Wrestling with Monsters…[NSFW]
Author’s Note: This is a converted blog entry. It was originally published on 04.21.14 @ 10:10pm, US Pacific.
[NSFW] Not Safe For Work entry! Fair Warning…
So I didn’t post yesterday.
You wanna know why? Cause I spent all of Easter Sunday (I am NOT religious by any stretch of the imagination, so no worries there – just giving a common frame of reference for ya) battling the server that this site is hosted on.
So why the battle that raged since 3am on Saturday morning through the day and well into Sunday evening? Well it seems that the application I am using to build this here site is a tricky bitchy monster when it comes to its built in SFTP capabilities. I put the tech at TMD Hosting through the wringer this weekend. And since I am a network engineer by profession (aspiring to move away from that to full time writing if I can swing it) I knew what they were dealing with on their end trying to get my software ftp client to consistently allow my newly changed files to upload to their servers.
Yeah, it was a monumental struggle. Ticket updates flying back and forth. The really pisser of this whole thing? The FTP builtin client on this web development app just plain sucks (and not in a way that a guy needs things to suck if you get my meaning).
Well, what should be simple has turned into a crap assed convoluted way to upload and sync my files. Not that you give a rat’s ass about it. I don’t expect you to. I am just sayin’ it cause I missed doing my daily writers blog because I was so fucking wrapped up in my server/ftp shit that I plum ran out of energy when it came to actually posting shit here.
[Putting soap box away now]
Okay, so down to the other monster: the one in my Fae Wars saga. I had a vision last night as I was putting my weary head down. And it was monumental in the shift of my story (it’s a good thing that I am still in the early stages of writing the first book). This whole shit though is killer and it’s so gonna rock the story even better. Movie option time better. My Fae baddies just got a whole lotta bad ass-ier…(I know that’s not really a word – but that’s the beauty of a living language: say it often enough and it will be a part of the vernacular. It just happens. Something the hubby rails against cause he comes from a looooooooong line of educational professionals). School runs knee deep with his brood. I’m good with that. He’s definitely my Marco Sforza (and if you don’t know who that is – mosey on over to Angels of Mercy free read in the Works section and find out).
But here’s the dealio with my new and improved super baddy Fae (actually, I need to stop calling them Fae cause they are what started the whole Fae thing – they are the Feigr). They hark back to their Viking roots rather than the Celtic variety. And as such they are a whole lot vicious and vile when they want to be. The Feigr in my story are bringers of life and death. There are two sides and they are at war. This war has spilled over into our world for a very specific reason. I won’t say what it is just yet, but suffice to say that it is a real switch up from the original Viking Feigr. You could say they are the gay version of the Feigr but that’d be such a human way of looking at it. No, my guys are way more scarier than that. Think fundamentally as in the foundation of life scarier. And the people of Earth are nothing but pawns in this war. They don’t stand a chance. They are merely fodder for my Feigr (hence the title of the first book: Fear the Feigr). There’s a very good reason for humans to think that. But as I said, there are two sides to this tale. Two parts to this war. Bringers of life and the bringers of death. The ultimate clash of what is good and evil if you really think upon it.
As a kid I’ve always had a thing for monsters. Perhaps being gay I knew that I was different too and would be persecuted, belittled, followed, chased even. So I identified with their ‘outsider-ness’, their removal from the mainstream but being complex creatures all on their own. Dracula wasn’t evil. Not by a long shot. He was a man in great pain. I got that. I got the pathos. Something that I was so super grateful when my granddaughter (at the tender age of 3) watched the Frank Langella Dracula with me one Saturday afternoon. After we got through the whole thing – she was super still through it all. Never once shirked from any of the vampiric stuff. Didn’t hide her eyes once (granted the Badham/Langella version is a bit overly romantic). Even for a three year old – my girl was on tough cookie. So we got through to the end. I turned off the movie and the TV so she could talk about it.
I asked her – “So, what did you think?”
She’s a wise old soul of a little girl, “It was sad.” (Pathos – I LOVE this girl! No really, even if she weren’t mine, I’d still be rockin’ the whole Keely-monster thing!)
“What do you mean sad?”
“Well, he just wanted to be loved and they wouldn’t let that lady love him. It was sad.” That’ssa my girl!
Pathos – at the age of three. Fucking bloody brilliant moment in my life: given to me by a three year old. So yeah, Keely and I are good with monsters.
