Kergan Edwards-Stout

Sh*t My Kids Say (Part 2)

2013-05-15T13:13:53-04:00

One of the great things about Facebook is the ability to reread posts made in the spur of the moment and quickly forgotten. I tend to forget some of the funny things our kids say, and it's great to have the ability to look back and remember. As two white gay dads raising two amazing African-American boys, our house is always hopping. Here are quotations from our 13-year-old, Mason, and our 10-year-old, Marcus, in another edition of "Sh*t My Kids Say."

Me: "Marcus, it is 6 a.m. What are you doing up? Trying to get into that ice cream?!"
Marcus: "I need energy."

Marcus: "Do babies have balls when they're born?"
Me: "Well, boy babies do."
Marcus: "Yeah, I know. Girls have cracks."

Me: "I sure hope I'm there to see you when you find someone you love and maybe have kids."
Marcus: "But if you're not, I'll do the funeral and dig and put you in there."

Mason: "You know that woman with the voice on The Nanny? It's an old-time show."

Me: "The thing Mason feels most passionately about is football."
Marcus: "And sagging his jeans."

Marcus: "My hair has lots of great qualities. It is soft, and curly, and, uh...." Deep sigh. "Maybe that's it."

Me, chaperoning a field trip to Disneyland, on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride, going through the bayou swamp: "I can't imagine any place I would like to live less than a swamp."
Mason: "I'd even live in New York."

Marcus, accompanying me on a run: "Keep going, Daddy! Don't give up! If you don't stop running, you'll get a big kissy from me when we get home!" (#BestCoachEver)

Mason: "Girls have smellier farts than guys."
Me: "What makes you think so?"
Mason: "'Cause they hold 'em in for the longest time."

Me, weeks before Christmas: "Guess what I just did? Wrapped presents for you two. They're under the tree."
Marcus: "If it was a puppy, it would die, right?"

Mason: "Are you Santa?"
Me: "What makes you ask?"
Mason: "I just want to know."
Me: "Santa has many helpers."
Mason: "I always thought Santa was African-American."
Me: "Why do you say that?"
Mason: "He's so jolly, with the big belly and all. Maybe I can be him next Halloween."
Me: "All I know is people who believe in Santa get presents. The rest don't."
Mason: "So can you get me an iPad?"

Me: "You smell like chocolate."
Marcus: "That's 'cause I'm brown."

Note from Mason: "Dear Dad, Thank you for showing me that life isn't boring and being my dad. I wish there was no such thing as dying so you could be with me forever. You are a very nice dad and I love you. Thank you for encouraging me in doing big things. You are a cool dad. I wish you could make Marcus the same as you. Love you, Mason. P.S. Don't show this to Marcus"

Marcus: "I had a very sad dream last night. Want to hear it?"
Me: "Sure."
Marcus: "We were ninjas -- well, good ninjas fighting the bad ninjas -- and we had penguins. But they wandered away from us, and me and Mason couldn't find them, so we were sad."

Marcus, to a friend: "Yeah, our vacation this year is at a place with a really short name: P-town. Get it? Pee-town?"

Me: "Mason, I want to ask you something--"
Mason: "No, Dad! Not 'The Talk.' Not again."

Marcus, watching the Darren Criss/Matthew Bomer duet of "Somebody That I Used to Know" on Glee: "They probably fart, right, in real life?"

Me: "Do you know what a syllable is?"
Marcus: "Yes. Butt" -- clap -- "hole!" clap.

And, lastly, my favorite: For Russ' birthday dinner, Marcus made a sign that he put on the table, directing "Praisetents here!" My first reaction was to correct him, but the more I thought about it, with the emphasis on "praise," the more I liked it. From now on, whenever I give a gift, I'm really giving a "praisetent."

This blog post originally appeared on KerganEdwards-Stout.com. Photographs by Sara + Ryan Photography.

Kergan Edwards-Stout's debut novel, Songs for the New Depression, was winner of the 2012 Next Generation Indie Book Award in the LGBTQ category, shortlisted for the Independent Literary Awards and named one of the Top Books of 2012 by Out in Print and others.

How I Survived a Plague

2013-05-09T09:00:06-04:00

I survived a plague.

It once seemed unfathomable that I'd ever write such words, let alone experience just such a cataclysmic event. Growing up in a bland but largely protected Southern California suburb in the '60s and '70s, I had no clue what lay ahead. Acquaintances, friends, co-workers and lovers dead. A myriad of others infected. Who could have foreseen the years of public apathy and private sorrow, or emerging decades later into a world where few seem to acknowledge the experience that occurred, let alone the toll taken. Somehow, though, I stand here today having survived the AIDS epidemic, and I still marvel at how.

In 1981, when what would eventually become known as AIDS peripherally entered our national consciousness, I was 16 years old. I'd known I was attracted to other boys since as far back as I could remember. Hitting 16, I was able to put my driver's license to good use, beginning weekly sojourns to a bookstore in neighboring Long Beach, Calif., where I'd spend my allowance on LGBT fiction, The Advocate and gay porn. This avid need to read and learn would serve me well, as I distinctly recall that moment when I first saw a headline about a gay cancer attacking the New York community. In July 1982, at virtually the same moment that the disease was being renamed from "gay-related immune deficiency," or "GRID," to the more accurate "acquired immunodeficiency syndrome," or "AIDS," I was experiencing my first sexual encounter, on a family vacation to Maui. Lying on a hill overlooking a beautiful, deserted beach cove, I finally gave myself over to the stirrings I'd long felt. Even as this older stranger initiated me into the ways of gay sex, I was cognizant of the disease attacking gay men, fully aware of the wolf at the door. Moments after finishing, I pulled on my bathing suit, quickly hurrying around the corner of the cove, only to bump into my sister, on her way to find me. The realization that mere seconds had separated me from discovery introduced a gnawing element of fear into the moment. But that factor of fear may very well be the reason I'm still here.

With the release of David France's Oscar-nominated documentary How to Survive a Plague, now on DVD, I was immediately reminded of those many years and how, for me, sex and fear became, for better or worse, inextricably intertwined. The film skillfully communicates the era's panic and anger, as well as the resolute determination of the LGBT community to combat the virus. As I watched it, long-forgotten voices and faces materialized, transporting me to a time in which I often felt as though I were engaged in a secret war.

I was reminded of James, so closeted that even a shared meal in public was conducted in whispers. I remembered hushed conversations about who had "it," the line between the "haves" and the "have-nots" never more apparent. I thought of those awkward dinners where my date would reveal his serostatus, and I would attempt to finish the meal pleasantly, as if that news hadn't really mattered. And I remembered the first man I personally knew who died of the disease, always-smiling Jon, who went so quietly that few even registered that he was gone.

When I was growing up, sex was labeled both a sin and something to treasure, and these warring contradictions, added to the lessons learned from my dysfunctional family makeup, bore in me a certain prudery. Mix that prudishness with a lurking transmittable disease, and my sexual awakening proved not the spree of abandon I'd long imagined but a series of battles, each encounter fraught with the fear that HIV could enter my body at any time, at the slightest provocation. This led me to study everything I could about the virus, to fortify myself. This quest for knowledge proved difficult, however, as each news account seemed to give varying and often conflicting instructions: It can be spread through saliva! No, it can't! They've discovered a drug! But it doesn't work! It can't be spread through oral sex! No, wait, it can! No, it can't! A cure is coming! No cure to be found!

Each sex act became a scientific experiment: If one condom is effective, will two be even better? Am I using the right lubricant? What is nonoxynol-9? Is it microwavable or non-microwavable plastic wrap that is the preferred barrier for rimming? Such questions made it difficult to lose myself in the moment, but they also allowed passion a momentary respite, providing a window in which to turn my hypervigilance into action.

Desperate at seeing my community under attack, I found myself at AIDS Project Los Angeles, first as a volunteer and later as a hired staff member. My efforts there centered on HIV prevention. It was my goal to keep other gay men HIV-negative, but even that was fraught with uncertainty. We acted as if we were shamans, sprinkling our mystical educational nuggets across the landscape, but we were more used-car salesmen than anything, selling the masses education that we didn't really believe in, with few of us actually practicing what we preached. We advocated using dental dams or plastic wrap for rimming, finger cots or latex gloves for ass play. We preached using condoms for oral sex and pretended that the flavored lubricants we hawked actually enhanced the act, as if everyone wanted to taste synthetic strawberry instead of cock.

We made every effort to keep our messages "sex-positive," to ensure that we didn't add to the years of shame that gay men had suffered, being made to feel less-than. Although fear had proven an effective deterrent for me, scare tactics were frowned upon. Marketing campaigns depicting those ill or dying was forbidden, so as not to offend those with HIV or imply that death was a foregone conclusion. Instead, we repeatedly insisted that not only was safer sex hot, but it could be even hotter than sex without condoms. As if anyone believed it.

To sell this vision, we created workshops around enhancing intimacy and building self-esteem, the theory being that by feeling better about oneself, more care would be taken around sexual health: If you care about yourself, you'll use condoms. But that message was faulty, as the reverse would also be true: If you aren't using condoms, you're an unfeeling asshole who doesn't about anyone, especially not yourself. That led men to again feel shame. Guilt trips are rarely effective.

As months became years, what began as a quiet war eventually grew to a loud roar. Nights in West Hollywood were an endless cycle: handing out condoms at bars, engaging in street protests, attending meetings of QueerNation or ACT UP and leading courses in safer sex. We screamed until we were hoarse and marched until we couldn't stand, then we went out dancing all night and had as much sex as possible. I recall seminars such as Marianne Williamson's "A Course in Miracles" and Louise Hay's "Hay Rides," more than once wondering why I was there. Many of those attending were HIV-positive, searching for healing. I was there because... what? Was I seeking community? A sense of belonging? To cruise hot guys? Or was I searching for a cure for what ached in my soul?

Ultimately, however, why I was there wasn't important. The important thing is that I was there.

Shane Sawick was HIV-positive when we met, with a T-cell count of less than 200, which technically meant that he had AIDS. As we began dating, technical became actual very quickly, and within two years he was dead.

When I first heard through a friend that Shane was interested in me, I was flattered, but I didn't give it much thought. He was HIV-positive, after all, and although I acted like it didn't matter, it did. There was little hope back then, and I knew what the road ahead held. I had no desire to go down that path; I was afraid, not for my physical health, because by then I was as knowledgeable as most doctors, but I feared what such loss could do to my soul. How can one begin to indulge in loving fully knowing that there is an expiration date? Why experience what you know will be fleeting? And how can you ever move forward again having loved and lost?

The idea of a relationship with Shane scared the shit out of me, but I knew I had to face that fear, however messy. I'd beaten my fear of infection through education, and I thought I might beat my emotional fears by confronting them. I chose love, in all its complexity, and found myself rewarded. Connecting with another, giving fully, putting his needs ahead of my own -- these molded me into the man I am today. Experiencing horrific pain and sadness through his death and that of my friends created shadings within, deep pockets of understanding, ultimately making me a better human being, partner and father.

Throughout the crisis, I met countless people doing everything possible to educate and empower others and eradicate a deadly disease, while a much larger number of people did nothing. Those of us who were engaged in the fight might not have done everything we should have or could have, but the mere act of doing is what kept me sane, and maintaining a healthy respect for the disease kept me HIV-negative.

Love, mixed with more than a little bit of fear, is how I survived the plague.

Kergan Edwards-Stout's debut novel about one man's battle with AIDS, Songs for the New Depression, was the winner of the 2012 Next Generation Indie Book Award in the LGBTQ category, shortlisted for the Independent Literary Awards and named one of the top books of 2012 by Out in Print and others.

Photos: Kergan Edwards-Stout as a child and as a young man in Hawaii (photo provided by the author); Peter Staley on the poster for How to Survive a Plaque; Kergan Edwards-Stout in an ad for Today Condoms and performing in a safer sex education campaign for AIDS Project Los Angeles as Biff Boffum, opposite Lawrence Jurado's LaToya Latex (photo by Ed Freeman); Shane Sawick (photo by Ed Freeman); Kergan Edwards-Stout today with his family, Russ Noe, Mason and Marcus Edwards-Stout (photo by Sara+Ryan Photography).

This blog post originally appeared on KerganEdwards-Stout.com.

Move Over, 'Dear Abby': 'Ask Dr. Darcy' Is Straight Talk for the Gay Community (VIDEO)

2013-05-01T09:00:02-04:00

Have you ever had a question and needed straight-shooting, professional advice? Dr. Darcy Sterling, a licensed clinical social worker based in the SoHo section of New York City, dishes up just that on a regular basis through her blog, her YouTube channel and her work with her wife, Stephanie Sterling, at Alternatives Counseling.

As a writer for Psychology Today and a columnist for GO Magazine (which profiled Darcy and Stephanie's wedding in 2009), Dr. Darcy has increasingly been tapped by media for commentary, such as for E! Entertainment's When Women Kill. Though certainly media-savvy, Darcy also has the credentials to back up her observations, having received a master's degree in social work from Columbia University in 1996 and a Ph.D. from New York University in 2006.

Her style is direct and focused, both with media and clients alike, and recently, she graciously took the time to chat with me about her tell-it-like-it-is "straight talk" and issues that she sees within the LGBT community.

Kergan Edwards-Stout: I'm so glad that we're finally able to talk! I've been looking forward to this.

