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Archive for the ‘Personal’ Category

So the activist judges on the Supreme Court, in service to their corporate overlords, this week advanced the causes of gun companies and the people who love them.

I say they haven’t gone far enough.  I would like to propose the formation of the Second Amendment Advancement Foundation for Equality (SAAFFE).  This organization would raise money to purchase weapons for inner city youth and other, similar, highly motivated gun owners.  Once armed, the formerly oppressed would be trained in weapons use so that they can exercise their rights more accurately.

Our foundation would then relocate these liberated and skilled SAAFFE gun owners to the towns and neighborhoods of such civil rights advocates as the five supreme court justices who freed them.  We believe SAAFFE gun recipients should live right next door to folks like Nevada Senate Candidate Sharon Angle who thinks we should use guns to get our way when voting doesn’t work out or Georgia Congressmen Paul Broun who told an open carry gun owners rally held respectfully on the anniversary of the Oklahoma City terrorist bombing to “declare war against oppression and against socialism.”  And of course, we would be sure that SAAFFE gun recipients live in close proximity to all the officers, executives and spokespeople for the NRA so that they might set an example for our heavily armed youth and SAAFFE citizens.

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“How do I get an agent?”  It’s probably the number one question I get asked about writing and publishing.

There are a lot questions about publishing.  Like, how is it that these multi-national, multi-million dollar manufacturing concerns still, in the 21st century, do not advertise their products? Why are business decisions in publishing largely made by people hired for their aesthetic judgment and no business training? Why is there no Billboard-like public accounting of actual book sales? Why is it that no writers actually work at the publishers, as such, despite the fact that they generate all the product the company sells? (Imagine a car company that didn’t advertise, who kept sales a secret, whose business decisions were made by the administrative staff and no one who actually made cars worked there.)

Questions about publishing go on and on and my answer to most of them is:  I have no idea.

I do know however how to get, or rather how I got my first, literary agent representation.

I moved to Los Angeles in the mid-nineties after my life had been leveled by a homophobic co-worker at the ad agency where I’d worked in South Carolina.  With nothing to lose I thought, what the hell? I hadn’t actually intended to be in advertising anyway. What to do? Well, Thelma and Louise came out that summer and I already had a convertible.  I didn’t have anyone to ride with and I skipped their Grand Canyon detour.  I got behind the wheel and drove.  The 20 starts in Florence, South Carolina, merges with the 10 in Texas and ends at the Pacific Ocean in Santa Monica on the west side of LA.

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I cried over a soccer game today.  I’m glad the US is still in the running for the cup, or whatever it’s called, but I would not presume to know enough about soccer to say more than that.  The fact that I call it soccer probably proves it.  Honestly, I don’t think my tears of joy had anything to do with their victory.

I just needed some good news.

The news business is about viewers and readers.  The bigger the audience, the higher the ad rates.  And nothing brings in the audience like dirty laundry.  The circus of the media has us obsessed with the worst in ourselves and skeptical of or, sadly, bored by the best that we can be.

Celebrity wannabes rush their sex tapes into production rather than hurrying to acting class.  Politicians use dirty tricks to obstruct progress and lies to catch the attention of the jaded electorate instead of trying to help people or fix a broken system.  Publishers are glutted with the memoirs of those with the dirtiest secrets, even if they have to make them up.  And the couches on the talk shows are crowded by those with something bad to say.  Producers, voters, publishers, agents and bookers choose the best known, not the best.  The only other big news of the US soccer team came when they got cheated out of a win.

Despite the fact that we live in an age of penicillin and everyday miracles, all we can see is that half empty glass. Our belief in scarcity fuels reckless oil exploration and now there’s an oil slick in the Gulf as big as our avarice.  Fear and greed keep us in the longest war in our history.  We exclude people from society and then relish in our disgust with their anti-social behavior.

Probably the only moment of national unity I have known in my adult life came the day after 9/11.  Is that what it takes to bring us together?

It’s the power of negative thinking and it’s ushered in the age of cynicism.

Go team USA! I sure could use a little more good news.

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The hardest part of writing is believing in yourself.

Writing is very solitary.  Alone you create a world, a universe, that exists nowhere outside your head.  Without validation or any other human interaction, cruel or kind, you create beauty, tragedy, joy, love, terror, all the colors that seem to you to make up the cosmos you have yourself divined.  With no authorization and no special powers, you play God.

It’s a bit of a high wire act and it keeps me in a state of duality.  Because I earn my living as a writer, there is the flight or fight anxiety of wondering whether a book will “sell” or if I’m just kidding myself about whatever I’m writing about or being a writer at all.  But there is also an incredibly seductive quality.  Spending time in a world of my own choosing, where things work out the way I want is irresistible.

