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Wayne Gray

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Blog Entries posted by Wayne Gray

  1. Wayne Gray

    Another Ninety Days

    By Wayne Gray,

    I got the results of my blood work back a week and a half ago. I will go see my doctor to officially discuss them in a couple of weeks, but he messaged through our electronic health record. He applauded the twenty point drop on my cholesterol, but ... said that he'd still like me to consider statins. That the drop alone isn't enough to push me into the "normal" range for heart-attack risk.
    Well, I need one more data point to decide. If what I'm doing is working, even if it's slow ... then my cholesterol should be even lower the next time we check it. I replied with this, and reaffirmed that I'm still committed to this path. I also said I'd agree to take the meds if what I'm doing at the end of the next ninety-day period isn't enough to get me out of the red zone. Then after replying to his message, I walked over to his clinic a few blocks from my office.
    He agreed, with a bit of a headshake. The word "stubborn" may have been bandied about. So, at the end of May or the beginning of June I'll have another test.
    Coincidentally, I joined a CrossFit gym this week and I'll be making myself suffer for an hour a day, four days a week.
    If I can't get there with all that I'm doing now, then it's just not going to happen. And ... that's okay. But I need to know for sure before I start the meds.
  2. Wayne Gray

    Into the Oaty Unknown

    By Wayne Gray,

    tim shared his Apricot-Almond baked oatmeal recipe, and I thought ... "Yeah, there are eggs, cream and butter in it, but ... the oats and nuts will help with the cholesterol. It should be okay if I don't go crazy and eat half the pan. Okay, let's go to the store for ingredients!"
    Off I go. I spend forty minutes in total driving there, walking around with my barely acceptable "I don't care" hair, selecting stuff, then driving back home. Once back here, I begin the process of prepping the dried fruit and nuts. Then I put the dry ingredients together in a big bowl, while the wet ones and sugar are in the other.
    I'm very slow in the kitchen. I'm not afraid of it, I'm just plodding and methodical. One thing at a time is how I work. Music is playing, and I'm drinking a latte so, it's not exactly a bad time - I rather enjoyed myself, actually. Anyway ... another forty minutes go by before I'm done. I pour the dry ingredients into a 9x9 baking dish (as instructed) then pour the wet ingredients on top. By this point, I'm pretty proud of myself. I can tell, this is gonna be great.
    I turn to the oven, my dish of soon to be baking oaty deliciousness in hand.
    "Oh, shit. SHIT!"
    Our oven is broken. And I had literally spent almost an hour and a half gathering and preparing ingredients, only to remember the oven was busted right when I needed it.
    So ... now, two loaf pans of oaty unknown are probably not even close to the right temperature in an old, cantankerous toaster oven.
    Some days ... you just gotta laugh.
  3. Wayne Gray

    Week Three Begins

    By Wayne Gray,

    I now have two weeks under my belt, and I'm beginning week three of my workout/meal regimen. I'm still getting used to some things, but it's a lot easier to roll out of bed at 440 than it was when I started. So far I've lost four pounds and gained strength on the bench and under the bar. It's rare for me to do both at once. I am enjoying this combination of routine and meal planning.
    If you're interested at all, here's what I'm doing. I hid the details behind spoilers ... because, frankly, most just won't care. lol
    Meals
     
    Workout
     
    What I'm doing is working. It means going to bed early, getting up before the sun, closely monitoring my meals, and working really hard, but it's moving the needle in the direction it needs to go. More important is the fact that I can maintain this approach.
    I'm looking forward to the end of the week when I weigh in again. I've not been below 205 lbs in a while ... and I might hit that mark by Sunday.
     