Dr. Darcy Sterling: Me too!

Edwards-Stout: I'm really curious about you and your approach to therapy. First, though, tell me a bit about yourself.

Sterling: I'm a Jersey girl! [Laughs.] I'm from Roseland, N.J., which is about 45 minutes from New York. When you grow up just outside the city, you tend to think that you're a New Yorker, but once you're here, living the life, you realize just how "off" you were! When I was younger, I didn't have to strap my day's belongings to me and take subways and cabs through all kinds of weather. It is a very different world than what I'd thought!

Edwards-Stout: What made you decide to make the move into the city?

Sterling: Both my graduate and post-graduate work was here, and I knew it was where I'd end up. Before I moved to New York, I was married -- to a man. We were together over 13 years, but eventually we parted ways, and afterward I knew I'd never date a man again. I'd always known I was "bi-curious," but hadn't explored it until my 30s. So I moved to New York and started dating Steph. Moving to New York was empowering in many ways.

Edwards-Stout: How did you meet Stephanie?

Sterling: We met at NYU and became best friends, which, for lesbians, is essentially foreplay. [Laughs.] We moved in together and were married in 2009.

Edwards-Stout: Congratulations!

Sterling: We now share the practice and, just like the clients we see, are trying to manage this twisting journey we call life!

Edwards-Stout: What drew you to the field of psychotherapy?

Sterling: Anyone who's drawn to this field comes to it because of their own wounds. We all have something we need to work through -- family situations where things just weren't "right." Most therapists come into the field wanting to help others navigate experiences such as they themselves had, but somewhat easier.

Edwards-Stout: So having gone through your own experiences, you're able to better relate to your client?

Sterling: Exactly. I draw on the training I had in school, but relating to my clients is a very innate process. I understand their feelings, emotions and suffering. My wife said to me recently, "You are able to find commonality with each of your clients. You're not looking for what makes you different; you're looking for what makes you similar." And she's absolutely right.

Edwards-Stout: What is your therapeutic philosophy?

Sterling: I'm trained in positive psychology, which I apply daily. When I meet someone new, I'm looking to find what is working for them in their lives. Typically, our greatest strengths are also our greatest weaknesses. What that means is that our weaknesses are usually our strengths, dialed up too high, in the wrong environment. If we can learn to dial them down, it can be beneficial.

Edwards-Stout: Explain what you mean by that.

Sterling: I'll use myself as an example. With my clients I'm very outspoken, and that style works in a therapeutic setting. At home, however, that style wouldn't be welcome or appreciated by my wife. We are all works in progress, and building on successes helps clients feel empowered. Often, a client walks in the door to a therapist, preparing to be judged and expecting to be categorized. It is both a humbling and intimidating experience. Underscoring weaknesses only serves to handicap people. I'd rather help them find what is working and apply those attributes to other areas that may not be working as well. Building and creating, helping them realize their dreams, is the most rewarding aspect of psychotherapy for me.

Edwards-Stout: What are the major issues you're seeing in the LGBT community?

Sterling: By and large, the issues LGBT people face are the same as everyone else: relationships, family, finding connections with others. But being marginalized, being a minority, can create other specific issues. In the final analysis, however, it is not about money, fame, career; it is the measure of the quality of our relationships which fulfill us. And most have no clue as to how to create better relationships. To me, learning effective communication skills would've been so much more helpful than learning algebra!

Edwards-Stout: With people of my generation, I would imagine that most of our issues were around coming out, the HIV/AIDS epidemic, the pressures of living in an intolerant world, etc. Today, with marriage equality expanding and younger people coming out at earlier ages, I'm wondering what issues you're seeing. As new generations come up, are the issues changing?

Sterling: That is a great question. Coming out is a process, and where I meet people in their coming-out process may be at a different stage than where a therapist might have seen someone coming out 15 years ago. Part of that may also be related to location. Clients I see who live in New York are typically further along in the coming-out process than those I see in other areas, some of whom haven't yet begun that process.

Edwards-Stout: Do you see differences in the issues that gay men or lesbians face?

Sterling: Women are all about relationships. Oftentimes they come to me when a relationship is in trouble, hoping to save it, or after one has dissolved. They've dusted themselves off, realized they may own some responsibility for the ending of it, and want to make sure they don't repeat the same patterns in the future. Whatever lessons we don't learn we get tested on again and again.

Edwards-Stout: And what about the men?

Sterling: So many are frustrated with the stereotypes they see of gay men and are just looking for an honest connection with a like-minded individual, which can seem difficult in the age of Grindr.

Edwards-Stout: Now that marriage equality is becoming a reality for many, and now that coming out is becoming somewhat easier, do you see any other issues on the horizon with which the LGBT community may grapple?

Sterling: Instead of focusing on potential challenges, I'd rather focus on dreams. I would love our community to begin campaigning around how parents raise their children. I'd like to see a movement where parents were encouraged to become curious about their children's sexuality, without the expectation of their child being straight; where voicing their sexual orientation was as common and matter-of-fact as stating their career choice. But parents need to be taught how to do this, how to avoid feeding into limiting gender stereotypes. Parenting is a teachable skill. In our society we require licenses to drive a car, a boat, etc., and yet anyone can have a child, no training required. We expect parents to have innate parenting skills, which is such a crazy concept.

Edwards-Stout: Aside from your work with the LGBT community, you also see a great deal of young, straight New Yorkers.

Sterling: Yes, easily half my practice are younger people struggling to make sense of life in the big city.

Edwards-Stout: What issues are they dealing with?

Sterling: New York is very competitive and very expensive. Most of the people drawn to this island were the big fish in their small ponds at home, but then they come to New York, where everyone here is the best from their hometown. That kind of pressure really wears on people.

Edwards-Stout: You also have clients all over the world.

Sterling: Yes, I see many clients via Skype. I like the idea that with these kinds of technology, where a person lives isn't an impediment to getting great care. It gives clients the ability to connect with a quality therapist, regardless of where they live.

Edwards-Stout: And your YouTube channel and blog are one more way to connect with people.

Sterling: I thought it would be fun to have a Q-and-A forum for members of the LGBT community. My blog and YouTube channel are just extensions of my goal, which is to help people find their way forward in the world.

Edwards-Stout: We first met through an article I'd written--

Sterling: "Please Defriend Me." Your article gave voice to many emotions I had been experiencing leading up to the presidential election in November. For some time I was so fed up, I couldn't even go on Facebook. I found some of the posts so insensitive, from both friends and family members, and your article was very relevant to what I was feeling. You hit a nerve, which is why I shared your article on my blog.

Edwards-Stout: That post generated a lot of controversy on both sides and took on a life of its own. Given that it was so controversial, I wonder how, as a therapist, you decide what to share and what to keep private.

Sterling: I'm a passionate person, and that comes out through my Facebook and Twitter feeds. Generally speaking, therapists are trained to self-disclose as little as humanly possible. Today, though, we live in an era where social media is everywhere. If we want to be connected to anybody, we have to be on social media. You can't function as an entrepreneur and not embrace it. Given the fact that my personal style of therapy is to be direct, and I'm encouraging people to not be in the closet, or hide, or harbor secrets, I need to walk the walk. Otherwise it's as if I'm being shoved into a closet all over again.

Edwards-Stout: I would also imagine that there is a positive aspect to sharing yourself and your style publicly, because you're more likely to receive clients who are looking for someone specifically like you.

Sterling: Definitely. They know, walking in the door, exactly what they're getting. I am not the therapist for everyone; some clients need a more gentle approach. I don't have all the answers, but my approach is certainly heartfelt and never mean-spirited. I'm a human being first and foremost and try myself to do the work that I ask my clients to do.

Dr. Darcy Sterling can be found on her practice website, her blog, her YouTube channel, her Facebook page and her Twitter feed.

This blog post originally appeared on KerganEdwards-Stout.com and LGBTQ Nation.

WellCast's New Youth-Oriented Video on Coming Out: Cool or Controversial? (VIDEO)

2013-03-08T09:00:02-05:00

WellCast, a youth-oriented Internet show focusing on self-esteem, has a new video up on how to come out as lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender or queer (LGBTQ).

WATCH:

Is it cool or controversial? Take a look, and share what you think in the comments section!

Kergan Edwards-Stout blogs regularly at KerganEdwards-Stout.com.

Groundbreaking Gay Mystery Series Finally Comes to eBook

2013-02-22T18:49:12-05:00

The following is an excerpt from an interview with author Michael Nava. For the complete interview, please visit KerganEdwards-Stout.com.

In 1986 the United States looked very different than it does today. Ronald Reagan was president. It was the year of the Space Shuttle Challenger disaster and the blockbuster film Top Gun. LGBT people were largely marginalized. Latinos hadn't yet become a surging political force. And while AIDS had begun claiming countless lives in the gay community, it was only in 1985 that the larger public became more fully aware, due to the sensationalized death of star Rock Hudson.

It was in this era of the so-called "Moral Majority," a largely white, conservative, Christian view of America, that author Michael Nava crafted one of the most unlikely of literary heroes: Henry Rios, a gay, Latino criminal attorney with a passion for justice. Himself an outsider, Rios acts on behalf of those without a voice, often people who are wrongly accused of crimes. Introduced in The Little Death, Rios would go on to solve mysteries in a series of seven books, culminating with Rag and Bone in 2001.

The Rios series would win five Lambda Literary Awards, and Nava was honored by The Publishing Triangle with the Bill Whitehead Lifetime Achievement Award for Gay and Lesbian literature.

As the revolutionary Henry Rios series finally comes to ebook, Michael Nava took time to share more with me about the development of the character, his thoughts on bringing an end to the Rios series, and his forthcoming novel, The City of Palaces.

Kergan Edwards-Stout: You first gained literary acclaim for your Henry Rios mystery series. How did the tales originate?

Michael Nava: I started writing the first novel almost as a lark in my last year at law school. I was working from 10 p.m. to 6 a.m. at the Palo Alto jail, where I interviewed men who had been arrested to determine if they were eligible for immediate release on their own recognizance or would have to post bail the next day. Palo Alto didn't have that much crime, so I spent many nights just waiting around or trying to study. At some point I started writing what became The Little Death; indeed the very first scene has Rios walking into a jail which was the Palo Alto jail.

Edwards-Stout: Your lead character, a gay, Latino criminal attorney involved in solving mysteries, broke many barriers. Were you conscious of how groundbreaking he might be?

Nava: At that point I wasn't thinking about being published, much less writing a series, but it never occurred to me that he would not be gay and Latino. I wanted to write a book I would have wanted to read, and what I wanted to read about was the experience of being gay. This was in 1980, when there were very few books by openly gay writers, and most of those involved the New York sexual demi-monde or were coming-out stories. I was already out, and I was less interested in gay sex than in gay identity. Fortunately, I found inspiration in the marvelous mystery novels of Joseph Hansen.

Edwards-Stout: His books were terrific.

Nava: His matter-of-fact depiction of a gay P.I. Dave Brandstetter, who was competent at his job and unapologetic in his sexual orientation, was my immediate inspiration for Rios.

Edwards-Stout: I recently revisited Golden Boy, the second in your series. I remember, when I first read the books, I was focused more on how you married the mystery angle with a gay, Latino lead. What struck me about the book, reading it this time, was how Rios navigates through the class system. He interacts with everyone from the uppermost elite to folks on the street. Were you conscious of that element while writing him?

Nava: Perhaps not so much in that second book, but by the third book, How Town, I was increasingly conscious of his status which I call the "outsider/insider." This person -- male in my novels, but, in life, just as often, or more often, a woman -- is someone who belongs to a dispossessed minority group but who nonetheless achieves some degree of status and authority within the dominant culture.

Edwards-Stout: Can you expand on that?

Nava: Henry Rios, for example, is a gay Latino (and also a recovering alcoholic and a child of the poor) who is also a first-rate lawyer with a law degree from Stanford University. The Rios novels are as much about how Rios experienced his double reality (despised spic faggot on the one hand, learned counsel for the defense on the other) as they are about whodunit and why. That's what gives the novels their continuing moral and cultural relevance. As America's complexion darkens, there are many young men and women from "minority" communities, particularly Latino and Asian kids, who are confronted with the doubleness of identity. Like Rios, they are the first in their families to attend college and to gain a foothold in the professional world. And if these kids are LGBT as well, then Rios really speaks to their experience and, to gather from what they tell me, provides them with some hope and inspiration.

Edwards-Stout: In the series you also included various characters battling with HIV. How has the AIDS crisis affected you personally?

Nava: The first book was started in 1980, completed in 1984, and published in 1986 -- and readers will notice that AIDS is not mentioned. By the second book, Goldenboy, written in 1987 and published in 1988, AIDS was sweeping the gay male community, overwhelming every other concern. I could not write about that community without also becoming an AIDS writer. Like many other gay men of my generation -- I'm 58 now -- HIV/AIDS was the air I breathed for a decade: watching friends sicken and die, visiting hospital rooms, attending memorials, marching in demonstrations, raging at Ronald Reagan and his ilk and bearing witness to the unbelievable acts of compassion and heroism by gay men and by lesbian women. Gay male literature was like urgent dispatches from the front lines of a battleground, and it was my privilege to be part of that generation of writers. Like my brother writers, I tried to write about the plague as honestly and accurately as I could. I remember receiving a letter from a man who included in the envelope the program of his lover's memorial. He told me that when he read some of the conversations between Rios and his HIV-positive lover, Josh Mandel, it was as if I had recorded his conversations with his partner. He thanked me. I wept.

