Larry Benjamin's Blog: Larry Benjamin's blog - This Writer's Life, page 15
October 8, 2012
You Deserve Better
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.
“Okay.”
“You want some?”
“Yes. Please.”
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?”
“No.”
“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
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.
“Okay.”
“You want some?”
“Yes. Please.”
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?”
“No.”
“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
September 17, 2012
Ten Things I’ve Learned from Being Published
Tomorrow (9/19) mark six months since Carina Press released my debut novel, What Binds Us. In honor of the occasion I thought I’d share 10 things I learned from this amazing journey. And with my follow up, Damaged Angels, being released from Bold Strokes Books on October 1, I thought now would also be a good time to remind myself what I’ve learned.
1. The greatest words you’ll ever hear from a reader are: “I can’t wait to read your next book.” Which brings us to lesson 2.
2. You have to write another book. Basking in the afterglow of publication is all well and good and yeah I know you’re exhausted but, unless you’re Harper Lee and have a Pulitzer sitting on your mantel, you’d better get back to writing.
3. Start writing your next book. Now. The best thing you can do while waiting to go to publication is start writing your next book. Angela James at Carina Press was the first person I’d heard advise this and I thought she was crazy. Who could concentrate while waiting for release? But the truth is outside of edits there isn’t a whole hell of a lot you can do for your book in production so you might as well get to work on your next.
4. Not everyone is going to love what you’ve written. Bask in the good reviews and try to learn from the bad ones.
5. Not everyone is going to read your book. No one in my family has read it. Not even the Mister has read it. Suck it up—it’s their time, they can use it to read your work or not read your work. Move on. Focus on the people who actually read it.
6. People will get it wrong. Most famously, a reviewer quoted a line from What Binds Us, "Dondi became my guide, my Virgil, on my personal odyssey of self-discovery.” In a parenthetical aside she wrote: “It was Homer, by the way…who wrote the Odyssey. Virgil wrote the Aeneid.” She is correct. However, I was referring to Dante’s Inferno in which the poet Virgil acts as Dante’s guide through Hell. Yep, sometimes readers misunderstand you. As a writer you do not own the reader’s experience.
7. Talking about writing doesn’t make you a writer. Planning to write doesn't make you a writer. Having a book in production or published doesn't make you a writer. Only writing makes you a writer.
8. Writing is fun, cathartic, empowering. Promoting your book and your brand, not so much. Don’t publish if you don’t want to do the follow on work—promoting your book, connecting with readers.
9. Listen to your editor. Like your mother, she probably knows best. Remember she’s on your side—she wants your book to be the best it can be.
10. Your book is not you. Don’t hide behind your book. Readers love a good story. Tell them yours—let them see the person behind the book.
11. Being published doesn’t make you special. You’ll still have to brush the dogs’ teeth and scrub the toilets.
1. The greatest words you’ll ever hear from a reader are: “I can’t wait to read your next book.” Which brings us to lesson 2.
2. You have to write another book. Basking in the afterglow of publication is all well and good and yeah I know you’re exhausted but, unless you’re Harper Lee and have a Pulitzer sitting on your mantel, you’d better get back to writing.
3. Start writing your next book. Now. The best thing you can do while waiting to go to publication is start writing your next book. Angela James at Carina Press was the first person I’d heard advise this and I thought she was crazy. Who could concentrate while waiting for release? But the truth is outside of edits there isn’t a whole hell of a lot you can do for your book in production so you might as well get to work on your next.
4. Not everyone is going to love what you’ve written. Bask in the good reviews and try to learn from the bad ones.
5. Not everyone is going to read your book. No one in my family has read it. Not even the Mister has read it. Suck it up—it’s their time, they can use it to read your work or not read your work. Move on. Focus on the people who actually read it.
6. People will get it wrong. Most famously, a reviewer quoted a line from What Binds Us, "Dondi became my guide, my Virgil, on my personal odyssey of self-discovery.” In a parenthetical aside she wrote: “It was Homer, by the way…who wrote the Odyssey. Virgil wrote the Aeneid.” She is correct. However, I was referring to Dante’s Inferno in which the poet Virgil acts as Dante’s guide through Hell. Yep, sometimes readers misunderstand you. As a writer you do not own the reader’s experience.
7. Talking about writing doesn’t make you a writer. Planning to write doesn't make you a writer. Having a book in production or published doesn't make you a writer. Only writing makes you a writer.
8. Writing is fun, cathartic, empowering. Promoting your book and your brand, not so much. Don’t publish if you don’t want to do the follow on work—promoting your book, connecting with readers.
9. Listen to your editor. Like your mother, she probably knows best. Remember she’s on your side—she wants your book to be the best it can be.
10. Your book is not you. Don’t hide behind your book. Readers love a good story. Tell them yours—let them see the person behind the book.
11. Being published doesn’t make you special. You’ll still have to brush the dogs’ teeth and scrub the toilets.
September 12, 2012
It Doesn’t Just Get Better…We have to Make it Better
I watched this young man’s video http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Ee-Wa...