  4. Wayne Gray

    Penance

    By Wayne Gray,

    I hate watching people tear down others for simply living their lives. You'd think that within the LGBTQ community we'd have figured out how hurtful and damaging it is to do this to one another, but we've still such a long way to go. Some of it is so very subtle.
    People who are pushed to the fringes of an already marginalized community have it the worst. They get used to little jabs, "good-natured" fun at their expense. Usually these come from the people who they depend on to understand the most - those under the LGBTQ umbrella. It's like, since we're different from the larger society that we have tacit permission to give those different from ourselves a hard time.
    When I was getting to know some of my friends here on GA, I listened to some of their struggles. I heard of scorn and judgment passed due to the lives they live - just being who they are. As I did, the following thoughts passed through my mind. "How could they do that to my friend? Can't they see that they're a part of the damn problems that our larger community deals with?!"
    It's so easy to look at the actions of others, judge them, and then skip any sort of self-reflection. I can't possibly be guilty. I'm good, I care. I can't be guilty of the very thing I despise.
    Right?
    No. Nope, I too am a part of the problem.
    In my last blog entry, in one of the comments I jokingly referred to a Dom as "Sir". I'm not a sub. I don't have the right. There's self-reflection, work, effort, natural inclination, and more involved in being a sub. There's a shared experience that I don't possess. It was an overstep. One I knew better than to take. It was something that showed a lack of respect to a piece that's integral to who he is - that belittled something important to him.
    I thought about removing it, but I won't. It's a mistake, and I want it there to remind me to just do better.
    I've already apologized to the people who matter. The only reason I put this entry here, now, is because I don't want people to see what I did and think it's okay. It's not.
    You don't play with certain things - not if you call yourself a friend.
  5. Wayne Gray

    Ninety Days

    By Wayne Gray,

    I recently went to the doctor. Had some routine blood tests done that I've not had in a long time.
    My vitamin D levels were low, while cholesterol and a test called CRP (c-reactive protein, a test that shows inflammation) were very high. Even though I work out hard, I'm predisposed to high cholesterol and heart disease.
    I have three months to knock my numbers down. If I can't do it on my own, then I go on meds for the rest of my life. I've always said that I won't do medication when hard work could fix something. Well, we're about to find out if I can do enough to fix this without meds. If not, I'll take them and be thankful that I get a shot at retirement thanks to the miracles of medicine.
    Ninety days. I have Ninety days.
    I'd better make 'em good.
  6. Wayne Gray

    DemiGay

    By Wayne Gray,

    Warning: If relationships that include sex with others apart from committed partners offends you then skip this entry.
    Like so many of us who have a non-hetero identity, I've done a lot of research on sexuality.  I've also researched for stories I write (particularly the one I'm currently posting, Camp Refuge).  One that I discovered while researching was demisexuality.  Here's urban dictionary's definition of it, and it works pretty well.  https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Demisexual
    In my younger days I had a lot of fun with many partners over the years (thank you, US Navy).  I never had any issues having sex with people I met for weekends in Seattle, or with other sailors.  It was all fun, physically satisfying, and a simple physical release.  No connection was needed or wanted on anybody's part.
    Now, after nine years of being with my husband, we've opened things up.  We include others when we're comfortable, and I get a lot of joy watching my husband have a great time with others.  But... I don't often get to join.  Objectively, I can look at these men and say to myself "Yes, they're handsome by societal standards.  Hot, even."  But there's no... fire for me.  It seemed my days of just hooking up were gone.
    Then Sam happened.  We met Sam in August, and we were both interested in him.  Sam showed a lot of interest in both of us, but I felt as if he focused a bit more on me.  I wanted so badly to make things happen with him, and... after a while, they did.  But he had to be patient, sweet, and thoughtful.  He was all of that.  When we said goodbye to him later, he asked if he could see us again.  Mind you, he lives three hours south of us on a farm.  So, that he'd ask was a happy surprise.
    He came back in September and this time he spent the whole weekend.  I found myself trusting him a bit more, reassured by his continued patience; as a result, things were firing on all cylinders.  At the end of his visit, he asked again if he could come see us.
    He's due back next week.  We're excited to see him, and more, I'm pretty sure he has taught me something about myself.
    Between Sam's visits, my husband and I have enjoyed the company of other men.  I truly do enjoy them, but mainly that enjoyment comes from watching my husband have a great time.
    Sam is different.  I can be with him in a similar way that I do my husband, and that made me wonder.  I wonder if I could have slowly shifted to need that emotional connection before I can really physically enjoy someone.  Can a person go from homosexual to DemiGay?  https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=DemiGay That's not an official sexuality, but it fits. 
    It's a lot to think through, it's a lot to consider.
    But, I do know this: I'm really looking forward to next week.
  7. Wayne Gray

