Larry Benjamin's Blog: Larry Benjamin's blog - This Writer's Life, page 10

Happy One Year Anniversary Unbroken: What a Year it's Been

Today marks one year since my Beaten Track Publishing released of my third book, the gay coming-of-age/romance novel, Unbroken. And what a year it has been. Unbroken was both a 2014 IPPY (Independent Publishers) Gold medalist and a Lambda Literary Award finalist in the Gay Romance category. That lead to the opportunity to join other finalists at readings in New York and Philadelphia.

But perhaps most significantly, the publication of Unbroken allowed me to reconnect me with my childhood crush, Jose, who is the real life basis for the character of Jose, Lincoln de Chabert’s lifelong love in Unbroken. Getting to know him as an adult, confessing that long ago first crush has been both cathartic and illuminating.

Now seems like a good time to thank reviewers who read the book and wrote reviews, as well as the readers who not only spent their hard earned cash to buy the book but who also took the time to read the book and post a review here on Goodreads, or Amazon, or drop me an email sharing their thoughts on the story. One 75 year old woman said that she’d always loved her gay son but until she read Unbroken she had never truly understood. Another woman was reading the book because her 12 year old son had confessed to her that everyone at school kept asking him if he was gay. He, himself, was unsure, but she wanted to prepare herself to support him if he was.

My goal in writing Unbroken was to take the reader by the hand and carry him or her on my journey, down a road that was often unpaved, unlit, and which passed through enemy territory and unexplored lands but which was the only road open to me. I thank everyone who travelled that road with me by reading the book.

On Being a Misfit...and Loving It

I have a commute to work which, if not, soul killing, is at least soul numbing, but my car has a premium sound system with 10 speakers. Music is my sanity. I happen to love songs that tell a story, that contain a message. So many top 10 hits and pop songs don’t tell a story or tell a story that makes no sense, so Meghan Trainor’s “All About That Bass” really caught my attention. It spoke to the misfit I am, have always been.

Before I go any further, let me say I have always embraced my inner (and outer) misfit. I was fortunate enough never to suffer from the need to fit in, which was a good thing because I neither fit in, nor blend; blending to me equals death. Skinny, sissified, I never had any hope of “passing;” I didn’t have the desire either. I wouldn’t try to pass for straight (even if I could) any more than I would try to pass for white (if I could).

“I’m all about that bass, ‘bout that bass, no treble.”

As I understand it she’s referring to her size (“I ain’t no size 2”) and embracing it, rather than trying to be a size 2. I applaud that because translated, to me it says, “I am different from you and I am not only ok with that, I embrace and celebrate my difference.”

I am appalled and dismayed by the homogeneity of today’s youth—they all dress alike, shop at the same stores, carry the same iPhone, share the same friends, go to the same blockbuster vampire movies. More disturbing still is they all seem to want to be the same. I am saddened when I see scores of parents hauling their look-alike children off to soccer each Saturday morning. Do none of those children want to go to piano practice, or lay in the backyard staring up at the sky, or stay in their room and make up stories about imaginary friends and places? Decades past my childhood, I still sit in my room and make up stories. You couldn’t pay me to attend a soccer game.

It is no wonder then that our gay youth panic when they realize they are different from their straight peers; it is no wonder we heap praise on the all too rare parents who laud and support their “queer” children.

For my day job I was doing some research and came across a warning that said companies that offer employee referral programs should only offer those for a period of three years. The reason being that people tend to befriend people like themselves, people who act and think as they do, so if a company only hires employee referrals, they will, in a short period, end up with a homogenous workforce, comprised of employees who all think and act alike which results in stagnation and an inability to remain competitive due to a lack of fresh ideas and diversity of thought.

I try to include a diversity of characters in my books: black, white, Hispanic. And a range of emotions and approaches to life. My characters range from the cheerfully promiscuous Dondi and the almost virginal Matthew in What Binds Us, to the sissified but stead fast Lincoln in Unbroken, who rejects any man who is not his beloved Jose. When a friend chides him for spurning yet another would-be suitor, Lincoln icily informs him, “You—and he—need to realize that just because he wanted to fuck me, doesn’t obligate me to let him.” In Damaged Angels, I wrote about hustlers and the mentally ill and the drug addicted. The tension in these stories comes from their interactions and relationships with others who do not share their addiction, or illness or desperation.

“You know I won’t be no stick figure, silicone, Barbie doll, so if that’s what you’re into, then go ahead and move along.”

How powerful those words belted out: I’m not your version of perfect or acceptable, well that is fine, just go on because I don’t need you and I don’t need your approval.

For me, the standout star of the video is Vine celebrity Sione Maraschino . He is large, very large, but he can move; he dances with an infectious joy, without self-consciousness, and is transformed into a very sexy man. I posted a picture of myself from when I was a sophomore in college. Seeing the picture, a few people referred to me as handsome, which surprised me because I am not. Even when I was young, I wasn’t the sort of man anyone would look at twice but once people got to know me, saw my joy, my loving heart they seemed to see some other me, a me they saw as handsome and were attracted to but it was an attraction that was born of something else. I remember one guy in college telling me, “You’re not good looking but you have a certain ‘je nais se quoi,’” before lunging for me.

