Eden Winters's Blog, page 62

Anti-Bullying Ad

Here's a powerful anti-bullying message that brought me to tears. May we all stand up, for if we stand together, who can stand against us?

In a Retro Mood

I've always loved this song, and it took on a whole new meeting three years ago when I became a published author. Enjoy a blast from my past with Dire Straits and Lady Writer. 


[image error]

Jared has done it again!

The very talented Jared Rackler has done it again, producing an unbelieveably gorgeous cover for my short story, Flame.


While Flame is currently out of publication, look for it again real soon, sporting Jared's amazing work.[image error]

Lovely, Lovely, Lovely

Those of you who follow my blog have seen posts before about talented up and coming cover artist Jared Rackler. It seems my recent Goodreads Love is Always Write story, In Dreams, inspired him, and he created this lovely cover. Beautiful, isn't it?




Find the inspiration behind the cover here. [image error]

Remember what the day is for....

While having a day off from work is lovely, and it's a great time to spend with family and friends, remember to pause and consider what Memorial Day stands for. Let's honor our servicemen and women, who'd lay down their lives for this country, or who already have.

I cannot even imagine what it must be like to leave home at eighteen and immediately be thrust into a world where people hate you for your country and would happily kill you, not for who you are, but what you represent: freedom, democracy, the right to free speech. And so many do not return home.

So if you're a praying person, pray for our military personnel in harm's way, but above all, quietly or not so quietly thank them for keeping us safe here at home.

I'm a proud Navy mom!

Just one more week...Lambdas!!!!

Oh my God! At this time next week I'll be in New York City, preparing to attend the Lambda Awards. A friend, who also has a book nominated in the M/M Romance category, just pointed out an email I hadn't properly read, instructing me about acceptance speeches, where to sit, and asking if I'd like to be photographed on the red carpet. Red carpet? Acceptance speeches? Which immediately sparked a bout of hyperventilation.

This is without a doubt a dream come true for me, being nominated and attending the awards. I'd hoped for it later on in my career, never realizing it'd happen so soon. I check the nominee's list from time to time to make sure Settling the Score is still there, and that being nominated is not simply a sweet dream I'll soon wake up from.

Ya'll wish me luck!!! And thank you Lambda Literary!

Memorial Day Free Read

For Memorial Day, a free novel about a soldier's homecoming and coming out in a small Alabama town:


Time in Iraq cost Michael Ritter some of his hearing and a friend whose death he feels responsible for. He'd left Alabama hoping to escape a dull, small-town life, but now, four years later, he's returning, lugging a duffle full of personal demons.

Engineering student Jay Ortiz attends college in a place where his heritage and orientation aren't widely accepted. While adjusting to new surroundings he found a soldier's picture. During lonely times he confided in the image of the somber young man, giving his heart away to a stranger. Now that stranger is coming home...

Find it at ARe

Free Read at Goodreads

I had a blast last year participating in the Don't Read in the Closet short story project at Goodreads, and chose another prompt picture this year for their Love is Always Write campaign. Here's the picture and prompt I choose, offered by Lexi:

For three sleepless days, the lyrics have been pounding around in my head. Every time I close my eyes, this is the face that I see. The music is pouring from me, dragging me in its wake and I can almost believe he is real, his haunted eyes singing to me.

Although my original idea was for a rock musician with amnesia, the story turned out much, much different.

See how different here:

Hop Against Homophobia Part II

Every now and then you come across something so deeply moving that you want to share it with everyone. That happened for me today when I read my dear friend Will Prater's poem, written as part of the Hop Against Homophobia. I cannot see how anyone could read these heartwrenchingly beautiful words and walk away unchanged. Will is such a joyful, funloving soul, that I never imagined the deep pain he carries inside. It's a testiment to his fortitude and character that he has grown into the warm, loving man he is today.

This picture is one of the few times I've seen Will not smiling, but that T-shirt and the hair explains a lot about his life's philosophy.

That Kid by William Prater

I am that kid, bloody and bruised, 
thrown on the sidewalk, wasted and used. 

I am that kid in different clothes, 
beat up and spit on for words that he chose. 

I am that kid, no belief left in God, 
that Christians reviled, and Samiritans robbed.

I am that kid that stayed late at school,
to avoid the cheers and the sneers of the "cool".

I am that kid that covered the mirrors,
that quietly hurt myself, screaming through tears. 

I am that kid, coming out to my folks,
only to find I am the butt of their jokes.

I am that kid, hit and thrown to the ground,
you said you'd protect, but you were never around. 

I am that kid who couldn't take any more,
so I closed off my heart, and prayed to my core.

I am that kid, that pray and pray,
since suicide's sin, kill me another way.

I am that kid, who lived through that shit,
now I AM STRONGER, and on the other side of it. 

