Sometimes you just can’t include everything in the final, finished book. So it is with this passage — which goes into more detail about Ronnie and Noah, a relationship that still haunts me from “The Forest Dark.” There is nothing like love and lust in your 20s. This does diminish as one ages, unfortunately. But you can resurrect it in your imagination, and in your writing.
From “The Forest Dark” (left unpublished as part of the final draft of the book):
Ronnie Perkins was only the third man Noah Baldock had ever had sex with, but the two of them together tried to make up for any lack in this department. Ronnie was, in many ways, the surprise answer to all the hopes Noah had through those years when he mostly lied to himself that he was straight, and that all would be well once the right woman came along for him to love.
He was pretty sure no one saw them trade blowjobs that afternoon, out of sight but just yards away from one of Silver Lake’s major streets. When they were finished, Noah, now buzzed, grabbed Ronnie’s hand – calloused and warm, tough from his weights – for the few steps back down the alley toward the RTD stop. A little Latin girl in a frilly, bright pink skirt skipped by unexpectedly and he disengaged, the years of denial a much more powerful driver than his new-found lust.
“Turning Japanese, I think I’m turning Japanese I really think so,” Noah sang quietly, but Ronnie had already nodded off against his shoulder on the short, hot bus ride to the apartment. Later, there was enough in a Tequila bottle for almost two full shots apiece, considerably more sex and an alarm clock that rang way too soon for a Monday morning, rousing them both out of a dead sleep.
* * *
After a shared bowl of Wheaties, half an orange and black coffee, Noah walked Ronnie down to the express bus stop, which would take him the ten or so miles to the beach. He worked at Equipment out on Channel Road, a store that sold T-shirts, suntan oil, umbrellas and snacks. As fun as the job was hanging out at the ocean with all the cute guys and other people on vacation, Ronnie’s position didn’t pay enough for him to have wheels. He spent an enormous amount of time on the RTD.
###
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Thanks again to Rick and all the good people at QTrading Company, who support gay writers in a big way. Love being part of that event and look forward to future years!
Forest Dark characters do some hanging at Bourgeois Pig
I’ve been asked why I chose this particular story to write, out of all the possibilities that are out there – certainly a fair enough question. Here’s a basic synopsis of “The Forest Dark:”
“The Forest Dark” is a quirky, family-of-choice drama about Eden and Noah, middle-aged friends who must find a way to reconcile their unresolved past with an unexpectedly strange present.
In 1984, conservative co-ed Eden von Eiff befriends young gay man Noah Baldock during L.A.’s frenetic Summer Olympic Games. Becoming fast and intimate, Noah offers Eden a solution to an enormous problem — which she can’t, in the end, accept.
Twenty-five years later, these two boomers struggle to come to grips with the choices they made long ago. They must navigate not only a troubled economy and professional failure, but also control a looming and violent threat to their future.
There are some twists and turns and some secrets, of course, and another major character who shows up in the second part of the book, set in 2009.
But back to the reasons I wrote the story. Basically, it was two things I was interested in at the time of the writing: 1) an “if these walls could talk” type of thing, focused around the Silver Lake/Los Feliz neighborhoods of Los Angeles and 2) an interest in what becomes of people who attain celebrity at a young age and then lose it.
I spent a good portion of my 20s and 30s in the Echo Park/Silver Lake areas of L.A., and have witnessed the changes in the neighborhoods and in the larger city, along with the important events of those years, most notably the AIDS disaster, but also several cycles of economic boom and bust, riots, earthquakes and fires (you know, the usual SoCal apocalyptic scenarios). The area now is going through an enormous real estate boom, that’s reflected in both the residents and businesses. I wanted to show in a fictional way what that might be like for someone who knew it and lived it at a different time, as well as younger people who accept it as the status quo (hence the generational focus of the book).
The other question that interested me was the phenomenon of early celebrity or notoriety – and one that doesn’t last. In my scenario, I was primarily concerned with political types, children of candidates who may have lost their race, or who won but then faded into relative obscurity. What is that like? Especially, what is that like if you turn out to be just kind of ordinary anyway?
I hoped to go into these things in a fictional way in the novel. Read it and tell me what you think!