I think his message would have been stronger if he’d actually used his name but he’s young and I think he, at least gets it, he understands: It doesn’t just get better, we have to make it better. How? By coming out. By standing up. By fighting back. By supporting those who come out. By believing: I am who I was meant to be. I am perfect as my Creator made me. My creator holds me safe and cherished in the palm of His hand.
I believe this—it’s what forms the basis of my life and what drives my writing—and I hope what our LGBTQ youth will come to believe.
It Gets Better Project: http://www.itgetsbetter.org/
How to be Gay in High School (another young man who gets it right)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RLzrzI...
RUCOMINGOUT
http://www.rucomingout.com/
I think his message would have been stronger if he’d actually used his name but he’s young and I think he, at least gets it, he understands: It doesn’t just get better, we have to make it better. How? By coming out. By standing up. By fighting back. By supporting those who come out. By believing: I am who I was meant to be. I am perfect as my Creator made me. My creator holds me safe and cherished in the palm of His hand.
I believe this—it’s what forms the basis of my life and what drives my writing—and I hope what our LGBTQ youth will come to believe.
It Gets Better Project: http://www.itgetsbetter.org/
How to be Gay in High School (another young man who gets it right)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RLzrzI...
RUCOMINGOUT
http://www.rucomingout.com/
September 3, 2012
Let’s make this The Year of the People, The Year of Equality.
I don’t know how many of my readers live in Philadelphia but Lisa Scottoline, the author, writes a weekly column for the Sunday Philadelphia Inquirer. I read it each week and usually move on with my week but this week’s column—Year of the Women Who Are Fed Up—gave me pause. (http://articles.philly.com/2012-09-02...) Actually it incensed me. This blog post explains why.
Lisa writes, “They say this is the Year of the Woman…To prove that the Year of the Woman is here, they point out that the Augusta National Golf Club just allowed two women to join its membership, after 80 years of admitting only men.”
So women couldn’t join a golf club? WahWah. Frankly, I don’t give a crap; I can’t give blood or join the Boy Scouts of America. I did wonder, though, who these male members of the past 80 years were. What planet are they from? Do they not have mothers? Wives? Daughters? Female friends? I cannot imagine Stanley joining a club that wouldn’t allow black members. His sense of fairness is too strong, his respect for me as a human being, too great.
She also highlights the fact that the NFL just hired its first female referee—a job that said female has been doing for seventeen years. Big deal. In 29 states I can be fired from my job for simply being who I am.
Of course all of this led me to the battle over gay marriage in America, which Ms. Scottoline doesn’t address but I will.
When you tell me you’re against gay marriage what I hear is that you are for discrimination. And don’t defend your position by telling me you’re against gay marriage but support domestic partnerships or civil unions. That is the 21st century equivalent of telling me you support separate drinking fountains, separate bathrooms. We already know “separate but equal” isn’t. And don’t talk to me about the Bible and your “moral compass.” I don’t eat shellfish but I’m not attempting to make it illegal for you to do so. Also, please note, I have not accused you of inviting the judgment of God for tossing a living creature—one of His creatures—into boiling water so you can eat something the Bible says you should not. I have not called you an abomination.
I am sick of hearing how we are the greatest nation on earth—we’ll be a great nation when everyone—every one of us has equal rights. I don’t mean just the right to marry but also the right to equal pay for equal work, equal access to health care, equal opportunity to work and earn a living, equal rights to decide what happens to our bodies.
And while Ms. Scottoline is talking about women’s rights, I think the conversation actually needs to be about human rights, civil rights.
Like Lisa, like thousands of women, I want what I want when I want it. I want equality. And I want it now. As a citizen of the world, as a human being, I deserve nothing less.
Let’s make this The Year of the People, The Year of Equality.
Read Ms. Scottoline’s column here: http://articles.philly.com/2012-09-02...
Lisa writes, “They say this is the Year of the Woman…To prove that the Year of the Woman is here, they point out that the Augusta National Golf Club just allowed two women to join its membership, after 80 years of admitting only men.”
So women couldn’t join a golf club? WahWah. Frankly, I don’t give a crap; I can’t give blood or join the Boy Scouts of America. I did wonder, though, who these male members of the past 80 years were. What planet are they from? Do they not have mothers? Wives? Daughters? Female friends? I cannot imagine Stanley joining a club that wouldn’t allow black members. His sense of fairness is too strong, his respect for me as a human being, too great.
She also highlights the fact that the NFL just hired its first female referee—a job that said female has been doing for seventeen years. Big deal. In 29 states I can be fired from my job for simply being who I am.
Of course all of this led me to the battle over gay marriage in America, which Ms. Scottoline doesn’t address but I will.