So when I started to form the Feigr storyline, I knew who my protagonists were. It’s a love quadrangle (if you can believe it – full of deceit and malice on Seth’s part and love and healing on Sylas’). And the story is very sexual in nature – very liquid in how they use their bodies to augment what they can do.
Without a doubt, Antonio Biaggi one of the sexiest gay porn actors out there.
Doesn’t take away from the hubby, but Antonio’s definitely got it goin’ on…
For the Life Bearers – Sylas (I used porn actor Antonio Biaggi (above and below) as the basis for this character – as his public persona just embodied the part – the man knows how to seed, that’s for fucking sure)) – the reigning King of my Feigr Life Bringers. His first husband (Sylas’ not Antonio’s – just to be clear here) – Thorn, who was the Captain of his personal guard before they were married. Sylas is the ultimate life bringer but also a voracious lover. So much so that Thorn is not the only husband to share his bed.
For the Death Bringers – Seth Stormbringer (porn actor Gavin Waters fits that bill just fine but with all the snarky-ness of a Tom Hiddleson).
These two brother’s carry quite a bit of pain between them. And Thorn and Sebastian are in the middle.
I particularly like how Gavin looks in this picture – and i am not normally attracted to blonds.
But he just does it for me on some level. Maybe it’s just the way he fucks.
Then there’s the golden one – I can’t just say what he is because the entire saga hinges upon it – Sebastian Alexander Collins (where I get my nom de plume). Sebastian is the one that all three men are after – for good reason. Sylas and Thorn because Sebastian came to them for help only to be pulled from any safety they could provide and whisked away.
Out of reach – and into our world. With no memory of who or what he is. But that (as they say) is just the beginning…
My Feigr are fucking dangerous motherfuckers (good and bad). And there is very little that separate them. And the humans of this world can precious little about it. There’s no ‘evil loses because we all prayed it away’ or ‘an infection that they can’t cure takes them out’ or the Hollywood go to – ‘let’s just nuke ‘em.’ None of that will help the human’s involved in this story. It’s gonna be brutal, apocalyptic in scope and scale.
But all is not lost…
Sebastian can turn it all around. If only he can remember who and what he is. But it’s not as simple as just walking up and to him and tell him. There’s a twist in why no one can do that – and the drama is born out of that little twist.
Sebastian is just a senior in high school, got a rockin’ ballet dancing girlfriend and is just trying to figure shit out before he graduates. ‘Cept his eye keeps roving over to his bestest buddy in the whole world: Thorn. Thorn means the world to Sebastian (maybe even more than his girlfriend). And that’s starting to scare him a bit. And a little bit, not.
When you are the beings that live on the cusp between creation and devastation (in equal measures), some bad assed shit his bound to happen. I can’t wait to get it rolling either.
Free Fear the Feigr read to be posted this weekend (5/26) so keep an eye out for it.
Yeah, monsters can definitely kick your ass. But they can also be the best fucking gift around.
Books and Movie Options
Author’s Note: This is a converted blog entry. It was originally published on 04.19.14 @ 11:16pm, US Pacific.
Okay, so I just finished watching ‘The Geography Club’ which is based on the novel of the same name by out-gay author Brent Hartinger.
The ‘Geography Club’ book cover as it was originally published.
First off, I love the books (even if one of them in the series was not my particular favorite – the plot seemed a bit contrived or too messagey for my tastes). Russell Middlebrook is a great GYA (no, I didn’t misspell that ) – gay young adult, character. The series virtually has no sexual scenes in it. It is more about Russell’s evolving ownership of who he is and what that means to him and to those he surrounds himself with.
I’ve reread the books several times. I love the tapestry that Mr. Hartinger brings to the table with his characters (both large and small) within this creative and entertaining world. Brent is a great storyteller with a fine and distinctive voice. It’s no wonder why the book(s) were optioned. It’s a great story to tell and in this modern age where we are taking up the no bully call, it’s a very timely message to get out there. When I heard they were making the movie of the first book I was thrilled.
Then I started to hear about the ‘creative choices’ that Hollyweird was beginning to make regarding the work.
So here’s the dealio with this – My daughter graduated Magna Cum Laude from SFSU film school. So you can best believe I was in the thick of it with her required movie shoots, her film projects (hell, I assisted in the editing process financially, physically and emotionally). I have well over forty years of being in theatre. I’ve worked on various film projects throughout those years as well. So when Hollywood (even an independent movie company) makes ‘creative choices’ that deviate from the core essence of the film as a reader and an audience member in that theater i feel nothing but disappointment with a light dusting of rage.
