This week’s love quote I love: You know you’re in love when you can’t fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams. – Dr. Seuss.
Hmm… Something to ponder while I write this week.
Hope everybody’s having a good one. :)
Note from Ellis: I want to thank Larry Benjamin for agreeing to let me re-post this blog article. As someone who has experienced abuse in a same-sex relationship, I can relate to the difficulty of putting it out in the world. At the same time, the embarrassment and ease of sweeping such a topic under the rug is the very reason why it must be put out into the world.
The other day, my latest release, Damaged Angels, received a 5 star review from Debbie McGowan, owner of independent publisher, Beaten Track. (Read that review here: http://ow.ly/ejKk4)
In the review, McGowan says “…the author’s extensive research and meticulous attention to detail pays real dividends.” That made me chuckle. I immediately sent her a note explaining that my “extensive research” was actually a three year relationship with a drug addicted hustler, who I’ll call “Tomas.” In essence I researched the book by living the stories in it. Certainly I didn’t get involved with him because I thought I would one day write of the experience. I got involved with him because I fell in love with him. And I thought I could save him.
I wrote the stories to purge myself of the experience and maybe to warn others. I don’t know. I just know I had to write it all down. He inspired four of the stories in the collection. Though no one story is about us, about him, specifically; I abstracted actual events and tried to reduce them to their core actions then recast them.
This book made me nervous. In part because it was so different from my first,What Binds Us. I worried about what readers of that book would think of this one. And in part because this was in a very real way, my story. Readers always ask which characters are most like you. In this case the main characters in all thirteen stories are hauntingly similar to me. To read this collection, if you read it closely enough, is to get inside my head. And that scares me: do I want anyone to know me that well?
My partner and I recently saw “Keep the Lights On” and that movie, about a documentary filmmaker and a crack-addicted lawyer, really resonated with me because I’d lived that story. I admit it was a hard film to watch for that reason—I know what it’s like to watch someone you care about disappear at the end of a crack pipe. The scene that rang truest was when Erik’s sister tries to get him to eat but he can’t eat because Paul is missing and then he dissolves into tears. Yep, been there. A similar scene appears in “The Seduction of the Angel Gabriel.”
“Let me make breakfast,” Gabriel tells him, pulling away and wiping his nose with his sleeve.
“You want some?”
Gabriel turns around, eggs in hand. “I thought you told me you don’t eat breakfast.”
“I don’t usually.”
Gabriel is at once suspicious. “Did you eat dinner last night?”
“You know, as skinny as you are, you don’t need to be missing any meals.”
“I couldn’t eat,” he blurts. “Not knowing whether or not you were hungry somewhere.”
Returning from one such bender, “Tomas” confessed to me that he always thought about me when he heard Anita Baker’s I Love You Just Because. And I understood that because I loved him just because. Everyone I knew looked at him and saw someone wholly unsuitable; I looked at him and saw…something…else. A woman I worked with, a Jehovah’s Witness, asked me once why I loved him and I answered “because he looks at me and I feel like a hero.” That line actually appears in the story “2 Rivers” because it is the only way Seth can explain his relationship with the hustler Jordan to Luke, the story’s narrator.
“Tomas” tried to kill himself one night by taking an overdose of prescription medication. I discovered him in a coma lying in bed beside me when I got up to go to work. That experience became “17 Days.”
When his best friend chastised him for taking a deliberate overdose, pointing out he could have died. His response chilled me: “Larry wouldn’t let me die.”
The relationship thrived—for a while. In my care, he got “clean,” learned how to drive, earned his GED, reunited with his family. His transformation was miraculous. He introduced me to his family, he held my hand in public, he made me dinner.
Then one day he hit me.