When you tell me you’re against gay marriage what I hear is that you are for discrimination. And don’t defend your position by telling me you’re against gay marriage but support domestic partnerships or civil unions. That is the 21st century equivalent of telling me you support separate drinking fountains, separate bathrooms. We already know “separate but equal” isn’t. And don’t talk to me about the Bible and your “moral compass.” I don’t eat shellfish but I’m not attempting to make it illegal for you to do so. Also, please note, I have not accused you of inviting the judgment of God for tossing a living creature—one of His creatures—into boiling water so you can eat something the Bible says you should not. I have not called you an abomination.
I am sick of hearing how we are the greatest nation on earth—we’ll be a great nation when everyone—every one of us has equal rights. I don’t mean just the right to marry but also the right to equal pay for equal work, equal access to health care, equal opportunity to work and earn a living, equal rights to decide what happens to our bodies.
And while Ms. Scottoline is talking about women’s rights, I think the conversation actually needs to be about human rights, civil rights.
Like Lisa, like thousands of women, I want what I want when I want it. I want equality. And I want it now. As a citizen of the world, as a human being, I deserve nothing less.
Let’s make this The Year of the People, The Year of Equality.
Read Ms. Scottoline’s column here: http://articles.philly.com/2012-09-02...
August 28, 2012
Writing to Me is ...
Writing is a privilege because I am allowed to make things up, to tell stories. A voice whispers words in the open shell of my ear, words which fall like tears or snow, piling up, forming sentences which rise up and tell a story.
Today, as part of Orangeberry Summer Splash, I am guest blogger at Gimme tthe Scoop Reviews. Read the rest of this post here: http://gimmethescoopreviews.blogspot.... (You'll have to scroll down a little to see my post.)
Today, as part of Orangeberry Summer Splash, I am guest blogger at Gimme tthe Scoop Reviews. Read the rest of this post here: http://gimmethescoopreviews.blogspot.... (You'll have to scroll down a little to see my post.)
August 23, 2012
What does writing GLBTQ literature mean to me?
To celebrate their new book review site Rainbow Book Reviews invited GLBTQ authors to blog on the subject of “What does writing GLBTQ literature mean to me?” for their “Follow the Rainbow Blog Hop.” The following post is part of that Hop.
I write because I want to tell stories but I also want to be read (let’s face it, what writer doesn’t?). But I have no interest in writing common denominator fiction—that is, fiction that becomes popular by appealing to the broadest possible audience. There’s nothing wrong with writing popular fiction that appeals to a broad audience but I want to tell my stories, share my truths—these truths that are borne of who I am, what I have experienced. Writing GLBTQ stories from my perspective as a gay black man, allows me to raise a voice for those of us outside the white heteronormative narrative. That is what writing GLBTQ literature means to me.
There is such a rich tapestry of GLBTQ experience from which to draw, that I feel no need to switch to mainstream fiction. My generation alone has seen so much—Stonewall, the birth of the gay rights movement, the declassification of homosexuality as a mental disorder by the American Psychiatric Association, AIDS, gay marriage, "Will & Grace," the beginning of a national conversation about GLBTQ people.
I believe writing of the GLBTQ experience from the GLBTQ perspective is important because studies show that people exposed to other races, sexualities, are more likely to support equal rights for these groups. I hope by opening a window onto the GLBTQ world, I can educate, open some minds, change some opinions. The chance to educate, to change minds—that is what writing GLBTQ literature means to me.
I think that people are open, now more than ever, to sharing experiences different from their own even if they don’t necessarily wish those experiences for themselves. This willingness to experience another’s worldview is, I believe, in part responsible for the success of books such as “The Help” and “Fifty Shades of Gray.”
GLBTQ literature could well be the next door to be opened by an insatiably curious, questing, reading public. Thus the time is now. Words have the power to make you feel, to make you see but they also have the power to change. So, I must use my gay voice to speak up, speak out for in silence lies death. Just as you can’t lead change from the back of the bus, you can’t change minds if your story is untold; if you remain silent, you remain invisible. (Read my July 25 blog post about “silence” here: http://www.goodreads.com/author_blog_...)
What does writing GLBTQ literature mean to me? It means I’ve only just begun. There are so many stories to be shared, so many minds to open. With two GLBTQ books already written, I know I must keep writing because, as one of the characters in my current work in progress, says “When I was done fighting the idea that I love you, that I was gay, I thought I was done fighting but, the fighting had only just begun.”
This post is part of the “Follow the Rainbow Blog Hop." Check out why other writers write LGBTQ literature at http://rainbowbookreviews.wordpress.com/
Check out my GLBTQ fiction at http://www.larrybenjamin.com/
I write because I want to tell stories but I also want to be read (let’s face it, what writer doesn’t?). But I have no interest in writing common denominator fiction—that is, fiction that becomes popular by appealing to the broadest possible audience. There’s nothing wrong with writing popular fiction that appeals to a broad audience but I want to tell my stories, share my truths—these truths that are borne of who I am, what I have experienced. Writing GLBTQ stories from my perspective as a gay black man, allows me to raise a voice for those of us outside the white heteronormative narrative. That is what writing GLBTQ literature means to me.