The production of Geography Club as a movie unit was cohesive and professional all the way. There was nothing amateurish about the project or the final product. The cast was great (even if they barely were passable as teens in high school – (why do casting directors insist on casting like 5 to 20 years beyond the actual age of where the characters are supposed to be??) I liked the cast as a whole – even if Alex Newell’s character didn’t really gel in this new ‘creative choice’ version of the Hartinger story. I knew it was a name the youngsters would recognize from his stint in Glee. I get that. Not that I agree with it, but I get it.
Sidebar casting note on the film: There was absolutely NO way that I was ever going to believe Alex’s character was even remotely 80/20. That actor only seems to have one note when it comes to acting (thus far) and it was rather tiring on Glee. To foist his girlish mannerisms and try to get the audience to accept that he remotely thinks of himself as 80/20 (straight/gay) would’ve worked better with an actor that could play the straighter part a bit more deftly.
In the books the sport was baseball. Why the producers went with football was beyond me. It just didn’t make any sense creatively. There’s nothing wrong with the macho image of baseball – so why the change up? Was one of the producers a fucking football fan? Great – keep it out of the movies you produce and go watch your fucking games on TV or in the stadium like the rest of us. The actor playing Kevin btw, couldn’t even respond like a quarterback would in a game. Did no one think to coach him? My hubby used to play for Clemson back in the day. And before that it was at Massillon back in Ohio – arguably the birthplace of modern football as we know it today. So while I am not the football fanatic fan here, the hubby is. When Justin Deely’s Kevin had the ball my hubby just rolled his eyes. Now for the other eye roll moment of the film? When the geeky bullied Bryan character – played beautifully by Teo Olivares, was soothing his battered soul by playing the cello in the band room while crying, the hubby rolled his eyes again (why? well, only because he used to study piano under Szell and his father was the assistant conductor and head of the brass section for Szell’s orchestra). We both have a grumble about how badly Hollywood misses the mark when an actor has to ‘play’ an instrument. Teo obviously was left to his own devices when figuring out how to play the scene. The only issue was he didn’t have the greatest coaching while doing it. That lack of direction broke the great drama going on with what was supposed to be conveyed in that scene.
But I am getting ahead of myself a bit. You see, when books get optioned into films the first thing the studios often tell an author is – ‘well, books aren’t movies, so there’ll be some creative choices we’ll have to make along the way.’ To which, if it were me, I’d say fine – either I am in and have to approve any changes to my world or deals off. And yes, I’d walk away from any money or implied prestige (and let’s be honest here, even if a book gets optioned there’s no guarantee it’ll be a hit) of having my work produced for film.
Way I figure it, you came to me because of the world I created. Because of the way I told a particular story. Therefore, let’s discuss this whole thing but keep it buried in the back of your little skull that it is my story – different medium I’ll grant you – but no different in its execution. That part is a lie. It is the greatest lie that Hollywood pushes to novelists who are caught up that ‘Hollywood’ called and wants to make a movie of your work. They are banking on the fact that a novelist knows nothing about movie industry. And they play upon that misconception to their advantage. Suddenly the screenwriter swoops in with the producers and begin with their machete’s whacking away at the world they ‘supposedly fell in love with.’
Not that I think that my stuff will get turned into a film – unless of course, my daughter decides to do something with one of my books and is successful in raising the cash to do so. Then we’ll talk. But then again, I’ve got the Daddy card to play as well.
In the end my feelings about Geography Club were mixed. I was happy that it was made. But the screenplay was TERRIBLE. OMG, it was fucking flat as all fuck. The actors did the best with what they were given but the screenplay carried none of the weight in the light humor or the darker pathos. It was just flatlined right out of the gate. I watched it with my granddaughter. In the end she said it was an okay movie but was more interested in what I told her the books were about and how they panned out and where the movie deviate and went horribly wrong. So at least she’s interested in reading Hartinger’s series, so that’s a plus. But I was saddened that it never made it’s money back so they’ll be no other Middlebrook movies down the road. The series was a brilliant one to choose in this time of the anti-bully movement that is solidly taking root in America. Because of the mismanagement and seriously misaligned creative choices (really, that term alone should equate ‘cancer’ to a novelist’s world – I am telling you know.) And don’t think that audience members don’t already know this. I have NEVER heard a viewer say – ‘gee, that was BETTER than the book…’ You never really hear that… But the reverse is often true.
