A Song for Boston. . . and Beyond

This song by dear, sweet Richie Havens, who just passed away, makes me think of everything that's happened in and around Boston in the past week, and all the people who were affected.

All the people.

Old Roots Run Deep

In the last day or so as I stitched together this post, I found similar ones by Sarah Black (wouldn't you know, I can't find it now) and Rick Reed. Looks like the hive mind is at work again. We've all apparently been contemplating how our pasts continue to insinuate themselves into our work.

Back in the Paleozoic era of my writing career -- when I actually had no writing career, only a dream of one, and my estimation of my talent far exceeded my actual talent, and my ambition exceeded both -- I scoffed at a certain hackneyed bit of advice: “Write what you know.”

How absurd, I thought. This is tantamount to being one of those deluded souls who thinks his or her personal history should be recorded for posterity, because it’s just so . . . damned . . . fascinating!  I can't count the number of times someone has proposed that I ghostwrite a biography. My reaction has always been the same, although usually unspoken: Buddy, wise up. Unless you’re a celebrity, nobody other than your relatives -- and most of them probably don’t give a shit either -- wants to read about you. Just settle for immortalizing yourself through your progeny.

Anyway, back in those clueless early years when I hungered to be a better-than-average novelist, I thought writing about familiar stuff would be just as silly as Joe Schobedink's love affair with his own unremarkable existence.

What storyteller ever achieved greatness by limiting himself to what he knew?

Um… Chaucer? Melville? Isaac Bashevis Singer? Hundreds more?

It took me a while to realize that nearly all great authors, with the possible exception of certain masters of sci fi and fantasy (and if you delve beneath the surface of their work, they might not be exceptions at all), did indeed write about what they knew. Their greatness lay in transforming the personal into the universal.

When I finally took a good, long look at what I’d been producing, I realized I’d been trying to exercise the same alchemy. My attempts were paltry and severely limited, of course, but the fact remains I was indeed writing about what I knew. I was just embellishing it so other people found it relatable. Or at least interesting.

I’m still doing exactly that.

Sometimes I chide myself for continually setting my stories in Wisconsin. It isn’t a glamorous or exciting place full of glamorous or exciting people. There are no cowboys or rock stars or billionaires here. There isn’t even a single high-octane city that's a-hummin' round the clock (except maybe Green Bay when the Packers win the Super Bowl, but that's a very occasional and transitory hum).

courtesy of ThirdCoastDaily.com

However, the U.S. upper Midwest is what I know – the look of its landscapes, the smell of its seasons, the temper of its towns. My psyche was shaped by Milwaukee’s blue collar workers and eastern European immigrants, by Madison’s academics and Door County’s artsy types, even by poorer counties’ on-the-dole barflies. I’ve hobnobbed with Twin Cities yuppies and Upper Michigan Yoopers and displaced Chicago bartenders who fled north for reasons of their own.

I’ve camped along the Mississippi and St. Croix rivers, ice skated and ice fished (hell, learned how to fish) on Green Bay, walked the beaches of Lake Michigan (once found a trilobite there), and gazed in awe over Lake Superior. Even though Prism Falls (in The Prayer Waltz) and Cold Harbor (in Visible Friend and The Zero Knot) don’t exist on any map, I’ve been to those places as surely and as often as I’ve been to Summerfest. Those sailors Ned likes to ogle in Electric Melty Tingles? I've ogled them too. 

 Jackson Spey and Adin Swift reside in the neighborhood where my mother grew up. For about six down-and-out months, I lived in the same drafty house that Carny Jessup (in Carny’s Magic) shared with his aunt. After that I moved to the county where Xylophone is set. As for “Bouncin’ Bob” Lempke and the Polka Doodles, I’ve known them, and danced to their music, since childhood. I currently live in the county where A Hole in God’s Pocket takes place, although I changed some names in the story. 

Everywhere in this humble stretch of flyover country, I’ve met people for whom I’ve cared deeply -- people who enriched or educated or at least entertained me, people whose skin color, religion, ethnicity, sexual orientation, upbringing, and interests often didn’t match mine. Were they boring? I guess that depends on one’s definition of the word. To me, everybody everywhere can be a source of inspiration. “Colorful” is a matter of perception.

Yep, the upper Midwest is what I know, who I am. How could I possibly avoid writing about it? And why would I want to?   

photograph by Wisconsin Historical Images via Flickr

Two Recent News Stories That Got Me Thinking . . .

Asian carp

What do these creatures have in common?