Edwards-Stout: How do you feel the LGBT community has dealt with AIDS in the years since the height of the epidemic?

Nava: Well, it was very odd that when antiretroviral therapies became widely available and gay men stopped dying in the numbers that they had, people stopped talking about AIDS. I felt like a soldier who had returned from the trenches of the Great War to find the Roaring '20s in progress, all jazz and flappers and bathtub gin and no one wanting to hear about the horror anymore. It was a deeply alienating experience, and for some time I withdrew from the LGBT community. In retrospect, I suppose it was understandable that people just wanted a break from the trauma of the plague. But the plague years set in motion much of LGBT civil rights initiatives that are bearing fruit now; it empowered us as only a life-and-death crisis can. I think we need to look back at that time, and I see signs that we are at last prepared to do that. Like many other men of my generation, I do find disturbing the increase of seroconversion among younger gay men. HIV may be a more manageable disease, but it's better not to contract it in the first place.

Edwards-Stout: You brought the Henry Rios series to a close with Rag and Bone in 2001. The character at that time was battling a host of issues around mortality, identity and family. When the book was released, you noted that not only would it bring an end to his tales, but it was also the end of your journey as a writer of mysteries. Why was closing his tale so important to you, and how does that coincide with your decision to no longer work in that genre?

Nava: There were a number of things going on. I'd written or co-written eight books in 15 years while also writing essays, journalism and other pieces, while simultaneously practicing law full-time and attempting to have a personal life. The well was dry. I also felt I had gone as far as I could as a writer with the mystery genre, and that I was in danger of becoming formulaic. Moreover, I didn't have much else to say about the experience of being a gay man, and I found myself increasingly more interested in exploring the Latino part of my personal identity. I had already begun the research for the series of historical novels that I am currently writing, and that was where I wanted to go as a writer. I didn't realize it would take me another decade to write the first novel in that series.

Edwards-Stout: Do you have any regrets about ending it?

Nava: None at all.

Edwards-Stout: With the series now being released in ebook, how does it feel to revisit them?

Nava: What I see most clearly now is that Henry Rios is a unique character in American literature, in both his specificity -- gay, Mexican-American, professional man -- and in his sensibility. He is neither a victim nor a stereotype. He is someone who rejected society's classification of homosexuals as sick, sinful or criminal and chose instead to trust his own experience of himself as a decent and compassionate human being. That doesn't sound like a radical consciousness today, but you must remember when Rios was a boy in the 1950s and 1960s, there was still a sodomy law in California, and no open homosexual would have been licensed to practice law; homosexuals were defendants, not lawyers. His faith in his own good character was without precedent. He paid a price. In the novels he struggles with alcoholism, with a tendency toward what I suppose is codependence, with his unexpressed rage, but his demons never overwhelm him. He is a wounded but sympathetic character. I think that's why so many readers took him to heart.

Michael Nava can be found on his website and on Facebook.

This piece originally appeared in full on KerganEdwards-Stout.com.

'Miss Broadway Dork' Revealed as Swan (VIDEO)

2013-02-15T18:06:38-05:00

Musical theater lovers, rejoice! Show business has a new star, and you won't have to fork over a month's rent to pay Broadway ticket prices to see her. Not only can you watch her from the comfort of your very own home, but she performs from her very own home, with living room or bedroom as the only set piece. Forget the fancy scenery; for this actress, the backdrop may be just her bed, a few show posters or maybe even a sheet hung up behind her to help with sound.

The scenery, though, doesn't really matter, once you hear "the voice." Since 2007, Alex Heinen has been building a name for herself with a YouTube channel, where she goes by the user name "Miss Broadway Dork." With more than 2 million video views, Heinen is followed by a host of eager subscribers who highly anticipate her musical theater gems. And they can be quite vocal, freely expressing their feelings in the comments section.

Some fans can't quite believe that Heinen's exquisite voice comes out of, well, Heinen. Though all videos on her channel posted after Oct. 12, 2007, are sung live, prior to that, Heinen would often post videos of herself lip-syncing to a prerecorded tape of her own voice, leading some to speculate that Heinen wasn't actually singing the songs. This suspicion was compounded, in part, by her physical appearance. No-frills when it comes to style, Heinen rarely puts on costumes or makeup to perform; she just pushes the record button. Having struggled with weight issues, Heinen's physical appearance varies in the videos, and commenters have thrown jabs about her looks, assuming (falsely) that someone who appears as she does could not possibly sing the way that she does.

Heinen pushes aside such bullying, affirming that her passion lies not in the fame but in the performing. For this "Broadway Dork," the pleasure lies in creating one's own stamp on a role and diving into artistic challenges. Currently residing in central Illinois, Heinen received her B.A. in theater from Hampshire College and recently took time to share with me more about her passion, theater, and her potential next steps.

Kergan Edwards-Stout: Thanks so much for agreeing to chat! Like many, I stumbled upon your YouTube channel one day and was immediately impressed.

Alex Heinen: Thank you so much!

Edwards-Stout: What inspired you to start your channel?

Heinen: I think it was simply that I love singing. I grew up doing a lot of musical theater in high school, but I got very nervous when it came to singing in public. I had a bad case of stage fright, which led to what I call "goat girl" voice, where my vibrato gets really fast. I thought it might be a good challenge to put myself out there on the Internet and see if it helped my nerves. And I guess it did!

Edwards-Stout: In a big way! You don't seem nervous at all. Where did your love for musical theater come from?

Heinen: I used to watch a lot of movie musicals, especially all the Shirley Temple films, and my mom was a big fan of Judy Garland. Meet Me in St. Louis is one of my favorites. And all the great Disney musicals, and Willy Wonka and other childhood films. Being exposed to those at a young age really shaped me.

Edwards-Stout: What was your first performing experience?

Heinen: In sixth grade, we did a production of Aladdin, which I doubt was even authorized, in which I had a very small role, but it really set me on this path.

Edwards-Stout: What are some of your ideal roles?

Heinen: Well, Stephen Sondheim is my favorite composer/lyricist, and I'd love to take on Mrs. Lovett in Sweeney Todd, which I've played before.

Edwards-Stout: Your "Another Hundred People," from Company, is terrific.

Heinen: Thank you! I also like Rodgers and Hammerstein, and I would love to play Maria in The Sound of Music. Another role which would be great would be Eliza in My Fair Lady.

Edwards-Stout: If you could play any role at all, regardless of whether you were physically right for it, what would be your ideal dream role?

Heinen: Out of everything? Well, I'd say George in Sunday in the Park with George!

Edwards-Stout: That would be amazing. So what are the differences between performing essentially in your living room and performing on a stage?

Heinen: Onstage, I love the interaction between the actors. That connection between fellow performers is something I can't get singing by myself.

Edwards-Stout: What prompts you to pick a particular song?

Heinen: I'll listen to what my fans suggest. I think I'm going to have some upset fans if I don't soon sing "On My Own" from Les Misérables ! Overall, if a song goes well with my voice, I'll give it a shot and try it.

Edwards-Stout: Do you have a long-range plan for your channel?

Heinen: I'll just keep doing it, as long as I'm enjoying it. I've taken some short breaks, but overall it's been a fun experience.

Edwards-Stout: How many times do you typically record a video before it's good to go?

Heinen: Sometimes it is just once, and others maybe eight times until I feel like I can post it.

Edwards-Stout: How do you feel about the comments people make on your channel?

Heinen: Well, for the most part, they're very positive. People seem to like my voice, which is terrific, but I used to be heavier, and I'd also get some negative comments about my weight. One person wrote that they thought I should just kill myself. Others have written that I look hideous or look like a troll -- just awful things!

Edwards-Stout: That must be really hurtful.

Heinen: It is! Nowadays, they're more positive. I've met some of my best friends through YouTube, which I'm very grateful for.

Edwards-Stout: You went so far as to address your weight loss in a video.

Heinen: I wanted to remind people that it isn't about how heavy someone is; it's about how healthy a person is. A lot of people were wondering about my weight loss, which was something personal to me, but I wanted to let people know that I believe being attractive and one's self-worth isn't related to size. And just because I now weigh less doesn't mean my life is suddenly perfect, either.

Edwards-Stout: It seems to me you've got all the prerequisites of a Broadway diva. You've got musical theater fans, gay fans and a compelling story, so what the heck are you doing in Illinois?

Heinen: [Laughing.] It's a long story, but after college I wanted to spread my wings a bit, and I had a friend here, which made it a fun idea.

Edwards-Stout: Are there outlets for your talent where you live?

Heinen: There are some community theater companies in the area, which I'll be auditioning for.

Edwards-Stout: I have to tell you that when you sent me your bio, I found it very intriguing that you mentioned that you see yourself settling down at some point and maybe opening a small theater where you could produce little-known or new works.

Heinen: I love exploring seldom-produced works, which might be a bit challenging, and introducing them to new audiences. For example, I'd love to put up a production of Caroline, or Change, which almost never gets produced.

Edwards-Stout: And yet every other comment on your channel is, "Why aren't you on Broadway?" Do you have dreams of taking this further?

Heinen: Back in high school, I thought I knew exactly what I wanted to do: Go to New York and be an actress on Broadway. For a while, after college, I dabbled a bit in that world, but I wasn't sure if that competitive, intense life was the one I wanted. At heart, I'm a laid-back kind of girl, so I guess you could say that I'm still trying decide what I want to be when I grow up.

Edwards-Stout: Part of you envisions a more intimate life, and yet you have so many followers!

Heinen: I've had offers for some of the singing reality shows, but while I have a drive to perform, I'm not sure I have that passion for stardom. I'm not sure that competitive atmosphere is really what I want. I think I'd be just as happy whether performing in my community theater or in my living room -- or on Broadway.

Alex Heinen can be found on YouTube and Twitter.

This piece originally appeared on KerganEdwards-Stout.com and LGBTQ Nation.

Legendary Author Patricia Nell Warren: Ever the Front Runner

2013-01-16T18:37:00-05:00

I recall it as if it were yesterday: stepping inside the sprawling bookstore, which smelled faintly of dust; walking past the periodicals, where gay porn titles peeked at me ever-so-discreetly from the uppermost row; and crossing to the back of the store, reaching "my" row, and nervously looking about before finally stepping up to the shelves under a large sign that read, "Gay Studies." I felt uncomfortable standing beneath it, as it labeled not just the shelves but my own burgeoning identity, and committing to this unfamiliar label so publicly felt entirely premature. While the "gay" part I understood, it was only years later that I realized that the second part of the sign was equally true, as I was studying the world I would soon fully inhabit.

Coming out has changed greatly in the years since, but what I found through the books on that shelf provided for me the same reassurance as those emerging today seek; through the stories I learned that I was not alone. Novels by such authors as Larry Kramer, Armistead Maupin, Andrew Holleran and Felice Picano filled me in on this mysterious world where other men openly searched for love, but one book from that time stands out to me as unique and resonated with me deeply.

Patricia Nell Warren's groundbreaking novel The Front Runner follows coach Harlan Brown and his protégé Billy Sive as they discover love against the backdrop of the Olympics and a changing world. As a young man, I had yet to find a book that spoke to my generation, and I identified both with Brown, as he emerged from his more rigid, conservative environment, and with Sive, who embodied the new, free-spirited era exploding on the horizon in front of me.

Prior to The Front Runner's publication in 1974, Warren authored her first novel, The Last Centennial, published in 1971. She had also published three volumes of Ukrainian poetry independently, in addition to amassing a large body of unpublished work. Though the debut of The Front Runner introduced Warren to a new legion of fans, she was surprised to find that the book rankled some in the literary establishment who were uncomfortable that such a seminal gay male romance had been written by a woman. It didn't seem to matter to them that she had come out in 1974 as a lesbian.

In the following years, however, Warren solidified her reputation in both the gay and literary worlds with continuations of The Front Runner saga (Harlan's Race and Billy's Boy), as well as novels The Fancy Dancer, The Wild Man and The Beauty Queen, and nonfiction (including Lavender Locker Room and My West).

Whether as an American writing Ukrainian poetry, a runner helping usher women into the sport, a woman writing gay male fiction or a writer taking control of her own work as a publisher with Wildcat Press, Warren has long been a game changer, moving into uncharted waters and navigating them for others. She graciously agreed to take time out from her busy schedule to talk with me about her body of work, issues facing the LGBT community and the rewards and challenges of having written a literary classic. As a bonus, she also reveals more about the prospects for the long-awaited film adaptation of The Front Runner, and about the continuation of that tale in a fourth book.

Kergan Edwards-Stout: Thank you so much for taking the time to speak with me. In reviewing your work, I became very curious about the key, pivotal moments in your life. What most shaped you and your journey?

Patricia Nell Warren: It wasn't so much a moment but an experience of being raised on a ranch in the West at a very particular time. So much of what we think of as LGBT literature is based on an urban worldview, but growing up in a rural setting, as I did, is very much a part of who I am today. Looking back, now that I'm 76, that life gave me a very different viewpoint, as you're living in a situation where, any day, there could be a storm that wipes out the wheat crop. That kind of day-to-day existence is challenging, and in many ways, at heart, I'm still a ranch kid. In fact, I'm co-writing a book on that with my brother, called Kids on a Ranch.