I threw him out. The next morning I found him on my doorstep. He cried. He swore he would never hit me again. He begged me to forgive him, to take him back. I did. After all we’d both been drunk and I’d made him mad. Since then I have learned:
1. If he does not care about you enough in a moment of anger to not hit you, he does care about you enough. Period.
2. If he hit you once, he will hit you again. And again. Until you put a stop to it.
The second time he hit me, I told his psychiatrist, who diagnosed Episodic Dyscontrol Syndrome. He was medicated. The third and final time he hit me, I went after him with a kitchen knife. That scared us both. That experience became a single incident of domestic violence in “2 Rivers”:
The storm clouds gathered at the edges of his consciousness. They occasionally skittered across the sky, blocking out the sun, leaving him to stumble in the sudden dark, getting bumped and bruised. Eventually, an eclipse of the sun will blacken his universe. When the moon has completed its turn around the sun, the light will reveal blood and his own hand clenched in a fist, raw and throbbing.
In that brief description I tried to capture that feeling of bewilderment that follows being hit by someone you love. What happened? How could he hurt me?
Unwilling to throw him out, unable to trust him, I, at knifepoint, made him take a double dose of medicine and watched him fall asleep. As luck would have it, we had an appointment with his psychiatrist the following morning. I remember I had to wear my glasses because my eyes were too swollen to get my contact lenses in.
Looking at my bruised, swollen face, his psychiatrist asked, “Did he do that?” He admitted him to their psychiatric ward. “You need to get away from him,” he told me. “You deserve better.”
If you’re in that situation, you shouldn’t need someone else to tell you you deserve better. You should know that, you should feel that in your bones: I do not deserve to be hit. Or yelled at or belittled. You should know that. I don’t know why I didn’t, why it took me so long to walk away. Why it took someone else telling me to walk away.
Once years ago, while crossing a water fall over a small creek, my dog slipped and fell in the creek. I reached down and caught his harness. Then I fell in. I sank like a rock. I can’t swim. I remember it was dark and bottle green beneath the surface. The current caught and pulled him from me but I hung on to his harness as tightly as I could. I remember thinking I couldn’t swim but I would do my best to save him. In that instant I made the decision: we would both survive or we would both drown or I would drown and he would survive but there was no way I would survive and let him drown. We both survived—a passing young man dove in and dragged us to safety. But with Tomas the current became too strong and I had to let him go. Or risk us both drowning.
In the acknowledgements in “Damaged Angels,” I wrote “It takes a village to raise a child…and write a book”. I thanked several people, ending with: “And finally to all the men and boys who inspired these stories—you gave your all. I hope I gave as much.”
I realize now, in the retelling, I gave as much.
Read the first story from Damaged Angels: http://ow.ly/ejMfL
I nearly flunked high school gym class. No joke. My mother thought I was incredibly lazy. In truth, I put a great deal of effort into not participating. I was in a lesbian relationship for the first half of high school. I didn’t broadcast, but people knew. I was never seriously hurt, but there were shoves and threats, and that was just walking down the hall. Heaven forbid someone thought I looked at them funny in the locker room or touched them inappropriately while holding their legs for sit-ups or Lord knew what. Gym class made me anxious as hell. Participating in any kind of sport was never even an option as far as I was concerned. I really wanted to be a cheerleader. I convinced myself I wouldn’t have been any good anyway.
So I have a huge amount of respect and awe for any LGBT athlete who comes out at any point in their career, especially in their teen years when there is so much at stake. Kids can be cruel. Parents and teachers sometimes can be, as well.
My admiration extends to Jeff Sheng as well, whose photography work I find so inspirational. He’s done phenomenal photo exhibits covering subject matter like Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell and the fence where Matthew Shepard lay dying. And for roughly the last decade, he’s also been working on a photo collection of hundreds of openly gay athletes which has gotta be as rewarding as it is exhausting. The Fearless Project is something personal for him–he was an athlete in high school, and quit because he thought he couldn’t be a gay in sports.
Even more, however, I really believe that this is a project that can bring an amazing amount of hope and awareness. The string of bullying reports and teen suicides isn’t so far back in our rear-view. The country is at a crossroads. Minds are changing and still more need to be changed, one hopes for the better. These kids, their bravery should be honored.