And don’t get me started on the Harry Potter series – or I’ll be writing about that travesty until the cows literally come home.
I am beyond sad that the Middlebrook blew it’s wad on this production. The ‘creative choices’ just flat out sucked. It’s not even my world, but dammit, it was a world I loved nonetheless. I hold the director and producers completely accountable for the product that arrived flatlined before it even had a chance to take its first breath.
So grab a fucking clue Hollyweird. If you can’t write the good shit, then stop crapping on those that do actually write them. Do them justice rather than try to come in at the last minute and trash up some novelists world just cause you think you can. (**cough** “Mortal Instruments, much? **cough**)
Another gay series has been optioned for production. Jay Bell’s brilliant Season’s series. If I love Hartingers books, I fucking am obsessed with Bell’s series. Now the worry sets in. The film site is up – Something Like Summer . And if Hartinger’s work was any indication, I am seriously worried about Bell’s foray into film. The site looks good. The word from Bell is encouraging. I just hope they do the author and his world justice this time around.
We’ll see, though, don’t expect me to hold my breath about it (even if I do cross my fingers and toes on it).
No Apologies… [NSFW]
Author’s Note: This is a converted blog entry. It was originally published on 04.18.14 @ 10:15pm, US Pacific.
[NSFW] Not Safe For Work entry! Fair Warning…
So today I’ve been thinking. Thinking about my first novel. It’s dark, it’s messy, it’s balls to the wall, in your face covered in man-spooge aggressive. And I really can’t find it within me to make any apologies for that. It is what it is…
This is all over the map – I make no apologies for that. I’m in a mood…you’ve been warned.
So here’s the deal: Men are messy.
Even when we’re neat and tidy and orderly like a soldier straight outta the military, we’re messy. I’m talking about sex. Man sex. Men being the big boys that we are, and being thoroughly unapologetic about it. The only reason there is anything that remotely resembles going all sappily romantic and flowery (as it seems to permeate every facet of the M/M romance genre as of late) is that women are involved. Not that gay men don’t get romantic – there’s just a line in the sand where it gets too damned girly. ‘Sides, inside we still are… messy.
Boys like mess. It’s what we do best. Gay/straight – it don’t make a bit of difference. Don’t get me wrong. We can be orderly when called for. Men like rules. It’s how we like to run our lives. Responsibilities are born out of the rules that were handed to us, rules we follow or consciously choose not to follow. And somewhere along the line it gets messy.
We wouldn’t have it any other way.
Take real M/M sex.
Honest to goodness man on man sex.
Euphoric bliss much?
From what I’ve read in the genre (which is primarily marketed towards women – as a gay man I find that really astounding) – the m/m sex in it (often written by women who, I suppose, are trying to eke out what goes on in the male psyche in their burgeoning relationships as they come together, meander apart for whatever reason, only to ensure they have a big fat HEA (Happily Ever After) in the end). And if it’s anything I rail against, it’s formulaic writing structures. It may sell books but it sure as hell ain’t literature.
And before anyone in the genre starts to cackle like a hen being chased by a hungry fox – I ain’t saying my shit is high flying literature or that we have to aspire as such. But why couldn’t we? For me there is something transcendent in how two men who come together willingly in a clash of muscle, mouths and bones, so to speak. But what it is, for me at any rate, is honest to goodness male thinking about things that erotically charge my juices (along with a few of my gay male friends about all things – well, uh, male).
Yeah, I know that sounds exclusionary. Look, as a community we’ve been hounded from all sides – ‘too much gay shit on TV, too many songs about gays, too many… whereas I am saying – why isn’t there MORE of it? That’s my reality. That’s the world I move in. You know what it is: It’s all very tiring.
My latest gripe across ALL MEDIA – print or otherwise – is how much in our faces the “success” of a man in any advertisement/movie/tv show, is measured on whether he has some chick tagging along in his wake or trailing behind him in some skimpy getup (and let’s be fair to the ladies, I also don’t like it because not only on account of the guy who seems to need her to establish his studly qualities, but I think it demeans the woman/women in the scene as well). I don’t want my granddaughter thinking this is how her success is measured – by some guy she has to catch. Nuh uh, brother. We need to shit can that crap now.
