Is it Autumn already? I had so many things I wanted to do this Summer.  Oh well. The leaves are already turning in the northern climes and the temperatures are moderating. It will work it’s way down here too…eventually. Then there is Halloween, my second favorite holiday after Christmas. As if I needed an excuse to eat candy. Candy corn is my favorite Halloween candy…now they have several varieties available only during the holiday…so many choices.

The entire psychosexual aspects of Halloween are fascinating too. Attending parties in costume, flirting with other guests in anonymity…if you’re lucky a getting a quick one in a closet, a vacant bedroom or the back seat of a car…the chance of getting caught by the host or your spouse or SO upping the excitement.

Then there’s the whole witch, ghost, goblin, zombie thing…taking or being taken by an otherworldly evil creature feeds into helplessness, rape fantasies, reluctance and being forced. In an odd way absolving yourself of any guilt for having transgressed…what could you do…you were helpless before the fiend.

Horror movies have always been popular…from occasional mayhem in the 1930’s to the ’splatter’ movies of today, people like to be scared…they get a rush from it…like sex. When you combine the two…no red-blooded adolescent or 20 something will be able to resist.  Hence the success of the “Rocky Horror Picture Show”…a commercial flop in it’s first release…now a cult favorite. It has everything; horror, bisexuality, transvestisim and some catchy songs…”You jump to the right…”  Again, a mix of horror and sex.

It’s no wonder Halloween is the second most favorite holiday…increasingly among adults as well as children. With adults, quite often it’s a treat without the trick, and no one’s the wiser.

Well, I’m off to look for a costume while there’s still a selection. I could go as Dracula’s nemesis Von Helsing, pursue the lady vampires, capture them and drive my stake through their…hearts.

Happy Halloween everyone. Ciao!

Inclement weather over the past days has prompted me to do some extensive, in fact overdue, house cleaning. This means emptying closets, desk drawers, storage bins, etc. seeing what should be retained or discarded. Sorting said items into piles becomes more difficult the further one delves into what eventually becomes a flood of memories.

Even the most mundane of items carries you back to a happy time; a wedding, a vacation, a trip to a family reunion, meeting an old friend after many years and so many others. Why did I save that cocktail napkin from a forgotten restaurant, that book of poetry, a stuffed Walrus, party favors? Then they trigger something in your mind and the memories come flooding back.

Not all are happy ones, funerals, failed relationships, friends left behind; it’s a mystery why we save those death announcements, love letters and concert ticket stubs but save them we do. It’s another peculiarity of the human mind to seek remnants of misery as well as happiness. Possibly some innate sense of balance that in itself is a part of life.

Souvenirs are sure fire memory joggers; paperweights,statuettes, a vial of beach sand, caps, jackets and t-shirts emblazoned with logos of resorts, restaurants, attractions, museums…how long ago did I visit there anyway? Album after album of pictures, frozen moments in time, friends and relatives smiling in perpetuity, even yourself, forever young.

Finally, everything’s sorted out (or so you think). The piles of things to be discarded or donated to charity shrinks steadily as one by one more items have meaning. Then you decide to be ruthless and begin filling trash bags. You can’t possibly keep all these things that are crowding you out of house and home. Sacks are left for the trash collectors, others taken to charity donation sites and then you are finished.Your closets, desk and dresser drawers, even your cars glove compartment are neat and organized. What a feeling of accomplishment.

If only you could organize the cluttered closets in your mind this easily; but we cannot, and more to the point don’t wish to. Some clutter is good for the soul, not to mention story plots. Speaking of, I just thought of one and must jot it down. Ciao.

Do you remember your first love? That giddy nervousness, the overwhelming desire to be with that person constantly, the nagging doubts that this was a fluke and could end any minute, the exact moment when you held hands, kissed, made out and possibly made love?  You don’t? Me either.

Seriously, the first blush of love is unlike any experience in life; not counting bungee jumping, swimming with sharks and being shot at. Okay, real serious now.

Being in love is seeing the world through different eyes, caring for someone more than you care for yourself,  feeling euphoric and complete, never wanting to be with anyone else but the object of your overwhelming desire and acting like the besotted, twitterpated, irrational fool that you are.

Some have but one love their entire life, some have many, each more intense than the last, some have love unrequited, others are lonely all their lives and find solace in other things. Whatever the circumstance, the experience is an emotional roller coaster and you’re in the front car.

Gay and straight, old and young, may and december, bliss or conflict; love is the oil that keeps the gears of life running smoothly throughout our existences. As stated earlier, some can get along without it and do quite well, but there is a wistfulness about them that is tangible in their presence; a picture puzzle with a piece missing.