I am that man, who sees the truth,
that people are mean, and worse, in their youth.

I am that man who understands how
the same ones who made fun are all sorry now.

I am that man, they all wanted to be,
even in youth, cause the truth set me free. 

I am that man, who chooses to love, 
stronger than hate, I rise above. 

I am that man though the kid is still me,
the only difference is now, I'm happy to be. 

I am that man who journeyed though hate
bruised but not broken, who chose his own fate.

I am that man who will love who he please
No apologies, no regrets, 'til this life, it does cease.

***

If this poem brought you to tears, as it did me, please visit Will's site and let him know at Just Write and SO Gay. 

Please give a warm welcome to Rodney Ross

I don't have guests often, but I'm pleased to present Rodney Ross, whose new novel, "The Cool Part of His Pillow" recently released from Dreamspinner Press. If you've read my work you know I love angst, and happy endings (but the main character has to work for it.)

I've read the blurb and can't help wondering: is ‘The Cool Part Of His Pillow’ (TCPohP) a romance or a journey to recovery?  What kind of experience can readers expect?

I would say both. Barry Grooms is a success by any measure: expansive interior design gallery, 20-plus years of stability with partner Andy, financial security, he still has all of his own hair and teeth. Then everything changes when, on Barry’s 45th birthday, a horrendous construction crane collapse kills Andy and their two pugs.

His plunge into widowerhood is surreal – casseroles of sympathy, being offered someone else’s snotrag, a parasitic grief support group –  yet Barry is damaged, not destroyed, and as he slowly rebuilds a world largely destroyed, my hope is anyone who has experienced loss, felt backed into a corner, dealt with know-it-all-but-well-meaning-friends-and-relatives or retreated into denial, will find resonance.

TCPohP is also funny, full of wicked observation. Not rimshot jokes nor Neil Simon-ish set-ups…more humor that naturally emerges from situations…misery is so much more fun when sprinkled with the macabre or the politically-incorrect, the scatological or the blasphemous. Barry’s smartassedness, his skeptical eye rolls, are what ultimately save him.

I notice you have a book trailer.  Tell us some of your thoughts on book trailers.  Do they make an effective marketing tool?
Actually, I have several TCPohP trailers; by going to YouTube at by going to YouTube at http://youtu.be/p2hbNenYe4g, you can watch one, then access the rest, some teasers, others time-sensitive, a couple more general. Having come from -- or, rather, escaped -- the Advertising arena and its bloodlust, I know too well how society is visually-driven. And don’t we all love a good Coming Attraction at the local multiplex (after the 22 goddamn commercials for soft drinks and one-night-only opera telecasts we’ll never attend?) A carefully-crafted trailer can give the potential reader a hint of what’s to come, without spoilers or too much hyperbole. My endgame was to attract interest.

I absolutely adore the cover art. Who designed the cover and what do you like best about it?

Anne Cain, who does a lot of work for DSP. Beyond the literal emptiness of the bed, a pillow clearly not slept upon and a forlorn hand, I like the detachment…almost seen through parchment, from an impassive distance. I like how the wrinkled sheets trail down and recede into marbelization. The colors aren’t quite real. Nor is the character’s life after being thrust into the darkest recesses he could ever imagine.

What has been the toughest criticism given to you as an author?  What has been the best compliment?

The worst: being informed by a literary agent probably no older than my tweezers that my writing was “too jazzy” for her palate. I protested, “But I hate jazz!” I still don’t know what that means, but I do my best now to avoid mentioning saxophones and Ann Hampton Calloway as I wordsmith. What a load of horseshit. You may as well tell me you don’t like the way I type, it’s that impenetrable.The best: a Key West, FL neighbor who was once a columnist for the Chicago Tribune telling me, upon reading the raw manuscript-- before I ever submitted it anywhere --  that TCPohP gave her an asthma attack. My new goal is to always make someone reach for an inhaler.

What aspect of your own life has most influenced your writing or storytelling?

Being a gay male, certainly, and permit to be demure and evasive as I add one of a certain age, I wanted to voice something relevant to a certain demographic: loneliness borne of loss, not of abandonment or cheating or even illness, but unthinkable circumstance. I am remarkably fortunate to be with a man who has tolerated and treasured me for a very long time. If our relationship was measured in dog years, it would be something out of Jurassic Park. Having known this bliss, I wanted to talk about the absence of love after having had it…when AARP is about the only thing that may come courting. Love is visceral and tactile, as well as emotional, and its absence can cause as much physical as emotional distress. And I ain’t talking blue balls.

What part of the writing process do you enjoy the most?  The least?
The challenge is always sitting down and writing, while also being depressingly aware that the final polish is so, so distant. Writing is so damned isolated, and isolating. A writer looks for distraction: the shit-laden litterpan to scoop, or sit-ups to attempt, a martini that’s just yelling to be shaken. I always have a notepad and pen, or a mini-cassette recorder, handy. I treat my muse like a sneeze: I gotta catch the spray when I can! 