There is such a rich tapestry of GLBTQ experience from which to draw, that I feel no need to switch to mainstream fiction. My generation alone has seen so much—Stonewall, the birth of the gay rights movement, the declassification of homosexuality as a mental disorder by the American Psychiatric Association, AIDS, gay marriage, "Will & Grace," the beginning of a national conversation about GLBTQ people.
I believe writing of the GLBTQ experience from the GLBTQ perspective is important because studies show that people exposed to other races, sexualities, are more likely to support equal rights for these groups. I hope by opening a window onto the GLBTQ world, I can educate, open some minds, change some opinions. The chance to educate, to change minds—that is what writing GLBTQ literature means to me.
I think that people are open, now more than ever, to sharing experiences different from their own even if they don’t necessarily wish those experiences for themselves. This willingness to experience another’s worldview is, I believe, in part responsible for the success of books such as “The Help” and “Fifty Shades of Gray.”
GLBTQ literature could well be the next door to be opened by an insatiably curious, questing, reading public. Thus the time is now. Words have the power to make you feel, to make you see but they also have the power to change. So, I must use my gay voice to speak up, speak out for in silence lies death. Just as you can’t lead change from the back of the bus, you can’t change minds if your story is untold; if you remain silent, you remain invisible. (Read my July 25 blog post about “silence” here: http://www.goodreads.com/author_blog_...)
What does writing GLBTQ literature mean to me? It means I’ve only just begun. There are so many stories to be shared, so many minds to open. With two GLBTQ books already written, I know I must keep writing because, as one of the characters in my current work in progress, says “When I was done fighting the idea that I love you, that I was gay, I thought I was done fighting but, the fighting had only just begun.”
This post is part of the “Follow the Rainbow Blog Hop." Check out why other writers write LGBTQ literature at http://rainbowbookreviews.wordpress.com/
Check out my GLBTQ fiction at http://www.larrybenjamin.com/
August 13, 2012
Fear, Insecurity & Doubt: Welcome to this Writer’s Life
I didn’t post last week because I was busy making final edits to “Damaged Angels,” my Bold Strokes Books October release. It was the last look before the production train starts so you better believe I: READ. EVERY. LAST. WORD. Sometimes twice. It was an odd sensation---it’s the first time I’ve read the entire book from start to finish in quite some time. I discovered I am happy with it. Hopefully readers will be too, but we shall see.
Almost all of the stories were inspired by real people (read ex-boyfriends) or events. I didn’t quite expect to experience the rush of emotions I did on rereading. One passage in particular, in which a young man calls 911 after waking to find his boyfriend has attempted suicide and slipped into a coma while he slept beside him. The description of that call took me back to the actual experience, back to that actual boy. The fear, the feeling of being utterly alone at 3 a.m. with a near corpse came back with such unexpected intensity, I felt faint. (In case you’re wondering, he lived; we broke up.)
Once I could breathe again, I wondered what readers would think: would the story ring true? Would they feel that panic, that fear? Had I gotten it right? Insecurity and self-doubt aren’t emotions I usually suffer from but I find myself in a constant state of agitation, of fear that I suck as a writer.
I’ve decided that writers pass through four stages regularly:
I seem to be stuck firmly in Stage 3. Unless I think about “What Binds Us” in which case, I am stuck at Stage 4. I sigh. I am a mess. I try to think of other things, do other things: I walk the dogs, lavish attention on the neglected Mister, work on my next book but still the fear, the nagging doubt persists.
I reread the stories in “Damaged Angels” and marked some passages that make me proud to say I wrote this. I’ve compiled some below. Maybe they suck. Maybe they don’t. I only know that they restore my faith in myself, in my ability to write, to tell a story, to share an experience. For now, tonight, that is enough. Tomorrow, however, is another story.
“Beyond the window, the white morning stretches, like my love for him: silent, eternal, inescapable as a tomb.”
“Her words, serfs that had once done my bidding—cajoling me out of a mood, entertaining me, comforting my distress—now rose up against me, their feudal lord. An army of words, taking up arms, striking down the nation of me.”
“Dawn breaks across the city. The city is about to awaken. Soon, it will become the domain of gray-suited businessmen with elephant-hide briefcases and peptic ulcers and mink-coated old ladies with blue blood and black nurses.”
“His erection precedes him, curving slightly toward the heavens, a proud ebony bird in gentle determined flight.”
“Val stared into the adored perfect face—a Madison Avenue promise of unlimited wealth, endless love, immortality.”
Almost all of the stories were inspired by real people (read ex-boyfriends) or events. I didn’t quite expect to experience the rush of emotions I did on rereading. One passage in particular, in which a young man calls 911 after waking to find his boyfriend has attempted suicide and slipped into a coma while he slept beside him. The description of that call took me back to the actual experience, back to that actual boy. The fear, the feeling of being utterly alone at 3 a.m. with a near corpse came back with such unexpected intensity, I felt faint. (In case you’re wondering, he lived; we broke up.)