    Houseboat Adventure

    By Wayne Gray,

    We’re now on the road, headed back from our house-boating vacation.
    The first thing we did was load everything onboard, then we got a crash course on not crashing the boat.  After our thirty-minute briefing, we pulled away from the dock and onto the open water of Shasta Lake.
    Our only goal was to have a good time.  To that end, we tooled along on the beautiful and sunny lake until we found a safe, secluded little inlet.
    We docked by motoring slowly forward and gently kissing the shore.  Then a couple of us jumped out and pounded a pair of long metal stakes firmly into the clay and rock, then we roped off to the stakes.
    Once safely moored, it was party-time.  We drank, prepared food, swam, kayaked, and floated on various devices.  This pattern held for three days, and all was great.
    Last night was our final one on the boat.  We found a new spot, and I noticed that our stakes were moving a bit.  We did our best with the rocky shore, and at last we went to bed.
    I woke at 2 a.m. because the boat was rocking side to side kinda hard.  There was a massive thunderstorm over us, and wind, water, lightning and great peals of thunder all served to announce the inclement weather.  I got up, and one stake had pulled completely free of the shore.  We were drifting toward the rocks, sideways.
    We go rushing out.  My buddy, Craig had the freed metal spike and a hammer.  “God, this is so dumb!” He yelled, and jumped into the water while lightning streaked across the sky overhead.  I agreed, and jumped in to help.
    While I’m pulling as hard as I can on the mooring rope to straighten the boat, Craig hammers away.  Finally, the spike is in and I’ve managed to turn the watercraft enough to avoid catastrophe.  We wrap the rope to the spike.
    At last, dripping wet and scraped from the rocks, we wearily reentered the boat.  After a toweling off and some first-aid we went to bed.  Luckily there were no more such events.
    The late-night unexpectedness was exciting, and we all still had fun.  If nothing else, I’ll never forget this trip.
  8. Wayne Gray

    Good Things are Coming

    By Wayne Gray,

    "Good Things are Coming"
    I stared down at the carefully written chalk letters on the sidewalk under my feet.  I was on a walk during my break, and I wondered why someone wrote such a message.
    I continued on my way.
    "Good Things are Coming"
    'Are they?'  I asked myself as I rounded the corner to head around the block and head back toward my office.  'Are they really?'  It's so hard to be positive sometimes.  I'll admit, I felt a little irritated at the blind, uninformed, and baseless hopeful message.  'How could you know?  You don't know.'
    "Good Things are Coming"
    I walked into the parking lot of my office building, and I saw someone leaving the place.  The man's face was red, he wore a frown, and he stormed across the parking lot to his car.  I caught a glimpse of a wadded piece of paper in his hand.
    'Lab bill.'  I know that blue, yellow and white form well.  I am the guy patients come to when they have a dispute, or when there's an error.  The sidewalk prognosticator was wrong.  This was like the opposite of a good thing.
    "Excuse me, sir?"  I flagged the man down as he's about to get into his beat up Toyota.  "Did someone help you?"
    "No," he growled.  He held the bill up, presumably so I could see, but he shook it around so much I couldn't read it.  "Nobody in there knows what to do, and now even with my insurance, I've got a six hundred dollar bill for my lab tests."  He shook his head.  "I never would have agreed to get them if I knew how much they'd cost."  I noticed that the man was dressed in clean, but worn clothes.  His hands were wide from years of manual labor of some sort.  I got it.  He was someone who couldn't afford that cost.
    "Well, can I ask you to come back inside?"  I stepped forward and extended my hand.  "I'm Wayne.  I'm our Lab Manager.  Maybe there's a way I can help you with this."
    He blinked, then he gripped my hand.  "Gerald."  From that distance I saw the worry on his face.  "I really hope you can help, because I don't know how I'll pay it."
    I took him inside and up to my office.  We sat, and I looked through his chart, dug up his financial information that we had on file.  Turned out there was an error when he was registered and his insurance wasn't correct.  After some phone calls with his updated insurance information, the amount he owed on his lab bill dropped to $72.
    I walked him out to his car.  There, he shook my hand again.  "Thank you."  I could tell he was relieved.  "You turned a terrible day into a good one.  So, thank you."
    I waved and smiled as he drove away.  I turned to go back into the building, and then realization slammed into me and I barked a laugh.
    "Good Things are Coming"
  9. Wayne Gray