Edwards-Stout: Did you find it difficult to make connections with people in that kind of environment?

Warren: Our ranch wasn't that far from town. We were close enough that we could walk, bicycle or ride our horses into town, so we had lots of friends. It wasn't an isolating kind of life, but it was definitely a different life, with different jobs at home than the town kids, who may not have known one end of a horse from the other!

You had to take a very practical approach on how to handle things, which today has led me to have political impatience. My dad used to say, "When your horse is caught in barbed wire, you don't sit around making speeches. You grab the wire cutters and get to work!"

Edwards-Stout: Look at what has happened recently with the Sandy Hook shooting.

Warren: With gun violence, the horse is thrashing around, and all we get are speeches. Events like that have happened how many times, with no real action? In the LGBT community we have the same experience of sometimes making speeches instead of creating real change.

Edwards-Stout: Prior to coming out as lesbian, you were married to a man. Fill in the gap for me, from small-town life to marriage to coming out as a lesbian author of a gay novel.

Warren: Like many women of my generation, the pressures on women to be and act a certain way were enormous. Back then, there was no feminist movement, and even the careers which were open to women were very limited. You didn't think of being a brain surgeon, for example. That just wasn't done. While within my own family my desire to write was supported, it was also clear that while writing might be an interest, there was also an expectation that I would marry. Now, while I didn't know the words "gay" or "lesbian" at that time, I nevertheless knew I was different. I'd had a romance with another girl as a teen, though neither of us knew what to call it; we just knew it was something to hide.

I ultimately married, to a Ukrainian man. I had written quite a bit of poetry prior to marriage, and through him I was introduced to Ukrainian poetry. I became the only non-Ukrainian among The New York Group of émigré writers and poets, and we had enormous success with our work. It was translated into various languages and even read covertly in the Soviet Union. Later, having committed to writing longer works, I wrote an abortive novel, which would eventually become The Wild Man, and followed it up with The Last Centennial.

Edwards-Stout: Like The Front Runner, The Wild Man also focuses on a gay male romance, but it takes place in Spain.

Warren: I began writing it when I lived in Spain, before The Front Runner, but ultimately decided to put it aside.

Edwards-Stout: Why?

Warren: At the time I was still closeted but was very intrigued by what was going on in Spain in terms of LGBT lives. General Franco led a deeply homophobic regime. If you were gay during that time, they would quite simply kill you. This was not just social pressure on someone to conform, or going to jail if you were caught; Franco had a vendetta against gay people. And that atmosphere led me to tackle those themes, but as I was not yet in an honest place with myself regarding my own sexuality, the book as I was then writing it didn't work. I put that manuscript into a drawer and didn't return to it for 20 years.

Edwards-Stout: When you think about the extremes you were living under in Spain, marriage equality there today seems like quite a leap.

Warren: While I lived there, the country'd had over 500 years of state religion, in addition to being run with a very tight fist. After Franco died and the country began to change, the rapidity with which they moved was inspiring. Most Spanish people were so tired of living under that kind of control, they immediately embraced their freedom.

Edwards-Stout: And yet we Americans still don't enjoy those same rights.

Warren: The U.S. religious right wants to establish a Protestant version of the same thing, with some people expecting everyone to follow their brand of Christianity, which would essentially be state religion.

Edwards-Stout: Eventually you came to a place where you felt you could tackle gay themes. What inspired The Front Runner?

Warren: Well, I've always loved sports. When I was growing up in the 1940s, however, there was no enlightened approach to sports in terms of gender. With basketball, for example, girls weren't allowed to run; you simply threw the ball from one person to the next. We were allowed to play softball, do tumbling, swimming, but there was no girls' track, which I loved. It wasn't until the late '60s, when the long-distance running craze hit, that I moved from jogging to long distance, which is when my experience with competitive sports began. It was that experience which led me to write The Front Runner. I originally envisioned the story as being about a female coach and one of her women runners trying to reach the Olympic Games.

Edwards-Stout: What made you change those characters to men?

Warren: It was a very practical decision, as I realized that no one would believe the story, because in 1972, while women's track was beginning to take off, there simply were no women's track coaches. Women's track was all coached by men. So I made the decision to change the genders.

Edwards-Stout: At the time the novel was published, younger gay characters weren't as prevalent as they are today. Many books focused on men in their 30s, enjoying their sexual liberty. With Billy Sive, you created a character who resonated deeply with readers, giving them someone with whom they could identify.

Warren: Being so involved in the long-distance running movement, I encountered many youth who were coming out. That interaction led to the creation of Billy, who is very much a product of the times. He's a kid, coming of age in the 1960s, contrasted with the character of Harlan, born during World War II and very conservative. I thought the collision between the two would be fascinating.

Edwards-Stout: If you were creating that character today, would he have taken the same journey?

Warren: No, his experience would be different. With Billy's Boy I was able to take aspects of Billy and continue that character through his son, who experiences coming out in the 1990s. And if I ever get the fourth book written, you'll see that evolution of the coming-out experience, moving into today's world.

Edwards-Stout: When The Front Runner was published, did you have any idea you'd face criticism within the gay community?

Warren: I simply wanted to tell a story. I realized that while the book itself could be controversial, it would also mean that I myself was coming out, so the entire endeavor was a bit scary. Still, I was completely shocked when I found myself being criticized from some in the gay community who felt that I had somehow broken the rules, being a woman and writing about men.

Edwards-Stout: What is interesting to me is that while today many female authors writing gay male fiction are using pseudonyms, you used your own name in publishing the book. And having that name on the book jacket was not an impediment. Gay men picked up the book in droves, because the story resonated with them.

Warren: The feedback I've gotten over the years has been very interesting. Some believed that "Patricia Nell Warren" actually was a pseudonym. Some thought I was a man or a drag queen -- I don't know where those stories came from! [Laughing.] With time, people have gotten used to the idea of a woman writing that book.

Edwards-Stout: With the explosion of women writing m/m romance, what are your observations of that genre?

Warren: We have so politicized literature today, pigeonholing people into gay male fiction, lesbian fiction, transgender fiction and then other sub-genres within those. There seems to be a feeling like authors should stay in their own box and not write about anybody else, but the thing is, as a writer, you're constantly writing about things that you yourself haven't personally experienced. We should all be free to write about each other as human beings. Some gay men love reading lesbian novels, some straight women love gay male romance, and that richness of reaching across the boundaries helps us further our understanding of each other.

Edwards-Stout: What have been the blessings and challenges of writing such a seminal work?

Warren: Well, The Front Runner remains by far my biggest-selling book, has been translated into countless languages and continues to sell all over the world. I'm grateful that this book gave me an ongoing life as an author. It brings me into dialogue with people all over the world. I do celebrate all of that, but I also have other stories to tell. More recently, I've been writing editorials about issues facing us and have tried to help create change through those. Today our government has so criminalized the right to protest that people don't take action as they once did. That makes it important for us to use other means, such as online polls and petitions, to help lobby our causes.

Edwards-Stout: It wasn't that long ago that I would have dismissed electronic armchair activism, but this election really opened my eyes to the possibilities that even something as simple as "liking" a political photo on Facebook can have. I think some of that online momentum we saw may have helped swing the election for Obama.

Warren: I think that is very true. Online petitions have emerging power to create real change. They put pressure on companies, organizations and even governments, holding them responsible for their actions. Look at Uganda and their "kill the gays" bill. Electronic media helps direct attention to issues which need to be tackled.

Edwards-Stout: I'm curious, given your experience in writing about LGBT youth, as to your thoughts on the rash of suicides. How can we create a better environment for our youth?

Warren: The It Gets Better campaign seems to be effective in terms of awareness, but suicides are still continuing. I think we need to think more globally, in terms of the immediacy our lives now have. You can barely take a breath without it being noted on Facebook. We need to think more about how that interconnectivity affects us, as what one person does or says, or what we do or say, can have a tremendous impact on someone else. Our thoughts and actions have ramifications beyond our intent.

Balance that against what I experienced growing up in a small Western town in the 1940s and '50s. I was relentlessly bullied for being smart, a "brain," until I finally reached my limit and began fighting back, physically -- fist fights on the schoolbus and playground, which I usually won. Now, while that worked for me in the 1940s, today, of course, a bullied kid shouldn't respond by fighting, because he or she will be arrested. We need to find a way to encourage that strength to grow within oneself. Until you can learn to stand on your own, you'll be bullied again, as that weakness is targeted by others. Support networks for kids are essential, as is other children standing up and calling the bullies out. We need more comprehensive support, from teachers and principals, to help our youth find better ways of dealing with it.

Edwards-Stout: You worked directly with LGBT youth through the Los Angeles Unified School District's drop-out program.

Warren: This was in 1994. The program was called EAGLES Center. We had about 42 kids, mainly boys, with the majority being African-American and Latino. And even these kids bullied one another! Seeing that dynamic at work was fascinating, and much of Billy's Boy came from that experience.

Edwards-Stout: That's a really interesting point. It is easy for us to say, "Stop LGBT bullying!" but we do the same kind of bullying ourselves, within our community, with our catty and snide comments. Those attitudes don't go away just because we age.

Warren: If we are to mature as a community, we need to examine these attitudes and find a way to grow out of them. While we call ourselves a community, I usually put quotes around that, as it doesn't always feel like a community, with all of the infighting.

Edwards-Stout: One of your defining characteristics seems to be your willingness to be a "front runner" yourself, forging into areas not always familiar or welcoming. Where does that desire come from?

Warren: I think much of that came from my family history. On both sides of my family, people have died in search of freedom. Hearing those stories helped shape the idea that it is part of our responsibility as humans to try to better our situations. We have the ability to shift power if we band together.

Edwards-Stout: You also moved into publishing, forming your own company, long before the self-publishing boom of today. It was a very inspired and yet unexpected move on your part. What made you become a publisher?

Warren: I began taking control of my own work when I realized that I needed to hire an attorney just to get the royalties that were due me. You hear about problems with back-end payments in the film industry, but the same thing can happen in the book industry. You are completely reliant on what your publisher is telling you as to how many books were printed, your sales, your royalties -- and not all publishers are as honest as one would like. This was why my Wildcat Press was launched in 1994.

Edwards-Stout: I'm a first-time novelist myself. Given the various options available today, what advice would you give authors just starting out?

Warren: It is a very tough time to be a new writer. The book industry follows the economy, and as books are retail, it has been a challenging time for anyone publishing a book. Not too many years ago authors would first look for a literary agent and/or approach publishers until they found someone willing to publish their book. Things have changed greatly today, with the introduction of e-books, publishers going out of business, independent publishers being bought up by conglomerates, bookstores shuttering, etc., and yet I still believe that a writer can find a publisher and be successful. Authors today need to play an active role in promoting their books, no matter if they have a large publisher or small, as most don't have the promotional budgets they once did. Authors also need to understand both the various options available to them and the marketplace, and how it all works. Do your research and know your rights as an author, especially when signing a contract.

In the LGBT world we have the additional problem in that gay and lesbian bookstores are closing left and right. The mailing list of gay and gay-friendly bookstores has shrunk from over 450 addresses just 15 years ago to maybe 45 today, which is a huge loss, especially as many of those bookstores also functioned as community centers.

Edwards-Stout: Speaking of loss, you've also lost a great many friends and contemporaries to HIV/AIDS. How has it affected you personally?

Warren: I've lost many dear friends, even recently. One fought it for 20 years before it finally took him down. In the 1980s and '90s our community did a tremendous job in regard to HIV treatment. The thing that has really baffled me is that, in the years since, there is so little talk about the need or desire for a vaccine. Pharmaceutical companies, at the end of the day, are focused on profit, and the HIV drugs they sell make a lot of money.

Edwards-Stout: The drugs were supposed to be a stopgap measure, to save lives until we found a cure. But there doesn't seem to be an endgame to this.

Warren: Exactly. A vaccine that is taken one time, or with periodic boosters, won't be as profitable as these "maintenance" drugs. So unless we demand it from the pharmaceutical industry, it won't happen.

Edwards-Stout: I came of age during the AIDS crisis, and it has always bothered me that at the height of the crisis, the divide between genders seemed eased. Women stepped into vacant leadership roles and acted as caregivers, and, at the time, it seemed that there was a genuine appreciation for the talents women have. Today, though, that gender gap has returned, and we're back to being strangers.

Warren: This goes back to some people wanting to put us all in pigeonholes. Years ago certain gay-male-owned bookstores wouldn't stock many women's books, and some women's stores wouldn't stock men's books. Putting us in such buckets makes it difficult for us to see into other people's worlds. For a number of years, we felt as if we were making progress, becoming "post-gay." Then we woke up to realize that we still don't yet have our rights, and we've forgotten that we are still in a lifeboat. We need to get back into that lifeboat mentality: We all need to be rowing, and rowing in the same direction. Say what you will, but a crisis wakes people up and makes them realize that their lives are at stake. That happened with AIDS, but we need that same mentality now, particularly around our issues with youth, ageism and elder care.

Edwards-Stout: When I asked people on Facebook what questions they had for you, the number-one question was about the status of the Front Runner movie. In the interest of full disclosure, years ago, in my acting days, I auditioned for the movie when producer Jerry Wheeler had the rights, and I was terrible! [Laughing.] What can you share about the prospects for a movie?