Once I could breathe again, I wondered what readers would think: would the story ring true? Would they feel that panic, that fear? Had I gotten it right? Insecurity and self-doubt aren’t emotions I usually suffer from but I find myself in a constant state of agitation, of fear that I suck as a writer.
I’ve decided that writers pass through four stages regularly:
1. Can I write this story? I can’t write this story…
2. I wrote a story, a book. Will anyone publish it?
3. I got a book published! Will anyone read it? No one will read it.
4. Oh, look at my Amazon rating. Cool. Wait what exactly does that ranking mean?
I seem to be stuck firmly in Stage 3. Unless I think about “What Binds Us” in which case, I am stuck at Stage 4. I sigh. I am a mess. I try to think of other things, do other things: I walk the dogs, lavish attention on the neglected Mister, work on my next book but still the fear, the nagging doubt persists.
I reread the stories in “Damaged Angels” and marked some passages that make me proud to say I wrote this. I’ve compiled some below. Maybe they suck. Maybe they don’t. I only know that they restore my faith in myself, in my ability to write, to tell a story, to share an experience. For now, tonight, that is enough. Tomorrow, however, is another story.
“Beyond the window, the white morning stretches, like my love for him: silent, eternal, inescapable as a tomb.”
“Her words, serfs that had once done my bidding—cajoling me out of a mood, entertaining me, comforting my distress—now rose up against me, their feudal lord. An army of words, taking up arms, striking down the nation of me.”
“Dawn breaks across the city. The city is about to awaken. Soon, it will become the domain of gray-suited businessmen with elephant-hide briefcases and peptic ulcers and mink-coated old ladies with blue blood and black nurses.”
“His erection precedes him, curving slightly toward the heavens, a proud ebony bird in gentle determined flight.”
“Val stared into the adored perfect face—a Madison Avenue promise of unlimited wealth, endless love, immortality.”
July 30, 2012
Where Are Our Gay Heroes?
After the passing of Sally Ride last week, I read an article in which the writer stated Sally Ride will be a hero to LGBT youth who can now point to her and say there’s another one of us in history. The article left me sad. Sad because Dr. Ride, for whatever reason, did not come out publicly until after her death, and thus lost the opportunity to be a positive influence on a generation of youth at a time when we had even less LGBT role models than we have now. Sad because, to me, remaining in the closet sends a bad message to our LGBT youth: I am afraid. I am ashamed. And you should be, too.
Undeniably Dr. Ride is a role model, a hero even, for young women everywhere and certainly she inspired a generation to “reach for the stars.” But what about our LGBT youth? To my mind she is no more heroic than the star athlete who comes out after he has left the game. Or Anderson Cooper—where is the heroism there? He has a bazillion dollars and a huge fan base. Even if CNN were inclined to axe him for his rather belated coming out, they wouldn’t, not with that large a fan base, not with that much revenue at stake.
To my mind a hero is a person—man or woman, young or old—who risks a great deal, if not everything, for a cause he or she believes in or to takes a course of action he or she deems necessary; often the hero gains a whole lot more than he risked losing through that act of heroism.
I try to temper my feelings with the fact that Dr. Ride had a right to privacy, that her security clearance could have been revoked had she come out publically, that she could have been fired from NASA (currently employers in 29 states can fire a person because he or she is gay). And I get that. I do. But I still don’t think she’s a gay hero.
So who do I consider a gay hero? The out gay men and women who live out loud. The out gay men and women who do not shout yes, I’m, gay from the covers of a glossy weekly but instead tell their story quietly by living out, living authentically. Every. Single. Day. And the 22 openly gay athletes at the 2012 London Olympics. And Frank Ocean. And a seven year old boy who already identifies as gay, who I’ve read of but will probably never meet. And his parents, who champion and celebrate his right to be himself, openly, freely, whoever that self turns out to be. These are my heroes.
People often ask me about my own coming out and in truth, I never came out because I was never “in.” I’ve always been who I am, have always lived my truth. Why did I choose to always be out? Because I don’t know how to be any other way. Is it sometimes harder? Sometimes, probably. But it’s probably harder to pretend to be someone, something I am not. And I feel I have a responsibility to the generation of LGBT youth who come after me, a responsibility to help them not feel they need to blend, to be invisible to make their way in the world. And I get to feel good when I see the look of relief on the fearful, unhappy face of the 12 year old gay boy in the supermarket whose face lights up when he realizes that Stanley and I are shopping together, that a ring flashes dull gold in the light as our hands reach in and out of our shared shopping cart, that we look happy, that no one is chasing us down the aisles calling us names.
When I was growing up, there were no gay role models, no heroes for us. There were those who were suspect, who were whispered about, but no one who stood up and said, “Yes. I am.” Fortunately I discovered gay novels. They helped me feel that I wasn’t alone, that I would one day find my tribe. Perhaps that’s why I write gay fiction—to help others learn that they are not alone, that their tribe is out there waiting to embrace them.