And the more this work gets out in the world, the more good it can do. I really believe that. Sheng has mostly been footing the bill on his own dime until now, and including the travel to all of the student athletes he visits. He’s got a little over a week to drum up a few grand more to complete the project or he forfeits everything that has been pledged. He’s self-publishing the project because no photography book publisher has been interested in publishing it. This is totally doable. Please help by supporting his Kickstarter project.
Hate violence? Want to help a stranger and feel good? Need some karma points? Like yoga? Washington DC yoga instructor Michael Joel Hall was attacked with his boyfriend a couple of weeks ago in a suspected hate crime, and wound up in the hospital needing facial reconstruction surgery without insurance. He also lost his home in a fire a couple of months ago. I know it’s not possible to help every single time this sort of thing happens, but as a yogi, DC-area resident, and human being, I do like to try and help when I can. If you’d like to do so as well, Michael’s friends have set up a collection fund through paypal, and you can find it here. For more information about Michael’s story, check out this Huffington Post Article, or his friend and fellow yoga instructor’s web site. IF you are in the DC area there are a couple of charity fundraising yoga classes being held: one at Meridian Hill Park in Washington DC on Augst 5th at 5pm, and one at 3pm on August 12th at Happy Soul Yoga, 25 Catoctin Circle NE, Leesburg, VA.
Still jonesing for a NOH8 picture of your very own? This Sunday from 2-5pm, NOH8 will be having an open photo shoot at the HRC Headquarters, so if you’re in the area you should definitely come down. Find out more, here. Wear some comfy pants, so you can stay in the city for the Michael Joel Hall charity yoga class at Meridian Hill Park when you’re all done. :)
And on the literary/romance front, the OutWrite book fair is going on this weekend in Northwest DC. Friday night there will be some cool exhibitors and authors from Dreamspinner Press (through which I’ve published a romantic short story, Feeling Neighborly), and Rainbow ebooks, David Pratt will be there with his Bob the Book (a personal favorite of mine) and his new short story collection, and on Saturday there will be some really awesome readings. This will all be going on at 1318 U St NW, and you can find out more, here.
And finally, the All Romance eBooks Hottest Hero Contest! There’s a mix of big names and lesser known authors, here, some male/female romance, some male/male, go and vote for your favorites! Tara Lain’s Hunter Fallon is up, and so is Mary Calmes’s Malic Sunden. The winning author gets some cool prizes, and you’ll be entered to win ARe bucks just for voting!
All right…I’m spent…Weekend’s coming, right? Hope you’ve all got awesome plans.
Wishing everyone a safe, happy, healthy new year! This week I’m working hard on my edits for my hot boy-meets-vampire novella, Immortal Valentine, coming Feb 12th to Amber Allure press. I’ve also been pitching in on Boxer Falls, a gay serial soap opera with Poppy Dennison and Damon Suede, and we’re looking for some guest authors to help with that as well! The first episode of that will be up just after New Years on the Goodreads M/M Romance group! Oh yeah, I’m also working on my resolutions to get organized and to stop holding grudges when people hurt my feelings–really, the only person those grudges hurt are me. What are your resolutions?
Okay folks. Until next year, I leave you with The Male Form at NextModelMen.
Yes, Sir – A New Orleans vacation takes an interesting turn when Grayson Harper lets a friend drag him along to see a voodoo priestess for a love spell. Suddenly he’s having very vivid dreams about a mystery man that seem all too real, and doing things in them he never thought possible. But what will become of the man of his dreams once he leaves the magic of the French quarter?
It Was Supposed to be a Fun Game – Part of Thousand Word Thursday over at Cryselle’s Bookshelf, this is a sweet contemporary flash fiction (1000 words) piece I wrote inspired by a picture that Cryselle posted on her site.
They say that for some, that being desired is almost as good as an orgasm. The thrill of being pursued certainly does do wonderful things to one’s ego, one’s libido, and even to one’s heart, I would imagine. Knowing a person wants you enough to pursue you to the ends of the earth? Hell yeah. Thoughts? Opinions?
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