As I look back on my writing career and on the works that I have published, it seems clear to me now that most of my motivation in writing was political in the best sense. For the most part, I have usually began work on a writing project because I wanted to somehow make a difference in people’s lives, always for the better, hoping that my work as a communicator of ideas—whether as an author, playwright, composer, lyricist, director or actor—would help them to see the world from a new point of view. Indeed, I chose to write about subjects so that I could educate, change, inform and inspire. In other words, my goal as a writer has usually been to affect change, not merely to entertain.
 
During my first serious writing attempt at age 17, I chose to write my first play, BUFFALO HEAD NICKELS, about the advance of technology, particularly computer technology, and how it might prove to be a threat to human rights and individual freedoms in the future. The play, which was published by Pioneer Drama Service when I was 18, proved to be prescient of what would later come to pass (for example, when Facebook and other social marketing platforms were used to disseminate fake news). I wrote it as a social warning and as a wake-up call. It was very much political in nature.
 
Similarly, when I wrote the book, music and lyrics for my one-man play, THE WILDE SPIRIT, which I based upon Oscar Wilde’s life and works, and then communicated the meaning and the spirit behind my words in the play both as actor and director, it was a labor of love, intended as a call for the advancement of gay rights for all members of the LGBTQ community. Again, this was a highly political act which, more than anything else brought healing and understanding to thousands upon thousands who saw me perform my play in theatrical presentations all across America, and in Off-Off-Broadway and Off-Broadway productions in New York City. What motivated all of this effort of more than 25 years was the desire to bring positive change to the social fabric of our country. As a political act—particularly in asking for understanding for, and acceptance of homosexuals in our society—it was enormously effective. As such, I shall never regret all of the years I spent on the front line, in this case near the footlights, speaking against intolerance.
 
Though I have occasionally been drawn to subjects simply to entertain the public, as I did with RED HOT MAMA: The New Sophie Tucker Musical, most of what draws me to a particular subject is innately political, to somehow make a difference in the world.
 
I believe that my new memoir, SAINT UNSHAMED: A GAY MORMON’S LIFE—Healing From the Shame of Religion, Rape, Conversion Therapy & Cancer To Find My True Self, which goes on sale on March 27, 2019, is the most personal, powerful and hence, the most political work I have written to date. In essence, in daring to tell all of the truth about my life, even in sharing the most sexually explicit and graphic details of my violent rape at the age of 18, in talking about aspects of my life and personality and character traits that most would never dare to say publicly, it takes to task the intolerance that exists among the overtly religious in our present-day world. In the narration of the book, I talk about my fears in going “all the way” in my truth telling:
 
“In writing one’s memoir, and choosing to go public with the most sexually intimate details of one’s life—as I do within these pages—it’s scary. It’s like opening up one’s private diary to everyone on the planet. Was I absolutely certain that I wanted to share my most hidden and well-kept secrets with the world? How would the members of my Mormon family react once my book was published? Would the conservative members of my family shun me once they read the graphic details of my sexual experiences, particularly the most vile and violent details of my rape? Would sharing these true experiences from my life with the world, even matter?” 
 
Indeed, telling the truth and nothing but the truth in my new memoir, is the most political act I have yet taken as an author. And I am grateful for the extremely positive reviews that the memoir has received thus far. The two recent reviews, one released yesterday online at Blueink, and the other released last week at the Online Book Club, which you can read by clicking on the links at the bottom of this post, illustrate my point.
 
The hardcover book, which officially goes on sale on March 27, 2019, can be purchased now on my author’s website at www.KerryAshton.com at the reduced price of $25, and you will receive it at your home before Christmas, or you can officially pre-order either the hardcover or E-Book at all online outlets such as Amazon, Barnes & Noble, etc.

