. even “face” characters (ie those that are princesses etc) make barely above a minimum wage.

at the time that i worked there, i made $8.50 an hour. at one point i was asked to create a human shield around a bag because a bomb dog had alerted to it. for eight fucking dollars an hour.

i now work a very cushy office job. i have bought the salmon and cooked it all four ways.

i go to the store. i am nice to the person behind the counter. she looks up at the camera while she counts out my change. there is nothing fundamentally different about her and i.

The other day I was part of a Twitter conversation begun by a fellow-author on the subject of sensitivity readers, in which he said that no serious author would use sensitivity readers, and spoke of work being “sanitized”. The conversation devolved, as it often does on Twitter, but it got me thinking. It must have got someone else thinking too, because a journalist from the Sunday Times got in touch with me the next day, and asked me to share my ideas on the subject. Because I have no control over how my words are used in the Press, or in what context they might appear, here’s more or less what I told her.

I think a lot of people (some of them authors, most of them not) misunderstand the role of a sensitivity reader. That’s probably mostly because they’ve never used one, and are misled by the word “sensitivity”, which, in a world of toxic masculinity, is often mistaken for weakness. To these people, hiring someone to check one’s work for sensitivity purposes implies a surrendering of control, a shift in the balance of power. 

In some ways, I can empathize. Most authors feel a tremendous sense of attachment to their work. Giving it to someone else for comment is often stressful. And yet we do: we hand over our manuscripts to specialists in grammar, spelling or plot construction. We allow them to comment. We take their advice. We call these people editors and copy-editors, and they are a good and necessary part of the process of being an author. Their job is to make an author’s work as accurate and well-polished as possible.

When writing non-fiction, authors sometimes use fact-checkers at the editorial stage, to make sure that no embarrassing factual mistakes make it into print. This fact-checking is a normal part of the writing process. We owe it to our readers to be as accurate as possible. No-one wants to look as if they don’t know what they’re talking about.

That’s why now, increasingly, when writing about the lives and experiences of others, we sometimes use readers with different specialities. That’s because, however great our imagination, however well-travelled we may be and however many books we have read, there will always be gaps in our knowledge of the way other people live, or feel, or experience the world. Without the input of those with first-hand knowledge, there’s always a danger we will slip up. That’s why crime writers often consult detectives when researching their detective fiction, or someone writing a hospital drama might find it useful to talk to a surgeon, or a nurse, or to someone with the medical condition they are planning to use in their narrative. That’s why someone writing about divorce, or disability, or being adopted, or being trans, or being homeless, or being a sex worker, or being of a different ethnicity, or of a different culture – might find it useful to take the advice of someone with more experience.

There are a number of ways to do this. One of my favourites is The Human Library, which allows subscribers to talk to all kinds of people and ask them questions about their lives  (Check them out at https://humanlibrary.org/). The other possibility is to hire a specialist sensitivity reader to go through your manuscript and check it. Both can be a valuable resource, and I doubt many authors would believe that their writing is sanitized, or diluted, or diminished by using these resources.

And yet, the concept of the sensitivity readers – which is basically another version of the specialist editor and fact-checker – continues to cause outrage and panic among those who see their use as political correctness gone mad, or unacceptable wokery, or bowdlerization, or censorship. The Press hasn’t helped. Outrage sells copies, and therefore it isn’t in the interest of the national media to point out the truth behind the ire.

Let’s look at the facts.

First, it isn’t obligatory to use a sensitivity reader. It’s a choice. I’ve used several, both officially and unofficially, for many different reasons, just as I’ve always tried to speak to people with experience when writing characters with disabilities, or from different cultures or ethnic groups. I know that my publisher already sends my work to readers of different ages and from different backgrounds, and I always run my writing past my son, who often has insights that I lack.  

Sensitivity reading is a specialist editorial service. It isn’t a political group, or the woke brigade, or an attempt to overthrow the status quo. It’s simply a writing resource; a means of reaching the widest possible audience by avoiding inaccuracy, clumsiness, or the kind of stereotyping that can alienate or pull the reader out of the story.

Sensitivity readers don’t go around crossing out sections of an author’s work and writing RACIST!!! in the margin. Usually, it’s more on the lines of pointing out details the author might have missed, or failed to consider: avoiding misinformation; suggesting authentic details that only a representative of a particular group would know.

