Writer's Life

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Gale Stanley's The Bathhouse

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Join me in welcoming Gale Stanley and her book, The Bathhouse!

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THE BATHHOUSE is a gay, multicultural, second chance romance. Enjoy!

BLURB

Reed Barton is a millionaire who can have anything he wants, except the one thing he desires most. His first love. He’s spent years trying to recreate the night they met in a San Francisco bathhouse. The image of the beautiful Filipino man who took his virginity is never far from his thoughts.

Reed’s life is turned upside down when his long-lost love reappears -- and not in a good way. Joseph Castro is not quite what he seems. Time and experience have changed both men, and there’s no going back. But maybe, together, they can go forward.

Add to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/167085037-the-bathhouse

EXCERPT

The service center looked much as Reed remembered it. His eagle-eyed inspection didn’t miss much as he made his way around the crowded cubicles. Some workers weren’t as attentive as others and he made note of them.

Glancing up, he caught sight of a man entering a cubicle at the end of the aisle. Their eyes met and a shock of recognition hit Reed like a tidal wave.

No. It couldn’t be. Could it? Oh, God, let it be him.

The Filipino gave the barest nod of recognition and disappeared behind the wall of his workspace and just like that the years melted away and their night together seemed like only yesterday.

Reed’s heart beat fast and hard. Foolishly, he wondered if Babyboy felt the same electric charge that he did. Wishful thinking. More likely, the Filipino remembered him as just another encounter from the distant past. Did Reed want to find out? Yes, he needed to know. Reed took a few deep breaths and pulled himself together. It would be wrong to show too much interest in an employee. He forced himself to continue his tour and when he reached the man’s cubicle, he looked inside. The nameplate on the desk said Joseph Castro.

Joseph Castro had his headset on, apparently helping a customer. Reed stood transfixed, watching the Filipino at work. Joseph spoke calmly in slightly accented English that seemed to caress each word. It had been years, but Reed found himself getting hot just thinking of how that voice had whispered dirty talk in his ear.

Joseph ended his call and looked up. “Hello, Pogi.”

The words were so soft, Reed wondered if he’d really heard them. He mouthed back. “Babyboy.”

Joseph sighed, but didn’t speak another word. They stared at each other and it felt like a scene from a cheesy movie, where the room fades to a blur while the two heroes connect in a powerful silent dialog. Despite the intervening years, the emotions that washed over Reed were familiar. Caught in a time warp, Reed felt as if summer had finally arrived after a long severe winter.

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Love is all we need…And books, of course.

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In celebration of Pride Month, here is a selection of books, many with LGBT themes and/or protagonists. Let's let June 2023 be a reminder that we all deserve affirmation and the right to life, liberty and pursuit of happiness. Love, afterall, is love, isn't it?

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The Business of Writing

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I’ve been a writer for a long time. It started with journaling, then publishing and writing for a free, underground fanfic newsletter called Hot Chocolate. For me, writing has always been a necessary joy. Stories roll around in my head all the time and sometimes, they consume me. The result? House of the Rising Son, After Midnight, and the soon to be released, Waiting for the Son, and every short story I’ve ever written.

In looking to have House published, I discovered an unfortunate truth: Writing is a business.

Of course, I knew selling was part of it. I didn’t know the first of that selling was selling the story to a publisher. Most people think that publishers do everything. They sure do a lot, but most publishers don’t help much with marketing. But for a writer, marketing is Job #: Planning, Promotion, Social Media, and more.1. I had a lot of learning to do. At this point, I spend 5-10 hours a week on one marketing activity or another. I’m getting pretty good at some of them. Still don’t like marketing much.

I’m currently planning the launch of my 3rd novel, Waiting for the Son. I’m also working on a new short story, plotting the next book in the Living After Midnight series, and plotting another series. It’s too early to say to much about it except that the working title is Six +1. Look for it in the next year!

Onward. I have a launch to organize.

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I Found Them When I Needed Them.