Another thing I am so tired of? Having to translate the fucking straight world to my own experiences. Substituting the girl for me when I am NOT a fucking girl! If anything I think I might just being going gay militant (at least insofar as my writings go – maybe even beyond by the timbre of my rant here) in my literary worlds.
Way I figure it, somewhere someone else may want to read it. But really I’ve decided I am gonna write my shit my own way. Just get it out there one way or another and not translate or succumb to some marketing ploy/trend in order to appease some quick selling formula that seems to be all the rage at the moment.
This fucking industry needs a shake up. I’m going all gay beat generation on this whole writing endeavor of mine.
This isn’t new for me, not really. It’s a contrarian streak I have – definitely. Which I guess being gay is akin to being a contrarian when it comes to human relationships, I suppose. Then again, I am sure that since gays starting to permeate all facets of life (finally, thank the stars above), that there’s probably now “men who love buildings” or “statues” that will have us gays beat in the off-kilter (hey, they might even steal our ‘queer’ term for their more masonry inclined relationships) relationships arena. But as I said, this way of thinking isn’t new for me.
When I was in my English classes in college having to write academic papers I can’t tell you how often I pushed back on the whole topic sentence with supporting evidence bullshit that academia thrives upon. I wasn’t some kid fresh outta high school that needed that formula to make my report case. If it’s one thing I know how to do is make a strong argument and back my shit up. I know how to write a compelling narrative so let me get down and do my bidness…dammit!
So yeah, formulas and formulaic writing drive me bat-shit cray-cray.
So back to the sex… I am an erotica writer after all.
First off I have two words that epitomizes gay sex for me (aside from the hubby): Antonio Biaggi.
Cock god and uber top – Antonio Biaggi – my go to sex choreographer.
A fucking cock god if there ever was one… and not just because he’s got a rockin look and bone, either. For a guy in the porn business he’s seems to have his head screwed on straight (pardon the pun). And a very centered outlook on life (well, at least the way he expresses his views on things, at any rate.) Confident, without cockiness. Sexy as all fuck and brimming with passion (even when he might have to fake it). He’s intense. That’s what makes great sex – gay or not. Passion. Biaggi’s got it in spades. He’s my definite go to when it comes to visualizing my guys in full on rutting mode no matter the story.
Sometimes I am not even sure that the women who write in this genre are involved in gay men’s lives at all (aside from the simple mechanics involved) where they have a no holds barred open door policy on what they think and feel (provided to them by GAY men – and I don’t mean the stereotype nelly gays either) when they are intimate with another man. There is so much within the genre that I’ve run into (not all of it, mind you – I’ve found a few authors in the genre who actually have a clue – so refreshing to find them when I do) that the majority of them are really nothing more than chicks with dicks.
Who doesn’t like a good ol’ Cirque Du Soleil fuck?
I love a good circus style fuck, don’t you?
I realize that might not win me readers in this genre as the market stands now. But I’ve come to a realization: like a proud black woman, I am a proud gay man.
And as a gay man, I wouldn’t take it upon me to write about the black experience in this world. I’m not black. I simply have no real context (and this is coming from someone whose parents were in a (nearly) all black gospel choir (my parents being the sole exception) – so I was knee deep in the community and the church at the very least. Grew up with it all around me). Still – I am not black, so therefore I can’t speak with any authority in that genre. It just wouldn’t ring true. Not as a focal point to my stories. Write what you know – isn’t that the old saying? I’d be a big time pretender and trying to make money on it if I did. I just can’t go there. Sure I’ll have multi-cultural characters in my story – that’s a part of life. I am not being exclusionary or ‘gated’ in who I will write about, but what I won’t do is center my story around a culture or a people that I don’t have any real context for. No life experience.
Now the kicker? I am a trained classical singer – been not the stage since I was a kid. So I get the whole – let’s pretend and role play thing. I get it, I do. But even when I read some books written by men where women were the central character I never really quite go all the way with the – yeah, that was truthful emotive core. And I am a big Joss Whedon fan, so yeah, I can give props that he gets awfully close. But even so, it still has that maleness about the strong women characters within his stories that I sorta go – meh inside just a lil’ bit. I can’t help it. He’s a dude trying to write a strong female character that comes off a bit too – male.