Love can appear in many ways; a chance meeting, a blind date, a personals ad, net dating sites, a friend of a friend, etc. One never knows when love will loose it’s metaphorical arrow into your heart, leaving you bewildered and happy. It can come at any age, at any time, at any place; the end result being a euphoria that leaves one breathless.

If you are with your love now, be kind to them and demonstrate how much you love them in myriad ways. If you are without love, sally forth and seek it out, it seldom comes to you. Above all do not be discouraged, gold is not necessarily found in every mine. If your love has gone cold and there is nothing to be done to rekindle passions’ fire, part amicably and search anew. If your love has passed on, do not grieve unduly but seek another, your former spouse would want you to be happy.

Events in my own life and those close to me have prompted this bit of philisophic rambling; births, deaths, separations, marriages, cohabitations and love affairs; all threads in the lengthening tapestry that is our very existence. Until next time, may all of you remain with the love you are with, or find said love rounding the next corner, strolling down the mall or in the frozen food aisle in the supermarket. Ciao.

I was reading a magazine article yesterday that was offering a dystopian look at the future. What it predicted made the Seven Plagues of Egypt sound like a musical comedy. Food shortages, pollution, floods, famine, massive hurricanes, contaminated soils, antibiotic resistant bacteria and lethal viruses.  A real picnic. It was enough to make someone go home and load grandpas WWII pistol or head for the garage and find some clothesline.

What ever happened to the future of the forties and fifties? Now that was a future to look forward to! Radar guided and flying cars, anti-gravity belts, commuter rockets to the moon, food in pills, hypersonic airliners, everyone wearing spandex and form fitting helmets, no disease, no privation, no wars; it sounded wonderful. Especially to a boy of eleven.

When I attended the General Motors Motorama in 1956, I was enthralled by the concept cars of the future. My father had bought a new Chevrolet Bel Air that summer, but that paled in comparison to those sleek, gleaming beauties slowly rotating on elevated stages under blazing lights. Beautiful girls in dresses and high heels opened the doors and let us see the interiors. I sneaked under a velvet rope and actually touched the fin of a Firebird II before a guard ran me off. What fun.

Comics and pulp magazines shaped our concepts of the future as well. Buck Rogers, Flash Gordon, Astounding Stories, Planet Comics and numerous others. Space travel seemed as easy as riding your bike to the movies. Exotic landscapes, benign and agressive alien beings, beautiful women in need of rescue from some menace or another.  Worlds of excitement and adventure much preferable to your math homework.

Well, our cars have yet to fly (and it’s probably just as well considering how poorly people drive), the moon is still vacant, fast food isn’t in capsules, airliners are relatively poky (and airports are barely controlled chaos), no anti-gravity, Mars (the god) is still in business and we’re not all slim, happy and smiling in spandex.

I suppose the saddest part of the new future as opposed to the ‘old’ future is the total lack of enthusiasm for the days to come. A tomorrow bright with promise is gone and melancholy has replaced it. The old newspaper axiom: “If it bleeds, it leads” seems to be the order of the day.

As far as I’m concerned, I refute these pessemistic looks at the future. The sciences are making tremendous strides in all aspects of our daily lives. Disease is being conquered, broken bodies are being repaired, automobiles are safer and more reliable, pollution is being dealt with, clothing is more comfortable and wrinkle free, people are living longer, computers are faster and more user friendly, intricate robots explore the planets, gadgets such as cell phones, iPod’s, mp3 players, plasma tv’s, etc. are part of our daily lives, and the list goes on and on.

No, things aren’t perfect.  Wars still rage, poverty stll exists, hate and predjudice still find harbor in many a heart and utopia is still a concept rather than actuality; but all in all things are better today than in the forward looking 1950’s. It’s been said that nostalgia is the realization that things weren’t as bad as they seemed at the time, thus ten years from now we’ll look back on 2008 and wonder what all the fuss was about.

Now if you’ll excuse me, UPS just delivered my Samsung Mark VII Time Machine that I bought on eBay and I’m anxious to try it out.

ciao everyone.

I must apologize to my legions of fans, well, to those who noticed, all two of you, for not posting the last time I was scheduled to blog. I could say I was deep into writing, or in the midst of a torrid love affair with a certain female film star, or traveling to some exotic locale in search of a miracle drug for acne; but in truth I just plain forgot! But my excuse is I was (and still am) totally in thrall of Spring and then Summer.