    Proof of Concept

    By Wayne Gray,

    In Fleeting Eternity, Tad, one of the main characters is an artist.  He drew in a graphic novel style, and he depicted many of his experiences in a sequential way - essentially creating a wordless, "novel" of his life over the span of a few years.
    So many readers asked if the story was based on something I had read, if there was such a book.  It made me think about the possibilities, and mourn my lack of skill with drawing.
    I'm nothing if not stubborn, so I thought around the problem.  I purchased a good digital camera, and I subscribed to a photo editing program I had already learned to use (it has a free version I had tinkered with for over a year).  And now, I'm trying things out.
    Graphic Novel Project - Proof of Concept
    I really like the first panel.  The goal, eventually, will be to tell a wordless story.  One anybody can follow, one told within the pages of a comic book length work (about 22 pages, 3-4 panels a page).
    First, I have Silverwolf to finish.  But, once that's done, then it will be time to truly focus and see what it is I can do with visual elements alone.
    Maybe I should stick to words, I don't know.  But, I'll never know unless I try.
    I'm gonna try.
  10. Wayne Gray
    Last night, I wasn't in the best place.  Introverted, still sort of spinning.  But, wildlife doesn't care about my moods.
    Our chickens were restless.  It was dusk, and we went out to investigate.  I spied a little skunk - small enough to squeeze between the wire that made up the chicken run trying to hide in the darkness of the run.  So we're out there, trying to get this little confused, scared critter out of our chicken run AND avoid getting sprayed.  Kevin grabs a wire door, to block off part of the run we don't want it to scamper through.
    Well, he tripped.  He smacked on the concrete walkway, cracking a rib.  But, worse... he really slammed his toe into the side of the walkway.
    When my husband takes a tumble, he does it right.  I'm watching his ribs, to make sure the bruise there doesn't grow.  But there's nothing to be done for a broken toe other than tape it up and let it heal.  It's sad to say, but a baby skunk really did a number on Kevin.
    Oh.  Don't fret.  The skunk is fine.  We saw it again tonight... the little bugger.

  11. Wayne Gray

    Allowed to Break

    By Wayne Gray,

    There are days when you just show up.  Days when you do what you must, hating every iota of effort spent, every word spoken, every interaction.  Days when all you want to do is hide, but you can't.
    So you straighten your spine, raise your head, put on the expected show.  You - "Fake it till you make it."  Sometimes, a smile at a terrible joke from a coworker is so hard, it feels like you'll crack.  But you know it's expected... so you do it.  When someone asks how you're doing, you have to suppress the flash of irritation you feel, because they don't want to know.  Not really.  The smile comes again... "Fine."  Somehow your voice is steady.  You're good at the game.
    Finally make it through the day... your adulting duties are done.  There's a sanctuary in your vehicle.  You're alone, and you can't even bear to turn on music.  You just need quiet, and to be still.
    You get home.  Your partner isn't there yet, but it shouldn't be long.  You go in, slide into your chair and sit.  The mind is still swirling with thoughts, and your belly flutters with stress.  You frown at yourself, annoyed at your own mind, and your lack of ability to "deal" with what is there.
    The door rattles.  You avoid looking at it.  They'll know, and there's no reason to worry them.
    "Hey!"  Happy greeting from the newly opened portal.
    The door closes, and you glance over your shoulder.  "Hey."  You try, but the inflection in your voice isn't quite what is expected.
    A frown from your person.  They step into the room, stand beside you sitting in the chair.  "What's going on?  You okay?"
    You look up at them, feel something in your chest... the knot there wants to unravel, but that'd mean dragging them into your pain.  You force a smile.  "Yeah."
    They cock their head, a little frown.  Your heart beats a bit faster - they don't believe you.  A gentle hand extends and rubs the back of your neck.  "Really?"
    You swallow.  That knot slowly begins to pull apart.  "I... nothing's wrong."  You slump, and they continue to gently stroke the skin of your neck.  "There's no reason to feel this way."
    Your person is quiet, their fingers pass gently over the nape of your neck.  It feels nice.  You know they're used to seeing you happy.  You're usually the one to brighten things, to make things better.  Well, not today.  Today you're broken, and you just can't be anything else.
    "I'm sorry," you murmur, miserable that you'd drag your love down with you.  "I'm fine.  Just feeling sorry for myself."
    "Hey."  They kneel before you, hands on both sides of your face.  There's an understanding smile that grows on those beautiful lips.  "It's okay."  Those eyes you've admired for so long fill with fondness and concern.  "You're allowed to have a bad day."  They run those feather light fingers over your face.  "So long as I'm allowed to have it with you."
    ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜
    I'm a lucky man.  Being allowed to break is something valuable - something beyond words.  I have that in my husband.
    It doesn't have to be a partner.  It can be a friend, a close coworker, or a family member.  It can even be someone you trust over the wires of the internet.  But, we all need this.  We all need someone we can show our belly to... someone we can be vulnerable with.  Someone who will accept us at our worst, and enjoy us at our best.
    You're allowed to break.
  13. Wayne Gray