When I was writing What Binds Us, I struggled with the need for the characters to come out to their parents—Dondi come out boldly, spectacularly but he could afford to, he had a trust fund backing him up and was fiercely independent to begin with. Matthew was already alienated and desperately lonely so he was willing to risk losing his family in order to love and be loved. To me it is Thomas who is the true hero because he as has so much more to lose than either Dondi or Matthew. As he says: “Growing up an only child, without cousins or close friends, my parents were everything to me. Having seen how Mrs. Whyte reacted to her gay sons, I worried that they would behave similarly…Matthew reached over and squeezed my knee but said nothing. I looked at his profile as he stared at the road ahead, knew suddenly that if tomorrow the whole world around me fell away and only he remained, I’d still have everything.”
I don’t pretend to be in a position to tell anyone when, or even if they should come out—that is, after all, an intensely personal decision—but for me not being out wasn’t an option. As I told one closeted boyfriend-to-be, “I am no one’s dirty little secret. I am no one’s shame.”
I am my own hero.
Undeniably Dr. Ride is a role model, a hero even, for young women everywhere and certainly she inspired a generation to “reach for the stars.” But what about our LGBT youth? To my mind she is no more heroic than the star athlete who comes out after he has left the game. Or Anderson Cooper—where is the heroism there? He has a bazillion dollars and a huge fan base. Even if CNN were inclined to axe him for his rather belated coming out, they wouldn’t, not with that large a fan base, not with that much revenue at stake.
To my mind a hero is a person—man or woman, young or old—who risks a great deal, if not everything, for a cause he or she believes in or to takes a course of action he or she deems necessary; often the hero gains a whole lot more than he risked losing through that act of heroism.
I try to temper my feelings with the fact that Dr. Ride had a right to privacy, that her security clearance could have been revoked had she come out publically, that she could have been fired from NASA (currently employers in 29 states can fire a person because he or she is gay). And I get that. I do. But I still don’t think she’s a gay hero.
So who do I consider a gay hero? The out gay men and women who live out loud. The out gay men and women who do not shout yes, I’m, gay from the covers of a glossy weekly but instead tell their story quietly by living out, living authentically. Every. Single. Day. And the 22 openly gay athletes at the 2012 London Olympics. And Frank Ocean. And a seven year old boy who already identifies as gay, who I’ve read of but will probably never meet. And his parents, who champion and celebrate his right to be himself, openly, freely, whoever that self turns out to be. These are my heroes.
People often ask me about my own coming out and in truth, I never came out because I was never “in.” I’ve always been who I am, have always lived my truth. Why did I choose to always be out? Because I don’t know how to be any other way. Is it sometimes harder? Sometimes, probably. But it’s probably harder to pretend to be someone, something I am not. And I feel I have a responsibility to the generation of LGBT youth who come after me, a responsibility to help them not feel they need to blend, to be invisible to make their way in the world. And I get to feel good when I see the look of relief on the fearful, unhappy face of the 12 year old gay boy in the supermarket whose face lights up when he realizes that Stanley and I are shopping together, that a ring flashes dull gold in the light as our hands reach in and out of our shared shopping cart, that we look happy, that no one is chasing us down the aisles calling us names.
When I was growing up, there were no gay role models, no heroes for us. There were those who were suspect, who were whispered about, but no one who stood up and said, “Yes. I am.” Fortunately I discovered gay novels. They helped me feel that I wasn’t alone, that I would one day find my tribe. Perhaps that’s why I write gay fiction—to help others learn that they are not alone, that their tribe is out there waiting to embrace them.
When I was writing What Binds Us, I struggled with the need for the characters to come out to their parents—Dondi come out boldly, spectacularly but he could afford to, he had a trust fund backing him up and was fiercely independent to begin with. Matthew was already alienated and desperately lonely so he was willing to risk losing his family in order to love and be loved. To me it is Thomas who is the true hero because he as has so much more to lose than either Dondi or Matthew. As he says: “Growing up an only child, without cousins or close friends, my parents were everything to me. Having seen how Mrs. Whyte reacted to her gay sons, I worried that they would behave similarly…Matthew reached over and squeezed my knee but said nothing. I looked at his profile as he stared at the road ahead, knew suddenly that if tomorrow the whole world around me fell away and only he remained, I’d still have everything.”
I don’t pretend to be in a position to tell anyone when, or even if they should come out—that is, after all, an intensely personal decision—but for me not being out wasn’t an option. As I told one closeted boyfriend-to-be, “I am no one’s dirty little secret. I am no one’s shame.”
I am my own hero.
July 23, 2012
Prince and Ekaj
I finished first round edits to my sophomore effort, “Damaged Angels,” over the weekend. I’m very excited about the coming release of “Damaged Angels” for two reasons. First it’s my second book which means two publishers thought my work worthwhile. That does a lot to quiet the voice of doubt of insecurity in my head. It doesn’t silence it mind you, just makes it whisper, which is fine; I can deal with that. And second the stories in this collection are very dear to me. I wrote them to give voice to the invisible, those conspicuously absent from mainstream fiction: the drug addicts and hustlers, the mentally ill, the confused and the men who fall in love with them. In particular I wanted to tell the stories of several boys, hustlers, all of them -- these boys who “appeared on no one’s census; no one claimed them on the ‘dependents’ line of their tax form; no mother came looking for them at ten o’clock, ordering them to bed."