There is a point a few weeks short of the ending of whatever book I’m writing where I probably shouldn’t drive or operate heavy machinery.  I get behind the wheel, sing along with Duffy or Michael Buble on the CD player and wonder idly about a scene I’m planning or a character I’m in the process of discovering.  Suddenly, the CD is repeating and I’m miles from where I started, occasionally not even where I’d intended to go.  The experience is that intense and complete for me.

To be fair, I can also lose an entire afternoon to updating my Netflix Queue.  Perhaps that’s just the way I think and possibly it’s thinking that way that makes me a writer.  I don’t know.  I do know that once I’ve discovered that place, the more I long to be there.

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Addiction: The persistent compulsive use of a substance known by the user to be harmful.  That’s how Webster defines addiction.  It also pretty well describes our relationship to oil.  Coal too, for that matter.  I’m sure the folks at Massey sent a gift basket to the guys at BP for knocking them off the front page.

But in the end, it’s us.  We’re the addicts.  We want to believe whoever will tell us that our addictive use of fossil fuel and the off-shore drilling, strip-mining and endless Middle East wars are okay so long as we can get our next fix.  Obviously we still need to get around and I’m typing this on a computer that’s plugged into the wall and just before turning on the AC, so what to do?

I think if we spent as much on education as we do on defense in this country, we might know the answer to that question.

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Prop H8

The closing arguments in the Prop H8 federal trial will be heard today.

Proponents big argument is that gay people would not be good parents.  I can hardly believe that teaching hatred and intolerance is considered a good parenting skill.  And what about the gay kids? They can hear you, you know? Is this an example of how you would take care of children?

This is personal.  It hurts when people get up in court or congress or on the campaign trail and say mean, ugly, untrue things about me.  I can only imagine how deeply it hurts scared little gay children, hiding in plain sight with no one to tell or confide in.

Maybe that’s next.  First we tell people who they can marry and then we tell them who is allowed to have children.  I don’t really see much difference.

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Hate

To love people is to hate them.  It would seem impossible to feel strongly without those feelings running from the positive to the negative.  If I didn’t much care one way or the other, I could probably regard people with a healthy indifference.  But, by opening my heart to the possibility of loving, the possibility of hating cannot help but seep in.  There is no sweet without sour, day without night, love without hate.

I think hate is a natural part of the human condition.  I try not to let hate or any negative emotion overpopulate scarce territory in my head, but I am only human.

I used to work with this guy at an ad agency.  I was the better writer but he’d been there longer.  I guess he must have felt threatened.  Rather than trying to do a better job, he decided to tell people that I’d made a pass at him.  I hadn’t.  He, on the other hand, had slept with a sizable number of the women on the staff — married and single, college girls and grown women.  He broke up at least one marriage.  He married one of the women and continued to cheat on her afterward with other women from the office where they both worked and elsewhere.  But since I was gay, I was run out of town.

I hated him.

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Words are how I enter the world.

I actually thought I was going to be an actor.  I still do a little bit.  I miss it a lot.  When I was a baby, before I could sit up on my own, I would recite poetry.  I did a particularly stirring Owl and the Pussycat, I’m told.

I loved the power of words from the start.  I could talk at six months but didn’t walk until I was three.  Why get up when you can just ask for it?  But alas, I could not seem to learn to spell or punctuate and still don’t know which sides the knife and the fork go on or which way is west with consistency.  And so I fell in love with the power of the spoken word.  Stage left and camera right never change no matter which way you’re facing, so I felt at home there.

It was acting that brought me to writing where I discovered the power of creation that exists there as nowhere else.  Writing brings whole new worlds into existence and invents the future through collective dreams.  There were no submarines when Jules Verne wrote 10,000 Leagues Beneath the Sea or pocket communicators when Gene Roddenberry put them into the hands of Captain Kirk and his crew.  Today we’ve been to the bottom of the Marianas Trench and our pocket communicators have become so ubiquitous they are arguably our single greatest addiction issue.

Still, writing is sort of an accidental career for me.  When I was in college I got a part time job as a writer.  Given my abilities or lack thereof,  I’d never pursued it.  I took one writing course in college because they made me.  I couldn’t diagram a sentence, still can’t.  I can’t even think why you’d want to.  It just never occurred to me that I might be qualified to write.

So, when everyone else in school was getting a job waiting tables — I tried to get one, too — I found myself in need of employment and short of employable skills.  In the free time that unemployment offered, I auditioned for a production of Wild Oats that was being mounted near my college.  I got cast.  The director, who owned an ad agency, hired me.  I wrote copy, ran errands and answered the phone often, as it turned out, at the same time.