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Here’s a little excerpt from the new book I’m working on, called “Kept.” It’s a sexy, crime ridden, over-the-top melodrama set out in my favorite decadent dry spot, Palm Springs. Enjoy! Please post comments if you have them.
From Chapter 2:
Connor Hurst should have washed the truck before rolling up to the Jones home. A more professional, polished look is what he continually strove for each and every day, but this morning it was just not coming together the way it usually did.
The shitty, dusty, red Greco & Greco logos on the silver truck doors were chipped along their edges. Not a good look for the town’s best, if not largest, remodeling outfit, he thought. Better if they were clean and smooth.
On the other hand, Connor looked just fine. He looked so Irish he might have been a Celtic warrior or a leering priest in some other, less ordinary life. He told everybody he was black Irish, though nobody really knew what that meant; even he wasn’t really sure. He guessed his dark hair, so brown it read black, and the blue eyes were evidence enough, and his looks had stunned enough women—and men—over the last few years to make further explanation unnecessary.
Connor and Jacy Martin fell out of the pickup into the 115 degree heat of the fresh, late morning asphalt, its chemical odor signaling what Connor liked to think of as a sign of industrial progress: they were making some headway, their actions had consequences.
And they made quite a pair. Dark, Native American and short, squirrely Jacy’s role was always sidekick to the regal Connor: the shadow side, Lone Ranger and Tonto.
Jacy wasn’t the type to trust too much; he was the type to check behind himself before he spoke. Just in case. But even Connor knew it wasn’t good that Jacy told stories of their tribal chief shooting and killing protected sheep, even if it was on the res, on their own land, in their own fucking nation.
That kind of thing got around.
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Jacy spat on the red gravel oval at the center of the Jones’ circular drive, just missing a perfectly round blue barrel cactus. Connor would ignore this. He’d do the same, but never with anybody around. I mean, come on. He figured the Joneses had to be the richest African-American family in town. They had to be. Look at this place.
The low, Spanish style house loomed substantial from the street, but even that was deceiving. It stood at the top of a small rise, then spread out slowly in back, rooms tumbling down to a pool and a fucking tennis court where the landscape leveled off.
As dark as Alice Jones was, Connor wondered if she needed sunscreen at the pool. She told him she never played tennis. Her son had, though, and quite well, so the court was good luck and they kept it up.
She opened the finely distressed heavy oak door with just one hand—which, of course, showed off her diamond and gold wedding rings, as well as a totally separate emerald on her index finger.
The pounding hammers of the other Greco & Greco workers already inside rose up, as did Jacy’s panting, which reminded him of a nervous dog. Then there was Alice Jones, holding the door wide open, wearing one of her green and black caftans from Africa. Her tits jiggled. No bra today. She knew he was coming.
Jacy was used to the drill. He entered first after a clipped “Ma’am” to Alice, heading straight for the guys who were finishing up new drywall in the media room, which was next to the library, which was down from the dining room.
Far enough away from Alice’s bedroom which was the only important location.
She clutched Connor by the forearm and led him down the hallway, a gallery where they’d positioned spotlights to hit the artwork at precise sweet spots dictated by a professional curator flown in all the way from New York.
“Mr. Hurst, can you come with me?” she asked. “I’ve got some problems to show you in the back.”
He threw Jacy a smirk, though the smaller man was already out of sight. Small problems in the back, yeah right Alice, I bet you have them, Alice!
At the end of the long hallway a door closed, blocking out the daylight—as so many of these desert homes seemed designed to do. Probably better when you had things to hide.
Outside, in the brilliant sun, white-haired Bernard Jones inched his way up the Camino del Monte cul de sac and saw not just one but two Greco & Greco trucks in his driveway, parked on that almost imperceptible incline. So he had to park on the street. He didn’t like the idea of having to walk the forty or so extra paces to his door. It was hard enough getting out of the 911.
Jacy watched from the media room window, conveniently located at the front of the house, a window, which would soon be fitted with a custom removable blackout shade for movie nights. But today it was still just an empty window.
This is gonna be some trouble. Just what Connor Hurst has coming to him. White boy gets away with too damn much, about time someone kicked his ass! Jacy chuckled into his fist, a spasm of delight racing up his spine, making him jump.