Warren: As most people know, the rights to the movie have bounced around but were initially optioned by Paul Newman, but for whatever reason he didn't move forward with the project. After Newman, several people owned the rights, but they encountered roadblocks, such as the homophobia in Hollywood and the unwillingness of investors to make the investment necessary in order to tell this story authentically. Many people have tried to convince me that The Front Runner could be done as a low-budget independent film, but the minute you start talking about low-budget, you have to ask what will be left out. The story takes place during a certain era, at the Olympics, with a stadium full of people, all of which dictates a certain amount of money needed to accurately depict it.

Edwards-Stout: It is still relevant, especially given the violence that occurs.

Warren: There are many aspects which make it timely: the fight for equality, the issue of gays in sports, homophobia, religion, violence. Whether the story is made contemporary or done as a period piece, the issues it delves into still resonate today. I'm hoping in the next year or so we'll have some exciting news to announce.

Edwards-Stout: You have a wonderful legacy, and so many passions, from writing to sports to progressive causes. With all you've achieved, what do you next envision for yourself?

Warren: I have many books on the drawing board, not only the book I mentioned, which I'm writing with my brother, and the next book in the Front Runner series, but also another novel, The Wrong Side of the Tracks, which focuses on growing up as lesbian in a small Montana town during the closing days of World War II. I also have material for some anthologies, such as Lavender Locker Room II, and I look forward to continuing to put my already published pieces out via e-book. The Front Runner is already available on Kindle.

Edwards-Stout: So much of what we've discussed today has been about identity and community. What are your hopes for the LGBT community?

Warren: We must first obtain the civil rights to which we are entitled. The next step is in becoming part of society while still maintaining our unique identity. When I visit places were the LGBT community has been woven deeply into the fabric of the community, identity intact and simply accepted, it is wonderful. It shows that assimilation is possible, and I'd like us to be part of the larger fabric of our country, contributing in a positive way. But, as a community, we still have much work to do. We need to work toward healing the divisions we have around gender, race, the transgendered, bisexuals, elderly, disabled, our youth, intersexed people, etc. While we have much work to do ourselves, in the end we have much more to teach the world.

* * * * *

Patricia Nell Warren can be found on her website and on Facebook.

Photo by John R. Selig

This piece originally appeared on KerganEdwards-Stout.com, the Bilerico Project and LGBTQ Nation.

To the Reader Who Saved My Life

2013-01-08T14:53:00-05:00

Dear Bob,

As we enter this new year, a year full of promise and possibility, I realized that I could not in all fairness properly close out the old without first repaying a major debt, one that I owe to you, dear reader, for quite literally saving my life.

To begin, I have no idea when we first connected or how you stumbled upon my novel. Maybe it was the cover, peaking coyly at you from a stack in a bookshop. Perhaps you saw one of the online advertisements, or heard about it from a friend, or read one of the "illuminating" promotional interviews with yours truly. Whichever the route, you likely had no idea, when you reached for the book, that the very act of reading it could so profoundly affect me, and all for the better. How could you know, after all, that while I'd long envisioned a life for myself as a writer, until you contacted me, I'd begun to consider stopping altogether?

You see, writing in itself is a pretty lonesome existence. It's usually just me and my yellow pad, or the old laptop, irritatingly hot, sitting at night in the dark at the end of a very long day, trying desperately to be inspired. If I do have the urge to share with another a witty or profound line I've written, I usually forego it, as the kids are likely off to bed and my partner Russ has wandered elsewhere, in search of his own entertainment.

When I do interact with others, it is more often than not about "the work." I answer the same questions, time and again, as to my inspiration, book structure and my decision to use a "sad" word such as "depression" in my title. ("Think marketing, darling! 'Depression,' you know, isn't the most appetizing of images!") Book signings can be much the same, always focused on "the sell," which is so hard to do, especially if, like me, you hate "the sell." I want people to buy my book because it appeals to them, because, by reading it, they might find themselves enriched and ultimately create change within. I never envisioned myself as a used car salesman, but that is a large part of what being a writer has become.

Now, don't get me wrong: I love writing. I love telling a story. I love trying to conjure another into an emotional state, simply through the words I put on paper. That was the whole reason I began writing in the first place: to inspire change. Still, the business side of writing, in actually trying to sell a book, can easily overwhelm the good stuff.

You probably know that my novel took me over 12 years to write, and that, though fictional, it was inspired by my experience of being caregiver to my then-partner, Shane Sawick, who succumbed to AIDS in 1995. It was a pivotal moment in my life, and I felt that by communicating it to others, I might help open some emotional doors that had long remained shut. It meant so much to me to tell the story of what it meant to be alive during that heart-rending time, and when I'd finally finished, I'd never felt more exhausted -- or prouder.

Then came the rain.

I approached literary agents of every stripe and publishing houses large and small, only to be left with over 200 rejections. No matter how complimentary the letters were, all I could focus on was the one recurring word: "No."

It was thoroughly deflating. I'd poured my heart out, only to find it stomped on and smashed to bits. I thought of giving it all up, of chucking the book out the window, but something told me to persevere, to find a way forward. And I did.

I created my own publishing company and learned things I never dreamed: how to build a website and write HTML code; graphic design; video production; book marketing, promotion and distribution; and so much more. Approaching the age of 50, I found myself learning things that I'd long found intimidating, and it was rewarding to discover that I still had the capacity for growth.

When the novel at last was published, I was elated. The reviews were wonderful, but given the mountain of rejection I'd previously experienced, as well as my tendency to shrug off praise, in each critique I would search for the negative: What didn't they like? I couldn't simply enjoy the good; I had to find the bad. Even with over 25 five-star reviews on Amazon, it is the other one, the lone one-star review (as of this writing), that draws my attention and keeps me up at night.

Maybe it's just me, some fluke in my personality that has a hard time accepting praise. I shrug it off as if it were superfluous, yet I treat the slightest criticism as if it were spoken from God's own lips. Putting myself out there as a writer means that my own doubts and insecurities are themselves in public view, and learning to take the bad with the good can be an arduous process. It would be easier, I reasoned, to save myself the time and heartache and give it all up. As I went further into debt, supporting the novel with my credit card, the thought of quitting crossed my mind, with increasing frequency, again and again.

But then I met you.

You reached out to me on my website, expressing your love of the book, and began to reveal to me elements from your own life and your journey as a gay man. You talked about having married when you were young, only to come out late in life. You talked about how watching others suffer from AIDS while you remained in the closet created a sense of shame, and how you felt responsible for their fates, given your silence. You opened up to me, Bob, and showed me that the words I'd written meant more to you than simply ink on a page; for you those words were transformative, helping you grieve your losses and process your emotions. And by sharing all that with me, you let me know that the years of toil and struggle had not been in vain.

To say that you "literally" saved my life may seem hyperbolic, given that I had no intention of suicide, but the importance of our interaction cannot be minimized. So much of who I am and the strength I have comes from how I identify myself and, as much as I hate to admit it, how others view me. Though in my youth I had a whole roster of labels (actor, model, singer, writer, activist), as an aging gay man, I find that I've largely become invisible, left with only the vague title of "dad." As cherished and as honored as that name makes me feel within our walls, when I step beyond our gate, being only a dad didn't feel like it was enough. Though I realize that that is my own insecurity, being able to finally add "author" onto my list allowed me to pull myself up a bit, giving me needed self-esteem and an increased sense of self. Suddenly I wasn't just an old suburban guy, chauffeuring the kids around and schlepping through my day job. I was a writer, with a book on the shelf bearing my name. I'd told a story, my story, and the fulfillment that accomplishment provided cannot be dismissed.

You gave me the courage, Bob, to keep going. It wasn't enough just to have the book "out there." I needed to know that it meant something, that it had a larger purpose than simply entertainment. When you shared that the book had resonated so deeply with you that you'd already read it four times, I cried.

By both of us sharing parts of ourselves, we were able to help each other move forward, enriching our lives, which is exactly what prompted me to write in the first place. Writing can change lives. I know it has changed mine.

And, thanks to you, Bob, I'll continue.

Kergan

Kergan Edwards-Stout's debut novel, Songs for the New Depression, is the winner of the 2012 Next Generation Indie Book Award in the LGBTQ category, was shortlisted for the 2011 Independent Literary Awards and was named one of the Top Books of 2012 by Out in Print, Indie Reviews, Alfred Lives Here and Butterfly-O-Meter Books.

This piece originally appeared on KerganEdwards-Stout.com and LGBTQ Nation.

Matt Gold, Out Indie Artist, Learns He Must 'Drown' Before He Can 'Swim'

2012-12-26T12:50:00-05:00

In the not-so-distant past, gay musicians hid in the closet or played coy about their sexuality, but today's artists are an entirely different breed. For up-and-coming singer-songwriter Matt Gold, being gay may be a given, but it is simply one more piece to his overall puzzle. For Gold, inspiration is found in key moments in his life's journey: growing up in a small town as an only child, being adopted, his search for identity, and the experience of being abandoned for being gay. Such themes and more are explored in Gold's debut album, Drown Before You Swim. Tellingly, in its CD format, the album is broken into two discs, Drown and Swim, balancing his darker and lighter elements within. Gold recently took time to share more about his life, his art and the passions that fuel him.

Edwards-Stout: Thank you so much for taking the time to chat, Matt. To begin, as your songwriting is so tied to your piano, how did you first come to play it?

Gold: Originally, I wanted to play the saxophone, but my mother was concerned that it could affect my mouth, especially as I needed braces. So instruments in your mouth were out! I tried the bass drum, bells, xylophone, and finally settled on the piano -- but only took a month's worth of lessons before I quit.

Edwards-Stout: What made you quit?

Gold: I was really frustrated at my inability to learn it as quickly as I wanted, but, more importantly, I realized that improvisation was really my style. I love taking music out of the expected and making it my own. I played piano in church for a long time, and those are very structured, by nature. But with hymns and ballads, particularly, you can do so much more than what is written on the page.

Edwards-Stout: Was religion important to you, or was playing in church just what was expected?

Gold: It was part of that life, growing up in a small town. It was mandatory, and, like most kids, I did what I was told, to get along.

Edwards-Stout: When did music become more than just an interest?

Gold: My short-lived piano teacher told my parents that voice lessons might be good for me, and I began to sing in choirs. But around 15 or 16, interest turned into passion when I realized that I could pair my voice with piano and create my own compositions. It allowed me to delve into how I felt.

Edwards-Stout: Where did those early songs come from?

Gold: At that age, it was very much about "finding myself": rebelling against my parents, authority, the church. A lot of it was about dealing with my sexuality, and, as a child, not getting the love I needed.

Edwards-Stout: I know you were adopted, and I have two adopted sons. Did that experience factor into your songwriting?

Gold: Yes, especially when I was younger. Loss, despair and feeling alone are all part of my experience. Being adopted, you automatically feel different and unconnected, not knowing where you come from. And my mother, in essence, later abandoned me due to my sexuality. That kind of experience can't help but shape you. And while I know my parents loved me, those questions hovered: Who do I look like? Do I have any siblings? Where did I get this talent?

Edwards-Stout: What happened when you came out to your parents?

Gold: My father, now dead, never knew. My grandparents were the most accepting, and although I knew they didn't like it, they continued to treat me the same. My mother, however, had a really hard time. Even now, she continues to take it out on herself, feeling that she's done something wrong. It is hard for her to get beyond that and simply see me as a human being.

Edwards-Stout: Where did her views come from?

Gold: Well, the church, being Baptist. In her eyes, being gay isn't God's plan for me.

Edwards-Stout: And how do you feel?

Gold: I know that I'm a good person -- I'm too nice to go to hell! [Laughs.] This is just who I am. But hearing those messages can make you very lonely. Since I don't have a supportive family, I rely on my circle of friends. But honestly, Kergan, if I could trade my talent for a supportive family, I would.

Edwards-Stout: Was moving from Ohio to Bloomington, Ind., part of finding that support?

Gold: Bloomington is a very arts-oriented community, with a college, and seemed a good choice. I moved here to pursue my passions. Here, I'm doing what I've always wanted to do. Everyone has a mission in life, to fulfill certain needs, and mine comes in performing for people and making them feel and think. In a way, I'm giving back, just as the music I listened to in my youth gave to me. Without that, I'm not sure I would've found the proper outlet for all I was feeling.

Edwards-Stout: Musically, who are some of your favorites?

Gold: The Cure, Tori Amos, Radiohead, PJ Harvey, Billie Holiday, Vince Guaraldi, Nina Simone. I gravitate toward music which is happy in tone but lyrically is more layered. If you listen to Billie Holiday, for example, she sounds so upbeat, but you realize that there is a space within that is aching to be filled. So much of what she sings about is lost love, and I completely understand that.

Edwards-Stout: Which leads me to the obvious next question: Are you dating?

Gold: While I'd like to fall in love, at some point, my focus right now is my music. When I'm in a relationship, I tend to get sidetracked, and the music gets put to the side. Right now, I'm touring in support of the album and trying to get on a label, and need to make the most of this moment.

Edwards-Stout: Having created this album on your own, why do you feel like you need a label?

Gold: The album was important, both to be able to share with my fans, and for labels to listen to. A label can help take you to that next level in terms of visibility. Happily, there are artists out there on labels who are able to maintain their authenticity and remain true to themselves. That's one of the reasons I respect Adele so much. She's out there doing her own thing in her own style, and it's all about her voice, and people like it. When I see someone like Adele succeed, it gives me hope that my songs might be received in the same way.