1. They have tiny brains. 

2. They're overfed and voracious.

3. They pose a threat to other life forms.

4. They sprang from the same gene pool.

The M/M Romance Hall of Fame

Each sport seems to have one. Rock 'n' roll and country music have them. I'm sure there are many other halls of fame for countless professions and pursuits. So why not one for our little corner of the literary world?

I first introduced male-male attraction into my published fiction about six years ago. (Actually, I explored sexual orientation far earlier than that, in some of my non-genre novels. Only one has been published). Back then, Goodreads didn't exist. Amazon was around but e-readers weren't, so Amazon peddled only print books. But blogs and Yahoo groups abounded, and it was through these that I became familiar with the pioneers of m/m romance -- authors and publishers who, to this day, remain iconic. A bit later, review sites devoted exclusively to our genre began to appear.

Therefore, I'll divide my M/M Romance Hall of Fame into rooms -- Publishers, Authors, Reviewers, Cover Artists -- and populate them with major contributors to the genre's visibility, respectability, and popularity. Keep in mind that all of my inductees have withstood the test of time.

AUTHORS 

From the beginning, my beginning, I saw certain names with awe-inspiring frequency. The work of these writers was (and still is) enjoyed and admired and often revered. Willa Okati and Ally Blue; Sean Michael,  James Buchanan, and Sarah Black; VJB and RRR and the two JLs (Lanyon and Langley); soon thereafter, ZAM and KAM and JCP. (You bet their initials will do!) Then I discovered m/m historical romance, a rich subgenre within the wider genre, and realized it had its own greats: Alex Beecroft, Erastes, Charlie Cochrane, Tamara Allen, Ruth Sims. They get their own niche in the Author Room.

PUBLISHERS      

Companies that released m/m (or GLBT) romance exclusively were few and far between when I entered the genre. The ones that have survived the longest certainly deserve a place in the Hall of Fame. So I'm overlooking all past kerfuffles surrounding Torquere Press, the ugly covers of MLR Press, and any grumbling about Dreamspinner Press, and I'm giving credit where credit is due. Starting these companies required vision and balls of steel; not one of them installed the safety net of heterosexual erotic romance. They deserve to be honored. (Should I include Lethe, too? I'm undecided, because they publish "literary" as well as romance fiction -- although, frankly, the distinction often eludes me.)


REVIEW SITES

He writes the worst English that I have ever encountered. It reminds me of a string of wet sponges; it reminds me of tattered washing on the line; it reminds me of stale bean soup, of college yells, of dogs barking idiotically through endless nights. It is so bad that a sort of grandeur creeps into it. It drags itself out of the dark abyss of pish, and crawls insanely up the topmost pinnacle of posh. It is rumble and bumble. It is flap and doodle. It is balder and dash.

~ H. L. Mencken, on the writing style of President Warren G. Harding

Love 'em or hate 'em, reviewers have been the evangelists of m/m romance. They can't be excluded from the Hall of Fame. The first two inductees have to be Elisa Rolle and Jessewave, both of whom have made enormous contributions to the genre. They've promoted acceptance, deepened understanding, and helped advance authors' careers. Perhaps most important, they've encouraged open, frank discussions among readers. I won't listen to any smack-talk about Elisa or Wave. They're both incredible women. Jenre's "Well Read" blog, Val Kovalin's "Obsidian Bookshelf," and Chris's "Stumbling Over Chaos" also go back some years. They all helped paved the way for the excellent GLBTQ review and promotional sites we see today.


COVER ARTISTS

Since I don't know how long most of them have been working in the genre, I currently have only one inductee. Gee, can you guess who she is? ;-)

Now . . . who would your nominees be? I know I've left people out through sheer oversight, so help me correct that! Just keep in mind there are criteria for the Hall of Fame. (Yeah, okay, so they're my criteria, but this is my blog.) Authors, publishers, and reviewers have to have proved their staying-power, and they can't have a recent history of dipping their toes into other genres.         

Of Mongrels and Mermen

My next appearance will be on March 20 at a wonderful new website that's an offshoot of Coffee Time Romance and is devoted specifically to steampunk. Since I just signed a contract with Dreamspinner Press for Merman (which should come out this summer), I'll of course be talking about Mongrels and Menfish and how I like incorporating fantasy into the industrialized world of Purinton. If you don't have a copy of Mongrel, you'll have a chance to win a free download.

So, what's Merman about? I obviously can't tell you the whole story ;-), but here are some hints:

Floating Brick Island, once the site of a penal colony that was destroyed in a ferocious hurricane over a century ago.