Though Bernard Jones was a short old fart. Would they take it out to the pool, or maybe down to that tennis court? No, Mr. Jones wouldn’t want to get into it that way. He’d have a gun, probably close at hand. Probably had several, look at all this art in here. Plus, there weren’t many around Palm Springs who looked like the Joneses.
But sometimes loyalty trumps the desire one feels for right and wrong. Or maybe it was pure practicality, having to get along with your co-workers no matter who they were. Even if they were Connor Hurst. So Jacy moved into the hallway, a cheerful Indian ready to intercept the rich American.
Meantime Connor had got Alice up on all fours on her big bed, which was covered with a taut, blue-green abstract duvet with contrasting tan-black striped pillows, one of which her head was now buried in.
Her caftan was still partly on, bunched up in folds covering her shoulders and her neck, covering her face. Her beautiful cocoa ass pointed up toward the ceiling. Connor had just entered her, leaning over to whisper, “you like ‘em young, don’t you, Alice, you like ‘em white, too!”
Her voice was muffled by the pillows. “I like ‘em hard,” he thought he heard her say. He wasn’t exactly sure because there was commotion, activity unplanned and unwanted, somewhere not too far outside the bedroom door.
Bernard Jones was now in the hallway, the hallway gallery, where their important and expensive works of art had been positioned by the New York decorator with custom track lighting that had to be redone four times before Alice would approve it.
The heavy, dark wooden door at the end of the hallway, the door to his bedroom, was closed.
Bernard Jones headed toward it.
A short Indian was in the way. “We marked places in the sheetrock where your speakers will go, let me show you Mr. Jones,” the little man said, positioning himself directly in front of Bernard Jones, blocking his advance, trying to turn him around, then again, not trying too hard. “Let me show you the media room, man.”
“Get out of here, you fucking little bug! Alice?”
But Connor had already put it together. He was off poor old Alice, grabbing his pants, his Greco & Greco workshirt, his shoes, looking up to the ceiling for an instant, asking if she’d ever considered some “nice regal crown molding,” then easing himself behind the lux drapes and out the slider door. But not before Alice tossed him a couple of Benjamins—as well as his socks.
“Go!” she whispered, blowing him a kiss, already examining herself in the mirror, arranging the caftan back to its correct matronly order.
Thanks again to Hank Henderson and the folks at Stories Cafe & Books in Echo Park. I have more from the reading, and I’ll add it once I process the video (added below). If you’re a member of goodreads, check out the giveaway below. . . or join!
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A totally self-serving post – wait, aren’t they all? Well, I guess not, cause this one sure benefits Amazon more than it will ever in this galaxy benefit me.
Starting in October, if you want both the print book and the e-book of selected titles, you can get them at a discount when purchased together. Seems like a no-brainer, right? I guess it just took awhile for this to happen.
One of the nice things about the deal is that it’s retroactive – meaning, if you bought a print version of say, Benediction, back in 2009 and are just dying to have the e-book version of it in Kindle, you can get it for (I think) $1.99. Less than your morning latte, folks – and, there’s no tip jar. This condition can be proved fatal as the victim may suffer from the severe asthmatic attack in this condition. viagra pfizer achat This problem arises when the vestibular system in the inner ear infection can be quite difficult for people to differentiate between the genuine and non-genuine stuffs buy cialis in australia especially with the oil and fuel filter. Early diagnosis and appropriate treatment can increase the size of tadalafil soft their penis, though medical ground for such assumption has however to be defined. Some of the on line cialis see description include upset stomach, flushing of the face, and headache.
Or, if you’re just buying The Forest Dark for the first time, you can get both a print book and the e-book together for under a sweet ten-spot. There might even be a few pennies change (which you can then use for that latte jar – – does anyone else think that those tip jars are getting a little out of hand?)
So you don’t have to wait, I mean, like I said above, it’s all retroactive, so you can go and buy the version you don’t have for the discount at any time. Amazon is all-knowing and they know what you paid for it before. (I’m sure you, like me, feel better knowing the NSA knows my book buying tastes, and hopefully Mr. Cheney has learned something from this book list.)