Edwards-Stout: How would you characterize the journey of making this album, Drown Before You Swim?

Gold: It's been fascinating. Two of the songs on the album, the title song and "Recovering," were not originally part of my song list; they were written during the recording process. After I wrote the cut "Drown Before You Swim," it seemed the most appropriate title for the album, as well. It took so much of me to create the album, both in emotion and time. At one point I felt like I'd hit bottom, that it would never be finished, but now I find myself slowly rising to the top, stronger than before.

Edwards-Stout: Your first single off the album, "Ordinary," has a great pop sound, yet other songs on the album range from stripped-down singer-songwriter to more of an alternative sound.

Gold: "Ordinary" doesn't define my sound, but it definitely shows my versatility as an artist.

Edwards-Stout: Which are your personal favorites?

Gold: I think "Void" is my favorite song on the album. It is about my last relationship, so it really resonates with me. The version as it is on the album is very different from how it started. The lyrics changed, the music changed, and how I sing it changed, going from kind of neediness to more of a place of anger, which aligns with my growth as a person.

Edwards-Stout: "Void" deals with your last breakup, yet even 10 years ago, the idea of a gay male artist acknowledging his sexuality was fairly laughable. Was being open something you ever hesitated about?

Gold: So much of who I am as an artist is about truth telling. Most of my songs are fairly neutral, to appeal to both sides of the spectrum, and I try to speak to the emotional connectivity we all share. It isn't so much gay or straight; it's just human. Hopefully, everyone relates to what I'm singing.

Edwards-Stout: "Mr. Cannonball" is quite specific. You sing, "It's been a hard day, and I need some hard boys."

Gold: It's probably my most direct song, as it is about boys and is very "gay." Other than my mother, though, everyone loves it! [Laughs.] But I think my audience is more concerned with my authenticity than in any labels.

Edwards-Stout: The album in CD form is split into two discs, Drown and Swim. Between the two, where do you yourself fall?

Gold: Most people likely view me as being more on the upbeat, Swim side of things, but inside, I relate more to the more contemplative songs on Drown. I am very emotionally driven and would get bored very quickly if I had to do pop dance songs all the time. It's more interesting and challenging as an artist to write something that moves people. It's a cliché but true: Tortured souls make great art.

Edwards-Stout: Is it difficult, going to these darker places as an artist and balancing that with your daily life?

Gold: When I step on that stage, it's as if a switch is flipped inside of me, and something happens. All of my worries and insecurities are gone, and I'm able to just connect with an audience, and they get the authentic me. At that point, it's just me and the piano.

* * * * *

Drown Before You Swim, Matt Gold's debut album, is available on iTunes and Amazon. Matt Gold can be found on his website, on Facebook and on Twitter.

This piece originally appeared on KerganEdwards-Stout.com, the Bilerico Project and LGBTQ Nation.

Trebor Healey, Acclaimed Gay Author, Surprises With Two New Novels

2012-12-07T17:53:00-05:00

I first met fellow writer Trebor Healey at Palm Springs Pride, where we were both signing copies of our novels at the Authors' Village. Given that the title of my first novel includes the word "depression" and his recent title contains the word "sorrow," we quickly bonded over a shared lament of others trying to convince us to change our titles into something "happier." Feeling that our work embodies both joy and heartache, we each chose to stick with our original vision, and I'm happy to say that Healey's new work, A Horse Named Sorrow, is as wonderful and nuanced as its title.

Healey's debut novel, Through It Came Bright Colors, was awarded both the Violet Quill Award and the Publishing Triangle's Ferro-Grumley Award for Fiction, making his new work highly anticipated. Entirely by happenstance, Healey found himself with his next two works both released on the same day. While A Horse Named Sorrow is a meditative tale set in San Francisco, Faun focuses on an adolescent boy discovering that his body is quickly morphing, but not into the expected stage of puberty.

Having just named A Horse Named Sorrow as my favorite LGBT read of 2012, I was pleased that Healey was able to take some time with me to discuss his work and inspirations.

Kergan: When we first met, we talked about the use of "sad" words in our novel titles. Why did you feel so strongly about your title for A Horse Named Sorrow?

Trebor: Well, first of all, it's a line from a Nick Cave song, and it's a song I really love -- "The Carny" -- and it's very much evocative of what San Francisco was to me at that time: a carnival, a circus, but a macabre one haunted by an enormous, overarching sorrow. And when you think of how a horse plods along when it's tired, it's just such a perfect metaphor for the weight we feel when we carry sorrow. And we carry it. Grief is a profound experience; it's one of the cardinal experiences, if you will. But my book is not really a sad book; in many ways it's very comic and full of youthful enthusiasm, but it's about something real, and one of the things the characters have to do -- that we all have to do -- is carry the sorrow of life with us until we are able to set it down or transform it into something else. I also think "sorrow" is a beautiful word -- the symmetry of it, with the two Rs and two Os, and the sound of it is wonderful. There is a lot to every word, and we can experience it fully, and I think words in titles of artworks are important that way. They have a lot of work to do, and they need to be good, full words.

Kergan: In A Horse Named Sorrow you vividly recreate San Francisco in the late '80s and early '90s. What is your impression/recollection of that period?

Trebor: It was a very intense time, terrifying and urgent and enormously alive as only a place under siege can be. I came out into the AIDS crisis, and the city was on fire in a million ways. There was anger and activism, art, conflict, love and sex and the feeling that you were at the center of history on some level. Maybe we all feel that way when we are 21, but there was a vitality during that time that I've never experienced anywhere or anytime since. It was a time that demanded things of people. My brother was fighting cancer; I was working at an AIDS hospice and active in ACT UP and Queer Nation; I was meeting my first boyfriends, reading my first poems out loud to strangers in smoky cafés. It was a time of birth for me, I suppose, in all the pain and blood and wonder that birth entails. It was exciting, and yet that overarching sorrow was there, like the fog rolling in every night.

Kergan: How did that then lead to this novel?

Trebor: Well, the things that make you feel, in all the rawness of feeling, are what you write about, I suppose. I worked on this book for 15 years. I knew it was a book I had to write. And I had to get it right. And oddly, or maybe not, it wasn't until I was in a place where I felt that intensely again -- in Argentina, where I lived for a year -- that I was able to finally get it right.

Kergan: One of the key images in the book is a bicycle wrapped in different strings. How did that come to you?

Trebor: I actually rode a bicycle across the country in the summer of 1986. It was an amazing way to travel and felt to me like traveling by horse, which is how the whole horse/bike/sorrow metaphor first came together. The speed, the human scale, the way you had to maintain your vehicle and plot your trip. It's very meditative and seemed a perfect style of journey for a person in need of retreat and reflection. As for the strings, I think that came from how kids used to tie strings around each other's ankles and wrists, and the idea was that you'd make a wish, and when the string came off, the wish you'd made would come true. There is a lot about wishing in the book, both the good and the bad of it.

Kergan: You have a very diverse body of work, having written everything from poetry to erotica to fantasy to both nonfiction and fiction. As a writer do you follow your muse, or do certain influences affect your decision of what to write next?

Trebor: I definitely follow my muse. But I'm always open to suggestion, and sometimes a call for submissions strikes my fancy, and off I go. I've always loved poetry, but erotica was something I sort of fell into and found to be challenging and liberating and just plain fun. Mostly I think about things that offer me a sense of wonder. For me it's important to access that expansive part of my mind where I can take off and get out of myself and the world I'm in or have become used to or numbed by. I'm not a very practical writer; it all starts with and is fed by my imagination.

Kergan: I've seen you described as a writer and a poet, and you've written both poem collections and novels. And yet I'm wondering if, with you, there is any distinction between the two. Your work often seems to blur the lines.

Trebor: Yeah, I don't think there is a difference for me. I started out writing poetry, and my poems were mostly narrative, and I always wanted to eventually write novels. I felt like poetry was the best school for prose, and I still feel that way. Novels are about beautiful, well-crafted sentences, which is a poetic undertaking.

Kergan: Having won major awards for your first novel, did you experience any hesitation when it next came time to write?

Trebor: Though I was grateful for the recognition and support, it was sort of a weird experience; I was never totally convinced I deserved such accolades. I felt like I had to keep working on my writing and to make it better. So, no, it didn't lead to hesitation. If anything, I'd say it encouraged and challenged me and made me write more. In those dark moments when you're questioning and doubting your work, you can remember that a group of people liked something you wrote, and you have to accept and appreciate that and use it as motivation to move forward. So you get back to work. There's very little financial reward in writing, as we all know, so any award is really the way we get paid. And when we get paid, it motivates us to show up for work the next day.

Kergan: I've yet to read your other new release, Faun, but the idea of a teenage boy suddenly turning into a mythological deity sounds very intriguing.

Trebor: Well, after 12 years in Los Angeles, it's my first L.A. book, which is fun and sort of shocking in that it takes that long to digest a city! I wanted to not only set the story in the Latino part of L.A. -- which is where I've spent most of my time here, and what I find most attractive and interesting about Los Angeles -- but also to expand the idea of queer lit to encompass more than just gay sexuality. Gilberto is turning into a faun, and a faun, or satyr, is a mythological being of sexual power. Call him trans if you must label him. He's so overwhelmed by his transformation, he's not sure where it's going, nor is his poor, devoutly Catholic mother. But it's a meditation on the idea of monstrosity. We all felt that as queer kids, and kids -- and adults -- feel like monsters for all number of reasons. The story becomes a bit of a madcap adventure as all hell breaks loose at Gil's high school when his faunic powers emerge and turn everyone around him amorous, while the religious people grab the pitchforks. He runs away in order to find out who and what he is, and what he finds eventually is a larger understanding about himself and the world, and that yes, there is a place for him, too -- a very special place.

Kergan: You've experienced what for many writers would seem quite a challenge, having two titles released on the same day. Given that each is so unique, what has that experience been like of trying to promote them both?

Trebor: Well, if the crowd doesn't get one of them, they always get the other. It's kind of perfect. But it is like I have two separate marketing efforts going on. I think it's an interesting experience of watching how it plays out with a perceived "entertaining" book (Faun) and a perceived "literary" book (A Horse Named Sorrow) both in the ring together. Lately, I've focused on their similarities. They're both funny and plot-driven, and both deal with serious themes. They just have two very different surfaces.

Kergan: Do you have a favorite? Is one more "Trebor Healey" than the other?

Trebor: I'd say they're the two parts of me. I'm a ham and wacked-out oddball on the one hand, and then on the other, a very serious, reflective loner of a person. Basically, like many of us, I'm my mother and my father. You figure out how my mother can be a faun and my father a horse.

Kergan: Even your name, "Trebor Healey," is a lyrical gift. Did that destine you to become a poet?

Trebor: I always wanted my own name, which is why I turned "Robert" backwards to "Trebor." So I guess the poet came before the egg, or something like that.

Kergan: What have been your favorite reads of 2012?

Trebor: I mentioned I'd been living in Argentina, so I've been reading a lot of South American literature of late. I have loved anything by Roberto Bolaño, César Aira, Tomás Eloy Martínez and Mario Vargas Llosa, and a great gay novel by a Chilean: Pedro Lemebel's My Tender Matador. Since I've been back I've been reading George Orwell and Angela Carter, Cheryl Strayed's Wild and a few gay books: Alvin Orloff's Why Aren't You Smiling, Michael Montlack's Divining Divas, The Heart's History by Lewis DeSimone and Jim Provenzano's Every Time I Think of You. Now I need to read your book!

Kergan: Well, I'm a big fan of yours, so I'd love to hear what you think. What's up next for you?

Trebor: I'm working on both a prequel and a sequel to Faun, as well as a novel set in Buenos Aires. I'm really very into Spanish these days and will be teaching in South Texas next summer. I have a feeling I'm going to end up in Mexico City when that's done. I like it there, and I can do the two things I love doing: perfecting and practicing my Spanish, and perfecting and practicing my prose.

* * * * *

For more favorite LGBT reads of 2012, check out Band of Thebes' annual authors survey and book review site Out in Print's Top 15 LGBT books for 2012.

Trebor Healey can be found on his website and on Facebook and Twitter. Author photo by Martin Cox.

This piece originally appeared on KerganEdwards-Stout.com and LGBTQ Nation.

Blogger Stephen Bottum on His Eagerly Awaited 'Best LGBT Books of 2012' List

2012-12-03T20:43:00-05:00

With LGBT bookstores shuttering and the consolidation of gay media resulting in reduced promotional opportunities for publishers and authors, few venues remain for discovering literature reflecting the gay experience. Happily, Stephen Bottum continues to provide one of the best sources for LGBT publishing news on his blog, Band of Thebes, which he began five years ago. His site has garnered a devoted following of authors, publishers and readers, with Band of Thebes providing a wonderful mix of book reviews, posts on LGBT authors and the latest in literary news.

In 2009 he began asking authors to share their favorite LGBT reads of the year, in all genres -- fiction, non-fiction, poetry, comics -- leading to the creation of an annual author survey of the best LGBT books of the year. His eagerly awaited list for 2012 has just been released, and Stephen graciously took time to share with me more about his inspiration for starting the website, his love for literature and his annual list of the year's best.

