A World On Fire

And a queer memoir

Hi. I’m here. I know it’s been awhile.

I’ve been trying to write—I really have—but I’m consumed with other things right now. Photos of starving babies in Gaza are etched into my brain, taking up all my creative space. I feel so helpless in the face of the horrible things that are happening and the ways in which our country is contributing to them. (Can I call it our cuntry right now? Because that feels more appropriate.)

And the immigrants who are continuing to be kidnapped and disappeared by masked cowards who are shilling for big bonuses? And the inhumane conditions at “Alligator Alcatraz?” (Even saying that name makes me want to vomit. Are they proud of it? Do they think it sounds cute? Do they fancy themselves clever?) And the shootings. And the guns. Always the guns. Everyone with a gun.

It’s too much.

And in my own little corner of the world, there’s a backyard breeder two doors down. The city has been called numerous times about them, but the city obviously doesn’t give a damn. The dogs being bred are hunting dogs. They are housed in above-ground cages, so their little feet never touch the ground. Their shit just falls through the open slats and collects underneath them. Neighbors closer than we are say the stench is untenable. What’s untenable for us is the sound of their little hound dog howls. When it’s feeding time, we know it. The whole block knows it. When it thunders, they cry and howl their poor little hound dog faces off. It’s excruciating to hear. I throw Chuckit balls for Sissy in the backyard, and her excitement and happiness is in direct contrast to their misery.

It makes me ponder the random lottery of being born in a country where you feel relatively safe versus being born in a place where you’re taking shelter every other hour and hoping your limbs don’t get blown off.

My publisher and I are prepping my memoir for its April publication. I’m working on my Acknowledgments page and asking for blurbs. Requesting blurbs is an amazing experience when people say yes. The two I’ve received so far are heartbreakingly beautiful. There’s nothing like a well-written and insightful memoir blurb to make you really feel seen.

But when people say no, it’s a tiny soul crush every time. And when they don’t say anything at all, it’s torture. Your mind goes in every conceivable direction. Have I offended them in some way? Have they heard horrible things about me? Do they think my writing sucks? Are they laughing at the audacity of me asking them to recommend my work? Have they been stuck for two weeks in an elevator? I thought querying for agents was demoralizing. But these silences? They are knives in your heart. I have yet to reach out to anyone I don’t know personally on some level, so it feels really personal. And yet, in my head (but not necessarily my heart), I know it’s not. Life happens. Timing might be off. Everything is overwhelming right now. People are allowed to say no. Heck, I probably would say no right now. Life on this planet currently is just too much.

I’m excited and worried and nervous and anxious about my memoir publishing in April. It’s a story about coming out later in life. It details a seemingly good marriage gone bad. It highlights the worst parts of me and my ex. It can be brutal. But it is also beautiful. It speaks, too, to what made our marriage good. It speaks to healing. It is about redefining a life that no longer fits and digging your way through the aftermath of those decisions. It is, ultimately, hopeful. But there is a lot to wade through to get to the hope. I want others to know it’s possible to survive these things. To thrive. I want to be a lifeline to those who need one. But the lifeline is frayed and dirty and has been dragged through the mud. My memoir is an “and” story. It can be this and it can be that. It can be devastating and it can be beautiful. It can be heavy and it can be uplifting.

I can be horrible and I can be kind. We all can be.

We are all “and” stories. It’s what makes us human.

I wonder where this nation will be in April 2026 when HURRICANE LESSONS comes out. Will it be time for the gays to be rounded up and sent to concentration camps? Will this administration have moved on from their immigrant fixation? Anything is possible, really. They’ve proven themselves to be monsters. They’re committed to making this place as white and straight and male as possible, with women birthing babies and staying home to tend to their men. They are not interested in furthering our diversity, our culture, our education. They’d prefer us all to be ignorant. It’s easier to rule the uneducated, after all. So, where will this leave my queer, literary memoir? I don’t know. I just hope that those who need it will still be able to find it.

Maybe AI can help them find it. What a notion. Oy.

Anyway, I just wanted you to know I’m still here. I’m playing pickleball until my back shouts for mercy and writing my next novel (which I think has some real legs) and working 9-5 for a global pharmaceutical company to pay the bills. Life is a constant lesson in contradictions, isn’t it? I hate capitalism, but not enough to remove myself from the system. I can boycott Amazon and Target, but I’m still using my iPhone and creating on my Macbook.

Life in general is an “and” conversation, wouldn’t you say?

Here are some places where your money can make a difference to families in crisis:

Umma Foundation

Save the Children

World Central Kitchen

And places where you can help animals in need:

American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals

Humane World for Animals

Or if you want to send a message to your neighbors who are inhumanely raising dogs:

Try these. On their cars.

We can’t do everything, and yet we can all do something.

~ ~ ~

P.S. If you are an amazing and generous author who would like to blurb HURRICANE LESSONS, here’s one more quick link:

I Love You