JamesSavik

This is fun. Needs a little editing and remember that some New Zealand details might need a little translation for us barbarians.

My anthology entry is Getting to the Happily Ever After.

I'm beginning to really dislike Jason. He doesn't know jack about people. It would take me about 20 seconds to spot the signs of serious trauma in that kid.

Redemption by me --> http://www.gayauthors.org/story/jamessavik/redemption-js Sneak peek @ http://www.gayauthors.org/forums/topic/39752-redemption/

In a convent in Ireland , the 98-year-old Mother Superior lay dying. The nuns gathered around her bed trying to make her last journey comfortable. They tried giving her warm milk to drink but she refused it. One of the nuns took the glass back to the kitchen. Then, remembering a bottle of Irish Whiskey that had been received as a gift the previous Christmas, she opened it and poured a generous amount into the warm milk. Back at Mother Superior's bed, they held the glass to her lips. The frail nun drank a little, then a little more and before they knew it, she had finished the whole glass down to the last drop. As her eyes brightened, the nuns thought it would be a good opportunity to have one last talk with their spiritual leader. "Mother," the nuns asked earnestly, "Please give us some of your wisdom before you leave us." She raised herself up in bed on one elbow, looked at them and said: "DON'T SELL THAT COW."

This song plays a key role in my upcoming story. My victim... err, protagonist has suffered a trauma and breaks down whenever he hears it.

Redemption God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know better. That’s my version of the serenity prayer. You see— I know what can be changed, what can’t and all that groovy shit. My problem is that I can be a dumb ass sometimes. I figure there are a lot worse things to pray for than knowing better, and that skill can save you a lot of grief. They say I have impulse control problems. Li

Addiction is easy. Recovery is a lot more complicated.

The crisis passed. I wrote my blog entry. I didn't find a bottle or a handful of pills. Life on lifes terms: That's the rules. We only fuck ourselves if we break it. Exhausted I went to sleep and it was over. I gave you a glimpse at some of the snakes in my head and I'm sorry. Nobody should have that in their head. I should delete this abomination and not inflict it on anyone else but it has always been here and so have I. Yeah- I know. I'm post-traumatic. I saw someone for it for three year and I got a lot better than I used to be but just when you think they're gone they pop up again and give you a stab. Here- this helps: [media]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gggaP8zF5DA[/media

It's 4:30am again and I haven't slept. I've got to be up in 3 hours and I'm screwed. There's danger in writing about old times. Sometimes you wake up old demons that you wished you had left alone. I'm going to warn you that if you go past the spoiler you're going to read something shitty. It's one of my nightmares that comes back from time to time to torment me. I try to keep it in a little box and never take it out but sometimes it escapes and it haunts me to this very day. I don't know what to do with this. It's something that comes up and messes with me from time to time. If there's a hell- for me that was it.

I'm a softy. I would have bought them a cone if they weren't being jerks.

That reminds me of Calvin & Hobbes!

Here's another one Anybody that has had to deal with addiction knows how deep the rot goes. You surround yourself with other addicts and you have to completely remove yourself from it to have any chance at cleaning up. It's possible to do but you will always hurt for the ones that are consumed and can't escape.

This topic sat here and made me mad. Now I'm gonna kick its ass. There's a real good reason why you don't want to date someone who is in the closet: they will never commit to you. If there is something so big in their life that it makes them deny themselves, where exactly do you think that you will fit in? To the gentleman in the closet, your relationship is a scandal or an embarrassment. I know I've been there and made this very same mistake. In Mississippi, the homophobia runs deep. It plays real games with peoples heads. I've been in a couple of relationships where the guy is ashamed after sex. Wanna talk about a real turd in your ego-punchbowl? The way these people think, you are a dirty little hobby. If you get noticed, you are disposable. Do you know what it feels like to be disposable? It's one of the crueler things that can happen to a person and surprise- our brothers in the closet living comfortable lies do it to us all the time. It's one of those blows that leave permanent marks. Like I said: I've been there and done that. I'm not disposable and I won't be anybodies dirty little secret. Please understand: I'm not judging YOU. I just want you to be clear on where you stand when you date inside the closet.

There's one for me. Pretty obvious it's about loss. Share your song. Let the pain out.

Are you willing to date someone that doesn't want to be seen with you in public? Are you willing to be someones dirty little secret? You know that's not going to work.

And Titus Andronicus was a cooking show. A rather ghastly one...

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He's a nice looking kid with great smile and a ton of charisma. Big time careers have been built on much less.

<comment removed ==> blog @ https://www.gayauthors.org/forums/blog/38/entry-14966-gay-novels/

What makes a novel "gay"? A Rainbow binding? Tiny feather Boas? Magic twinkie dust? Leather on the HARD back? What percent of gay sex, campyness, kitchy slang, innuendo or gossip does it take? I have a strange idea that no novels are gay. They may have gay content, they may have sex, they may even have gay characters but the novel itself isn't gay. It should stand alone on its own merits. Like a person, a novel should have its own character, integrity and ideals. It should define itself in its message- not its sexuality. We do ourselves a great disservice by drawing a circle and throwing our art inside. It tends to create the very kind ghetto of thought that we all seek to avoid. I look forward to the day when gay themes, characters and even romance hardly merit attention. They are defined simply as romance, mystery, action, sci-fi and westerns.

That's good enough for my purposes. Still need to know how old you had to be to get your license back then. Wasn't it 16?

New story for winter anthology. Sneaky Peek: ___________ It’s funny how life can change in an instant. One event can change everything that follows. That moment arrived for Randy Austin Taylor, affectionately known as “Rat” by his many friends at Denton Academy, on a sunny Tuesday afternoon during his fifth period Geometry class on May 16, 1978. He was summoned to the office by one of the girls who worked there. His anxiety was heightened by the way she spoke quietly to his teacher and looked at him sideways. That look spoke volumes. As he took the long walk to the office he tried to think of anything that he might have done to merit the attention of Vice Principle Maxwell. His primary duty was to tend to disciplinary matters at the Academy which he did with gusto. A large paddle nicknamed Old Hickory with which he tended to such matters was prominently displayed in his office. When he arrived at the main office, he was greeted warmly by the school secretary Mrs. Shannon and was directed to Principle Van Zant’s Office. For a moment he felt better about matters. Van Zant never bothered with disciplinary matters except in his own Civics and Texas History classes. His role was “good cop” in contrast to Maxwell. Everything changed when he walked into Van Zant’s office. Mr. Van Zant was sitting behind his desk with somber expression. Sitting in chairs around the room was his father’s law partner Brad Miloy, a uniformed Texas Ranger and the school nurse Shelly McBride. Van Zant rose and said, “Randy, please take a seat. I’m afraid we have the worst kind of news for you.” Randy’s mind was racing as he sat down in the big chair. Brad Miloy said, “Get hold of yourself Randy. This is as bad as it gets. I got here as soon as I could.” Randy was really shaken up by this point and said, “What has happened?” The Texas State Trooper said, “I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this son. Today at a little past one your mother and father were headed north to Denton on Highway 7 when traffic slowed for an accident. They were rear ended and killed instantly by a tractor-trailer.” ____________________________________________________ Tune into the Winter Anthology for more!