144 Hours in China... 😂

On being detained by the Chinese government as a comedy writer. It's better than f**king Trump world, I'll tell you that much!

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Yep… there I am.

Hello, Lovelies, How the hell are you? I’m just back from China and I am still in shock at the story I’m about to tell you. I went for the Shanghai Children’s Book Fair…

How it might look to the outsider...

It’s hard for Americans to go to China right now. You are only allowed to spend 144 hours in the country visa-free, but there are certain conditions. You can apply for a tourist visa, but this may take time to procure and approval is still subjective. I was told I was lucky—the book fair would only have me in Shanghai for 120 hours—less than the 144-hour limit. They stamped my boarding pass “DOC OK” at the United gate before the flight—meaning everything was in order for me to enter the country.

So many government people handled this ticket “DOC OK” is no longer legible. And yes, I am a Basic Bitch. I do not get to fly fancy.

When I was detained by the government 19 hours later, things did not feel quite so in order.

And as the guard walked away with my passport, my phone, and my ticket—all proof that I existed as a person walked with him.

My first thought was… There is no way I can make this funny. I have no material.

I looked around at the sterile quarters. I’d been awake and traveling for 48 hours at this point, given my connecting flight, and I could only muster the haunting feeling of this song:

I realize I have a couple of choices.

This is the first time I’m able to feel or cry about it… so you’ll pardon me if I take a moment.

OK, back to it… I can either freak out or I can get funny and curious about this WHOLE (think elongated “whole” sounded out) conundrum.

Curiosity is an irony not lost on me. I have recently been accused of being “incurious” by someone I hold dear because it’s “a real red flag” for him about me as a person. I’d been so wounded when he made this observation. Granted, he is at the top of his career with a job most of us could only dream of—let alone feel worthy of doing. In that moment, he was calling me a dullard. Bland. The thing is, the world thinks he’s the best, nicest guy… ever. So, of course, he must be right. (Smirks, rolls eyes.) Except he’s throwing me over for a more successful, frumpy writer. Gaaaaagh! But dear reader… I have to tell you, reading her work is like wading through tar… bleck… it’s laden with yawning platitudes, and the dialogue is so repetitious and melodramatic… you’d think Deirdre Barlow was making a comeback!

From the UK soap Coronation Street

There’s not an ounce of wit in it. She’s not curious enough to be in China getting detained, she’d lose her shit right about now. She’s back in the US going to mind-like-a-dial-tone dinner parties, and working on her next boring book.

And it’s also ridiculous because the actual title of the book for which I am in China is Henri the Curious.

Is it possible to stroke out from too much irony? Because, if so, I think I might qualify and am ready???

In the meantime, the guard returns with a woman. No more than 32, she has a razor-cut bob, and her skin is opalescent. Truly. She’s like one of those Pre-cogs from Minority Report. She seems to glow from the inside. She does not bother with pleasantries or introductions but only barks in English, reciting every rule I have broken with my arrival.

I am running the different scenarios now.

I have a ground team inside China for the book delegation, who are native speakers, who can help me. This is Didi, Marina, and Andrei—they are most likely my only way out. Moments before I was taken into custody and realized things were quickly going south, I started texting anyone back in the States that I was here and alive. People from my recent contact list who might see me.

I have also been without epilepsy meds for 15 hours—I’d packed enough for travel—but not for jail. If I have a seizure here, they could misinterpret it for resistance or something worse… an attack on their person. This would be a dark outcome.

The guard leaves and, alone now with this woman, I realize this is where I can change things. I think… “OK, what would Mary Tyler Moore do here?” and I can feel myself starting to soften and be less terrified.

There has to be a way to de-catastrophize this situation.

The government lady with fab skin demands without verbs, “Why you in China?”

I smile tentatively with my new, ridiculous bunny teeth (trust me, I’ll explain later) and motion toward my phone, which she now has. Reluctantly, she hands it over.

I bring up a photo of the book fair and crudely explain:

“Me… writer… funny… kids book fair.” I pantomime the silliness of typing.

She squints at the fair. Light bulb flickering. Personhood kicking in. She sighs.