Kergan: "Sacred Band of Thebes" refers to an ancient Grecian army of 300 men that was comprised of 150 male couples. The theory was that by fighting alongside one's partner, the desire to succeed would be stronger. What was it about that story that inspired you to select it as the name for your website?

Stephen: As far as I can remember, the first men I understood to be gay were of an old-school, Paul Lynde ilk who at the time frightened me with their snideness. My coming out was prolonged in part by not wanting to join the bitch fest. So the idea of gay warriors fighting for each other was very appealing, minus the mayhem and slaughter. My aim was to create a site to highlight queer writers and filmmakers and artists and enrich an eager audience who might miss them in the mainstream media.

Kergan: Where did your love for literature begin?

Stephen: I terrorized my parents by giving up on books around 9 or 10 and refusing to read anything other than movie ads and TV listings. Then, at 14, I quit tennis, my friends started pursuing girls and suddenly I discovered those gray blocks surrounding the cartoons in The New Yorker held words. After a few stories by Ann Beattie and Peter Cameron, I was hooked.

Kergan: What prompted you to start your blog? Was there a void you saw that you wanted to fill?

Stephen: Much as I'd like to take credit for reversing the mainstream's shortfall of gay coverage, I'm sure it was my partner's idea. Desperate for a way to shut me up, he kept saying, "Hey, you have all these opinions about books and movies. You should blog."

Kergan: You've been compiling your "Best Books" lists for a few years now. When you begin the process, do you have a strategy? A certain mix of authors to approach?

Stephen: Maligned as she is, Tina Brown is absolutely right that a great magazine should be like a really good party, and the survey is the same: poets rubbing against porn stars, with the added challenge of balancing the L, G, B and T, and fair representation of ethnicities. Beginning each spring, I keep a wish list of authors to approach, and I was very, very thrilled this year to have about 24 new participants, including Lisa Cohen, Ellis Avery, Rick Whitaker, Tendai Huchu, Ivan Coyote, Farzana Doctor, the cartoonist Justin Hall, Nick Krieger (whose memoir deserved all the attention Chaz Bono's received) and young Scottish novelist Kerry Hudson, who is going to be the next Jeanette Winterson.

Kergan: How do you feel about the mix of the contributing authors?

Stephen: Invariably the list is too gay, white, male... It needs a broader age range and more working-class voices. But a party is only the people who show up, and gay white men respond to me. For example, the Asian lesbian authors I queried -- not out of tokenism, but because I admire their work -- didn't write back. Ditto every other missing group. I tried, and I'll have to try harder. Of course, one of the great pleasures of reading is exploring otherness, and sometimes the list of recommended books is more diverse than the roster of participants.

Another underrepresented group is very famous American writers. They're busy, of course, and they're being asked the same question by The Guardian or The New York Times, where their answers will reach a wider audience. But some gay writers who have achieved mainstream success no longer want to be associated with queer-only events, which is unfortunate. Contrast that with Sarah Waters, who takes time to write a great email, even in years when she can't participate.

Kergan: As you piece the list together, how do you balance your role as compiler with your own personal viewpoint and tastes?

Stephen: I'm a lot like Queen Elizabeth. Or Switzerland. Or Z bosons. My watchwords have to be "impartiality" and "neutrality." Readers get far too much of my opinion the other 364 days of the year; with the list, they want to know what real writers think.

Kergan: And like the Swiss, are you silently judging?

Stephen: Mainly, I'm overwhelmed by how seriously people take the task and what care they put into crafting their answers. But yes, I admire the Swiss enormously (Alpine huts, bankers, chocolate, the age of consent is 16, male prostitution is legal). And yes, I'm exasperated by those rare lazy choices. A very few people send me recommendations that I don't remotely believe they genuinely consider the best of the year. Sometimes it's charity. Or payback. Or to gain favor. More than one author has frantically praised a book without mentioning it's by his partner. Not so much in the Thebes' survey, but in the wider world you see some creative people unwilling to compliment their peers. I don't know why -- envy, insecurity, rage? So you get the equivalent of asking, "Who's the tallest person you met this year," and they tell you someone 5'8".

Kergan: Are there any authors you can't wait to hear from?

Stephen: Each year I especially look forward to replies from an author named Scott Herring, who chooses fascinating books I've somehow never heard of; Kevin Killian and Lucy Jane Bledsoe for their voracious scope; and Hank Stuever, whose smart descriptions always elicit a much-needed laugh.

Naturally, because I limit people to 100 words, dozens of worthy books go unmentioned. This year I was particularly sorry not to see G.F. Green's novel In the Making mentioned.

Kergan: Given all the flux in publishing trends, such as the closing of indie bookstores, the emerging prominence of m/m romance, the explosion of self-publishing, etc., what do you see as the current state of gay literature, and where do you think it is headed?

Stephen: It's a sign of something that after a 14-year wait, Dale Peck's return to adult gay literary fiction wasn't noted by any of the survey's 87 authors. Maybe it's because people couldn't find it. He released it through his own small imprint at an alternative publishing house that doesn't sell to Amazon. On the one hand, it's wonderfully liberating to circumvent the risk-averse gatekeepers of traditional publishing; on the other, DIY work suffers from invisibility.

I hope I'm wrong, but in terms of mainstream success, it seems like a much better time for queer nonfiction or memoir than for LGBT literary novels. One hopeful sign is the new queer bookstore BGSQD, now open, temporarily housed in the Strange Loop Gallery.

Kergan: Any final words on the survey?

Stephen: Yes. Several of the participants politely told me they like the site and hope someday to meet me. One of these was a man I've slept with. So when I urge readers to study the list and take some books to bed, I am now in the position to guarantee the read will be more memorable than I am.

Kergan: Stephen, thanks for your time, and best wishes! And if readers are curious as to what book I named as my favorite for the Band of Thebes Best LGBT Book List of 2012, check out the full list here.

Stephen Bottum and Band of Thebes can be found at his website and on Facebook.

This piece originally appeared on KerganEdwards-Stout.com and LGBTQ Nation.

It's World AIDS Day... Does Anyone Care?

2012-12-01T09:43:00-05:00

On March 5, 1995, the day I turned 30, I admitted my then-partner Shane Sawick into the hospital. He would not come out alive, dying just two weeks later, on March 22. Although AIDS was the war he battled, he was ultimately done in by a skirmish with progressive multifocal leukoencephalopathy (PML), a rare but usually fatal disease that quickly took away his ability to speak, move or even blink at will, though his brain continued to think, process and feel. It was devastating to watch a loved one undergo such a debilitating experience, and yet that act, of being both lover and caregiver, thoroughly transformed me as a human being. Indeed, I would not be the husband, father, writer or person that I am were it not for that period of crisis during which my partner and friends died. As we observe World AIDS Day, I find it perplexing that few seem willing to embrace or even mention the epidemic that so greatly affected and altered the LGBT community. What is it about that era that frightens us so?

The easy answer might be that disease and death make people uncomfortable, which is understandable, to some degree. Prior to Shane's death, my best friend of eight years and I were inseparable. (I'll call him Pete.) At the time, I couldn't have imagined a better friend. Pete made me laugh, kept me company and ushered me through my West Hollywood "coming out." Once Shane got sick, however, Pete disappeared. He never called or came to visit us in the hospital, despite knowing that I was there 24/7. Whenever queried by friends regarding his absence, Pete would say, "Oh, you know, me and hospitals. I just don't like the idea of sickness."

It wasn't until the day of Shane's memorial that I next saw Pete. He came up to me, noting, "Great service!" before the next words came out of his mouth: "Wanna hit Happy Hour later?" Needless to say, I chose to end that friendship, as well as others in which people could not grasp the emotional magnitude of what had happened to me and others like me. The depth of my experiences caused a change within me, which required a new support system willing and able to tackle the "hard stuff," no matter how unpleasant.

For some, the era of losing friends and loved ones has been difficult to revisit, because of the emotional toll taken. Many have gone to great lengths to separate themselves from the pain, moving from the hardest-hit urban centers to smaller, more rural towns. Others have gone into emotional hiding, losing themselves in drug or drink, or in simply shutting down, so as not to feel the ache of such loss. And some have, by necessity, focused on rebuilding their broken circle of friends.

New causes, such as marriage equality, have replaced AIDS as our community's priority, and it is hard to argue that rallying for wedding cake isn't more fun that protesting for HIV drugs. Still, we should not have to choose between the two.

These days, activism for many means little more than clicking "like" on a Facebook post. While thousands stepped into the streets in the aftermath of Prop 8, we've not seen anything on that scale for HIV/AIDS in years. At what point did we become complacent? Is having a drug that makes the disease "manageable" really all we want? What happened to a cure, or a vaccine?

Today, people still die from AIDS. While drug advancements have substantially decreased that number, it has also created the false belief that contracting the disease is essentially meaningless. To some, taking one pill a day is an easy tradeoff to having to wear condoms.

Most disturbing, however, is the sheer number of people to whom AIDS just doesn't matter, relegated to a page in history. When I mention having lost a partner or friends, I'm most often met with a blank stare or a cursory nod, with no real emotional acknowledgement of what that time meant and continues to mean.

During the AIDS crisis the LGBT community rose to the occasion, stepping in to take care of our own when the government, pharmaceutical companies and other organizations couldn't -- or wouldn't. LGBT people exhibited incredible bravery, tackling huge monoliths with acts of daring creativity and passion. Were it not for our take-no-prisoners approach, we would not have the HIV drugs we have today.

The crisis temporarily brought together both genders, as women stepped into vacant leadership roles and helped those stricken by acting as caregivers. Today the gender divide has returned, with little reciprocity from gay men on the causes dear to lesbians, such as breast cancer or cervical cancer. In many ways we've gone back to being strangers, with a debt left unpaid.

Other communities devastated by tragedy have managed to turn such markers into rallying cries, and the LGBT community must find a way to do the same with AIDS. Just as the Jewish people have dealt with the memory of the Holocaust and the African-American community has processed its history of slavery and the civil rights struggle, so, too, must our community find a way to embrace the AIDS era, fully honoring both those we lost and what we gained.

For we did gain much. We learned that far from being the weak and passive individuals many of us had been stereotyped as, we actually had strength, passion and guts, and we fully demonstrated that to the world. We took on the powers that be and created real, tangible change. We literally bloodied ourselves for the cause, and yet today, speaking of AIDS feels almost taboo.

Does that have anything to do with the disease being sexually transmitted? Having worked so hard to combat the myth that being gay is to be "sick," did the emergence of a sexually transmitted disease take us back to a place of shame? Does that shame still linger?

To be clear, I am not remotely nostalgic for the days of the AIDS crisis. I lost too many, and it hurt too much. But at the same time I'm thankful that I was able to play a part in helping educate others about HIV, through my work at AIDS Project Los Angeles. I'm grateful to my dear friends who allowed me to be with them during their final days. I'm profoundly changed, for the better, for having ushered my partner Shane to his death. And I'm forever in awe of the efforts our community took to respond to the crisis in unimaginably creative and lasting ways.

I just wish others cared as well.

Kergan Edwards-Stout's debut novel, Songs for the New Depression, was loosely inspired by his partner, Shane Sawick, and his experiences during the AIDS crisis. It won the 2012 Next Generation Indie Book Award in the LGBTQ category and was shortlisted for the Independent Literary Awards in the same category.

This piece originally appeared on KerganEdwards-Stout.com and LGBTQ Nation.

Xavier Axelson, Gay Erotica Writer, Makes a Major Move

2012-11-28T19:51:00-05:00

Following his success as a writer of erotica and as a columnist for Examiner.com, author Xavier Axelson has surprised readers with his debut novel, Velvet, a work of historical fiction that tells the tale of a royal tailor. While still containing the potent mix of love and longing for which he is known, the novel format allows Axelson to explore other elements that the short-story format didn't allow.

Prior to Velvet Axelson had cultivated a devoted following of readers for his shorter, more steamy works, leading venerable critic Amos Lassen to anoint Axelson "a master of the erotic." Now, however, given that he has a new and different tale to tell, I was eager to learn more about Axelson's journey between genres and formats, and about the inspirations behind his work.

Kergan: You were so gracious in interviewing me for Examiner.com, so it is great to be returning the favor! With Velvet you're finally releasing your first novel. I guess the obvious question, given your success with erotica, is what made you decide to write a work of historical fiction.

Xavier: It was a complete surprise. I didn't start out with the intention to write a historically based novel. Then again, I never thought I would write erotica! I just go where the story and characters tell me. They are driving, so I simply follow behind and trust they know what to do and how to steer.

Kergan: What can you tell us about Velvet?

Xavier: It is the story of Virago, the royal tailor, and is set against a backdrop of decadence, privilege and intrigue.

Kergan: When you begin a new work such as this, especially when it contains historical elements, how deeply do you delve into research of the period?

Xavier: Velvet is based on historical ideas, but the world and its characters within are completely fictitious. I love research. I find it is a great way to take the fear out of the unknown. In this case Velvet was a pleasure to research because I love the Elizabethan, Medieval and Shakespearean periods. This story opened my eyes to so many unique details involving the coronation of Elizabeth I, the interior structures of castles and even how the blind learn to sew and cut patterns.

Kergan: Prior to this, most of your work has been with short stories and novellas. What prompted this leap to the novel form?