I suppose the point of this point is to encourage everyone—especially our youth—to be unafraid to be themselves, to embrace their differences and fly their misfit flag high.

“But I’m here to tell ya every inch of you is perfect from the bottom to the top.”

Check out this alternate jazz-infused version of “All About That Base” here.

Love is…Michael & SusieQ

My older brother, Michael, married Susie Q Wong this weekend and in a surprising turn of events I ended up being his best man. As a romance writer, I love weddings and this one was no exception. What is posted here is essentially a transcript of my best man’s speech and toast. In it, I make a connection between brotherhood and marriage.

The accompanying photos are courtesy of our cousin, Steve Tutein, a gifted photographer with Total Focus Studios.

Read the post.

Feel free to leave a comment congratulations the newlyweds, or sharing your own take on what love is.

Catching Up With...Stacey Thomas, the Philadelphia Wedding Chapel

As a newlywed and the author of the gay romances, Unbroken and What Binds Us, I think a lot about weddings. This week I turn my blog over to Stacey Thomas, entrepreneur and owner of The Philadelphia Wedding Chapel, where my new husband and I recently got married. Stacey talks about why she does what she does and weddings big and small. Give the post a read and then join the conversation by leaving a comment. Tell us about your wedding experience or your preference--big or small.

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Why I Write What I Do: Fabulous Five Blog Hop

This week as part of the Fab 5 Blog Hop, I answer 5 Fab questions about writing, my writing process, why I write what I do, and what's next for me.

Why do I write what I do?

I write what I do because it interests me. I write to give voice to those so often without a voice in gay fiction. I write because there is more to love and romance than swimming through a sea of pale, gym-toned bodies, and having constant sex. I write to help our young people imagine a future of love and acceptance. I write so people like me, people who are different and under-represented in fiction—especially gay fiction—can see themselves, can hear my voice, their voices. I write in the hopes that I will inspire those who are invisible, voiceless to pick up a pen and let their voices be heard, so that at some point their stories—our stories—will be as plentiful and as easy to find as those within the white homonormative narrative in gay fiction.

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A Thousand Miles from…Everywhere

In recent weeks, I have spoken to two gay poets. I don’t read much poetry but I am in awe of poets. I sometimes wish I was a poet instead of a writer. Poets are so romantic, wrapped as they are in an air of mystery, and gorgeous failure. I’ve written exactly one poem, "A Last Request." I wrote it after an editor who turned down my work insisted I should write poetry because my stories were so lyrical. So wrote it and tucked it away. At the last minute, I added it to the manuscript for Damaged Angels, my collection of short stories. I fully expected the publisher to excise it from the manuscript but they didn’t. And as it turned out, it didn’t really matter. In the first 6 months after publication we’d sold exactly 8 copies of Damaged Angels . Eight. And I bought two of those.

As I sit here having completed 1,083 words on my WIP, newly married, with three published books behind me, a thousand miles from where I began, a thousand miles from where I want to be, now seemed like a perfect time to visit that lone poem.

Read “A Last Request” now.

Musings of a New Husband

“You can’t marry another boy,” they told me.
“Why not?” I asked, confused. “You said I could do anything. You said I could grow up to be President.”
“You can’t marry another boy!”
“But you said I’d grow up, and fall in love, and get married.”
“You can’t fall in love with another boy!”
― Excerpt, Unbroken

My father followed me into the kitchen. “I like Stanley,” he said. “He is the kind of person I imagined for you. Do me a favor. Keep this one.”
I was startled for two reasons. One, my father doesn’t talk much, certainly not about anything of a personal nature. At least not to me. Second, he’d always hated all my boyfriends. Until that moment, until that conversation, I’d always assumed that he’d hated my boyfriends for their sex. Now I understood he’d hated them because he thought they weren’t good enough for me, that I deserved better. In all honestly, I had dated quite a collection of losers and lunatics.

“I will, Space,” I promised. “I will.”

Yesterday, more than 18 years after that conversation with my father, 25 years after we first met, on our 17th anniversary, on the 45th anniversary of Stonewall , and 38 days after Judge John Jones III’s historic decision, I kept that promise; I married Stanley, the best man I know, the one man my father approved of.

I’ve written on this blog about being the sissy triumphant (December 2013) about turning “nos” into “yeses,”(May 2014) but yesterday I said the biggest yes of all: “Yes, I do.”

It was a small, intimate affair—just us and six of our closest friends. But it was everything I dreamed my wedding would be. Stacey Thomas of Philadelphia Wedding Chapel not only got us married on the date we wanted, she made the service personal. We felt protected, cared for.

As we walked the short distance to the front where Stacey waited for us, a distance which, short as it was, had taken 45 years to get to, I thought of those long ago drag queens, mostly black and Hispanic, who tired, had started a riot that changed the course of history. As I walked forward tightly gripping Stanley’s hand. I knew I could never stand in their high heels but I could walk in their footsteps.