​In my new memoir, SAINT UNSHAMED: A GAY MORMON’S LIFE—Healing From the Shame of Religion, Rape, Conversion Therapy & Cancer To Find My True Self, which goes on sale on March 27, 2019 (though advance copies can be purchased now on my author’s website at www.KerryAshton.com), I talk about our unfortunate presidential election in 2016, saying in part:
 
“In November 2016, America chose an incompetent and racist bully, a pathological liar, and a self-confessed pussy-grabber as the next president of the United States. But this idiotic and dangerous new president had a huge amount of help in getting elected, first from the Kremlin, then from the former FBI Director’s unwise decision to make public statements about his opponent only days prior to the election, and lastly from our outdated Electoral College. Only with help like that, could such a buffoon and demagogue be elected president in the first place.
Since that fateful election two years ago, it has become harder to know what to believe in or in whom to believe. The current occupant in the White House lies about anything and everything, attacking the very institutions that uphold our democracy and the rule of law—solely to protect himself—even as his lies are presented as facts in the far-right media, while 40% of Americans believe every lie he utters. Indeed, a new Civil War is upon us, with each side claiming its own facts. But perhaps, given the nature of our current national politics, I should refer to it as our country’s first Uncivil War.
I still hope and want to believe that Americans can find a way to reunite as one country and one people, but that seems unlikely at present. Indeed, the only goal of the current White House seems to be to ‘Make America Hate Again’.”
 
Notice please that I never mention by name the current occupant in our White House. I prefer not to mention his name aloud, as that alone gives him a power and respect that I deeply believe he is unworthy of. If anything, He Who Must Not Be Named—who has given nasty nicknames to anyone and everyone who he sees as a personal enemy—has earned the distinction of going unnamed and unnoticed.
 
He Who Must Not Be Named, i.e. the Orange Monster in the White House, is not and never was worthy of the constant attention and billions of dollars worth of free publicity that America’s media outlets afforded him since he first descended the golden escalator in a certain unnamed tower on 5thAvenue in Manhattan. 
 
Since the 2016 presidential election, attention had sustained and fed the Orange Monster’s ego, propelling toward increasingly reprehensible behavior. Indeed, the current occupant of the Oval Office behaves like a spoiled three-year-old, and throws a tantrum whenever he does not get his way or whenever he perceives even the smallest slight to his incredibly fragile ego. Since he behaves like the spoiled brat that he actually is, the American press should start covering him as such. Indeed, the OM needs a time-out. Like a tantrum child, he needs to be put in a corner and ignored until he can learn how to behave, it not presidential then at least like a grownup.
 
Despite all of the OM’s distressful remarks about Fake News and that our free press is “the enemy of the people,” it is press coverage and public attention that he has always lived for, and it is all that he cares about. Being a pathological narcissist, the OM cannot survive without attention; he craves it in the same way that a baby craves a mother’s breast. The OM feeds on attention. The press coverage that follows his every itch, twitch and tweet provides him with the very oxygen to continue unabated in his attempts to destroy every institution of our democracy, one disgusting tweet at a time.
 
As of today, the Washington Post estimates that He Who Must Not be Named has lied on average 10 times a day since he took the oath of office to faithfully execute the laws to defend the constitution of the United States from all enemies both foreign and domestic. And his lying has only gotten worse over time, with the Post Fact-Checkers reporting recently that he told an average of 30 lies per day during the last month leading up to our recent midterm election. Of one thing we can be certain: His truth—the one we all may one day be forced to accept under his endless authoritarian rule, if we are not careful—will always be one that glorifies him alone. 
 
A pathological liar, the Orange Monster has filled the White House with sycophants who lie as much as he does, who happily and willingly acquiesce to his every lie, gesture and thought, like robotic twits. Indeed, the daily press briefing at the White House—once a place where news of our president’s actions were once disseminated with some measure of truth—has become an outlet for state propaganda, supporting this dictator-child’s worst whims and deceits. It features lie after lie after lie, in an effort to warp reality to support the OM with absolute loyalty while being as dishonest with the American public as possible. His constant lies are then amplified by the OM’s state-run, 24-Hour Propaganda Network, the aptly misnamed Fox News, and all of the other far-right propaganda outlets that support his agenda. And He Who Must Not Be Named benefits from all of this “fake news” coming from all of the far-right media outlets. 
 