Tower Hole, a chasm of indeterminate depth just off the shore of that bleak heap of rocks and rubble.

And . . . an alluring mutant.

When vampire Clancy Marrowbone returns to Purin province 22 months after his departure, he certainly doesn't anticipate spending time near the sea. He intends only to visit briefly with his friend Fanule Perfidor, the "Dog King," in the village of Taintwell. He also intends to avoid his former lover, the unfortunately mortal Simon Bentcross. What would be the point of rekindling their affair? Marrowbone merely wants to know how Simon is faring.

Quite well, it turns out. Bentcross, who now owns a machinery repair shop, has designed a submersible vessel for underwater exploration. He’ll be manning his “Bubble” for the Tower Hole Research and Recovery Expedition, a project shrouded in secrecy. 

Vaguely troubled after his visit with Perfidor, the restless vampire stops at a deserted stretch of beach just south of the Marvelous Mechanical Circus in Purinton, the provincial capital. He needs time to reflect before he moves on. 

Then Fate steps in.

A startling discovery followed by an even more startling intrusion redirect Marrowbone's attention and substantially alter his plans. He's forced from thought into action. By the following evening, Clancy Marrowbone realizes his visit to the province won’t be so short after all . . . especially when Simon Bentcross reenters his life. In addition to their conflicted passion, Simon’s involvement in the mysterious Tower Hole project and Clancy’s involvement with a mysterious creature lead to a growing host of complications and dangers. As if their affair weren’t star-crossed enough, both the vampire and his mortal lover become hunted men -- in Taintwell and beyond.

(By the way, you can read the opening to Merman here. More excerpts are to come.)

Hope to see you on the 20th!

Why Catholic Girls Are Easy

Hey, it isn't only my opinion. I've had a few Jewish boyfriends tell me the same. So why do we have this reputation?

The answer lies in two words: forbidden fruit.

For example: OH. EM. GEE. (Slash, slash, slash!)

Did you take a gander at that man? Did you notice he's wearing a Roman collar? Yikes, if ever the rule of celibacy (aka "continence") begged to be broken!

Today on "CBS This Morning," three young seminarians in Rome were interviewed. See the adorable one in the middle? He admitted celibacy was his biggest impediment to joining the priesthood. (Gee, ya think? He could easily get his fancy tickled by both genders!)

Straight Catholic girls and gay Catholic boys are endlessly titillated by images of desirable but untouchable men -- in churches and schools, in religious textbooks, on prayer cards. 

First and foremost in the seduction department is, of course, Jesus, who is beautiful in every one of his artistic incarnations (even those in which he's hanging on the cross!)

   

Then there's St. Sebastian, probably the hottest of all the holy hotties (if you can overlook the arrows), and a host of other martyrs and saints.

Young Catholics have to fend off fantasies of cute young priests, too, and even their own classmates. All are off-limits to their libidos. No wonder we're easy. By the time we're teenagers, we're ready to explode!

The older I got, the more I wondered, What is with this Church? It hates and fears "the flesh," but its most revered figures are portrayed as gorgeous people in various states of undress, not to mention suffering. Believers are expected to view them as pious and pure, and to have only spiritually refined reactions to their images. Throw the rule of celibacy -- forced sexual abstinence -- into the mix, and one could swear there's a highly charged vein of kink running through the Rock.

I've been reminded of all these things during media coverage of the papal election. How wonderful it would be if the Catholic Church pulled its head out of its antiquated, doctrinaire ass and stopped treating the human body as nothing more than a facilitator of procreation. What a miracle it would be if those portly or withered cardinals really looked at Michelangelo's frescoes in the Sistine Chapel -- all the vigorous, well-muscled, near-nude figures -- and had a collective epiphany: Damn, what have we been thinking for all these repressed, sexless centuries? Why have we been encouraging shame and secrecy? What's wrong with priests getting married? What's wrong with engaging in sex for pleasure, and non(cisgendered)heterosexuals engaging in sex for pleasure too? Men created celibacy, but God created orgasms! And while we're at it, let's encourage rather than forbid birth control, 'cause if Earth is the Crown of Creation, we should really try to ensure that overpopulation won't soil that crown beyond reclamation. Holy shit, have we been hypocrites or what?  

He ain't crazy; he's my brother.

HA!

