Let the Blog War Begin

There are days when I just don’t feel like writing. Some days it’s because I have nothing of importance to say and sometimes because I just do not have the words to convey my feelings.

A Few months ago I joined a writing group because I wanted very much to extend my reach and take my writing in a little more of a serious direction.

I was excited at the possibilities, the challenges and the challenging ideas I was met with.

Now let me preface by saying that I was never going to write this post. I was going to back off quietly and disappear from your circle in absolute silence, but you just had to go and play the fucking victim. So now you’re about to get served the just desserts your bitch ass deserves.

I was quickly disheartened however when I was offered a writing job, but only if I accepted the “gift” of being “Coached” because my writing was “Too raw”. Imagine how pissed off I was when I found out the writing job I was originally offered was supposed to come with payment. Something I’d not been told about when the offer was extended.

I later found out that

  1.  The original offer did in fact came with payment.
  2. Being coached was not actually part of the original offer.

Which means someone asked you to offer me the job, and you went out of your way to

  1. Offend me
  2. Piss me off
  3. make me feel as if I wasn’t good enough to write for anyone let alone a publication you weren’t actually in charge of paying for.
  4. and steal from ME and the original creator of the aforementioned publication.

Did I mention, fuck you?

Yes. My writing is raw. Yes it is a blatant “Fuck you this is who I am like it or love it or hate it I really don’t give a fuck because either way my words will smash against your face with a metal baseball bat and I won’t look back to see if you’re dead or not” kind of writing style.

It’s probably because I’ve been beaten, abused, kidnapped and escaped death more times than any human should have any right to claim. I’ve had a knife held to my neck, a gun to my head, nearly thrown out a window, threatened with being thrown off a roof and been thrown down a set of twenty feet of fucking stairs.

You tell me why my writing might be “raw”. Yeah it’s raw because when I write I put everything into my writing, I put my soul on these pages and in these blogs for you to read to comment on and rip a part and you have the fucking balls to offer me a job, tell me that before I’m allowed to accept it I need “Coaching” and on top of all of that you choose not to tell me that I would have been getting paid?

You know what that says to me? It says to me that you are full of fucking shit. The fact that you took the time to write 1135 words *yes I had each word counted* to act as if you are the fucking victim in this scenario makes me beyond livid.

It makes me want to throw the fuck up. It makes me feel rage and loathing for a foulsome creature. You tried to screw me, you did in fact screw a member of your own fucking family and you have the balls to come at me and beg me to talk to you? To help YOU feel safe?

Do you have any idea how it felt after all I did to help you with a movement you started but did nothing with? Do you have any idea how it feels to consistently be the one trying to help people no matter who or where they are in the world and to have such little support in return?

I do.  I know exactly how it feels. You want me to talk to you, to help you feel safe but did you consider how it might feel when you were told to offer me a paid position and instead lied and said I wouldn’t be getting paid?

Did you smile and chuckle with glee when I said I was willing to step up and do it for free just to support you and yours? Did you care about how it might feel to realize that someone in the world believed in me and you used that as an opportunity not to build me up as you promised to do, but tear me down and line your own fucking pant pockets? You are disgusting. You make me fucking sick.

I don’t want to make you feel safe. I want you to get exactly what you deserve. I want the world to see you for who you are for what you are.

I believe in Karmic Justice and I believe people like you will get exactly what you deserve. Just as I believe that it is not my job as a writer to make you feel safe. It is my job as a writer to keep track of the stories of the world. To write them down post them up and share them.

It is my job as a writer to make people think, to inspire people, to make them angry and to show truth. I’ve done my best to do that, to the best of my abilities I have been honest and open with what I am thinking and how I am feeling and thus I wash my hands of you.

I am fully aware you read my blog just as I am fully aware you will probably write a response talking about how innocent you are – how I misconstrued your words, how I made a mistake and how you didn’t mean it the way it came across – it might have been a communication error. Blah blah blah fucking blah.

 

You know, last night over Twitter I asked someone who knows me better than I know myself really, why people are so surprised when I’m nice. This is her response:

“Because you’re a tough bitch, but nice when people are deserving of your kindness and affection. ” – Caroline D.

I am assuming this is what you wanted, a blog war right? If you can’t control me at the very least I write a shame post you write one, and on and on it goes until we have a public shame fest ending in us eventually forgiving each other and being friends again, and then we both get more traffic, right?

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I won’t read your website again. I won’t visit your group, I won’t unblock you, I won’t respond to anything you or any of the people you’ve convinced of your innocence have to say because I don’t care.

After I hit post you will cease to exist to me. You will be nothing because those who treat people like shit, who lie, cheat and steal from them are nothing. You are beyond nothing. I pray you will enjoy the best of your life as long as you can, because liars never prosper and cheats never win. You are both and sadly for you I learned a long time ago to recognize a piece of shit for a piece of shit when I see it.

I honestly feel like I should feel bad – because this is the worst of me -this is me angry and hurt and lashing out but to be perfectly honest with you I don’t feel bad. Not even a little. The truth is I am living in poverty and I am only just barely managing to pay for my rent and buy enough dog food to get through the month.

That includes not being able to eat proper meals that I actually -need- to be eating so that my fucking hair will stop falling out, and I’ll actually recover from this stupid Anemia that most people recover from in a few months.

So the fact that someone in the world wanted to give me a much needed paying job, and someone else in the world tried to mess with that – tried to screw me and my would have been boss pisses me off to no fucking end, so no. I don’t feel bad. I refuse to feel bad. I deserve better than this and for fuck sakes, so do your readers. If you were going to stab me in the back, you should have been smart enough to bury the fucking knife.

The problem with stabbing people in the back is that the people doing the stabbing are often dumber than a pile of fucking bricks.

SynDolly

P.S.

I just spent 1,477 words to lash back at your bullshit with truth. I win. 

Bitch.

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5 thoughts on “Let the Blog War Begin

  1. I don’t know who that other person is, and probably would rather not know, but clearly, if they have a problem with “raw” writing this will be difficult for them to digest.

    • I honestly feel about as much regret for writing this as I am sure they do for trying to steal much needed monies from my household.

  2. I’m saddened and disappointed that you’ve had to go through this. As a fellow writer I’ve seen the support and unfortunately the competition as well in the literary world. Your writing is powerful, inspiring, and just what this world needs! ❤️

    • Thank you gorgeous. I don’t know what I’d do without my writing sisters, you guys keep me stronger than I ever thought possible.

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