But bad as it is, the mainstream media outlets join in spreading these lies by covering all of them constantly. In my view, mainstream American journalists and the major mainstream media outlets and networks should stop covering the OM when he tells a lie. Period. The fact that the OM is a pathological liar and constantly telling whoppers is no longer news. Everyone with eyes to see and ears to hear knows this. 
 
Yes, yes, I know. The OM happens to be our president (no matter how illegitimately appointed through the highly undemocratic Electoral College) and whatever he says and thinks is news. I’ve heard that line before. And it is total BS. When the OM tells the truth, of course the mainstream media should cover it. But when he knowingly tell a falsehood, mainstream reporters and media outlets should simply report that the president has lied yet again, for the 10th, 12thor 30thtime today, as the case may be. If people want to know the specifics of his latest falsehood, they have cellphones and they all know how to contact twitter to read his lies whenever they so choose. 
In reporting and printing out his every vile comment and lie, the media only pollute the public airwaves and further spread his lie to everyone far and wide, thus making the mainstream press part of the machinery that affords the OM his ever growing power. 
 
The OM’s lies should not be passed on to the public, commented on, repeated, or covered in any way. Covering the lies, reporting the lies, repeating the lies, makes the mainstream complicit in spreading his lies. Each reporter who does this is merely aiding and abetting the Orange Monster to disseminate and propagate his falsehoods, further spreading the OM’s crap. It becomes noise pollution. It wears all of us down, particularly those of us who give a damn about objective reality and objective truth. 
 
I would suggest that the legitimate mainstream press and all of the mainstream networks who care about news and truth, stop attending White House briefings. Rather, they should give a public statement on air that it is their network’s position that they will no longer cover such events, as they only spread lies, misinformation and propaganda of the state. Until the White House press secretary and the president return to reality, and speak with the support of actual facts, they should no longer be reported on or covered. The talking heads on CNN and MSNBC and so forth should simply say that the president has lied yet again, and that they are not going to propagate the lie by even mentioning it, much less showing the printed tweet on the air. 
 
Stop giving the Orange Monster oxygen. Stop covering his lies and his demented opinions. His good behavior should be rewarded with press coverage and attention. But, equally and importantly, his bad behavior should be ignored. Like any brat acting out a tantrum, the OM needs a time out. Indeed, the worst thing that any of us can do is give his bad behavior attention. As any parent raising an infant knows, giving attention to bad behavior only reinforces more bad behavior. A tantrum can soon turn ugly, when an infant starts throwing things. But our infant in the White House doesn’t just have toys he can throw from his crib. He also has nuclear warheads. The constant media attention focusing on his bad behavior must come to an end, and it must stop now!
 
That is why the OM should not even be named in public or referred to. Until he proves that he can act like a grownup president, we must ignore him. We need to starve his pathetic childish ego with a lack of attention. That is why I will always refer to him in my blog as He Who Must Not Be Named or simply as the Orange Monster. And he shall remain unnamed until a grownup returns to the White House, hopefully sooner rather than later for the sake of what remains of America’s institutions of democracy.

​The new critically-acclaimed movie BOY ERASED, based on the memoir by Garrard Conley, tells the story of a boy’s experiences with a conversion therapy program that he has enrolled in at the insistence of his parents, for the purposes of turning him from gay to straight.
 
My own experience with conversion therapy, though quite different from the story Conley tells in BOY ERASED,is one of the subjects that I cover in-depth in my new memoir, SAINT UNSHAMED: A GAY MORMON’S LIFE—Healing From the Shame of Religion, Rape, Conversion Therapy & Cancer To Find My True Self, which goes on sale to the general public on March 27, 2019, though advance copies can be purchased now at www.KerryAshton.com.
 
Raised as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day-Saints, I was a true believer in the Mormon faith when I attended Brigham Young University as a student in the early 1970s. And it was during my time as a student at BYU that I faced my gay identity for the first time and sought out counseling. Unfortunately, when I reached out for help, I was coerced into what the Mormon Brethren at BYU termed a Rehabilitation Program in an attempt to convert me from gay to straight. What they called a Rehabilitation Program back then was what gay men experience today as conversion therapy. The process was and still is one and the same. 
 