Remember The Zero Knot? (I had to ask, 'cause I know how soon you guys forget. ;-)) This is how I imagine Jess Bonner and his kid brother, Jared ("Red"), would've looked had they posed for a portrait some years ago. :-D

Come visit . . . and win!

Today I'm  at the wonderful Young Adult LGBTQ Literature site, TRUE COLORZ. So if you'd like to know why I write YA characters and which one of mine I'd like to be for a day, stop by. I also talk about how Red in The Zero Knot came to be, and something important I didn't learn from Oprah.

Oh, and I'm also doing a giveaway. The winning commenter can choose either The Zero Knot OR Xylophone. You have until March 3 to enter!

A Modest Proposal . . . or Three

Let me say straight up that I've never been to Gay Rom Lit. My spending $2,000 to $3,000 on a conference just ain't gonna happen until FedEx delivers that sugar daddy I ordered. But I've read countless posts over the past couple of days (and I suspect you have too) about how this year's GRL is being handled, or mishandled, and how ironic it is that six top-tier authors have proved such dismal communicators that they've managed to offend a considerable number of their peers.

Seems to me some changes are in order if GRL is to run smoothly in the future and avoid being known as GRRRR.

Any thinking person can easily understand the need for cost management and registration caps. So, how to address these issues? Here are the most logical options.

1. Book the con at larger, more accommodating venues. Considering that's easier said than done, let's move on.
2. (This is something I suggested elsewhere.)  Make it clear well in advance of registration that a limited number of spaces are available for readers as well as authors. Then proceed to accept registrants on a first-come, first-served basis. This is the most equitable approach, because it levels the playing field for everybody. However, organizers have made it clear they're resistant to taking this route because it could glut the con with relatively unknown authors -- and those aren't the ones readers want to meet.
3. (More and more, I'm convinced this might be best solution.) Refashion GRL. Rather than putzing around trying to define author "tiers" and figure out how to divvy up spaces among them (which, let's face it, only generates resentment), make GRL an invitation-only event for authors and an open-registration event for readers. This means, of course, the vast majority of writers in the genre will be left out. But really, so what? We small fry all realize we can't compete with the big fish in this pond. And we all know there are other gay-lit meets we're welcome to attend. Organizers have stated over and over again that readers go to GRL in the hope of meeting the genre's superstars. They become flustered and disappointed (so say the organizers, and they should know) if ID tags they want to see are lost in an ocean of names they don't recognize.

So, based on the multitude of contradictions I've seen as organizers stress out and their CYA impulses reach record levels, and the hurt (as well as fear) on the part of "ordinary" authors, and the indignation on the part of readers . . . in the name of all that is sane, I encourage organizers to adopt option #3. Make GRL a reader-inclusive event that centers on fan favorites. This is the only way to ensure that all attendees will get what they want out of it.

I find this the most manageable and profitable way to go. And the most honest. What do you think?
 

Author Reincarnation

I think I'd like to try this.

The Current Big Thing at Goodreads hasn't been spawned by blog hops or favorites lists or any given publisher. A lot of readers seem to be jumping on a new bandwagon: free online fiction or inexpensive self-published fiction that breaks from genre norms. It might be waaaaaay longer than the usual m/m stories. Or waaaaaay shorter. Often it's written by people with quirky handles like stained_skirt and BrainMassacre. Sometimes it's spawned by fandoms.

So . . . what's driving people to read, rate, and review this stuff (and rave about it, even if it isn't particularly good)? Is it disaffection or boredom with standard genre offerings? Cheapness? Curiosity? A desire to support "deviant" writers (you know, like deviant artists)? Is it a fad, or an indication of where publishing is headed? (Don't sell it; give it away!) In any case, this trend has an air of rebellion about it -- like, "I'm thumbing my nose at the establishment, because they're all wankers. Except, of course, my favorite authors, who can do no wrong."

I'm creeping toward the point where I'd like, or maybe need, to reinvent myself. It would be interesting, very interesting, to find out how an oddball work would be received if it didn't have my usual pseudonym on it, and maybe didn't even have cover art.

I wonder if other authors ever feel this way.

The Curse of the Twelfth Month

Writers beware. It isn't wise to publish a book in December unless it's a Christmas story. Why?

1. It will be swamped by holiday-themed fiction.
2. A December publication date means you won't make "lists" for that year, because your book came out too late, yet you won't make "lists" for the following year, because your book wasn't published in that year. So keep in mind that a December non-holiday release will likely be consigned to a black hole.

In the Grand Scheme of Things, this certainly doesn't matter. But it can be a bit depressing.

Just sayin'.