Friday's Gay Video: That's When I Met Peter

James Franco as Allen Ginsberg in the movie Howl, based on Allen Ginsberg's life, including the writing and reaction to his poem "Howl". A sort of up-and-down movie with its weak points, but you really can't say anything bad about the black and white clips about Ginsberg's youth. James Franco plays him so beautifully sensitive and lonely and desperate for affection, and this scene about Peter, Ginsberg's life partner, is a moment of lovely optimism in an occasionally bleak film.

Friday's Gay Video: Wrestling with Caspar

Speaking of Christopher Isherwood, here's a clip from the BBC drama Christopher and His Kind based on the author's time in 1930s Berlin. Matt Smith is a bit of an acquired taste as far as men go, but this scene? Well I guess you will see!

Monday Music: Alive, Alive-O

While trying to find an Irish song in the public domain to use during a pivotal scene in our novel...

Violetta: Man they [the crowd] really love that song

Heidi: To be fair, The Dubliners could sing a chorus of "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you" and the Irish would probably still sing along and weep with joy.

Violetta: What if they sang "God Save the Queen"?

Heidi: Universe would implode.

Remember, fellow aspiring authors! Quoting lyrics to popular songs in your novel doesn't fall under Fair Use. If you want to quote music in your novel without asking for permission or paying royalties, always use songs that are in the public domain, aka songs that were written before 1923. Unknowingly, Violetta and I included several lines from the song "Wonderwall" in our manuscript, which, judging by the previous link, would have run us up a bill that would far exceed any earnings we could hope to make from publishing our novel, even if it sold really well!

For more info on the legal issues surrounding quoting lyrics, check out this excellent post post by Dina DiMaio, attorney/writer. In the meantime, I'll be enjoying some awesome Irish classics!

Friday's Gay Video: Carlos

"Oh, Kenneth, Kenneth, believe me - there's nothing I'd rather do! I want like hell to tell you. But I can't. I quite literally can't. Because, don't you see, what I know is what I am? And I can't tell you that. You have to find it out for yourself. I'm like a book you have to read. A book can't read itself to you. It doesn't even know what it's about. I don't know what I'm about." 

A clip from the Tom Ford film A Single Man, based on the novel of the same name by Christopher Isherwood. This actually wasn't my first choice clip (that would be "Curtains, Old Man", which apparently doesn't exist on the internet, which is too bad because it's sweet and loving) , but I like this clip, too, which perfectly captures a) the sensuousness of Tom Ford's film (the shifts in intensity of colours being one of its very best features) and b) the tortured private sexual tension of the original novel.

Both film and book are well worth a go, if you feel like crying.

WIP Wednesday: What? Shut up.

“This is fucked up,” he said.

“So say ‘no’,” Ángel countered. 

“How much?” Sean didn’t like the challenge in Ángel’s tone, the implication that Sean didn’t have the balls. 

“Five hundred for half a night. Each.” Ángel talked about that kind of money like it was his fucking weekly allowance. 

“Wow,” Sean said, before he could stop himself.  

“Well, you pay a premium for that kind of fucked-up shit, in this business. You should see how much I charge for daddy kink. The kind you need costumes.” He laughed, and Sean couldn’t help but join him. He didn’t know what it said about him, about Ángel, about this whole fucking city, that even knowing Ángel did that kind of depraved shit, Sean didn’t look down on him at all. In fact, he kind of admired him, like it was some kind of achievement.

“I guess ‘daddy kink’ is self-evident?” Sean said, when he’d stopped laughing.

When Ángel looked at him, his eyes were twinkling. Which was odd, because Sean didn’t think they were in that kind of light. “You’re cute,” Ángel said, slightly patronizing, but Sean took it as a compliment anyway. “We should tell him you’re a virgin.” A pause. “Are you... a virgin?” 

“What? Shut up.” Sean shoved him on the shoulder playfully. 

From the prequel story to our novel, "The Crossroads" (working title), a dark voodoo-influenced story about drugs and prostitution in pre-Katrina New Orleans, which will eventually be available for free on our website and on Goodreads.

