Brave

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

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London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HQ, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018

Copyright © Rose McGowan 2018

Rose McGowan asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

Some names have been changed in this book to protect people’s privacy.

Cover design © HarperCollins

Cover image © Josef Jasso

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © January 2018 ISBN: 9780008291105

Dedicated to all of us survivors

GuideCoverContentsChapter 1

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My life has always been one of extremes. BRAVE, the book, has proven to be no different. While writing this book, I endured being hacked, stalked, spied on, had parts of this manuscript stolen. My life was infiltrated by Israeli spies and harassing lawyers, some of the most formidable on earth. These evil people hounded me at every turn while I went about resurrecting the ghosts that have made up my time on earth. I can only say it was extraordinarily stressful, an incredible high-wire act that required great strategy. There was never any other choice. Justice would be served.

And it was. I am immeasurably proud of having a hand in this cataclysmic global reckoning and the felling of monsters. I truly believe that a win for one of us is a win for all of us.

A few years ago, I realized society needed to be primed to hear The Story, so I set about taking my voice of dissent public. I decided to openly fight the machine, the manufacturers of myth, the gaslighters themselves, the sacred men of Hollywood. For far too long they’d been on top and able to get away with criminal behavior. I wanted to make it impossible to look away. And then the US election happened, making sexism far harder to deny; it paved the way for obvious truth to be revealed to those who’d for so long turned a blind eye.

In early 2017, I’d been working on BRAVE for a few months when I made contact with two investigative reporters. It was time. The story took many twists and turns as it all unfolded, and I’m proud to have had a hand in starting the worldwide conversation.

Since I and so many brave survivors have come forward, titans of every industry have toppled. We survivors have gained our power. We survivors are using our voices in record numbers. We cannot let up, and as hard as it is, we must continue to get even louder, to push even harder. We all count. We all matter.

Here’s to freedom, yours and mine.

Now go breathe fire.

RM

“Did you break up with someone?”

At first the question made me angry. I thought it sexist, stereotypical, disheartening. There was no death of a relationship that made me so in need of freedom that I’d alter myself. The more the breakup question was asked, the more it made me think about my motives. I realized I had broken up with someone. I broke up with you. The collective you, the societal you. I broke up with the Hollywood ideal, the one that I had a part in playing. The ideal version of “woman” that is sold to you by every actress in every hair commercial telling you, “This is the secret to being beguiling, the secret to getting a man to want you.” Long, glossy Kardashian-esque hair that says, “Fuck me, big boy.” As if that’s all we are and all we can be. Hair. Hair is what I broke up with. And it was a breakup that was years in the making; it took a lot to wake me from my brainwashed slumber. My long hair had always made me uncomfortable. It made men look at me while the real me disappeared. I would use it to cover my face, to check out, to sleep. And sleep I did. The real Rose slept while the fake Rose lived a bizarre alternate life playing the part of someone who played parts.