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Music has always been an important part of my life. It lifts me up when I am sad, makes me think about life, and entertains me endlessly. For many years, Prince fueled my music obsession. If you want to know why and are new to L.A.M.,I talk about it here. It Was Always Love.

When he died in 2016, I was lost. For many years after that, I couldn’t bring myself to listen to any music at all. The world, formerly filled with vibrant colors, looked and felt gray. Then one day, years later, I was watching television and a cell phone commercial came on. Seven guys with multi-colored hair were singing and dancing. Honestly, their look first attracted me. Each one had a different type of handsome. Actually, I’d say beautiful.

But something about their voices and the way they moved hooked me.

It didn’t take much research to find out who they were: The K-pop phenom, BTS. Bangtan Sonyeondan. The more I listen to them, the further down the rabbit hole I went. It was crazy! Unlike the song I first heard them sing in the commercial, most of their songs are in Korean. But it doesn’t matter. Their lyrics are powerful. Their voices fill me with so much joy. Their melodies move me. They write and produce manyof their songs.

And those guys can dance.

If you’re thinking KPop is just for kids, give this group a listen. If you think KPop idols are just kids themselves, check them out. For now, BTS is on a long-term hiatus, taking off a few years to complete their mandatory military service. Although they aren’t performing as a group, each member is going his own way as they await their enlistment dates. They’re making solo albums, modeling, and becoming high-visibility brand ambassadors for upscale clothing and jewelry. No reason to miss them yet.

It was time for a break, I suppose. They’ve been in the music business since 2013. In some ways, I’m sorry I wasn’t following them back then, but the word among fans is that you find BTS when you need them the most. Today, just as I was one of Prince’s hardcore fans, I am now a certified Army—the name for BTS’s most dedicated fans. It amazes me still that like Prince, BTS— Jin, Suga, J-Hope, RM, Jimin, V, and Jungkook—saved me.

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Desperately Seeking Cookies

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I know, I know. Today is Mother’s Day. It’s a hard day for me for many reasons. So to distract myself, I’ve made a big batch of chocolate chip cookies.

I’ve made the same Tollhouse chocolate chip cookies for longer than I want to admit. In all that time, I can tell you they taste delicious but don’t usually look the way they do in cookbooks or on recipe pages. They’re flat, soft (I like that part), and in all versions of imperfect ovals.

I’m looking for as close to a foolproof recipe as is possible. Nothing that requires rolling—I’m not a fan. But definitely the recipe that you find produces the BEST cookies in terms of taste, texture, and appearance.

I hope someone rises to the challenge.

It Was Always Love

This is a slightly modified version of a postI wrote as I processed Prince’s sudden death in 2016. There is still a hole in my heart. I miss sharing the planet with him. Reposting is a part of how I honor him today.

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I'm a writer. There has always been something cathartic in telling a story. So in the midst of incredible sadness I am sharing my story with you.

My partner says that she went to the movies with a friend one day to see whatever show happened to be playing and ended up seeing Purple Rain, a movie that changed her forever. From that moment on she was obsessed--still is--and thanks Prince for much of the joy she's had in her life.

My path was not as direct. He had to touch my life three times before I paid attention.

1979

Thank you for a funky time, call me  up...

On my way to high school driving the first of two cars given to me by my father, the song I Wanna Be Your Lover came on. The music was okay, but the lyrics made my head spin. Chock full of double entendres (I wanna be the only one to make you come...running), I couldn't get it out of my head for days. But trying to balance my perfectionist compulsion with wanting to fit in with my peers had turned high school into a three year long hurricane for me. I had a hard enough time holding on to my shit--I couldn't add one more thing to my burden.

1984

Somebody please tell me what the hell is wrong

The second time I became aware of Prince was when Purple Rain came out. I was newly married and in an unfamiliar place with no friends. I don't have memory of going to or being in the theater (my memory often fails me when it comes to very emotional moments), but I remember  buying a beta max copy of the movie as soon as it came out. I coveted that short, fat rectangular box (I still have it), but for reasons I can't explain, I never watched it. Not once.