Monday Music: Sean Songs

Music + Alliteration! Monday Music is my chance to share some music, be it stuff that I write to, that reminds me of a character, that forms the soundtrack of a story I'm currently working on, or that just happens to be my latest earworm/workout track.

This week, have a few songs that remind me of the character Sean O'Hara, one of the leads in The Hollow Hill.

Arcade Fire - Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains)

And like a mirror, the city lights shine
They're screaming at us, "We don't need your kind"
Sometimes I wonder if the world's so small
That we can never get away from the sprawl

Friday's Gay Video: S. Korea ships Holmes/Watson

What happens when shippers are put in charge of a show's advertising... a quirky modern-day mystery like BBC's Sherlock becomes a moody romantic drama!

Not gonna lie though, I'd watch it!

WIP Wednesday: Druid...ing

Sean seemed thoughtful, now, silently studying the Victorian-built buildings of main street that loomed down on them from all sides. “The priest,” he started, and briefly looked embarrassed to have even mentioned it, “does he harass you because you’re...”

Cormac stopped up on the sidewalk and crossed his arms expectantly. Sean looked vaguely uncomfortable for about a second, looked over both shoulders, and then said it: “Gay, I mean?”

Cormac’s mouth cracked open in a smile. He wasn’t sure what it said about him that he expected that sentence to end in “druid” before “gay”. Maybe under different circumstances he’d be offended that Sean would even think to bring it up like that, but he looked so damn earnest, no tone of challenge in it at all. 

“What makes you even think I am?” he countered, knowing it was cruel. Answering Sean’s questions with other questions -- that was starting to become a habit, and he wasn’t sure why.

Sean resumed his pace down the sidewalk, then, and Cormac had to shuffle to catch up, trying not to sound out of breath. He thought maybe he’d pissed him off again, but Sean just looked over his shoulder with a breathless smile. “So what, you were doing ‘consulting’ with Yanto-with-a-Y then, too?”

Cormac laughed. When he’d pulled that stunt, he never could have predicted that it would have turned out quite like this. He had a feeling Sean wasn’t ever going to let him live it down. Somehow that thought didn’t bother him at all. 

“Nope,” he replied, going for broke, “That was definitely a one-night-stand.”

The candid approach seemed to work wonders on breaking down Sean’s prickly defenses, much better than torturing him with more questions, because in reply to that he just smiled again, a little teasing, and said, “I know. Guy was practically pissing on his territory.”

“Honestly, though, if the priest disapproves of anything, it’s my choice of career. I don’t think my sex life even registers in comparison to my practicing... well.” He let that one trail off. Even doing what he did, and knowing what he did, saying the “m”-word aloud by light of day, in English, seemed silly.

This didn’t seem to satisfy Sean, who pressed on, “Those guys in the pub, too. They seemed okay with it. I feel like I’m in some kind of mirror world-- I thought Ireland was like, ninety-nine percent Catholic or something.”

“I don’t fit into a few of the usual categories. I think by now everyone kind of expects me to be a little... unconventional. Anyway, I’m not public about it, but I don’t apologize, either. Maybe when I was younger.” Owen, especially, hadn’t been the most understanding when he’d first brought Michael home. Michael had always been the one who wanted to march in parades, get confrontational as a matter of principle. Without him, Cormac probably could have stayed in the closet his whole life, the type to make sure his ‘roommates’ always had their own bed even if it never got used. He sighed. “But it’s been a few years since then. I think anyone who still has a problem with it now knows better than to try saying anything to my face.”

“Because you’d hex them, right?” Sean joked. Something tight in Cormac’s chest seemed to unknot, at that: Sean’s easy acceptance. Stupid that he’d be standing here, waiting for Sean’s go ahead on his own damn life. He certainly hadn’t been looking for that from anyone else. “You know, do a little druid...ing?”

 From my novel co-written with Violetta Vane, working title The Hollow Hill, currently out on submission to Carina Press and Samhain Publishing. In which our heroes try to determine which aspect of Cormac's identity is more taboo.

Ah, Summer

We hardly knew ye.