NEW FEATURE ALERT!
Alright, everyone, I'm
going rogue. You see, I was advised awhile ago by a friend, a friend who practices the law mind you, not to share
any original writing with you guys here at the blog because someone could jack it and create something successful and not pay me. And I understand their point, that could happen. But then I thought about it and realized that if someone did that, it would truly be the
most exiting thing to ever happen to me. And then I realized that exciting things don't happen to me.
Thus, I think it's safe to share some writing with you guys. That's why I'm going rogue,
just don't tell my lawyer... The other reason why I wanted to share some writing with you guys is because I was looking over a bunch of old papers and pictures I had saved in a box and discovered something pretty interesting: I used to write creative fiction
quite a lot more than I do now. In fact, based on all the old papers with half-stories or character lists I had in just one of my several memory boxes, I either wanted to be a novelist or a schizophrenic when I grew up. I wonder why did I ever stop writing?
Oh, I know, life happened...
Anyway, even if it's not for publication, sometimes it's fun just to jot down a story that's stuck in your head.
Or is that just me? Or is that just schizophrenia? Oh who am I kidding, I would be symptomatic by now if I was truly crazy. Moving on. Consider the
new original fiction feature The Serial your early holiday gift!
You're Welcome!
Now, let me explain further... Okay, I'm assuming you guys know what serials are,
right? If not,
serials are short original stories that people put on the web, and used to put in old timey newspapers and magazines. Sometimes the stories were just one-offs, but most of the time, the stories were connected like a soap opera with each installment advancing the story somewhat. That's the way my serial works and I do hope you read each installment to get the scoop on what happens next. Okay, before we start it, how about I tell you a little about what the story is about.
The official blog serial is called
"New York City Boys."
It's simple enough,
no? Basically, it's a soapy tale about a group of gay men who all live in Manhattan and are on the chase for fortune, fame, excitement, and sex, natch. There will be
twists,
turns,
drama, and
comedy, or everything you'd want in a good serial. I literally came up with the story and characters like this month and I wrote the first chapter in a sitting. It's not perfect but it is just for you guys, something frothy to read while noshing at the computer. Enjoy! Feel free to tell me what you think in the comments!
Who's your favorite character? Who do you love to hate? What do you think will happen next? Did I use a word incorrectly? I do that sometimes...
So do talk!
Alright, let's begin...
(p.s. don't forget to click the read more link for the rest of the story; language not appropes for kids!)
New York City Boys
Chapter One – The End is the Beginning
Six a.m. in Manhattan was much too early for Jon Wanamaker, name like the store. Not that he was some kind of man about town. It was more that he typically associated himself with the word "late" due to the nature of his job: out late, sleep late, show up late. "Early" was new. The last time he was ever awake this early was six months ago to catch the Jitney to Sagaponack for a morning of ginger tea and biscuits with a British expatriate who after 17 years was still on London time. This was Jon's job; features editor for
Version, one of the last standing national gay men's sophisticate magazines left in the States. The Brit interviewee was gabbing about a fit lad 22 years his junior with whom he had a torrid dalliance months prior. Jon's story was on silver foxes and the boys who love them. The fox in question was not Ian McKellan, much to the office's chagrin.
However, being awake in his cramped Chelsea apartment at six felt decidedly less glamorous for Jon, although the shouting from the blind homeless man three stories below could be mistaken for paparazzi if one wanted to play the home game. This six was because he had received a text from Joe Joe the night prior that the suits from Vision Media, owners of
Version as well as a few gay and other niche market magazines, wanted to meet with
Version's staff of 40 to discuss the changing publishing climate. Joe Joe, the guy whose job it was to basically cast hot men in photo shoots, sent Jon, and everyone else for that matter, a text that read "
WE ALL TO LOSE JOBS TOMM SRSLY!!! SHOW UP EARLY & MAYBE SAVE URS!!!!!!" Jon had watched that Diane Sawyer special about poverty's ills out of the corner of his eye knowing that one day, this day would come. Jon's plan: Shower. Shave. Shave again. Choose most responsible ensemble. Leave. Hopefully not return 30 minutes later in tears with the Department of Labor’s Web site queued on his iPhone.
"Why are you awake," Erik asked with bed sheets roped around his legs like pythons.
Jon turned off the faucet and stepped out of the bathroom nude, his amber-colored skin glowing in a mix of rising sun, fading streetlight, and florescent bathroom overhead. Previously, Jon paused to think if bringing up his African-American and Jewish mixed race heritage would do him any good in saving his job, but realized that he probably could only use that ticket once and it’s what he suspected got him in in the first place.
"I have to go in early today because they may be firing people," Jon began. "I can't be the guy they cross off a list because he didn't even bother to go into the office that day."
"Well, if they're gonna fire you anyway, what's the point of going in," Erik asked and for the first time Jon bristled.
"I really don't have time for questions right now."
The rickety door to the bathroom shut as Jon progressed to making himself appear more employable. Erik slinked out of bed, gently pushing the sheets off his legs, and stood. The breeze from the couple of paces to the bathroom door was cold against Erik's naked frame. He pushed open the bathroom door and pressed against Jon's backside as the space inside the bathroom could barely hold the two of them anyway.
Erik wormed his hands across Jon's chest and began kissing his neck, his tongue slowly licking up to his hairline and back down to the base of his back. Jon, aroused but also visibly annoyed, kept shaving wishing his Lady Gillette was a blade the better for stopping a horned up boyfriend. Jon loved Erik, a Korean-American, out-of-work actor with something of a gambling problem to which he ignored. Jon loved their $1,900 a month walk-up that Erik contributed exactly $350 a month for the privilege of living there, which Jon also ignored. It wasn't like this life was a problem even on Tuesday or Wednesday of that week, but now's there’s a Thursday meeting and now he wants to have sex.
"Why don't you let me spread you out on the bed and finishing shaving you everywhere..."
Jon interrupted, "When I say that I don’t have time for this, what I mean is that I don’t have time for this, Erik. What am I gonna do if I lose my job? What are
we gonna do if I lose my job? Remember Diane Sawyer holding up that black baby in the shelter while the mother shook so hard from the sobbing they had to lay her on the ground. That was in the Bronx, which need I remind you is like 25 minutes away. Black babies. Shelters. Sobbing. Poverty is not a joke."
Erik stepped back. "Thank you for killing my erection. I'm going back to sleep."