The third time, as they say, was the charm.

1987

In my darkest hour, you can be my bliss

Given an opportunity I couldn’t refuse, I took a job two hours away from my home and my husband. My mom’s home was closer, and she graciously let me stay with her. I had a great time. I loved my job, had some cool adventures with my mom (like driving 45 minutes to buy a pizza that boasted cheese UNDER the sauce, not over it), and spent time with my sister and brother and their families. Moreover, every other weekend I honeymooned with my husband. Life moved along pretty smoothly.

Except at night. I started having nightmares. At first they came infrequently, and I barely remembered them. As time went on they grew more frequent and more horrifying. Eventually I had bad dreams every night. There seemed to be two themes--black roses and elevators. Black rose dreams woke me up crying. Elevator dreams were worse.

I know now that I was reliving sexual abuse I'd experienced as a child. I was in the same room, largely unchanged--the purple walls I'd begged for, music and my academic awards (evidence of my hypervigilent perfection), and the bed. The bed.

Any time I was alone with my thoughts they drifted to dying. What death would feel like. All the years of my nephews and nieces lives that I'd miss. Pieces of my nightmares started to come to me during the day. I searched continually for distractions, trying to save myself. One day I saw an ad in the newspaper about an upcoming Prince concert. Suddenly, I remembered his movie and that song, and how they made me feel. I needed to feel that again, to go to his show, but I was afraid to go alone. My sister told me her husband was a big fan (her, not so much) and that he'd probably go with me if I had my heart set. I did. He did.

October 1988

Do you want him, or do you want me?

We had tickets in the Nosebleed Section because we'd gotten them so late, but it didn't matter. The entire arena was filled by the presence of the little, ethereally beautiful man on the stage. I was captivated--couldn't take my eyes off him. But the music transformed me. He sang of love and sensuality and peace and God and sex. His voice resonated, reverberated throughout my body. I sometimes make a joke, saying if he'd asked me that night for all of my worldly possessions I would have given them to him.

Except it was the truth.

The next day I went to every record store I could find and bought every tape Prince had ever released. I drove around for hours listening to his music. He didn't become "the soundtrack of my life". He became my reason to keep living.

1991

I want to jump for joy and thank him I'm not alone

I'd gotten a bigger and better job and moved back upstate with my husband. While stalking a record store (my new hobby), I came across Prince's official fan magazine, Controversy. Not only was it heaven on the page with big, color, never before seen pictures of him, but it had a pen pal section. Suddenly, I wasn't alone. I'd found my tribe--men and women who experienced Prince the way I did.  Many of them are still my good friends. People who understand me and love me anyway. Miraculously, I also connected with the person who would become my partner. I like to say Prince gave her to me.

Present day

Can't begin to understand how I feel about you, everything I want to do I can't do without you

I've seen Prince in concert over one hundred times. I have every song he's released, and sometimes multiple versions thereof. My partner and I celebrate his milestones--birthday, album releases, awards, performances. Our annual Super Bowl parties celebrate his 2007 award-winning appearance. Many of these dates are commemorated with concerts that hold special meaning. There is not one room in our home in which he's not evident, either in fact or by influence.

My life is filled with good friends who I connect with over songs and youtube clips, through marriages and divorce, through children and grandchildren, over the mountains that life put in front of our best efforts and under the bridges that we fell from. When we're happy, we listen to his music and watch his movies. When we're sad, we do the same. Since his passing, we cling to each other and assure ourselves we'll get through this, and that we'll find joy again. To a point, we all have.

My friends and I asked questions of ourselves and each other. Where would we go from  here? Who would we be, if not Prince Fans? How would it feel to not look forward to his next album, the next concert, the next TV appearance?