Authors can always refuse advice. That’s their prerogative. If they do, however, and once their book is published, they receive criticism or ridicule because their book was insufficiently researched, or inauthentic, or was perceived as perpetuating harmful or outdated stereotypes, then they need to face and deal with the consequences. With power comes responsibility. We can’t assume one, and ignore the other,

Being more aware of the experiences of others doesn’t mean we have to stop writing problematic characters. Sensitivity reading isn’t about policing bad behaviour in books. It’s perfectly possible to write a thoroughly unpleasant character without suggesting that you’re condoning their behaviour. Sensitivity is about being more authentic, not less.

People noticed bigotry and racism in the past, too. Some people feel that books published a hundred years ago are somehow more pure, or more free, or more representative of the author’s vision than books published now. You often hear people say things like: “If Dickens were around today, he wouldn’t get published.”

But Dickens is still published. We still get to read Oliver Twist, in spite of its anti-Semitism. And those who believe that Dickens’ anti-Semitism was accepted as normal by his contemporaries probably don’t know that not only was he criticized by his peers for his depiction of Fagin, he actually went back and changed the text, removing over 200 references, after receiving criticism by a Jewish reader. And no, it wasn’t “normal” to be anti-Semitic in those days: Wilkie Collins, whose work was as popular as Dickens’ own, managed to write a range of Jewish characters without relying on harmful and inaccurate stereotypes. 

But it isn’t automatic that a book will survive its author. Books all have shelf lives, just as we do, and Dickens’ work has survived in spite of his anti-Semitism, not because of it. The work of many others has not. Books are for readers, and if an author loses touch with their readers - either by clinging to outdated tropes, or using outdated vocabulary, or having an outdated style – then their books will cease to be published, and they will be forgotten. It happens all the time. What one generation loves and admires may be rejected by the next. And the language is always changing. Nowadays, it’s hard to read some books that were popular 100 years ago. Styles have changed, sometimes too much for the reader to tolerate.

Recently, someone on tumblr asked about my use of the word “gypsy” in Chocolat, and whether I meant to have it changed in later editions. (River-gypsies is the term I use in connection with Roux and the river people, who are portrayed in a positive light, although they are often victims of prejudice.) It was an interesting question, and I gave it a lot of thought. When I wrote the book 25 years ago, the word “gypsy” was widely used by the travelling community, and as far as I knew, wasn’t considered offensive. Nowadays, there’s a tendency to regard it as a slur. That’s why I stopped using it in my later Chocolat books. No-one told me to. It was my choice. I don’t feel as if I’ve lost any of my artistic integrity by taking into account the fact that a word has a different resonance now. On the other hand, I don’t feel that at this stage I need to go back and edit the book I wrote. That’s because Chocolat is a moment in time. It uses the language of the moment. Let it stand for as long as it can. 

I want you to T-pose. Turn your right thumb up and your left thumb doen and look at your right thumb. Move your arms up and down a bit until you feel a nerve running from your armpit to your palm. Now turn your right thumb down and your left thumb up, and look at your left thumb. Keep your chest facing forward and your shoulders back. Move your arms again until you feel that nerve again. Keep alternating between these two for a minute, or look at each thumb thirty times each.

Now sit down. Put your left hand firmly under your left buttock, palm down. Keep your shoulders back and put your right hand over the crown of your head, very gently pulling it to the right. Do this for thirty seconds, then do it again but with your right hand under your right buttock.

"Listen, even if an omniscient God or a godlike being is real, most religions are built on only a bit of truth and mostly upon myths designed to keep order among the populace. This order creates, designs, and enforces rigid roles for racism, classism, sexism, and homophobia. It excuses and handwaves, if not outright encourages, colonialism and oppression."

and you're like "Mr. Sanderson, aren't you a card carrying member of the Church of Jesus Christ and the Latter Day Saints?"

I've been analyzing my harmful actions of the past, and I suspect that this may have been one of my motives.

This is a common defense of abuse. The assumption is that anyone who wants to be abusive would always operate at 100% cruelty.

But if someone operates at 100% cruelty, they'd lose supporters and therefore lose the power to be cruel. So they have to operate at a lower cruelty level.

Also, the purpose of the cruelty is to terrify the victim into obedience under threat of more cruelty. So if they're always operating at the most cruelty that they can get away with, then there wouldn't be any room to threaten additional cruelty.

They also want to be certain that they'll maintain their power. If they operate at as much cruelty as they can get away with, they could miscalculate and end up not getting away with it. So they have to give themselves enough leeway.

An adult gives you unsolicited advice that you either don't understand or have already tried many times.