I show her a photo of our book. I tell her that I am only here to present the book because they would like to have it available in China and I only need to stay for 120 hours and then I’m happy to leave. Is there a way to figure things out? My team is waiting for me. I have already booked a return ticket to the US. You can speak to them—they will help. She has to speak to the airlines but is DOWN TO HELP.

She goes and gets her colleague. He comes and together—they find my medication, get me food and water, and speak to two airlines so that I can be rerouted and gain entry to China for the book fair. To be clear, they are proactively helping me brainstorm creative solutions for my visa problem—this is great. At one point, when the one immigration official was on the phone with United… we were both like, “Oh, my god, how is it that they are so stupid?” We eventually hung up on them and called Cathay Pacific. At another point later—many hours in—we’re all sitting together laughing and the one immigration official lends me his personal phone to call my translator to let her know the status while recharging my phone and I can’t help but think…

This is the power of Mary Tyler Moore.

Hail Mary!!!

And I realize this would never happen in Trump’s vision for immigration or government. There would never be camaraderie, diplomacy, or humanity. There are terrible things happening in China right now, but this is where the other army of diplomacy can help (see further The Diplomat, season 2).

Because let’s be clear. I had no real business being in China. I know that.

I should be at home finishing the edit on Ellery Goes Dark, so I do not starve. Or I could be finishing the polish on the five remaining episodes of the That’s Ellery streaming series, again, so that eating and health insurance is possible, or I could be working on our women’s foundation so other grown-ass ladies do not starve, or mending my frayed family relations before the holidays—so that everyone is less grumpy.

But this incredibly generous invitation, which came at the eleventh hour for a project I’ve been involved with over the last two years, was not likely to come again in my lifetime. So, to say “no, thank you” to it would be like actively choosing a shitty, myopic, more limited existence as a writer, an artist, and a person. And I’m never going to do that. That’s counter to my whole worldview.

And when they finally release me (technically) the next day, I cross over, past the guards to Marina, who has been waiting for me all these hours (and years) and she runs with me down the barriers until I can just hug her. I hug her to be safe, finally. For she is my safety. And I’m so grateful for her—I can’t even tell you.

Thank you, Marina.

And this song plays in my heart for her…

Meanwhile, for those who bitched at me for traveling before my year deadline with seizures (today), umm… hello? Fuck off? I’m supposed to stay home and die in my dad’s shitty guest studio? I’d much rather die out in the world where it’s interesting and beautiful and where I’m booked here:

I’ll die here, thank you.

Because the above is where I got to go after I got out of custody. I mean, just look at the pool. I’m going swimming! If you think I’m going to miss out on life just because of epilepsy, well then you are One. Daft. Bugger.

The definition of “Marvelous”

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And now, for a Doofus…

Right as I was flying back, this mother from my kid’s school decided to shit all over me by telling people we knew that I wasn’t at a book fair and that I was off having an affair with her ex-husband. Just to steal my joy.

She’s been doing this for eight years now. She’s a loon.

There is a special chasm in hell for these measly types of toxic women. They have no lives of their own, so they just bully you and say terrible things to their kids and your kids about you for years—which is unforgivable. And I’m saying, no more.

Camille Semeniuk—you’re a known class-A drug addict and you’re boring. I have zero interest in your ex-husband, Charles Albert. I’m sure he’s a nice enough guy but he’s never been my type. Never will be. Now, fuck off—you doofus. You’re lucky I don’t post that video of you all high and idiotic in your own living room… all the other mothers would judge you. Because that’s what they do. As a person with epilepsy (a condition no one fakes—or let alone wants to) I should know.

Lastly, a Bit of Brain Candy

This Instagram account Your Music Education has put together a video showcasing every UK No. 1 from the 1990s, with each song given one second for every week it topped the charts. Watch the full nine-minute masterpiece here.

Also…

“Democracy never lasts long. It soon wastes, exhausts, and murders itself. There never was a democracy yet that did not commit suicide.”
—John Adams, 2nd US President

So, that’s what I’ve got this week. It’s National Epilepsy Awareness Month and I’m still here. Yours in Electricity – xoxo, gotham girl

Pardon all the typos… I was reeeeeaaally effing tired.

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