Over the past long years, some of those questions have been answered. We’re still fans, and still mourning our loss of a man who remains so important to us. His estate has begun to release his music, some that we already have and some new to even us. We’re also seeing previously unseen concert performances. Bittersweet gifts. But nothing compares to having him here.

A poster in my bedroom.

His music is an indelible part of me. It's in my very core, infused in my cells. His songs remain in the background of everything. My experiences with him and because of him live on.

  • Getting his autograph in NYC and almost fainting because I thought he'd levitated, a tiny angel dressed in white.

  • Nearly being "rear-ended" by him in MPLS because he was driving too fast and we were going too slow.

  • Hearing gunshot and fearing for our lives as we left Glam Slam, his former nightclub.

  • Flying to England for concerts and spending a sleepless night at the only after show I ever attended.

  • Going to his store in MPLS so many times the manager told his staff "Play whatever videos they want to see".

  • Grieving with him, from a distance, when he lost his child.

  • Meeting pen pals. (I LOVE AND AM GRATEFUL FOR EACH OF YOU.)

  • Standing outside at 2am in line for a show, with some of the craziest and friendliest people I've ever met.

  • Feeling time stand still when he died, and then watching the world turn purple.

Even as I think about it now, my eyes well with tears. City monuments, bridges, buildings were illuminated in purple lights. The Weather Channel App showed an illustrated picture of the sky with purple raindrops. All in tribute to him. I’d never seen anything like it before or since.

Never say the words "They're gone"

The world is off of its axis. I miss him every day. My heart aches, and in quiet moments it's hard to breathe. I still can’t watch the tributes. I can't even listen to more than a couple of his songs or watch a whole video at one time without sinking into overwhelming sadness.
I wish I could tell him a few things:

Dearest Prince,

I am ever grateful for the beautiful ways you've touched my life and the many ways you saved me. Thank you for the people that are in my Purple Tribe because of you, supporting each other to get through this thing called life.

I hope you find, in this part of your journey, the peace that eluded you in your time on earth. I am ever blessed to have shared the planet with you.  

I know to some this is insanity, but it is my Truth:

It was always love.


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National Pet Day

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Left to right: Fergus, Molly, Toby, and Chloe. My babies.

These are the puppies I've had the honor of loving. From left to right are Fergus (the smartest puppy, ever), Molly (as you can see, the silliest puppy), Toby (aka Little Man, the most highly strung puppy), and Chloe (Queen of the house, bossiest puppy). Toby is still with me. The other three are playing together across the Rainbow Bridge.

Today is National Pet Day. What would life be without our pets? A little lonelier? A bit dull? Less fun? 

All of the above. Our pets help us relax and take us away from the everyday grind. They make us smile and laugh and yes, sometimes cry because we love them so much.

Come to think of it, so do books. Lots below to check out. 

Please give your pet a little extra TLC today. 

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National Library Lover's Month

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Although I don’t regularly frequent libraries anymore, they were a big part of my life. The library was one of the biggest and newest buildings in my hometime. I remember how it felt to walk thought the doors…and how it smelled. Like books!

My mom would take my siblings and I there when we were very young. I was hooked on old books like Miss Piggle-Wiggle books, Pippi Longstocking, and Nancy Drew. As I got older, I could get to the library by myself, and I read tons of books I probably shouldn’t have read. Rubyfruit Jungle, Helter Skelter, s a biography of Alice Cooper , and ALL of Gordon Merrick’s books come to mind. Of course, the book that had the greatest impact on me at that time was Interview with a Vampire. I still think of it as one of the most erotic books I’d ever read.

In college, the library was humongous. Tables with bankers lamps were everywhere. There was a section that had dim lighting and vending machines. Between school work and reading for the sheer joy of it, I practically lived there.

Reading was my escape. Libraries were my sanctuary. Happy National Library Lover’s Month

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Universal Letter Writing Week: January 8-14

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flowers and someone writing with an ink pen.