What should you do?

If you don't respond, you get punished for ignoring.

If you respond and continue to show frustration, you get punished for raising your voice.

So you know that you must respond and you must fully calm down before you do. You also must phrase it perfectly, making sure it's accurate and has nothing that can be misinterpreted or taken as disrespect. You have to make sure you explain how inaccurate they are while being absolutely certain that you don't make them feel bad. And since you're already being misunderstood as shown by the advice they gave you, you have to put extra effort into making sure you explain clearly.

Oops, too late. In the process of trying to figure out how to do that long list of steps all at once, you took longer than the allowed 4 seconds, and the adult assumed that you're ignoring them. You're now being punished for ignoring them.

And you can't defend yourself against the punishment, because anything you say can be interpreted as "arguing". Since you were already struggling to keep up before, and you're now forced to think even faster, there's nothing you can possibly say to stop this adult from punishing you, and anything you say could just make it worse. So you just accept the punishment.

Let’s play the biggest game of kick the can on the internet.

I talked about him a lot and about how he was just so dang COOL, dang it, because he was so frickin’ cool. And I really liked him. I thought he was funny and smart and interesting and cool and fascinating and a bunch of other weird feelings I barely had the attention span to think about (I think my ADHD may have prevented me from coming out for a while tbh).

One day, I’m like 14-15, his dad is called to be my Sunday School teacher. His dad is this ex-military hardass with a chip on his shoulder for absolutely no reason and unattainable standards for his children. He spent most of Sunday School talking shit about his eldest boy and how he was rebellious and didn’t listen to him and how that was going to make him a bad adult and a bad son forever. How his son was too lazy and unmotivated to be successful because he didn’t listen to his advice on how to read the scriptures. He complained about how our generation was too weak to do things right and that our generation would surely be the one that brought the world’s downfall because of our laziness and sin.

And like, first of all, that guy can already go fuck himself for that. To clarify, that’s already stupid. BUT. He was talking about the man I had uncomfortable dreams about at least once a month. I couldn’t stand it. I’d get so mad I’d go home shaking sometimes because how fucking DARE he insult his hardworking stunning son by calling him lazy? For not reading the Bible the way his dad wants? When he’s already spending his time learning bagpipes? And fixing cars? And being cool? And cute? Who the fuck even cares if he uses the footnotes in the Book of Mormon? Who gives a rotten rat’s ass if he doesn’t use the scripture study manual his dad uses? He’s so cool he doesn’t even need it? So fuck off?

And eventually I got fucking Sick Of It and decided to mutiny. And by mutiny, I mean skip class. I’d just not go. And after a bit, adults started noticing and bugging me about it. At first, this was put off by small talk and excuses, but as my absence from Sunday School became more well-known, my excuses began to be rejected.

“Oh, Lizard, why aren’t you in class?” Uhm idk because my Sunday School teacher is mean to his kid and that makes me so mad wtf do you want from me? 🫠🤔

“Where’s your class, I’ll go with you!” Oh no ty I’d rather peel my own eyes than have my taste in men critiqued tyty 🩷

“Lizard, you should go to class, I’m sure they miss you!” And I miss the innocent days where my stomach didn’t hurt when a cool boy I knew was being belittled but unfortunately for us both those days are LONG gone and all that’s left is a budding psychosexual clusterfuck that will render me almost fully incapable of functioning for the better part of a decade so Bye Bye, sister Smith 🙂‍↕️

It had gotten to the point that ward leadership was involved. I was being approached by members of the Young Men’s presidency and the Bishopric to try and make me to back to class. They were telling me God had told them to find me and instruct me on my rebelliousness. This is where I implemented my secret weapon - women. Mormons are weird as hell about a lot of things, but especially about women. And I was GREAT with women. So to combat the leadership’s attention, I started helping women.

Our ward had a lot of new moms with babies who were, as babies tend to be, fussy. But for Mormon women the church is often their only social outlet, so they try to power through as long as they can even if it means enduring the exhausting ordeal of taking care of a fussy baby at church.

For what it’s worth, I have a lot of sway with babies. I got baby street cred. Me and babies have a rapport. I have always known this. I have always loved this. And in this crucial gay time in my faggot life my baby mind powers came in clutch - Every time I saw a member of the bishopric getting close, or a young men’s leader giving me side-eye, I’d start walking slowly towards class, passing by relief society. I’d wait until a mom’s baby had gotten too fussy and needed to leave the room, and I’d swoop in like a knight. “Oh, don’t you worry sister, I’ll bounce him a bit. You go back and hang out with your friends in class. You deserve a break.”

