It’s here, it’s here, it’s here

I’m proud to have a poem in Our Happy Hours: LGBT Voices from the Gay Bars.

The call for submissions came after the tragedy at Pulse Nightclub in Orlando, Florida. In these stories and poems, the authors reflect on the importance of gay bars in their lives.

It’s a thrill to have a piece in an anthology that includes lesbian icons like Lee Lynch, Karin Kallmaker and Joan Nestle.

Proceeds benefit LGBT youth charities.

Please think about buying a copy for yourself or someone you know.

Click here to buy from Bella Books.

Click here to buy from Amazon.

Mullets, lesbian bars, forbidden love, oh my

I’m participating in National Novel Writing Month this year. The goal is to write 50,000 words in 30 days and have a first draft for a novel. Kick-off is today.

“What’s your book about?” my editor asked.

“Lesbian romance set in the 80s. Big hair, big love, something like that,” I wrote back.

“I’m feeling nostalgic,” she wrote. “But mullets.”

So, that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. If you don’t hear from me in November, I’m busy writing about the 80s and lesbians and quoting lyrics from songs sung by the big hair bands. “And, baby, talk dirty to me.” Like that.

Because lesbians rule and the 80s were the best and if you’ve never rocked a mullet you’ve never really lived.

If you want to help a writer out, I still need a name for a really great, fictional lesbian bar. Best answer will find its way into my novel.

Anything else that needs to be in there? Trivial Pursuit, Pac-Man, a Rubik’s Cube …

Oh, and if you’re doing NaNoWriMo, e-mail me and we can be NaNo buddies.

#WeAreOrlando

W and I had our third date at a gay bar in Phoenixville, Pennsylvania, called Frank Jeffreys.

This was my bar.

This was my gay bar.

That night, we bellied up to the old wooden bar.

The bartender knew my name.

He knew my usual.

“Hey, Russ. How’s it going?” I asked.

I figured I was scoring points with W. I was racking them up like a human pinball machine. Ka-ching.

That night, we talked with Russ about labels. And laughed about that time I got hit on by a dude.

“Am I sending out the right signal?” I had asked.

Russ assured me I was with my cargo pants and flannel shirt and short haircut.

I remember lots of details from that night: Flirting with W. Taking her back to my place to watch the movie Kinsey. Being too shy to make a move.

“I thought you were asexual,” W would later confess.

Frank Jeffreys closed years ago.

When we pass by the building that is now home to a shiny new pub, I say remember when …

And I remember the way my heart sped up every time I saw the old rainbow flag that hung in the window.

The way the door knob felt smooth and cool in my hand.

How my Dr. Martens boots sounded walking on the sticky old wooden floor.

The way I felt like a butch boss sitting at the bar.

But mostly I remember the way it felt to be a part of something, to belong, to fit in for once in my life. To feel safe inside those walls because in that space it was okay to be me.