In one surprisingly hilarious moment, Stacey asked our friends if they would support us and stand with us. They answered in unison, “We will.” Their words settled on my skin. I realized that these six friends had our backs and always would. We, as individuals, as a people, and as a nation, have come so far. I know we have so far to go but I wanted to stop in that moment to rest, to live in that moment for just a moment longer.

Earlier in the day, my friend Shirley, who has never married, questioned the importance of marriage, saying it was just a piece of paper. She said, “After, you won’t be any different, or look any different.” I joked that I would look different, I would glow. She informed me one only glows when pregnant.

Now, officially married, Stanley’s kiss still lingering on my lips, I felt different. Maybe because we were now protected—no one could ever deny me access to his bedside; if anything happened to me, the taxes on my estate wouldn’t force him to sell our home. Maybe because, by getting married, we’d told each other: “I know you and I love you anyway.” And maybe this was just what equality felt like.

Unbroken

Black Cat

In my books, I write about men in love but we all know that love's road isn't always pretty and well-lit and paved. Sometimes it is dark, strewn with rocks, lined in thorns, spraining ankles and drawing blood. In my flash fiction, I sometimes wander down those other roads.


Felix unlocked the gate remotely. Jason opened the front door and stepped into cool of the hall, a shadow obscuring his face. He looked up, and seeing Felix at the top of the stairs he seemed to falter—it was the tiniest hesitation and in a moment he was cloaked in his usual blistering bravado. “Hey,” he called. “What happened? You never lock the gate.”

Their cat, Rover, who had been roaming the upstairs hall with feline grace, now rubbed himself against Felix’s leg. He was a beautiful cat. Jet black, with a splash of white across his chest, he was elegant as a tuxedo.

“Where were you?” Felix demanded.

Jason ignored the question, instead addressing their cat. “Rover, come.”
Usually Rover came when called. Now, he looked from Jason to Felix and back again.

“You want him?” Felix asked. He reached down, scooped the cat up, and flung him down the stairs at Jason.

Startled by the hissing, falling cat, Jason cried out “Oh!” and raised a hand in defense. Rover, landing on Jason’s shoulder, scrambled to the ground screaming in protest.

A stealth bomber of a headache arrived on the horizon. It’s pilot, tiny, malevolent, black with purpose, zeroed in on its target and gave full thrust to the engines. The distance between him and Felix shrank. Felix’s skull throbbed. His stomach heaved. Bile burned his throat like chemical warfare.

The plane was directly overhead. The roar of the engines was so loud its sound took on physical dimension.
Jason was suddenly in front of him, pulling him into his arms, cradling his head between his neck and shoulder. Moving them, sideways like a crab, Jason led them to their bedroom, all the while whispering in Felix’s ear, his tongue drawing circles around the delicate shell.

The plane swung suddenly around, in a high graceful arc, and streaked back across the horizon whence it came. Felix was left damp, limp, queasy from its noxious fumes, but alive. Wonderfully, vibrantly, alive. He stretched luxuriously, listened to Jason singing in the shower.

Jason’s phone started buzzing. Lazily Felix reached for it, saw a text message flash onto the screen.

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Gay Pride Month - Virtual Roundtable

This week on my blog, we’re trying something a little different. In honor of LGBT Pride month, I am among a great group of panelists who will be hosting a month long discussion about Pride, LGBT Youth, Allies, and more. Our panelists are a diverse group of readers, writers, and supporters of gay fiction, including Rick Bettencort, Brandilyn Carpenter, Rob Colton, Andrew Q Gordon, Lane Hayes, Debbie McGowan, and Brandon Shire. Each week, two people will answer two questions related LGBT pride, rights, and related topics. We will also be giveaway free copies of eBooks by our participating authors and a Amazon gift card. You can enter on the Raffle Copter at the end of the post (Click on Continue Reading link to be taken there). There are special entries for each week of June, so don't miss out on those.


Please join in the discussion in the comments. You can gain entries into the giveaway, but more importantly, you can be part of a important and fun discussion. Though only 2 panelists will be posting each week, we will all be joining the discussion.

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At the Lammys – Forever Unbroken

The 26th Annual Lambda Literary awards were held Monday, June 2 at Cooper Union in NYC. Because my third novel, Unbroken, was a finalist, we hopped the Acela and went. My brother was waiting at Penn Station by the flower stand at the 8th Ave exit when we arrived. We hugged and began our wait.

SusieQ, his fiancée, if not early, or on time, but at last not as late as usual, stormed the station, a warrior princess in red, a blast of windblown hair and towering heels. Together we took the subway downtown. We arrived early and, led by my brother, Michael, tall, unshakeable as a redwood, surged through the doors at Cooper Union, boisterous, bulletproof, Stanley, my partner, trailing us looking bewildered but proud. We signed in at the reception desk and were directed downstairs.

Downstairs: a crush of bodies and rising heat. An army of waiters, ramrod straight and beautiful, jet hair, silver white skin, red-red lips parted in welcome, seemed to beckon, come closer. Closer. Okay, not that close. They coolly offered platters of hors d’ouevres, and poured oceans of Ketel 1 Vodka.

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