Communicating is an interesting endeavor. There are a number of different media you can use: written, personally addressed; written to a general audience; face-to-face in person; video technology; audio technology; email; texts/instant message. I often teach about communication, explaining that each one of these mediums has benefits and challenges. Face to face communication is objectively the richest. Think of all the information that is conveyed through not only words, but tone of voice, cadence, inflection, facial expression, gestures, etc. Text is the worse, and maybe I’ll talk about that sometime. But for now, I want to talk about what I consider to be the next best medium—the handwritten letter.

I love writing letters. As an adult, I had a whole host of penpals around the world that I met through a fanclub. We wrote for many years. Some of them grew to be very close friends that I'm still in touch with. I have even met a handful. That was a cool experience, hanging with someone you haven’t met before, but knowing them intimately. One of them became my partner. 

I hardly get letters anymore. I miss it. Every letter feels like a gift. Think about it. Someone took the time to pick the right stationery or cards, the right pen. and then give you a little piece of themselves through their handwriting. Here’s a fun fact about me: If I never buy another piece of stationery and notecards, I am sure I have enough to last the rest of my lift—and share some, too. I think the end of letter writing caught me by surprise.

You might not want to acknowledge this, but email killed the handwritten letter--or at least critically injured it. Even my long-term penpals have opted for the immediate gratification of texts, the convenience of email, or worse-->social media. Consequently, letter writing is a lost art. And now they aren't teaching cursive? I could type a whole email about that. 

I hope we can one day return to the age of the letter. I think people will get tired of emails and texts. They don’t replace the personal connection that you’d get with a handwritten note. Here’s a challenge: If it’s been a while for you—or if you’ve never done it, write someone a letter. It can be brief or long, funny or serious. It doesn’t matter. Whoever you gift a letter to will appreciate it tremendously, and it will make them feel treasured.

You might be thinking that my vision of a return to letter writing is just a pipedream. Ah, well. At least we haven't stopped writing stories.

Take the challenge and let me know what happens!

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The Songs of My Life.

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Anyone who knows me knows that music moves me. At my writing group the other night, we asked the question, “What is your theme song, the song that plays everytime you walk into a room?” Although we came up with the question, no one had an answer. We decided to table it for future discussion. Just for fun.

Typical of me, I’ve been obsessed with this. What is my theme song? Not the one that I wish would play. But the one that is played. In other words, the song that I think represents me in some way. It is a tough, tough question. If you don’t believe me, try to answer it for yourself.

I finally stumbled on it. My theme song is ON by BTS. It’s a rousing anthem about taking the pain that life can bring and fighting, only to rise again.

Check it out.

This led me to think, what song leads the soundtrack of my life at this moment in my life? That question wasn’t nearly as challenging. I recognize that time is passing so it’s important to focus on the things that bring you joy and nourish you. The song, For Youth, laments a little about the passage of time, but also acknowledges that the most precious thing is enduring love.

What are the songs on the soundtrack of YOUR life?








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A Nacho Conundrum. What to do?

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a plate of delicious nachos

I just found out that THIS SUNDAY is National Nachos Day. And I do not know how to process this information.

I’ve been craving Nachos for months now. I’ve resisted because I’ve been trying to eat cleaner, healthier and well, you can’t make good nachos healthy. You just can’t. It’s one of the laws of the universe, like gravity.

So I’m going to have them this weekend. The question on the table is, do I make or buy them? If I buy them, they’d have to make it from the restaurant to my house because I’m not yet eating in restaurants. They could get very soggy. I’m also not guaranteed to get exactly what I want in the ratio that I want. What if they add too much refried beans and not enough sour cream? I’d be devastated.

If I make them, it will cost me more to get all the ingredients than it would to buy them. It would also take a good amount of time from NaNoWriMo writing time. BUT-I would be assured to get what I’m craving and in the right proportions. Ground beef. Jalapenos. Sour cream. Cheese. Avocado. Salsa. Chopped onions. Chopped tomatoes.

What will I do? Damn. I have three days to decide.

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