Only The Perfect Shall Be Allowed to Live

Below is an article about DNA manipulation in utero and one man’s take on it. What do you think about this? Though my book, Going Native, is a work of fiction, I wrote it from the standpoint of a society developing where children whose DNA manipulation wasn’t successful were treated as ‘lessers’ in a sense. Lower on the totem pole. Would I be opposed to such if it could keep a child from being born with a genetic disease? In my heart, I have to say as a parent how could I?  Only problem, I think, is that the human race has not proved itself to be very trustworthy, not to be speak of government intervention, money, greed from the very doctors who made the discovery.

Have we opened Pandora’s box?  What say you?


Doctors at a British fertility clinic will begin screening embryos for cosmetic defects, the first time a license to do so has been issued in the country.

A business man and his wife applied to London’s Bridge Centre family clinic for screening procedures to ensure an embryo would be created without the father’s genetic eye disorder–the man and his father both have an eye condition which gives them a severe squint.

Prof. Gedis Grudzinskas, with the Bridge Centre clinic, told the Telegraph UK that he believes the HFEA’s decision to permit screening for an eye disorder marks the beginning of a widespread relaxation of screening rules, Prof. Grudzinskas said. “We will increasingly see the use of embryo screening for severe cosmetic conditions.”

He said he would screen embryos for hair color or any cosmetic condition that caused distress to parents.

“If there is a cosmetic aspect to an individual case I would assess it on its merits. [Hair colour] can be a cause of bullying which can lead to suicide. With the agreement of the HFEA, I would do it.”

This is just baffling to me. Designer jeans are nothing more than the acting out of a desire to be fashionable and “with it.” Designer babies are even more nefarious, solely appealing to the ego. These parents don’t seem to be interested in having a child of their own as much as building a lab specimen. Remember that in order to create the perect child, many other imprefect children will be created and destroyed.

And the notion that hair color is a life changing factor because it leads to bullying and therefore suicide? By that logic no one should be born as any personal factor will lead to bullying. Bullies don’t bully because of a specific thing about a person; they bully because they want to bully. If someone wants to tease and pick on someone, they will. Everyone has something they’re sensitive about; bullies will find it and exploit it. No amount of genetic perfection will prevent that. By John Smith, Jr., May 8th 2007


Almost There

I am getting the paper proof copy to edit and then will have Going Native ready in eBook form.  On my FB page, those who friended me in a certain amount of time will be getting a free copy. One hundred and three people. Not to bad I don’t think since I probably only know about twenty-thirty of that number. I have others involved with groups I frequent so all totaled I will be giving away approximately two hundred books. Hopefully most will enjoy it. I will update everyone a few days before I put Going Native up on Amazon.

Here is a snippet of Going Native from the main character’s, Lexus, POV.


I jammed my hands under my armpits and crept on wooden legs toward the wall of shiny metal. My reflection watched me advance, hollow eyed and ashen. I gripped a handle. With a click, the door moved toward me. Eyes squeezed shut; I pulled the drawer the remainder of the way open. The clock on the wall ticked. My shirt was so damp it was as if I was draped in a wet blanket. And the smell, my nostrils flared. I wasn’t sure what it was, except that it was close to raw meat. Not repugnant, but not alive. Off—definitely off. The drawer moved, and my eyes flew open. I gasped. With a shudder, I turned away and retched. Pasty beige vomit splattered on my pant legs and onto my green hiking boots. A slender arm dangled in my peripheral vision. My eyes trailed upward to a young woman’s body. Lying across her still chest was a child. A tiny face with shadowed blue circles under closed eyes. I traced the shell of the baby’s ear and made the sign of a cross with my other hand over the mother and infant. A childhood prayer I had learned slipped from my lips.


Snippet from Going Native

Tanner and Lexus on their first date at a 2 Cellos concert. 

Luka Sulic and Stjepan Hauser sat on the stage, their cellos held between their legs. They weren’t Perfects but man they were gorgeous. It gave me a small comfort there was one spot in this crazy world my family had been a part of creating where talent was acknowledged before looks. As far as I was concerned, they had both. Sitting on the front row at a 2Cellos concert. Could it get any better as a music lover? I peeped over at Tanner. Yep, much. I broke into a grin. Clocks by Coldplay, the perfect song for the man who loved that group, filled the hall.

I bent my head toward Tanner and whispered, “You like?”

“I like a lot,” he replied, his breath brushing my neck. He laced his fingers through mine.

A lot of what? Before I had time to get flustered over his comment,  they began to play Voodoo People by Prodigy, a song I’d heard blare out of Tanner’s office on many occasions. It was always 2Cellos last song of the night. The one that left the audience in a state of gut wrenching excitement. It was working.

Tanner looked at me, his face lite up like a Christmas tree. “This rocks!” People of all ages began to stand, their bodies moving to the ultra fast pace, some even in the aisles on both sides of us. My fingers played the notes on my leg. Tanner stood. “Come on,” he shouted as he waved toward himself, “you can’t just sit there.”

Here goes nothing. I stood beside him and he turned toward me. I lived for music. This was one thing I felt to my very core. I’d never realized how sexual it could be with a man. Our eyes locked and neither one of us looked away. Friends, friends. . .  . not gonna happen . . . my mind warned me.  My heart didn’t listen as it whispered I want more.