Oh and you DO know you don’t actually have to have a Kindle device to read Kindle books, right? I still don’t have one of the official Kindle contraptions — but I’ve got the FREE app on my laptop Macbook, on my Android phone, and now even on the Nook I inherited from my aunt. Amazing world, eh, where a Kindle app works on a Nook. But it does.
Just happen to be in NYC this week, and thought I’d stroll over and snap a picture of the grand old entrance to the Apthorp apartments, where Eden von Eiff has a tiny but mortgage-free apartment in my novel “The Forest Dark.” I waited for awhile hoping reality might follow fiction but alas, there was no Eden egress! The first check is to ensure that the company buy levitra no prescription offering to supply the product employs the services of a qualified professional should be taken. Besides, it is also what makes relationships happy for men and viagra vs generic women both. Loss of mental capacity is the greatest method to obtain the quality item and you will also require a large amount of healthy support offered by food supplements (since most stores for viagra of us don’t get sufficient nutrition as a result of diet by yourself). Just a thought of suffering from the issue of sex health should rapidly get the treatment to enhance sperm sale on viagra count naturally. Join Amazon Prime – Watch Over 40,000 Movies
Always searching, always looking to uncover another (or any) effective way of promoting my novel via social media.
So, I’ve generally neglected YouTube so far, and at my own peril. Well, not any more. I thought, there are tons of shirtless men on YouTube (usually of the younger and hotter variety) and I know they get tons and tons of views. So I got to thinking, what if I read my book, a page a day, on camera, naked (well, you can use your imagination), and posted it to YouTube?
Would it help get awareness for my new book, The Forest Dark? Would it help sales? Is it just juvenile and ridiculous to think people would want to see a 50+ naked guy reading on YouTube? I really don’t know. But I do know this – it’s easy to track. I can find out since the video view counter is there for the world to see.
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Even if some people do watch the daily readings, would that translate into people buying the book? Perhaps. Perhaps occasionally. Perhaps never. I don’t know. What I do know is that this is a cheap publicity stunt, emphasis on cheap, in all its myriad definitions.
What do you think? (oh, and my camera angles, delivery and lighting will only get better, I promise. There’s 246 pages to get it right.)
reviewer beazy says: “Some of these people have a really dark side. Like me, you’ll be drawn in and probably have to keep reading to get the gist of this really fun book.” Going to the beach or campground this weekend? Take along “The Forest Dark.”
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And, by this, I mean making social media a subject or a tool inside your novel. This has nothing to do with marketing or publicizing the book itself, that’s a different subject.
No, I wanted social media to be part of the landscape of how my characters interacted in “The Forest Dark.” Because a) it’s part of all our lives in 2013 and b) it provides more of a contrast between 1984 (the year in which the first part of the book is set) and 2009, where the second part of the book lives.
But how to do this while avoiding a specific app or technology that may go completely obsolete at any time, probably sooner rather than later? Can you imagine how you’d feel if you wrote a novel where all the characters left messages for each other via MySpace? I guess it would be OK if your book was all about 2006 or something, but you know it would be looked on as a curious period piece and would not, as they say in Hollywood, have legs.
I thought about this and tempted as I was to refer directly to such household names as Facebook and Twitter, I decided to allude to them but to be ever so much more generic.
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No, instead I referred to the content of a communication as a “message” – as in, somebody posted a “message online.” That could be a Facebook post, or a tweet. I had another character tapping out a “message” to a “fan” or “fans,” which I hoped would be read as Character A just tweeted their followers – without actually saying that.
Because I figured no matter what apps survive and which go away, whatever does replace them will still have interaction between communicators with some kind of message content, whether that be text or voice or video or static photography or something we have yet to imagine.
Anyway, that’s how I solved that little problem. It turned out to be really easy. Do you include specific social media companies or app names in your fiction writing? Why or why not?
Sometimes you just can’t include everything in the final, finished book. So it is with this passage — which goes into more detail about Ronnie and Noah, a relationship that still haunts me from “The Forest Dark.” There is nothing like love and lust in your 20s. This does diminish as one ages, unfortunately. But you can resurrect it in your imagination, and in your writing.
Here’s a little excerpt from the new book I’m working on, called “Kept.” It’s a sexy, crime ridden, over-the-top melodrama set out in my favorite decadent dry spot, Palm Springs. Enjoy! Please post comments if you have them. 
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