    Home

    By Wayne Gray,

    It's a drizzly Friday morning on the northern coast of California.  Banks of low clouds blend into fog blanketing the forests of what has become my home.  Big, brainy, loud ravens shatter the quiet as they bicker at one another in the field beside my work.  Still, I'm amazed by the serenity, peace, and beauty of this place.  I love the green, the fog, the wetness and the cool.
    I love our trees - the tallest in the world.  Walking among them instills wonder in me, even after thirteen years of living here.  They sway, their tops moving over twenty feet in the wind.  It's like watching giants silently dance to some unheard beat.
    There are so many things I miss about Kentucky - where I'm from.
    But... this place...
    It's home.
  14. Wayne Gray
    Until today, I have never done a writing prompt.
    In true fashion, I chose a weird, silly, off-the-wall start to writing prompts.  See the little, ~750 word story behind the link if you want a giggle.
    Demonic Dentistry
  15. Wayne Gray

    The Best of Us

    By Wayne Gray,

    It's so easy to be worn down by the world.  There are so many bad stories, a crushing amount of awful news, that it is just overwhelming if you allow it.
    So I tend to find and focus on the possible good that people can do.
    I'll stop here.  The story speaks for itself.

  16. Wayne Gray

    Many Hells

    By Wayne Gray,

    There are many battles and many Hells.
    To those who have walked through their own torment and are still here - don't let anybody say that you "should just move on."
    Just because they've not been tested doesn't give them the right to belittle how hard you had to fight to survive.
    You're still here.  That makes you a warrior.  The others?  The ones who don't know?  Lucky them.  Let them sit cocooned in their soft world.
    But we know, don't we?

  17. Wayne Gray
    I'm a nice guy.
    I think about how others feel, consider their beliefs, and I try to be respectful in as many things as I can.
    So when I write I do my best to adhere to those same principals.  Yet, therein lies a limitation.
    Not rocking the boat of the reader, not challenging their beliefs, not forcing them to grow is a failing.  It's one that I struggle to move beyond, and it has kept me from posting work.  I know some of the things I've written will simply not pass muster for some readers who are decidedly experts in their own slice of experience - an experience I seek to depict as an integral part of my story.
    A friend had to remind me that I'm not claiming to be an authority.  That I am only showing the lives and struggles of my characters, and not staking ownership on the only path.  I've put in the work.  I've done my diligence, and it's time to set it free.
    Anyway, this one means a lot to me.  It means a lot.   Maybe that's a part of why I have such a tremendous trepidation around turning it loose.  The pictures embedded in most of the scenes are part and parcel of the work, which is why I am only linking it from my Google drive vs posting.  By the way, Pexels is a fantastic place to dig up free to use pictures for your own artistic endeavors, and BeFunky was the program I used to tinker with them and add captions.
    Fleeting Eternity
    It can be a tough story to read.  There's a lot of emotion here, but I love how it turned out.
    So, here we go.  As terrifying as it is, I'm setting it free.
  18. Wayne Gray

    Bluegrass Symphony

    By Wayne Gray,

    I miss many things about Kentucky.  And though it took a while, I finally realized what it is that I truly long to experience again.
     
    Let's start with what I don't miss - the people.  Those are the most mixed bag when it comes to my thoughts of my home state.  I've met some of the most honest, hard-working, and caring people there.  Yet, I've also run into some awful apples.  They were judgmental, hardened by poverty and suffering from a lack of opportunity - all of which conspired to make some men and women folks you'd never want to know.  I know this sounds awful, but I can take or leave most of those living there.  That's not where the magic is for me.
     
    What I miss the most is the place itself.  Stepping out onto the porch in the late afternoon of July, you're hit by the humidity, temperatures in the upper eighties, and my memory of those experiences takes me right back there.
     