If it was a diaper change or something they’d tell me no. But if it was just some good old-fashioned baby fusses, I mean, they’d be moved almost to tears. They just got their social time back AND a free babysitter who is renowned as the Baby Whisperer. And because I was holding a baby as a favor for someone else, I of course could not reasonably be bothered to return to class.

So just like that, I was out of everyone’s sights. This went on for about a month before the straw that broke the camel’s back, which was that without my class participation the classes were quiet and awkward. I’d often take the brunt of Sunday school lectures by answering questions impulsively and over explaining myself enough that the clock could run out without anyone needing to do or say much. My absence meant everyone else was getting hit with the full unpleasantness of this guy’s bullshit. And so slowly, one-by-one, I had a group of about 8 kids on baby-holding duty. These new moms were so overjoyed, they and their husbands were both so actively in our corner that now chastising us was untenable. Now we had bargaining power. So the Bishopric approached us, confused beyond confused and uncomfortable beyond uncomfortable, and said,

“What’s it gonna take to get you back to class?”

The POWER I possessed in that moment was addictive. By being kind to the women of the ward and ignoring the Mormon de facto Rule of Law of following rules en-masse so the rule breakers feel left out, there were now so many people breaking ranks that we had effectively enacted a church boy labor strike. And they crumbled so fast it was almost like we had swayed God himself to our cause.

“I want brother assholedad gone. He sucks at teaching.”

I didn’t even have to say it. One of my rebels said it for me. I just nodded sagely and said “Yes, his class is not edifying. It’s better to not go and hold babies.”

And just like that, with a snap of my limp-wristed, Christ-wounding, bottom-brained fingers my faggot will was enacted. God’s revelation that brother shitdad was his chosen Sunday school teacher flipped on a dime. Suddenly brother shitdad was asked to be an usher and the fun dad of another one of my crushes was called in to teach us. I still stayed to hold babies a lot, but the rest of the class returned and all was well again.

Although I didn’t recognize it then, I think that was a formative moment for me in a lot of ways. I learned that being really persistently annoying will get me what I want from authority eventually. I learned that God’s will can be swayed by going in strike. I learned that ignoring men’s made up authority forces them to level with you as a person. I learned that caring for women, especially vulnerable women, can make a whole world happier. I learned that letting women rest can help them feel more love for the things that matter in their life. I learned that social bonds make everyone stronger and happier. And I learned that loving others in a gay way can change the world.

European glasses and sunglasses are made in the same Italian factories that make the luxury ones, they have the same quality control and warranty. You are paying €100 for a logo.

Heat exhaustion is quite literally your body getting too hot and Exhausting itself to cope. Heatstroke is your body Failing To Cope.

Heat Exhaustion signs include:

You get a headache that Will Not Go Away

You feel confused and dizzy (balance who? Idk her)

You don't feel hungry but you feel sick as well (this sucks and happens a lot in high heat so try and snack regularly)

Sweating and clammy skin like the kind that has people go "you're freezing!" because you've sweated so much you literally end up with a chill on your skin

Cramps. Feckin cramps. Arms. Legs. Stomach. They suck ass.

You have a heckin fast pulse or you're hyperventilating like you've just had a Scare

Your body temp is over 38°c (because you're literally boiling like a lobster in a pot)

You are Beyond Thirsty and no matter what you drink it Does Not Abate

If you end up experiencing any of these symptoms, or multiple, and you're in a hot/warm environment, then sit your ass down in the shade, get something to drink, and get a damp cloth on your head or a change of clothes that are cool.

Basically, stop what you're doing and give your body a chance to Not Keep Boiling

Heat exhaustion is NOT THE SAME as a heatstroke.

Heatstroke is So Much Worse™.

