It had been so long since I updated. Eeep. Sorry. I've been working madly on a novel (different pen name) and it sucked away all my time. Not that it's in the hands of readers, I can join the rest of the world again.
Toy Boxes:Guiche is out. My story is Reading The River, about a couple bears on a barge in the middle of the Mississippi River who like to tussle together.
And for Master Ophir fans - The Harem Boy was just released. Fidn otu how Chris joined Ophir's household. This is the first Torquere Sip to get a unique cover.
Good friend Greg Herren sent out a call of vampire stories. I try to stay away from them, but it's Greg, so I'll at least try. I already have something swirling around the back of my brain.
A couple exciting things - The Harem Boy, a Master Ophir and Chris story, was moved up in the production line at Torquere. As soon as I know a release date, I'll let you know.
Saints and Sinners was incredible, as always. Met some very cool people and reconnected with some of my favorites. It poured on Saturday, but I still managed to charm Jeff Mann into lunch at the Clover Grill. He humors me, but one swipe of that bear paw would probably knock me on my butt.
But the most exciting thing is that I came back from Saints and Sinner energized as always, and dove right into a novel. It's sucking up all my time, but I'm having fun. Writing is so good when it's fun.
I do. The first year I went to Saints and Sinners Literary Festival, the big GLBT literary conference, I wasn't a big fan of the city. I loved S&S, but between the piss and puke stink of Bourbon Street, the humidty, and the feeling of unwanted privileged due to the color of my skin, I wasn't exactly smitten with the French Quarter.
When I came home, I decided that S&S would be a every-other year event for me.
Then Katrina hit. How could I stay away? Not because I wanted to see destruction like a gawker looking at a bad traffic accident, but because the No/AIDS Task force, which sponsors Saints and Sinners, had lost it's two biggest fund raising events and needed for this one to break even, and because I knew that frankly, the city need my tourist dollars.
That's the year I fell in love with New Orleans. On the drive from the airport, I saw cars caked with dried mud stacked under freeway overpasses. Many houses still had blue tarps on their roofs - nine months after Katrina hit. Insurance companies were dragging their feet on paying out justifiable claims, and the Federal government let them do it. There were random boats sitting on people's lawns. Finding food even in the French Quarter was a challenge. Restaurants were open for dinner, but didn't have enough staff to open for lunch. Most of the small places were permanently shuttered. Outside the tourist areas, nothing had been repaired. We should never forget the failure of government on every level. But that was a separate issue from the people who faced it every day and still went on.
That year, because I knew how much I disliked the Bourbon Street scene, I explored other parts of the French Quarter and found a different world. One I really liked. The gay bars don't reek of piss and vomit, and the clientele don't act like sleezy fools. The restaurants down that way are quieter and don't serve tourist chow. The pace is different. It's a neighborhood. It has a personality.
Now the longing to return starts in January and only gets stronger as the months pass. Part of it is because I get to see so many friends from all over the US and Canada. Every corner I turn, there's a familiar face. For a person who has never felt as if anywhere is home, that's as close to belonging as I'll ever get. I miss that. I miss New Orleans, every night and day.
I got word last night that my story Left Unsaid won the first Seattle Erotic Arts Festival short story writing contest.
I've said before, and I'll say again, I never win writing contests. So I'm absolutely floored by this. And thrilled. And I've been secret smiling to myself all day. I'll admit that I love that story. The sex is desperate and angry, because that's the only way he can tell his lover how he feels.
Big kudos to the Seattle Erotic Arts Festival for including written the word this year. They also had a poetry contest and a play contest. An erotic play? Intriguing! I really wish I could go.
Toy Boxes: Floggers