I guess I should be happy that there’s a market at all for things that are even remotely speaking to my life experiences. I get that. I do, I swear. Yeah, I know it’s a mass of contradictions. It’s a straight up mess.
…and like my man on man sex, I like it just like that.
I am soooo going to use this position in one of my books at some point…
So in my stories, my boys/men will be messy. Covered in man-milk both in and out. Gay guys are all about that (yeah, ladies, I get it that you know our straight counterparts are all about the cumming as well – we’re dudes, it’s all the same shit no matter which sex you are inclined to bed) but you just don’t get the whole need to seed that goes on every 8 fucking seconds in our heads from the time we pop our first boner til the time we draw our last breath. It’s RELENTLESS… even when we aren’t ‘thinking’ about it, we are. And believe me – it’s messy.
Wide shot… (see below for the close up action)
Sloppy Slurpee Suck – The Best Kind EVER!
Let’s face it, men are built to breed. We’re built to seed. While I may write about Natives battling a menace from another universe (Cove Chronicles), or the ancient Feigr (Fae Wars), or my gay bashed artistic gay boy and his athletic quarterback boyfriend (Angels of Mercy), you can bet on one thing from me. No translations. No apologies. No fucking safety’s applied just because it might offend someone who can’t take the mess men make of their lives. My guys will be balls to the wall bonafide stud muffins that give into their baser needs whenever the moment arises. I’m cool with that. And I’ll make sure to wrap it all up in a good story too. I swear I will. I don’t write porn (though I know I could), I write erotica. So the story is what’s important. But it will be VERY male.
It’s what makes us fucking interesting. It’s why I love surrounding myself with men. Not just because they are the object of my desires. But because I emotively connect with them (there are so many straight guys in my life that don’t have a fucking clue about what I am all about – the private sexual conversations we’ve had about their wives, girlfriends or office temptations), I understand men. Why? Because I am one. A gay one, to be sure – unabashedly so.
And I’ll make no translations to anyone for who my male characters are in the world’s I create. The stories are what they are. I may have to self-pub and just hope I find an audience. It may not be a big time seller in the M/M genre out there or maybe, just maybe, I might shake things up a bit. Make a mess.
…and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Feeling a bit vulnerable with my shit out there…
Author’s Note: This is a converted blog post. It originally was published on 04.17.14 @ 7:53pm, US Pacific.
So here’s my deal with the whole writing thing that is so fucking out there scary. I mean – it’s my shit, and well… it’s out there, on the internet. While it was mine, on my computer, I was okay with its being in existence. Not that I am ashamed of the work or anything like that. I mean, all writers have to start somewhere. I get that it’s all part of the equation. And it’s not like I am not into public displays of my work, either. After all, I am a classically trained singer so I’ve trod a multitude of stages with audiences both large and small. So no, it’s not the public thing. Not really.
Okay, maybe it is.
Talk about the total flip-flopping – yeah, that’s me on the topic of publishing. Part of me won’t ever want to read ANY review – even if, as one published author told me, they’re “pushing so much sunshine up your backside that you get a sunburn from the experience.”
Plus, now that I have one complete novel “in the can” – so to speak, I can see how my writing has grown just from the experience of completing that first novel. I look back at the works I’ve been hammering out before and think – holy fuck, I gotta fix this!
Then again, maybe it isn’t fixing that needs to happen. Maybe, just maybe, I just need to breathe.
There’s no reason to panic.
There’s no reason to freak.
It’s digital bytes and bits, bro. All editable. In this e-age, nothing can’t be written that you can’t elevate to v2.0 – it’s all in the marketing, right?
Yeah, MARKETING…
Now there’s something to grapple with. Even with all of the information that’s out there (almost too much of it, actually) that you really don’t know what’ll work for a budding novelist who is thinking of publishing all on his lonesome. I mean, in that way I control the distribution and keep ALL of the rights. But then again, I gotta figure out how to get it all out there.
BY MYSELF!
Okay, the hubby helps a lot too. So, that’s definitely in the big plus column. And I’ve got very honest friends who’ll tell me – yeah, that’s shit, fix it.
So I’m good there. I guess…
See? While I write about Angels, it’s this new Demon that’s come crawling out of my inner woodwork: Doubt.
But the battle rages on…
Hey, I wrote this, didn’t I?
Writing that tugs…the GOOD then the BAD
Author’s Note: This is a converted blog post from a previous blog software I was using. It originally was published on 04.16.14 @ 6:36PM Pacific.
