Off the Clock

As I mentioned in June, I quit ye olde teaching job in favor of not being beat up and getting to write stories of cute guys fucking all day. Props to me. But as Labor Day stares me in the face, I'm getting an odd feeling of being out of time and place. Labor Day has meant the start of a new year to me for a tidy few decades, much more so than January 1. Fall has always been new beginnings, new chances, new clothes and new school supplies. At The Most Awesome Job Ever, all Labor Day means this year is that a book came out, a book is in edits, I have print galleys due and another book due while a trying to keep new characters from trying to escape and take over. All of that is fun (except the print galleys), but they don't have that special connection to this time of year. Still not complaining because, see above, getting to write about guys meeting, fucking and falling in love is absolutely The Most Awesome Job Ever, but it's hard fighting the urge to buy new clothes or a pencil case.

We humans have been coming up with ways to tell time (Stonehenge, New Grange) almost as soon as we could count, so it seems like a pretty basic need to find a rhythm in the cycle of the year. That led me to thinking about finding a similar rhythm in my writing schedule. Does it matter when a book comes out? It seems to me that my books that release in March/April or December/January seem to sell best. May/June is okay. The slowest month for me for new releases seems to be August. Anyone have thoughts on that? Should I beg, borrow and steal to get books to come out December, April...and a month not August to get into a pattern? And how often is good for releases? Every four months? Every six? At what point do readers say, "I forgot she was still writing"?

I may not have semesters to tick off the time for me anymore, but as long as I have the rhythm of write, edit, release, I think I'll be happy living off the clock.

Me and Phil

So it's February 2--if I can get this under the wire, which I doubt--and according to a variety of cultural and religious calendars it's time to be anticipating spring. I didn't bother to check on Puxatawny Phil today, because I figured with the ice and snow piling up outside my window I already knew the answer. Imbolc isn't inspiring me to do anything this year but rediscover the joys of hibernation, so if you've been looking for me on Twitter or just about anywhere else, it's been too cozy in the cave to even stir my e-self.

I do have one thing to anticipate--and it seems so very far away--but I turned in my edits on Bad Company and I'm really excited about sharing that with the world in June. But from where I'm sitting under these drifts with regular temperatures in the single digits, June feels equidistant with Mars and just as reachable. Maybe I can melt the snow while I'm working on the next Fragments book--that is if all four of the guys could stop with their individual agendas long enough to have sex.

Back to School Assignment

Ahh. Back-to-school time. I’m still catching up on some reading at the beach, but next Wednesday when my students come into my classroom they’ll have a quiz (I’m evil that way) and a form to fill out about their attititudes on reading and writing. One of the questions is about their favorite book. I fill out the form every year right along with them and while my answers about a lot of things change, my favorite book is always the same: The Catch Trap by Marion Zimmer Bradley.

Some people have a keeper shelf, some have a desert-island-keeper shelf. This book is on a shelf by itself, the throw-it-in-my-coffin-with-me shelf. (I know. It’s kind of Ancient Egyptian.) This is the book I want brought to the hospital if I’m stuck there. This is the book by my bedside so I can read it on those nights when I need a comfort read.

And what’s really funny is that it took me some time to pick it up, despite the recommendations of trusted fellow readers. Because like Marty and Maia were saying in their two previous blogs, there are formulas that just make people turn away. I just couldn’t wrap my head around this setting. Late forties? Circus family? So not for me. But one day I picked up The Catch Trap. Around the second page I became unconscious of the act of reading. The story simply unfolded in my head, and when I finished it a few hours later, I flipped right back to the beginning to start it all over again.

There’s a lot to get past before you pick it up. The back-cover blurb makes it kind of unpalatable. And I was a little concerned about the age difference between the two main characters: Tommy is fourteen and Mario is twenty-three when they meet. You’d think for me to praise a book this highly it would be steamy, but it’s not. The description of the sex is vaguer than an impressionist watercolor that got left in the rain. But the characters dug right into my brain and their hold hasn’t lessened even twenty years later. The story is absolute magic.

So what is it? Historical fiction? Gay fiction? Family drama? I don’t know. It’s a romance and it isn’t. It’s a coming of age story and it isn’t. It isn’t the best book ever written but it’s my favorite over a lifetime of voracious readership. It’s a part of my head now, and probably pieces of my writing are a breadcrumb trail right back to The Catch Trap.

MZB is gone, I’m sorry to say, but she left us more than one gay-positive story to read. I’m pretty sure The Catch Trap is out of print now, but you can find it at Alibris. I’d love to hear what other fans of our genre think of this classic.

Okay now, class. Let’s get to work.

And One More Thing About Fall

“Maybe he could work around it. Maybe it was just deep-seated admiration. He was one hell of a ballplayer. Did all the little things right. Nobody in baseball made the pivot better on a double play. Whatever the case, there seemed to be only one explanation for what was going on. Randy was falling in love. And it wasn’t with his wife or with some bimbo he’d picked up on the road. It was with his second baseman." Peter Lefcourt

Baseball playoffs start today, which means that it’s time for my annual rereading of one of my favorite books, The Dreyfus Affair by Peter Lefcourt. It’s apparently out of print, but here’s a link.

It’s a love story. A love story between two men, and a love story about baseball. The fondness the author has for both parts of his story is what makes it work so well for me. Every baseball fan I’ve encouraged (okay, make that “forced by incessant urging”) to read it has loved it. If you’re trying to convert someone to our beloved genre and that person is a baseball fan, here’s the book that could do it. And if the would-be reader is squeamish, you can assure him or her that all gay sex takes place behind closed doors. Best of all Lefcourt has a hurt-your-stomach-laughing-it’s-so-funny voice. There’s more than a little social satire involved here.

In the middle of a pennant race, heretofore heterosexual major league shortstop Randy Dreyfus falls in love with his second baseman. It’s as simple and as complicated as that.

The book was written in the nineties, but I don’t think professional sports have changed in respect to what would happen if a major name came out while he was playing. I might think we are long past ready for that to happen, but I can understand why it hasn’t.

If you love baseball and slash, come talk to me about it. And if you read The Dreyfus Affair, please let me know what you think. Or you could just tell me who you’re pulling for in the playoffs.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

I know it sounds strange for a person whose day job is that of a teacher to say, but I love the fall. Yes, the leaves are pretty and the weather is cooler and the air smells great, but what really kicks my happy dance into high gear is the idea of new beginnings.

There’s nothing like the back-to-school magic. You get a fresh start. New students, new teachers, new clothes and new supplies. How I love that other adult toy store—Office Max. The pens, the paper, the highlighters and all those really cool other things that I’m sure I’ll find a use for someday spill off the shelves and into my basket. Just like the fall season itself, the possibilities of the back-to-school sale at an office supply store are endless.

And best of all, I have a new story. Since the characters are newborns (just birthed five days ago but already two chapters strong), they're a bit shy about coming out and playing on the blog, but they’re whispering all kinds of things in my ear. Sometimes they even get loud. I love this honeymoon period, where we’re falling in love, me with the guys and the guys with each other. It’s a magical time, like the turn of the year, old into new.

If any of you can think of a way to bottle September for that dreary rut I seem to fall into in March, please let me know. I’m sure my students—and my characters—would appreciate it.