This morning, I was woken up by what I thought was a neighbor's loud, ruthless hammering. Bam, bam, bam! However, after the sound continued for a solid ten minutes, I realized that the noise couldn't possibly be from someone hammering the wall—there'd be no wall left. Once the sleepy haze evaporated from my brain, I was able to put two and two together. Last night, San Diego received a rainstorm. What was disturbing me was the aftermath of that storm: rain falling from the gutters. Drip, drip, drip! Incessant, painful, infuriating. Now, the old me would have screamed and cussed, pulled . . .
Nice Ain’t Always My Fucking Color
When Stephen Stills famously sang “Love the One Your With,” I don't think he meant for this long. Depending on who you're currently quarantined (i.e. stuck) with, you might feel as if you're now part of that Rent song. You know the one I'm about talking about: 525,600 minutes . . . and counting! All joking aside, for me, self-isolation hasn't been that big of an issue. I've recently decided that I'm an introvert dressed up as an extrovert (thanks, RuPaul.) What does this mean, exactly? It means that I have absolutely no problem—even enjoy—going out with friends, drinking my face off, . . .
What’s In a Name?
Names are kind of important, right? Without names, what exactly would we call one another? Specifically, how would we refer to those individuals from our coyote ugly-type one-night stands who we're equal parts shocked and embarrassed to become reacquainted with in the morning? For the fools who haven't seen Coyote Ugly: A coyote ugly-type one-night stand is when you'd rather chew off your own arm than risk waking the ugly son-of-a-bitch passed out beside you. If you haven't had a coyote-ugly one-night stand, congratulations. Also, you're going to hell for lying. To be fair, most of us . . .
What’s Size Got to Do with It?
It's interesting—to me, at least—that I've been writing for about one hundred years now, and still have not discussed topics that are common in the gay community. Or aged . . . I haven't seemed to age in one hundred years, either. Thank you very much. That's not completely true. I've been writing since I was twelve. Back then, my content focused on murder and mayhem. Still does. Recently, I finished Bury What Remains, my latest psychological suspense manuscript, and lots of murder and mayhem ensue. Side note: If you're an agent looking for a new author to represent, allow me to take a . . .
What Are You Addicted To?
It's officially 2020, a new year—hell, a new decade! As if you needed my blog to alert you of the fact, right? Thank God for that, too, seeing as I haven't blogged in . . . Well, let's just say it's been a while. And while I'm acknowledging that elephant in the room, the one where I only produced three blog articles last year when it was my resolution to write at least one article a month (oops!), let me address another elephant: me! Yes, the other, much bigger elephant in the room is me, myself, and I. Unfortunately, yet noticeably, I've put on a little, fine—a lot—of weight. What can I . . .
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