Xavier: I didn't set out to write a novel! I initially assumed that Velvet would be a novella, but, as the story progressed, the characters became more generous with their voices and stories. I felt it was my duty to return the favor and ensure their voices were heard.

Kergan: While other authors pick one genre to focus on, it seems that you write what you want, regardless of genre.

Xavier: It's true. I don't stick with any one genre. In between Earthly Concerns and Velvet, I wrote a short story called Cravings that was published as part of a zombie/horror collection. I'd never thought about writing a zombie story -- and that's exactly what intrigued me. I refuse to believe in genre imprisonment.

Kergan: Where does your desire to write come from?

Xavier: It comes from a need to write. I feel compelled to do it, as writing is an extension of my physical self. It speaks to my truest, most authentic self.

Kergan: Most of your earliest literary success has been with the erotic. What is the most common misperception of erotica writing?

Xavier: That it has little literary merit. However, I find the works of Henry Miller, Marquis de Sade, Anaïs Nin and The Sleeping Beauty books by Anne Rice to be worthy defenders against such misconceptions. Erotica does not automatically equal pornography.

Kergan: In addition to being described as a writer of erotica, I've also seen you labeled as a writer of psychological horror. Given all these different labels, how would you describe yourself?

Xavier: Well, erotic, exotic and a little psychotic!

Kergan: In your work is there a fine line between the three?

Xavier: I think many people feel intimacy, whether sexual or otherwise, is terrifying. Psychosexual elements fascinate me, and while there is a fine line between the erotic and horrific. It is this line that is the most appealing to walk along. The idea of the beautiful grotesque and the terror found in the mundane are both subjects I enjoy exploring. Lines were meant to be crossed, as long as you're brave enough to face whatever it is you may encounter on the other side.

Kergan: With your background, is there a concern on your part that your work might not be taken seriously?

Xavier: I don't think what I do is serious. My writing is incredibly personal to me, and while I may be attached to what I do and view it as important, I am not curing cancer or stopping global warming. That being said, what people may or may not think is beyond my control. My writing speaks for itself, and there are many works of erotic fiction that are masterpieces.

Kergan: Who would you name as the top three people who inspire you, and why?

Xavier: Tennessee Williams, because his writing awes me. His ability to dig into the darkness frightens and inspires me to follow after his characters; Lars Von Trier, because his visions are startling, eye-opening and undeniable; and Georgia O'Keefe, because I believe in the power of the natural world she conveyed in her art.

Kergan: Given that list, with all their unique viewpoints and themes, when you look at your own work, is there one overarching theme or message you want to communicate?

Xavier: Hope, and the belief in oneself to find the light in the dark.

Xavier Axelson can be found on Facebook, Twitter, his website and Examiner.com.

This piece originally appeared on KerganEdwards-Stout.com and LGBTQ Nation.

Love, Loss and Art: A Conversation Between Two Gay Novelists

2012-11-15T15:45:00-05:00

Fellow author Jeffrey Ballam and I share many characteristics. We are both gay men, debut novelists, human rights advocates and Twitter friends and have undergone the grieving process, with each of us experiencing a partner's death due to HIV/AIDS. I have been eager to discover more about his journey, and recently we met at the West Hollywood Book Fair to chat further about love, loss and the power of the written word, as well as his just-released novel, Out of the Past.

Kergan: Some people have been writers their whole lives, but, like me, you came to writing later in life, having had other careers. What led you to writing?

Jeff: I'd always enjoyed creative writing in school and pushed myself to be as creative as possible. When I came out, I began writing poems as catharsis for understanding my new feelings and reconciling my faith and my sexuality. Being a born-again Christian with early Mormon roots, you can see the need to do so.

Kergan: I can imagine!

Jeff: What about you? Why did you start writing?

Kergan: I've always been involved in the arts but never really saw writing as a venue for me. I worked with some amazing playwrights, such as Michael Sargent, who has such a specific, visceral style, so I wasn't sure how I could ever compete on that level. What I later realized was that it wasn't about competition. In telling my own stories, my style naturally evolved, and I found my own specific voice.

Jeff: Your novel, Songs for the New Depression, is the story of a man who comes to terms with his past as he prepares to die. It is also a tribute to your first partner, Shane Sawick, who passed away due to complications from AIDS.

Kergan: Shane died in 1995, and though I took me a while to process and determine exactly how I would do this, I knew that I wanted to find some way to honor him as well as other friends who were lost far too young. Then, one day, a line popped into my head. I didn't know who it was or what they were talking about, but that line eventually morphed into the first sentence in the novel. I know that you lost a partner to AIDS/HIV, as well.

Jeff: Yes, but I was at a point where I was beginning to realize I had outgrown the relationship and was preparing to leave when he was diagnosed in 1992, so I stayed until he died in 1994. Given that, and that I am recently divorced, I completely understand that pain of loss and letting go. Your novel is really about your lead character, Gabe, and his attempts to come to terms with his impending death. Is that related to your letting go of Shane?

Kergan: The act of writing the novel was a way of letting go. But I also have found myself, having grown up in the AIDS era, preoccupied with the reasons we live and the reasons we die. I wanted to write a cautionary tale about seizing and embracing the moment and correcting mistakes before it is too late. And that desire for redemption led to Songs for the New Depression.

Jeff: The AIDS pandemic is such a difficult and emotional issue to tackle. What has the reaction been to that particular dimension of the story?

Kergan: From those readers who lived through it I continually receive wonderful notes thanking me for capturing that moment in time. But I've also heard from others, "Oh, your novel sounds great but depressing." While I don't see it that way, as I feel that it ultimately challenges people to live more authentically and freely, I also realize that an "AIDS novel" is not an easy sell. My hope is that people will read it and think, "I don't want my life to be wasted," and embrace the here and now.

Jeff: And I think it does that.

Kergan: What about you? What inspired you to write Out of the Past?

Jeff: Believe it or not, it started with a dream. In 2008 I woke remembering a dream that I felt would make a good story, and I simply sat down and wrote it. Once that dam burst, the tale came flooding out.

Kergan: Without giving too much away, what is the book about?

Jeff: It focuses on a young man, Paul Vanderwall, who has to come to terms with his fears of moving forward into a new relationship and ultimately with himself. In that way he's like your character, Gabe.

Kergan: Paul is both a schoolteacher and coming out of a broken relationship, as are you. Where do the similarities between the two of you begin, and where do they end?

Jeff: We are very similar in those respects, and neither of us is looking for a relationship. Paul had closed himself off to the idea and was caught by surprise. We are both very romantic, though he is a bit more open to the idea of a relationship. I'm not sure if there are any differences other than age. He's a lot younger than I am. I'm in a neutral place right now. If I meet someone who interests me, great. If not, great.

Kergan: Has your ex-husband read the novel?

Jeff: I'm not sure. We were together when I wrote it, but he couldn't read it, as he felt that I didn't divorce myself enough from Paul where he could see a clear differentiation between the character and the writer. But, in a way, I think he's right. Paul and I do share similar views on relationships, and we're both very romantic, though Paul has a bit more of an adventurous spirit. Even though we were together when I wrote it, and our divorce was not the most amicable, he does seem interested in its success. Whether he's read it now, I don't know. He seemed shocked when I said it would be published.

Kergan: Is being a romantic one of your defining characteristics?

Jeff: I think it is. A friend defined me as a romantic, yet one who is realistic. In the book I tried to capture some of what romance and realism mean to me.

Kergan: Has it been difficult to juggle your competing demands of writing, teaching and maintaining a personal life?

Jeff: The children of today are the leaders of tomorrow, so I try to make sure that my students receive enough attention, and that I am well-planned and organized for my next day's lessons. My four-legged children come next, as they don't understand why I can't play with them all the time. Writing, right now, takes a back seat to everything.

Kergan: I know you love teaching, but do you foresee a point where writing becomes your primary focus?

Jeff: Possibly, when I retire. But you have a full-time schedule as well! You have a job, a partner and two beautiful children, not to mention your writing for several websites. And I understand you're working on something new, as well, Gifts Not Yet Given?

Kergan: It's a collection of short stories, all themed to holidays, and will be coming out next year. I kind of see it as "holiday stories for the rest of us." The characters are a mixture of gay, straight, young and old, and yet the tales capture that warm, bittersweet tone of the holidays, as each character experiences some form of personal awakening.

Jeff: How do you find the time to do it all?

Kergan: Late nights -- and lots of Chardonnay! [Laughing.] Like you and your students, our kids come first. My main job is to make sure they are well-cared for, and I love it. Writing comes far behind, but at some point, when the kids are older, I'd like it to move up in line.

Jeff: I know what you mean!

Kergan: So if someone said to you, right now, "I can give you either love or a career as a writer, but not both," which would you choose?

Jeff: Being the hopeless romantic that I am, I'd have to go for love.

For more information on Jeffrey Ballam, please see his website, his Facebook page and his Twitter account. Kergan Edwards-Stout can be found at his website, on Facebook and on Twitter.

This piece originally appeared on KerganEdwards-Stout.com and LGBTQ Nation.

Obama's Victory and the Aftermath of 'Please Defriend Me'

2012-11-07T18:37:00-05:00

This election was close -- much closer than it should have been. For those of us committed to progressive causes, it was a reminder that we need to work even harder to ensure that future such races contain a message that is clear, relevant and compelling, connecting the dots between the issues we care about and fiscal responsibility. Our margin of victory should have been greater, and even in the election's wake, I find myself contemplating the cost of lost friendships, as well as our best path forward.

Just two weeks ago, after several intense political exchanges on Facebook, I awoke one morning, unable to sleep, and typed up a status update, a manifesto of sorts, which quickly took on a life of its own. In it I asked those voting for Romney to defriend me, given that much of what he advocated was a direct attack on me as an LGBT person, as well as the progressive causes in which I believe. The reaction to this was swift, emotional and tumultuous.

In the ensuing days my post was shared and spread, with over 128,000 Facebook "likes" at last count. People I hadn't heard from in years contacted me to debate the merits of said post, arguing passionately for and against it. I was defriended by a handful of acquaintances, only to find myself friended by hundreds more.

What most people failed to grasp, though, was that I wasn't personally planning to defriend anyone. Instead, I wanted others to take responsibility for their actions and views and defriend me. I felt it was important that people examine their vote, its real-world impact and take ownership. As I told those unwilling to defriend me, if Romney won and followed through on his pledge to restrict my rights, I wanted them to be reminded, each and every time they saw me post, that they'd had a direct hand in my undoing.

Though the article was provocative and created dialogue and led to many other writers offering variations or alternatives to my "defriend me" stance, some of that discussion brought up attitudes I hadn't anticipated. Despite clearly noting that I was voting for Obama because I care about the environment, the poor, veterans, the elderly, equality for women, the freedom of choice, health care as a right, our rights as a family with two gay dads, and the economy, one newspaper editorial reduced me to being a "single-issue" voter. While that may bring into question the writer's math skills, the larger point, that my progressive voting position was inherently less important than their fiscal one, is one that we need to actively counter.

Progressive causes should not break the bank. There is a way to achieve human rights in a fiscally responsible way, and yet our detractors have successfully labeled us as "tax-and-spend, bleeding-heart liberals," implying that our love for such causes compels us to open our wallet at every turn, regardless of cost. As made clear in this election, many people vote solely from their pocketbooks, and we have work to do in articulating a vision that not only upholds dignity and respect for all human life and the planet but communicates that such advances can actually help stimulate our economy and, in turn, heal our deficit. Being committed to social causes and financial security are not mutually exclusive; we must clarify how they can work together if we are to ensure a greater margin of victory in the future.

On a personal level, I'm struggling today with how to best move forward, given my friends who say that they support me but voted for policies and people who work to deny me my equality and the related tax benefits and protections conveyed under the law. I find myself questioning whom I want in my life and whom I don't.

Years ago I made the difficult decision to cut my parents out of my life, because of what I perceived as anti-gay behavior. I told myself then that my self-respect meant more, in the long haul, than their bigotry. Upon the birth of our children, I allowed that stance to soften, because I wanted my parents to be in our children's lives, and I wanted our kids to experience what it was like to have grandparents. The night before the election, however, I got a call from my mother telling me that she is joining a church this Sunday that I'd previously told her is anti-gay and preaches that homosexuality is a sin. The church is so well-known in our area that I actually once attempted to meet with the pastor in an attempt to discuss and expand his views, but I was denied.

My mother asked us to come to this new-member event to support her, and it pained me to tell her that I could not knowingly step into a church that views me as evil. She doesn't understand why we can't make a "one-time" exception to support her personally. And this strikes to the heart of my "Please Defriend Me" post. Both my mother and I are seeking support for who we are and what we believe, but our two stances are entirely contradictory. So what do we do?

Is it better to form tentative truces, knowing that we are not being supported? Is it better to take hard-line stances and draw clear boundaries to ensure that we retain our self-respect? And what effect does it have on us to have people in our lives who do not respect or support who we are at our very core?

I've tried for years to get my parents to expand their worldview, but I find that it will never change. I've tried mightily, during this election, to get others to see that their votes have real-world consequences, only to watch as they cast votes supporting my second-class status. In both cases, I am conflicted as to the best course forward.

It is one thing to educate and build bridges of understanding, but if my basic right to equality isn't respected, is that even a bridge I want to build???

This piece originally appeared on KerganEdwards-Stout.com and LGBTQ Nation.