    But, mostly ... it's the sound.  There's nothing like that sound.  Summer in my homeland is green, vibrant, and thrumming with the constant reminder of life.  The forests of northern California, where I live now are solemn, silent cathedrals.  But Kentucky gently roars with a symphony of birds, cicadas, grasshoppers, and crickets.
     
    That's what I really miss.  I miss the symphony.
  19. Wayne Gray

    Here We Go

    By Wayne Gray,

    This week I began a new workout regimen.  I was sick of excuses I make when I can't make it to the gym, so I wanted something I can do anywhere.  No excuses then, right?
    I planned out a mostly bodyweight routine.  I have simple equipment on hand too - two 35 lb kettlebells,  a yoga mat for when I need to be on the floor, push-up bars to keep my wrists happy, and a pull-up bar above our bedroom doorway.  I'm focusing on increasing the work done in the same span of time.  I am not interested in suffering longer; I want to suffer more in the same amount of time.  This is a Crossfit concept, and it's how actors get into crazy shape in a short period.  I'm not doing this because I want a shortcut.  I'm doing it because I only have so much time to devote to working out.
    I'm forcing myself to be sensible.  This first week, I'm taking a lot of time between sets and resting.  I don't WANT to.  I want to throw myself at it, and go wild.  That's who I am - I'm either black or white, on or off.  But, I know better.  I know I'll be so sore that I can't continue until I recover for a week.  Which utterly defeats the purpose.  I'm 44.  I need to act like it.
    Anyway, I'm still sore.  Nothing extreme, but it's all over.  Back, chest, shoulders, ass, legs, abs all have a low-grade sort of buzz of soreness.  It's nice.  It's precisely what I crave when I work out.  It might sound like a strange "reward," but it works for me.
    It's fun.
    Except for burpees.  Burpees suck.
  20. Wayne Gray
    With all my free time (hahaha!) I've been going through a hard edit of Camp Refuge.  It's sort of the story where I found my favorite subject matter.  It was where I decided I was no longer a writer of "porn with plot", but rather "erotica with purpose".
    Head-hopping became my enemy after Camp Refuge.  I realized that I did it a lot, and I felt I had to eliminate it in order to improve, and grow.  So I did (mostly).
    Yet, as I edit and as more players are added to the mix in Camp Refuge, I have begun to realize that I cannot rid the story of it.  Something would fundamentally change in the telling and not all for the better.  Yes, I'd be able to replace a lot of proper names with pronouns if I head-hopped less.  But... the reader wouldn't get to see the differences between what Jeremy and Mason are thinking, right in the same scene.  They wouldn't get to want to choke Clay for diving down the dark hole of fear, while his son is happy as a lark and unaware of how much his father is hurting.
    Simply stated: the story would lose something vital.
    Right now I build scenes linearly, in a single character's perception.  Sometimes it's the MC, sometimes it's a raccoon, but it's always a single perception.  It's easy, structured, and simple to read.
    I'm rethinking it.  Because, though Camp Refuge needs help in many ways, ridding it of head-hopping doesn't seem to be one.
  21. Wayne Gray

    Broken, but Good

    By Wayne Gray,

    I started rereading a story I wrote a while back.
    Camp Refuge is such a keystone for me.  It has so many good things going for it, embedded in a package of terrible mechanics.  I'm going to try and explain what I mean.
    I began it to help a reader who had written while I was in the process of releasing Guarded on another site.  He was recently diagnosed with HIV, and he was wrecked.  I'll never forget the last two lines he ever wrote to me - "Who could love me now?  Who could possibly love me now?"
    I was a chapter away from finishing Guarded when I got that email, and I started Camp Refuge immediately after Guarded was done.  I had to.  I had to show him that he deserved love, acceptance, and peace.  He never wrote again, and as I released chapters, I wondered if he even saw them.
    But, something started to happen around that story.  Other's wrote.  People who were HIV+, demisexuals, gray asexuals, trans folks, people suffering from depression, those who had been abused... they all reached out.  I got some of them to explore getting treatment locally, even had our HIV nurse and a case manager reach out directly to a few who consented to such.  I began to realize that it was bigger than the beginning.  It made me understand something scary, and thrilling, all at once.
    It was the very first time I realized that my words have power.
    Rereading it now, I know I can't put it on GA.  Not yet.  I head-hop soooo much; it's almost laughable.  But, the bones are there.  It has a good skeleton.  In the words of the esteemed Stitch, the story is "Broken but Good".
    I think it deserves to simply be "good".
    Another project... urgh.
  22. Wayne Gray