As part of this Rehabilitation Program, I met weekly with my Mormon Branch President Cyrus W. Wilkinson for spiritual counseling and also with an assigned psychiatrist at the Health Clinic on campus Dr. Hugh Parker, while Brother Gilbert Clarke, the Head of the Office of University Standards at BYU, oversaw the entire process of my so-called rehabilitation. This conversion therapy process went on for the first two years as a student at BYU.
 
When all attempts at my conversion to straight man by these well-meaning LDS Elders failed, a special meeting was called in late December 1973, at Brother Clarke's office, where Clarke, Wilkinson, and Parker—what I had come to think of as the Holy Trilogy—met to decide my fate.
 
Seated behind his immaculate desk, Brother Clarke looked through my voluminous file. “Obviously, we need to take stiffer measures in your rehabilitation program. Dr. Parker has recommended that you undergo on electro-shock therapy sessions, and I concur with his recommendation.” 
 
I felt the blood drain from my face. "You mean shock treatments?" 
 
"I wouldn't call it that," Dr. Parker interrupted. "In conversion therapy, or aversion therapy as many refer to it, we only use a mild electrical shockto make distasteful what once seemed pleasurable.” Dr. Parker let his words sink in. "It sounds fearful, but it has proven effective in cases such as yours.” 
 
"I don't want shock treatments!" I said, my voice rising. 
 
"Calm down, Brother Ashton," Clarke replied. “We aren't going to do anything without your permission, nor would we want to.” The tension I felt within me eased somewhat, buttoo soon. "However," Clarke continued, "If you aren’t willing to go forward with rehabilitation, I will be forced to expel you and inform your parents.” 
 
"You would inform my parents ... about everything?" 
 
"Yes," Clarke replied. “But take the Christmas break to think it over.You can let us know what you decide once you return to campus in January." 
 
I spent Christmas at home in Pocatello, Idaho with Mom and Dad, contemplating my fate.
 
After I returned to BYU in early January 1974, I met with my assigned psychiatrist Dr. Parker, who took me to the lab in the Health Center on campus where the shock therapy sessions would be performed. 
 
Dr. Parker showed me the chair where I would be strapped into place, and explained how the voltage would be administered through electrodes attached to my lower legs and forearms. And he showed me a slide projector, and the screen on the wall in front of the chair. “This projector is attached to a special aversive shock generator,” he explained. “The edge of the shock slides, the slides of attractive men, are marked with ink. The neutral slides, those showing attractive young ladies, do not have marked edges. The slides are automatically advanced. When a shock slide is shown, a phototransistor reads the mark and triggers the shock. The patient is automatically conditioned by the visual stimulus paired with the aversive shock. I can, of course, adjust the level of shock, if and when I need to, to make the experience more effective.” 
 
There was a motion picture screen on the wall in front of the chair. “I also add the use of sound,” he explained, through earphones, adding pleasant music when you see photographs of women, and highly negative and disturbing noises when a shock slide of men is presented. I also add unpleasant flashes of light when the patient views a shock slide, adding to the aversion that all patients will want to avoid.”
 
It sounded terrifying. "What happens if my behavior can’t be modified?" I asked.
 
"Any behavior can be modified,” he responded gently. “I’ll start you off at 150 volts. If we don’t have success, I’ll increase the voltage to 200 volts if I feel it necessary." 
 
Nothing Dr. Parker told me that day made me any less wary of submitting to electric shock treatments.
 
My first session of electro-shock therapy at BYU was scheduled for Monday morning, January 14, 1974 at 9am. The session was expected to last two hours. 
 
When I drove into the campus Health Center parking lot that morning, I was full of fear and apprehension. I wanted to turn around and drive in the opposite direction. But fighting back my fear, I parked and went inside, meeting Dr. Parker as arranged at his lab. 
 
In a jovial mood, Dr. Parker chirped, "Good morning, Kerry." Then he left the room for a moment, leaving me alone to contemplate my fate. 
 
