Nah, I'm Good

Yeah, no. Just no.

I have more than a few problems with the way this challenge has been presented.

Lots, in fact.

Firstly, I get it. I know stories have been pirated, run through AI, and re-published. Completely get it. I’m sure more than a few of my own are out there.

But the structure of this challenge?

Absolutely. NOT.

This is freaking Pride month.

How many people are in the closet? Living in states or countries where they’re illegal? Tortured? Imprisoned? Targeted? Will get killed because you say they have to put their name and voice on on the webs because you can’t be freaking bothered to do your due diligence?

Shall we talk about deepfakes?

You want me to put my likeness and voice out on the interwebs? Are you freaking insane? Just to prove I’m real?

Isn’t that like saying, “If you’ve got nothing to hide, why don’t you walk around naked?”

I have a face for radio. With the body to match. Y’all ain’t getting any of that.

Besides, it would make my stalker waaaaay too happy. I’ve been told he’s dead, but until I see an obit and clandestinely visit the grave (after making certain sure it isn’t a trap), that would be a Hell to the No I ain't dropping my guard.

Y’all didn’t really think this through, did you?

Anything can be weaponized, and that includes anonymity. But anonymity is a powerful protection to the vulnerable, and they have the right to keep it.

I’m not blowing my low profile on the interwebs, and putting myself in danger again, for your laziness.

I don’t do AI. Period. My stories don’t get created with them, nor do I run them through ChatBot or its equivalents to smooth things over.

I do use free AI programs for some images. I loathe it, and it sucks big chunks, and I wish there were a way to send five bucks to a friend and get a quick sketch instead. That’s why I bought chalk pencils and learned to draw a little better, before I gave up and used the program. And I freaking wrestle with all the programs, to get an image I can stand that doesn’t have too many fingers or legs or seriously where the hell did you get the idea from my words to put THAT into the image what the freaking hell are you thinking? Oh, that’s right, there’s no brain behind the programming. I say that as a person who married a programmer. Even he has frothing rages, when he tries to help after seeing me about to punch the screen to smithereens, and runs into the same set of problems, over and over.

Look. I have a distinct “voice.” If you’ve read ten or more of my stories, you can see that I have idiosyncrasies and certain word preferences and a penchant for run-on sentences to heighten the galloping pace of some stories. My loyal readers know me. If you haven’t, well, that’s fine.

But don’t you freaking dare tell me to make myself a target again just because you can’t be bothered.

You don’t have the right to tell me to put my voice and image out there to be stolen, manipulated, misused, and abused.

All you have to do is read.

And ask some questions in the comments.

I comment like I write.

This is all me, folx.

You don’t have to like it. As has been said by others, I may not be your cup of tea, but I’m someone else’s shot of whisky.

They know I’m real.

They know I speak with an authentic voice.

But what you don’t have, is the right to expose vulnerable people to very real, deadly, risks, because ya can’t be bothered.

It’s not too hard to find me if you’re looking. Two of the judges in other communities have done so, and they can tell I’m legit.

I resisted putting my image out there for decades, knowing my stalker would be triggered into stalking me again if he found me. My friends barely tag me in re-posts, because they know.

So how many pics are there?

Three.

Freaking. Three.

One is on my Vocal page.

For years it was one of my Apothecary roses.

Not even my FB page has my image in the ID page.

So Get. Over. Yourselves.

You’ve gotten more than most, and still you want more?

You do not have the right to make me unsafe.

You do not have the right to make any other contributor unsafe.

So take your egregious conditions on this ridiculous challenge, and shove ‘em crosswise.

I wrote this essay.

My hubby usually edits them, but I didn’t even bother him this time. Besides, he’s walking our grandpuppers. A More Important Task than tapping the clicky keyboard thing, if you ask her.

That is all I need to prove.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going back to writing my very real, very authentic, and very me, stories.