    Howl at the Moon

    By Wayne Gray,

    I'm pissed.
    Maybe I shouldn't be. Perhaps I should expect less; I don't know.
    I post work on multiple sites.  Well, on a different site I've built a reputation as a sort of HEA, feel-good, everybody wins writer.  I guess I should have known to post my aggressive, erotic story Silverwolf there would throw people (even though I put a warning on the first chapter to explain it was very different from my usual offering).
    I am utterly fine getting emails to say that "Hey, this isn't my thing, but I'll wait for Bluegrass Symphony."  I got a few of those, and they were cool.  I replied to thank them and moved on to do my thing.
    Then the shit started.  About a dozen people emailed explicitly to try and get me to stop writing Silverwolf because it's "awful."  Nothing constructive.  No actual critique I could use to improve my work.  These were designed, specifically to discourage me from writing Silverwolf and to focus only on Bluegrass Symphony.
    You know what?  I'm finishing Silverwolf.  I'm up to chapter ten on Bluegrass Symphony, and that's where it'll stay for a while.
    They can choose to read or not, but I'm now convinced it's time to howl at the moon.
    P.S. No, I'm not thinly veiling that the readership of GA has been problematic.  Y'all ain't the problem and have been great every step of the way.  I also don't want to give the impression that I don't want constructive feedback.  I DO.  What I'm describing is something else - something unhelpful, and intended to be discouraging.
  23. Wayne Gray
    I was driving on the way to our most remote site, and this melody/lyrics began to play in my brain.  So I pulled off, recorded it, then continued on my way.
    https://drive.google.com/open?id=1kzx9g8bKyTRl4pzA_OC42FGXN42vo5-n
    I’ll decide later if it’s worth trying to flesh out into a complete song.  Maybe ask my buddy who does Folk singing for a living what he thinks.
    Till then, is the melody familiar to anybody?  It’d suck to think it’s mine when it’s not.
  24. Wayne Gray

    The Strong One

    By Wayne Gray,

    I've always been the helper - the strong one.
     
    I'm the one people go to, to be heard.  I'm the one people know can handle more.  I carry my load, and then yours, and theirs, and the world's too.
     
    But today, I didn't want to get out of bed.  I feel like there's a band of iron around my chest like the world is crushing me.  There's no reason, and if there's no reason then there's no fix.
     
    There's nobody in my life who I can lean on, simply because I've never asked that of anyone.  Fuck, I'm the one they all lean on.  Nobody expects to have to do that for me.
     
    Why would they?
     
    I'm the strong one.
  25. Wayne Gray

    Well Adjusted?

    By Wayne Gray,

    "You know, for a guy who grew up in Kentucky, you seem pretty well adjusted to the whole gay thing."
     
    I thought about what Greg had said as I drove home.  I hadn't replied other than to smile and nod.  What would he feel if I told him all of it?  I toyed with the idea, but it was too early for that.  He didn't need to know just how damaged I was.
     
    Regardless of my choice to keep the entirety of the truth from Greg, I couldn't stop it from replaying in my mind.  It was just as well.  I had hours to go before I was home.
     
    ____________________________________________________
     
    I was raised Southern Baptist in the foothills of the Appalachian mountains.  Fire and brimstone were a part of my world, and variation from the word of God was a sure path to damnation.  That's how this begins.
     
    Something drove me to join the US Navy.  I was seventeen years old, and I had never been away from home. Yet I signed up for a six-year stint in the military.  I was terrified to go, but something in me knew that I couldn't stay.  The Navy was my way out, and I took it.
     
    I made a fantastic sailor because I was great at doing what I was told.  I didn't let myself think all that much, and I just acted on the orders given.  Something is freeing and therapeutic about a lack of choice.  I know that sounds counterintuitive, but it allowed me to function during a time when my mind wasn't ready for the processing it would need to do later.
     
    My first duty station after a year of training as a Hospital Corpsman (essentially a medic) and some additional schooling was Okinawa Japan.  I was eighteen, and I quickly found a fellow named Chris who needed a roommate for his apartment off-base.  We also worked together, so it was great.

    That first year was good.  I got to know Chris well, and I came to feel for him an amount of fondness I'd later know as love.  At the time I didn't know better.  I just thought we were best friends.
     