I wanted to draw them from “the violence of the electric night in which they were drawn together and torn apart,” shine a light on them, tell the stories of these charming damaged boys who, I sometimes fed and bought cigarettes and gave a place to sleep, to rest, providing a respite from the mean, mean streets. So when I got an email from two independent filmmakers from NYC, Cati and Mike Gonzalez, asking me to review their film about LGBT youth on the streets of New York, I was intrigued. Here were two other people attempting to give voice to the invisible.
Cati and Mike Gonzalez are working on an LGBT film called "Prince & Ekaj.” The film, written and directed by Cati tells the story of two LGBT latino teenagers, the eponymous Prince & Ekaj. Ekaj runs away from home because he is rejected by his family because of his sexuality. Prince is a self taught street hustler who wanders the streets of NYC at night looking to make money any way he can in order to survive another day. Both homeless, they meet by chance, and come to realize they can depend on each other. They recognize how rare this is in a city filled with hate, crime, homelessness drugs, and prostitution. Like the characters in Damaged Angels, Prince and Ekaj are determined to make a place for themselves in the world of unbroken men.
It was this commonality between their film and my book that made me watch the movie trailer (http://prince-ekaj-the-movie.tumblr.c... then reach out to Cati and Mike. I was so excited and impressed with what I saw that I asked them to share their story of the film’s journey here.
Who are Cati and Mike Gonzalez?
We are a couple who have been together for sixteen years. I (Cati) am a photographer with twenty years experience shooting portraits and fashion spreads for magazines such as, I.D., Spin, New York, Interview, Seventeen, Mademoiselle, Vibe, French Photo, Spanish Vogue, El Pais, and Libèration. I have also done album covers for Sony, Warner Bros Music, Atlantic records, and others.
I started writing this script and directing it in the last couple of years. Mike is co-producer and editor. We have teamed up in a joint collaboration under the name "Cati and Mike Gonzalez Films." And we have formed a film company, along with partners, called "Tompkins Square Park Films." In addition to "Prince & Ekaj," we have several other future projects in the works.
Why this particular movie? What inspired you to tell this particular story?
The inspiration to write the screenplay came I met Jake, an LGBT teen. I got to know him over a year and a half. I’m a fashion photographer so I took some pictures of him. A couple of model agents were very interested in him. But, he refused to adapt to the "industry standard" look of the male models, and insisted he wanted to model as a girl. After knowing him for a year, I gave up trying to make him a model. But by then I cared about him and realized that it takes a lot of guts to stand up for yourself and your beliefs, especially at such a young age.
I met Gio, the other actor in the film around the same time, and I was also so fascinated by his looks and personality. They both would tell me their stories, and I decided to make a film based partially on their true experiences and partially on my own personal views.
What do you hope to accomplish with this film?
By making this film, we hope to reach all the parents, aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters, and others, that these youth's lives desperately depend on. We hope that by making this film, we can reach out to those who fail to understand the rejection, discrimination, and abuse these kids go through.
Also, we aim to reach the same kids that are being represented in this film to give them more hope and a sense of pride. And, of course, we want to reach the broadest audience possible, whether LGBTQ or straight; this film is not about being gay, it's about being human.
What can readers do to help get this movie out there?
As many of you may know, It requires money and time to make a film such as this one. We've invested a lot into it already but reality is, we can't afford to pay for everything that is required to make this film such as, camera equipment, lighting, sound, rights to music, wardrobe, cast, crew, location, permits, editing, etc. The only way we can really get this film made and distributed without risking losing creative control, is by asking the public for donations and reaching as many people as we can for support. If you are interested in making a donation to our "Prince & Ekaj" fundraiser, you can do so at: http://prince-ekaj-the-movie.tumblr.com/
You talk a lot about homeless LGBT youth. What can we do to help them?
That's a great question Larry. We have set up a fundraiser to raise funds for this film which will cover for most of the pre and post production expenses. But apart from this, we've decided that for every $20 donated to our fundraiser, we'll donate $1 to the "Forty To None" project (http://fortytonone.org/) to assist in their effort to prevent homelessness among the LGBT youth.
To learn more about the Forty to None Project, which works to raise awareness of, and to bring an end to, gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender youth homelessness, visit www.fortytonone.org
To watch the movie trailer visit: http://prince-ekaj-the-movie.tumblr.com/
Follow Cait and Mike on Twitter: https://twitter.com/CatiandMike
Other Resources
• The National Runaway Switchboard: 888-RUNAWAY
• The Trevor Lifeline: 866-488-7386
I wanted to draw them from “the violence of the electric night in which they were drawn together and torn apart,” shine a light on them, tell the stories of these charming damaged boys who, I sometimes fed and bought cigarettes and gave a place to sleep, to rest, providing a respite from the mean, mean streets. So when I got an email from two independent filmmakers from NYC, Cati and Mike Gonzalez, asking me to review their film about LGBT youth on the streets of New York, I was intrigued. Here were two other people attempting to give voice to the invisible.