That said, I cherish the ability to create and manipulate lives in the way we, of course, cannot make ours so malleable. The inclination to write is so embedded, I cannot imagine NOT writing. I was a creative child, self-isolating and brooding. Most is nature….a bit is nurture…all of it is heavy lifting.

I'm a seat-of-the-pants writer, working on twelve stories at once. Do you work on one project at a time? Or do you multi-task?


One at a time. Having come -– or, rather, escaped, from the arena of Advertising –- I multitask quite capably, but that doesn’t guarantee a satisfying result. I wish I could divide my brain like the segments of an orange and each juicy membrane would address a different novel, screenplay or play, but I have to bring my whole fruitness to a single game.

What song would best describe your life?
Anything from Karen Carpenter.  As a younger gay, I instinctively understood the forlorn quality of her voice; now, as an Eldergay, I appreciate even more her. When pressed, I would say her rendition of ‘Superstar’ would accompany me to a deserted island, along with guacamole,Grey Goose and a glycolic facial wash.

Personally, I find techno without words helps drive creativity. Do you listen to music when writing? Do you feel like some stories write themselves a soundtrack with specific music? If so, what book and what kind of music influenced it?

I prefer silence when I write in my office: no music, no TV in the other room, even ambient noise outdoors can be distracting. Occasionally, when traveling, I’ll listen to my iPod and scribble some notes and, inevitably, it’s usually sparked by a film soundtrack. The compositions of Rachel Portman are especially inspirational.

Now that you’re published, describe the journey.

Well, I’m still on it. I cannot begin to predict the turns, the fast stops, the backing-up I will have to do to push my novel in conjunction with Dreamspinner Press (DSP).

Writing letters of inquiry and sending novel samples – “send us your best chapter,” some implore, as though I can disconnect one from the other as a perfect stand-alone example of my ability – is especially brutal, one that embodies the word dread.

My favorite rejection letter was an E-mail from another literary agent (do you sense a trend here?). It was 3 words in response to what I thought was a succinct plot summary coupled with a witty turn of phrase or two and the first three chapters.

The E-mail read: Not for me

No greeting, no signature, not even a period. She didn’t have time to close the fucking sentence.
Any upcoming projects you would like to let us know about?
Beyond conceding that I AM at work on a new novel, that’s a big sssssssshhhhhh. I can say that it’s about bad luck, and good -- the paths chosen when fortune smiles on us, the desperate measures taken when it doesn’t.

Is there an author you would really like to meet?  Where, and what would you talk about?

I always cite John Irving. The World According To Garp opened my eyes to possibilities in literature that didn’t exist to me prior. His subsequent work has been just as vital, and his style brings an empathy, clarity and humanity to the most unrelentingly cruel encounters and unexpected character pivots. I can only aspire to his literary prowess, and I would probably just weep copiously or lose control of my bowels in his presence, neither of which would make a favorable impression.

What are you reading currently?

I am loving the trashy and salacious Full Service, by Scotty Bowers, the Hollywood hustler who serviced people like CaryGrant and procured women for Katherine Hepburn.  Whether it is true nor not is inconsequential. I crave a little dirt to sprinkle over my morning egg, and this tell-all supplied it.


Where can we find The Cool Part of His Pillow? 

Publication Date: May 2012 PublicationBuy Links: Paperback http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=2942                           ISBN 978-1-61372-504-7e-Book      http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=2941    ISBN 978-1-61372-505-4
Can you share an excerpt with us?
I push away the toss pillows plumped horizontally under the duvet to approximate a body alongside my own.
I hate this foam memory mattress. I wish we’d kept our very first lumpy, concave mattress. Andy’s dent would still be in it. I could sink into it, let it swallow me up.
I will never again hear him whisper into my ear, “Sleepy time now.”
I will never again feel his heartbeat when he wakes from nightmares, holding on to a spindle of our headboard.

I will never ever again kidnap the cool part of his pillow. It was just one push/pull in our 23 years of push/pull continuum. When my own was airless and warm, I would find that unoccupied part, I would slowly pull the pillow toward me until his shoulders grazed my breastbone, nestle my head behind his and go to sleep. It didn’t stay cool for long. I’d restlessly return to my own, or he’d wake enough to take it back with a grouchy harumph but two, three times a night my right hand, like a divining rod jerking toward a source of water, would go wandering for fresh, for safe, for cool. It was like winning a prize. I will miss those two big heads full of alpha male dreams sharing one pillow.

Now it’s all mine.

I can have as much cool as I want, can dominate every bit, which is very different.


Thank you so much for joining us today, Rodney!