Okay, so I can definitely say that there is quite a bit of good writing out there. I mean, I’m easily inspired when I see it. So many artists are great muses as well. Though they often don’t know it. Jay Brannan is one such muse of mine. I happened upon him back when I was relocating from San Diego to the SF Bay Area (for me it was a move back to SF – second time around) as my daughter was going to SFSU and she needed family support for our then five year old granddaughter.
Jay Brannan’s new album – arriving July 2014.
Anyway, I found Jay Brannan’s album/recordings from a site that was promoting up and coming gay artists. I bought the album without hearing a single song. I later found a YouTube channel for him and it was music love at first sight (hearing). Jay’s a master with words – a modern day bard. His first full length album “goddamned” was an impressive collection of words and music that, though it had been many years since I had to wrestle with what he was singing about, it did bring me back to those feelings the moment he began to sing/play. The truth of his words cut though the years behind me like blowing on a dusty photo album and rediscovering old friends, lovers and acquaintances. Brilliant textures and a crystal clear voice that I found haunting as it was lyrical.
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So I’ve been listening to him ever since. His latest album, “Rob Me Blind” served as the emotive core for one of the main character’s in the Angel’s of Mercy series. So much so, that I had him be a fan of Jay’s work in the book. Those lyrics were tantamount to why Elliot did and thought the things he did while Marco overwhelmed and consumed every aspect of his little artistic geeky boy life.
The album that inspired me to write Angels of Mercy.
Marco is a god to Elliot. Towering, confident (though never cocky), and most of all – steadfastly devoted to Elliot. Elliot doesn’t understand this. Can’t fathom how the star quarterback of his varsity high school football team would even notice him let alone being totally in love with him. It’s heady stuff for Elliot. And for a while, he keeps waiting for the other shoe to fall. For Marco to wake up and realize what a colossal mistake he’s made in dating Elliot – the out gay geeky nobody at Mercy High.
I worked really hard at Marco’s and Elliot’s backstory before I ever put a single bit or byte to electronic paper. I had to know them so thoroughly that writing them would just flow. And for the most part it does.
Now we come to one of my biggest gripes about dramatic writing – especially on TV or in the movies, is that it’s gotten way to soap opera-y on us all.
Take for example the recently aired episode of Resurrection from ABC. I don’t know if you follow it or not, but there was a moment in last week’s Ep where a busy body old cow (played brilliantly by one of the Cartwright sisters) got up and railed against probably one of the nicest/most balanced characters on that show and said some hurtful things that stretched the truth of the matter in front of his entire congregation (oh yeah, I should mention he’s the town preacher). Evidently Bessie the old cow, wasn’t happy with chewing the cud on her part of the pews and decided to rail against the preacher because of something that happened in his past (that the TV audience was completely aware of how he had been duped by the recently returned (un)dead girlfriend (this is where the title of the show comes in). There was simply no way he could’ve anticipated what came out in the wash (that his girlfriend from 12 years ago had killed herself and was pregnant with his child when she took a long drive off a short pier). But all of that is fine… EXCEPT for what came next: the preacher said none of this in his defense. Leaving everyone in his congregation to assume what Bessie had been mooing over from her part of the pew farm was the absolute truth.
Now… you and I both know that if it’d been us and we were wrongly accused of something we had no knowledge of we’d defend it. Not stand there like some poor brainless schmuck who appeared to have wandered from the Walking Dead onto the wrong show. And don’t give me the whole: but he’s a preacher crap, either. Preacher men are men of words. Not always the right one’s. I’ll grant you, but of words nonetheless. They are ‘paid’ to think on their feet. So if there was ANYone who would’ve said something it woulda been him. But nada, zilch. Just stood there like a government employee (and I was a government employee once so I can say that with some authority – that last, by the way was a nod to the writers of Greater Tuna). That’s not how it happens in real life – I know, I know, it’s a televised drama – keyword: drama.
But there’s a way to make it far more believable, isn’t there? Preacher man – no matter how balanced and good, should be able to handle Bessie the cow and put her back out to pasture to chew the cud with other bovine gossipers of her ilk.
Anywho, I’ll get off my soap opera box now. I’m just getting tired of screenplay writers who take the easy way out to create drama. The whole Duh, dah, dah moments are so 1960. I know Mad Men is still all the rage, but hey, at least they get the heightened drama right.
Am I right?