    We even shared a bed.  That was fine until the morning I woke, and Chris had his arm around me.  He had turned in his sleep, and it was purely innocent (Chris was straight, through and through).  I lay there, more turned on than I had ever been in my life.  I had no understanding of why - and I told myself it was merely the fact that another person was touching me in a somewhat intimate way.  That if it were a girl, I would have reacted the same.
     
    After that, I insisted we sleep in different beds.  I was deeply disturbed that my body behaved in such a manner.  I even paid half for his bed, and we put it together.  All was well again, for a time.
     
    A few months passed, and Chris met Gina.  They hit it off.  A part of me wanted to be happy for him, but by far the most consuming emotion I felt was a burning ache of jealousy.
     
    I tried hard to find someone of my own.  I was still a virgin.  I dated girls, but none of them made me feel anything at all.  Chris and Gina continued to try and set me up on dates, and eventually, I came to dread them.
     
    There's only so long that a person can deny the truth.  My moment came to me, just after I had turned twenty years old.  I lay in bed.  It was two a.m., and I couldn't sleep.  I had work that morning at six, so I sat up and said aloud, "What is wrong with me?"
     
    The answer struck like a bolt of lightning.  It slammed into me, the undeniable truth, and I sat there, stunned.  It was the worst possible thing I could have imagined, and I couldn't fix it.  I couldn't make it go away.
     
    Something broke.  Something just snapped in my mind.  I don't remember deciding to do this, but I got up, went to the bathroom, and I took down a package of Bic razors.  Chris and I had just bought a new set of six, so I had plenty to work with.
     
    I started with my head.  Shaving cream, all through my short hair, and I scraped it all off with one razor.  After that, it was dull as hell, so I tossed it.  Then I moved on to the next.  My chest was next, then arms, legs, and groin.  Why I saved it for last, I have no idea, but by the time five a.m. rolled around, the only thing left was a tiny patch of hair on my belly.  As I was shaving that last bit, Chris surprised me.
     
    "What the fuck are you doing?!?"  He stood at the doorway to the bathroom, gaping at me.
     
    Imagine for a moment what he saw - twenty year old me, completely naked and hairless, covered in splotches of shaving cream.  I jumped when he spoke, and I snapped the razor I had been using against my belly.  I frowned down at the cut I made, dabbed it with some toilet paper, and very calmly spoke, "I'm shaving."  Then I picked up the last razor and continued.
     
    Chris blinked.  "Are you all right?"
     
    "I'm fine."  I finished up, rinsed the razor, and put it on the sink.  I looked at him.  "I'll buy more razors today."  Then I toweled off and walked past him to get my clothes on for work.
     
    The next six months I lived in this weird state.  A few nights a week I would go up to the top of our building, and stare down at the concrete six floors down.  The scary thing now is how fearless I was at the time.  I only had one worry - and that was if the fall would actually kill me.  I didn't want to live through that, because I'd have to tell people why I jumped.  My logic was - since there's nothing I could do to fix me, and I was going to go to hell, then why wait?
     
    I got sick of living that way.  So, one night I decided that I was going to either do a swan dive off of my building or learn to live with being gay.  Unbeknownst to my sister, I decided that however she reacted would do it.  It took the choice from me since I couldn't seem to make it.
     
    I worked nights at the Blood Donor Center on the island, and I called my sister in the middle of my shift.  She picked up and immediately knew something was wrong.
     
    "Bub, what's wrong?"  I could hear it in her voice.  She was worried, and I had barely spoken.
     
    "Sis, I've got something to tell you."
     
    She was quiet for a beat, then she said it.  "You're gay."
     
    It wasn't even a surprise to me that she knew.  There were only a few things which could warrant the tone in my voice, and that was one of them.  I nodded, "Yeah."
     
    There are these moments in other lives where we have a tremendous amount of power, and she exercised hers without even knowing it.  "Well, bub, that's okay."
     
    And that was how my sister saved my life.
    ____________________________________________________
     
    I pulled up to my apartment in Ridgecrest, California.  Finished with the drive, I was tired.  But the weekend with Greg was fun, and he was worth the time and effort of the trip.  As I unlocked my door, I smiled slightly.
     
    "Well adjusted."  I shook my head, entered, and kicked the door shut.
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