I’ve been writing ever since.  Writing for advertising and public relations lead me to writing plays of my own — some for client trade shows, some just to live in my bottom desk drawer.  I began writing an arts and entertainment column for the Free Times, a local entertainment tabloid.  My words there got me hired to do arts and entertainment reporting on-air for the local NBC affiliate WIS with my own weekly feature Backstage with Eric Shaw Quinn — catchy right?

With the three jobs and continuing to act and direct, I found myself with Saturday mornings free.  An idea came to me one day born out of my own vague attempts to grow up — I’m still working on that one.  I’d always considered that being gay was more incidental than significant and I just figured that I’d have basically the same experience as everyone else save that it would be me and another man rather than me and a woman, but the rest of the details, I assumed, would be the same.

But when I didn’t meet him in college and marry him after graduation as I’d planned, I began to see that it really was different.  I wondered about some of those other details, not the least of which: children.

Would I? And if I did, what would that be like?

I began to explore those ideas on paper.  Yellow pads and pilot razor points, one page at a time, it became my first novel Say Uncle, the story of a gay man raising a child.  Given the prevailing political climate, it was some time before it was published.  But when it happened, the time was right.  I actually got my first movie deal with Propaganda Films before the book came out.  I even got hired to write the screenplay.  I got the chance to work with the legendary director John Schlesinger and to collaborate with the sublime Lewis Colick and the sublimely funny Amy Heckerling on the script.  Several drafts and several years later, with Amy stepping in to direct and Billy Crystal ready to play the lead, the studio was sold and my beloved Say Uncle was delayed in coming to the screen.  Someday.

The book was a critical success, but it was the readers that really made it worth the wait.  People came to my appearances to get their books signed and to ask me parenting questions! I could not have been more surprised or delighted.  Probably my favorite moment from the book so far came rather anonymously, in line at the San Francisco airport several years after the book’s publication.  I had been E-ticketed and presented my driver’s license to the man working at the desk.  Noting my name, but without any other explanation or a mention of Say Uncle, he began telling me the story of how he and his partner had adopted and were raising a little boy.

Imagining a future into being.

When I wrote the book, courts were taking people’s actual children from them because they were choosing to be true to themselves and live as out gay people.  Today “Gay-bies” are as common as tight tee shirts in the gay community.  I don’t think that Say Uncle caused that, but I hope it helped to.

With the movie deal off and my editor departed from my publisher, the sequel to Say Uncle languished.  Don’t Ask Don’t Tell had made bigotry a bumper sticker and there were growing numbers of people who called themselves Christians but who spoke mostly of hatred and intolerance.  My father, in an effort to help me see that there was maybe room in the tent for all of God’s children, pointed out to me the stories of the books of Samuel and the verse that inspired me to write my next original novel.

And it came to pass that the soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of David

and Jonathan loved him as he loved his own soul.

Then Jonathan and David made a covenant,

because he loved him more than he loved his own soul.

1 Samuel 18:1 & 3

It has taken some years to complete this rather ambitious project, I knew nothing of 10th Century BC Israel, let alone the bible.  I’m not even Jewish.  So there was a lot to learn.

In the interim, I worked with the producers of the television series Queer as Folk to write two original novels based on the early lives of the show’s characters, Never Tear Us Apart and Always Have Always Will.  My work on those books brought me to a new publisher and the racy content caught the attention of my next collaborator.

I was driving home from the gym one day when the cell phone rang and a young woman asked me if I was available to meet with Pamela Anderson’s manager.  Well who could say no to that?

One thing led to another and before you can say “boob job” I was sitting across the lunch table from Pancho, Lefty and the girl they’ve taken along for the ride, Pam.  I wrote my next two books the hit Star and the unfortunate Star Struck based on a series of breakfasts with the then most famous woman in the world.  I was supposed to work as a ghostwriter, but Miss Anderson said no one would believe she had written the books and she did not have room in her closet for any more secrets.  She outed me on Jay Leno and very generously took me on a book tour quite unlike any I’ve experienced so far.  So, if you read Pam’s books and thought they were hot and sexy, that’s me.  In the end it wasn’t my favorite experience.  Still, I’m a New York Times best seller now, so there’s that for the obituary at least though by then I fear no one will remember what the New York Times was.

After the Pam project subsided, shall we say, I found myself with that pesky free time again.  It was a new century but despite huge cultural changes for gay people, civil rights were and are still not among them and the bible is regularly used to justify bigotry and worse.  That verse from Samuel came back to me and the time seemed right.

It’s several years later.  Star Crossed is written.  I know way more about the bible and the laws of Leviticus and ancient Israel than I’d ever thought I would.  What will happen next? I can only imagine.

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