Soon a nurse with raven-black hair entered the room. “Now, just take a seat in the chair, Kerry.”
 
I sat down in the chair facing the screen. She quickly began attaching suction-like conductors to both my arms and legs, plugging the wires into the control panel of the nearby aversive shock generator sitting on top of Dr. Parker’s desk. 
 
“This is a similar process to getting you set up for an EKG,” she explained, “except rather than reading your electrical responses, we’ll be conducting a small electrical shock to various parts of your body.” I gulped. “Now, just relax,” she continued. “This won’t take long.” She placed the electrical conductors on my extremities and attached a monitor to my thumb apparently to take my pulse, explaining, “This way Dr. Parker can keep an eye on your vital signs during the session.”
 
After I was prepared, Dr. Parker reentered the room. “Kerry, just sit in the chair and try to relax," Dr. Parker said softly. I sat down and the nurse strapped me in, wrapping my arms tightly into the armrests. 
 
"What are the straps for?" I asked, terrified. 
 
"They’re for your safety," Dr. Parker reassured me. "It will make the shocks easier to bear." Dr. Parker must have seen the panic in my face because he tried to calm me down. "There’s no need to be frightened, Kerry. I'll go slow and gauge your reactions." 
 
The nurse took my pulse and blood pressure, and made some notations on a chart.
 
Dr. Parker approached me from the front with a pair of headphones. "This is for the music," he said. "I think you'll find the songs very much to your liking." Before he put the headphones over my ears, he patted my knee, and said, "Don't worry, I'll be right here if you need me." The headphones covered my ears and the lights were turned off. I sat strapped in the chair, plugged in like an appliance, waiting to be turned straight. 
 
I won’t get into the details in this blog posting about all of the specific horrors that I experienced during that first session of electro-shock therapy. I will just say that it took ten minutes after that first session ended before I could stand without feeling like I was going to pass out, and another ten minutes before I could make it to my car. After that first session of shock therapy, I finally understood that the Mormon Brethren wanted me changed or they wanted me dead. Sadly, this was just the first of many shock treatments that I endured over the course of the next year-and-a-half.
 
After several of these sessions, my hands began to shake uncontrollably—a direct result of the electrical current sent through my body on a weekly basis. It is a condition that has persisted ever since, for over 43 years, and one that I assume will be with me until I die. 
 
As horrible and unpleasant as my weekly shock treatments were, I wanted and needed to believe that they might be working, helping me transform from a horrible and sinful homosexual into a normal heterosexual male. I had, after all, managed to give up masturbation since my last sincere promise to God, and I had even had some success in keeping my sexual fantasies about men in check. Of course, gays can’t be turned straight, any more than straights can be turned gay. Anyone who believes otherwise is uninformed.
 
Fifteen months later, on Monday, April 7, 1975, and only a week before my graduation from BYU, I underwent my last electro-shock treatment. After Dr. Parker completed his task, removing the electrical conductors, I spoke up. “So, Dr. Parker, how many conversion therapy sessions does this make in all?”  
 
He laughed slightly. "I don't know, Kerry. I've never stopped to count." 
 
"Well, I have! I’ve had a two-hour shock therapy session every week since January 14, 1974. That’s 65 sessions, which adds up to 130 hours of electric shocks! And do you know what I have to show for those 130 hours of shock treatments? My hands shake so badly now that I can’t even hold a pen steady! But I’m still gay, as I always was, as I always will be!" 
 
Now 40 years later, a new American Civil War is upon us with each side claiming its own facts and its own reality.
 
In 2016, Americans chose as their next president a pathological liar, fascist bully, and self-proclaimed pussy-grabber. Even his choice for vice-president was a man who supported, and I imagine still supports, the same type of conversion therapy that I once endured at BYU. 
 
My hands still shake as a result of such barbaric treatment, an enduring testament to the victimization that I, and so many gay men like me, have experienced and continue to experience in America. I can only hope that no gay American will ever again be forced to suffer as I did, that we will never return to the shadows, but fight for our rights and for our lives, no matter what. I am nobody’s victim now.