Heatstroke signs include:

Still feeling like utter shite 30 minutes after you sat your ass down, rested in a cool place, and rehydrated

Not actually sweating even though you really do feel like a lobster in a pot that has the heat up High

Your body temp is 40°c+ (which is bad btw, that's temp for causing your to pass out etc)

Hyperventilating/fast breathing or actual shortness of breath (I struggle with this because asthma so I'm always like "idk if I got this oops)

Feeling confused but in a like "I don't know what's going on, I can't think, I have no idea about anything, someone help me please I'm crossing into traffic and don't even realise" way

Having a fit/seizure because your body temp is so high your brain is Actually Getting Boiled In Your Skull 🙃 [upside down smiley emoji]

Passing out and not actually responding or waking up from a brief fainting spell (this is the Serious™ kind of passing out that has doctors going "oh shit, we need an IV STAT!" or whatever it is they say when Shit Is Going Down)

Heatstroke can be really dangerous if it isn't treated quickly so please don't ignore these signs. Right now, I'm in a cool environs, with hydration, and am avoiding moving and am gonna have a nap because I'm going very dizzy, can't focus properly, have a headache, and am only coherent here because I'm HyperFocusing on this post. I can't even understand words being said to me right now hence nap, hydration, and cool environs.

Some additional hot weather tips

If you have low blood sugar, but are having a hard time eating because you feel crappy from the heat, try sucking on some hard candy

If possible, after you get out of the sun/heat drink Gatorade or something similar to replenish what you've been loosing from sweating

When drinking water or Gatorade (no matter what you have it is important to stay hydrated!) it is important to drink slowly, even if you are very thirsty, because if you drink too fast the water might come back up

In hot weather, bandanas are very useful, even as a preventative measure, because you can pour some water from you bottle (or anything else) on them, and then put them on your head (as mentioned above) or neck. A few other areas help as well, like armpits, but I would personally recommend your neck.

It is not recommended to use a fan at or above 99°f or 35°c, because they can actually start to make the heat worse. (I know these are different temps, the recommendations come from different governments, 35°c is around 95°f, but this also depends on conditions like humidity, so just use your best judgement with this info)

Most importantly, if you think you are getting heat stroke call 911 or your equivalent, heat stroke kills several people each year, even in my area, where it normally only gets to 100°f for a few days each year

For fahrenheit users,

38°c = 100.4°f

40°c = 104°f

It's why it's so important to rest and keep hydrated when it's warm. I hope you eventually felt better and maintained your hydration levels with water and other fluids.

I had three days of feeling the after effects of heat exhaustion myself and felt like I had a cold, a constant headache, and random chills all at the same time as having a dry throat, not sweating properly, dizziness, and even muscle cramps from the rapid dehydration I experienced.

In general, to anyone who sees or reblogs this:

It's really important to take care of yourself, both immediately after you recognise you've got heat exhaustion, and in the long term. It can affect you for days after.

Please take care of yourselves aka TAKER:

Take breaks

Avoid too much sun

Keep hydrated

Eat regularly

STAY IN SHADE.

HYDRATE.

EAT IN EARLY HOURS AND LATE EVENING.

NAP WHEN YOU GOTTA.

These are not dirty words, if doctors can say them, so can you!

There are people AMAB or AFAB who've gotten bottom surgery. There are people AFAB who have natural testes. There are people AMAB with uteruses. There are people AFAB who were reassigned male. There are people AMAB with XX chromosomes. There are people AFAB with XY chromosomes. There are people AMAB who developed breasts at puberty. There are people AFAB who developed penises at puberty.

All the “green eyes” positivity is actually a bad thing, by the way. Having green eyes is linked to higher rates of retinal melanoma. You’re celebrating something dangerous that can cause suffering.

And besides, most people with “green eyes” lean closer to blue or brown anyways. They should just make up their minds and be brown eyed or blue eyed. And if it’s too hard to tell, they should get corrective surgery (because green eyes are dangerous, and associated with more difficult medical care!) or at the least wear contacts so they don’t confuse people. But also they should be required to

I hate to sound like this, but green eyes are a far more recent development than blue eyes in the mutagenic history of humans. So humans weren’t created to have green eyes.

And hazel eyes? Those are just a variant of brown eyes—come on, they’re far closer to brown than green. They just have a couple greenish traits. And there’s no way there’s that many green eyed people, or a wide variety of eye colors… It’s just not natural.

I don’t have a problem with green eyed people, they didn’t ask to be born that way—but there’s just too few of them for it to be an actual eye color. We don’t need all this “green eye positivity” or putting green eyes in media. The internet is making people delude themselves into thinking it’s more common than it really is.

‼️ THIS POST IS ABOUT THE TREATMENT OF INTERSEX PEOPLE ‼️

✅ I HAVE GREEN EYES THIS IS SATIRE ✅

⚠️ PLEASE DON’T SEND ME ANY MORE THREATS OF VIOLENCE IN DEFENSE OF PEOPLE WITH GREEN EYES?? ⚠️