Cati and Mike Gonzalez are working on an LGBT film called "Prince & Ekaj.” The film, written and directed by Cati tells the story of two LGBT latino teenagers, the eponymous Prince & Ekaj. Ekaj runs away from home because he is rejected by his family because of his sexuality. Prince is a self taught street hustler who wanders the streets of NYC at night looking to make money any way he can in order to survive another day. Both homeless, they meet by chance, and come to realize they can depend on each other. They recognize how rare this is in a city filled with hate, crime, homelessness drugs, and prostitution. Like the characters in Damaged Angels, Prince and Ekaj are determined to make a place for themselves in the world of unbroken men.
It was this commonality between their film and my book that made me watch the movie trailer (http://prince-ekaj-the-movie.tumblr.c... then reach out to Cati and Mike. I was so excited and impressed with what I saw that I asked them to share their story of the film’s journey here.
Who are Cati and Mike Gonzalez?
We are a couple who have been together for sixteen years. I (Cati) am a photographer with twenty years experience shooting portraits and fashion spreads for magazines such as, I.D., Spin, New York, Interview, Seventeen, Mademoiselle, Vibe, French Photo, Spanish Vogue, El Pais, and Libèration. I have also done album covers for Sony, Warner Bros Music, Atlantic records, and others.
I started writing this script and directing it in the last couple of years. Mike is co-producer and editor. We have teamed up in a joint collaboration under the name "Cati and Mike Gonzalez Films." And we have formed a film company, along with partners, called "Tompkins Square Park Films." In addition to "Prince & Ekaj," we have several other future projects in the works.
Why this particular movie? What inspired you to tell this particular story?
The inspiration to write the screenplay came I met Jake, an LGBT teen. I got to know him over a year and a half. I’m a fashion photographer so I took some pictures of him. A couple of model agents were very interested in him. But, he refused to adapt to the "industry standard" look of the male models, and insisted he wanted to model as a girl. After knowing him for a year, I gave up trying to make him a model. But by then I cared about him and realized that it takes a lot of guts to stand up for yourself and your beliefs, especially at such a young age.
I met Gio, the other actor in the film around the same time, and I was also so fascinated by his looks and personality. They both would tell me their stories, and I decided to make a film based partially on their true experiences and partially on my own personal views.
What do you hope to accomplish with this film?
By making this film, we hope to reach all the parents, aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters, and others, that these youth's lives desperately depend on. We hope that by making this film, we can reach out to those who fail to understand the rejection, discrimination, and abuse these kids go through.
Also, we aim to reach the same kids that are being represented in this film to give them more hope and a sense of pride. And, of course, we want to reach the broadest audience possible, whether LGBTQ or straight; this film is not about being gay, it's about being human.
What can readers do to help get this movie out there?
As many of you may know, It requires money and time to make a film such as this one. We've invested a lot into it already but reality is, we can't afford to pay for everything that is required to make this film such as, camera equipment, lighting, sound, rights to music, wardrobe, cast, crew, location, permits, editing, etc. The only way we can really get this film made and distributed without risking losing creative control, is by asking the public for donations and reaching as many people as we can for support. If you are interested in making a donation to our "Prince & Ekaj" fundraiser, you can do so at: http://prince-ekaj-the-movie.tumblr.com/
You talk a lot about homeless LGBT youth. What can we do to help them?
That's a great question Larry. We have set up a fundraiser to raise funds for this film which will cover for most of the pre and post production expenses. But apart from this, we've decided that for every $20 donated to our fundraiser, we'll donate $1 to the "Forty To None" project (http://fortytonone.org/) to assist in their effort to prevent homelessness among the LGBT youth.
To learn more about the Forty to None Project, which works to raise awareness of, and to bring an end to, gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender youth homelessness, visit www.fortytonone.org
To watch the movie trailer visit: http://prince-ekaj-the-movie.tumblr.com/
Follow Cait and Mike on Twitter: https://twitter.com/CatiandMike
Other Resources
• The National Runaway Switchboard: 888-RUNAWAY
• The Trevor Lifeline: 866-488-7386
July 17, 2012
Who Knew Page 99 Was So Important?
This week I’m busy with edits on my October release and work on the next book (the two main characters are telling me their story faster than I can write) so I thought I would do something a bit different with this week’s post. As part of the 2012 Orangeberry Summer Splash I was asked to perform a Page99Test. Essentially a page 99 test requires you to deconstruct page 99 of your book. It was an interesting exercise and one that made me anxious because I’d written “What Binds Us” as a whole, not bits and pieces to be nibbled randomly. You can find the results here. Let me know what you think.
You can learn more about the Page 99 test here.
You can learn more about the Page 99 test here.
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The writer's life is as individual and strange as each writer. I'll document my journey as a writer here.
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