Yes, glorious, captivating vibrant Spring!  When the buds pop, the birds tweet and warmth suffuses the landscape. Although I’m happily ensconced in the tropics, I spent considerable winters in less sunny climes and welcomed the arrival of Spring like a wealthy Aunt who has included you in her will.

The siren call of the glowing Summer sun, the pounding surf and exposing as much of ones pallid skin (as is legal) to the UV rays trumps any thoughts of writing, or just about anything else. The lure of a lake, river, stream or backyard pool is equally compelling in these days.

My muse has decamped to, I think, the Bahama’s or one of those tropic isles, leaving me sans ideas or much ambition whatsoever regarding literary pursuits. Of course the captivating parade of nubile women in skimpy shorts, tops and bathing attire sets ones erotically oriented mind a’wandering in plot land; but somehow I never retain the thought long enough to jot it down.  The warmth of Old Sol effectively cancels such inclinations in short order.

So here I am, basking in the sun like a soporific snake, a languid lizard, a…well, you get the picture. Summer has me firmly in it’s grip and I have zero desire to wriggle free. Deadlines can remain dead, projects put on hold and calls for copy cancelled. I’m seduced by the season and that’s that.

Yes, I will have another lemonade. Thank you.

Ciao  everyone.

That got your attention didn’t it?  What I mean of course, is it necessary to be female in order to write a lesbian sex story?  I have written some lesbian sex stories that have been well received, but invariably I am taken to task by someone who resents my being male and writing them. How could I possibly know how a woman feels, much less about another woman?  I have also been chided for having my female characters ‘act like men’ in love and action scenes. Exactly what does that mean?

Discounting the overtones of sexisim in the above statements, I find that, in the main, Lesbian sex stories are equally  erotic whether written by a man or a woman.  Conversely, some of the worst I have read were authored by both men and women so it balances out.  I have been told men ‘lack the sensitivity’ to write about female lovers or women in general for that matter.  Again, I dismiss that allegation out of hand.

Emotions are equally shared by men and women, women simply feel more comfortable in expressing them. There are no such restrictions in writing and men can ‘get in touch with their feminine side’ and tell an excellent story. An amusing result of a story that clicks with the readers are the flirting comments (and propositions) that follow from both men and women once the story is posted.

Also, I have not heard similar allegations levied against women who write gay male stories. Is there a double standard at work here?  I don’t think predjudices on both sides foster understanding either of alternative lifestyles or gender equality. I carefully consider all criticisims of my work worth noting where writing is concerned. But I take exception to being told I’m writing out of my gender.  

What do you think? 

I don’t mean literally of course, but you knew that. I mean when you have a deadline staring at you with it’s beady little eyes and the portion of your brain that’s the idea factory goes on strike. Where are all those great story ideas you had driving to work this morning, or shopping for groceries on the way home? Or when you were waiting in line at the fast food take out window or picking up your dry cleaning? Of course you didn’t write them down.  I’ll certainly remember that  you think to yourself. “Did you want a small, medium or gallon tub of fries with that triple deluxe jawbreaker burger?” Poof! It’s gone! Just like that.

By the time you settle down at your keyboard and the blank white screen’s before your face, the creative muse decides to go on sabbatical to Bermuda, leaving no forwarding address. Now what? You scroll through pieces you wrote years ago looking to mine an idea there. No dice. You do notice how much your technique has improved, but without an idea that’s cold comfort.

You flip through the tv channels. There’s how many…120? Must be something there that will awaken your slumbering creativity. Two hours of cartoons, talk shows and how to hook the wily bass hasn’t done squat. Maybe a brisk walk will clear your head. The sun is shining, the birds are singing and your minds a blank plus now your all sweaty. Better take a shower.  Hot water seems to bring out the singer in most of us, or maybe it’s the echo chamber effect and suddenly you remember all the lyrics to ‘Like A Rolling Stone’ and sing them lustily through your nose like Bob Dylan. Now why can I remember that and not have a single story idea?  The human mind is truly a funny thing.

Maybe a snack will help, give you a lift. A plate of cheese and crackers with a side of peanut butter later, your stomach is content, but you aren’t. The phone rings. It’s the editor! They go to press in two days. Where’s that story?  Maybe you shouldn’t have cashed that advance check. Too late.

Browsing through your bookshelves is futile. You don’t want to be plagaristic or derivative after all.  Suddenly it hits you like a thunderbolt. Why not write a story about an author struggling to write a story. Perfect!  Your fingers fly over the keyboard and in no time it’s finished and off to the editor it goes.  Success at last. At least until the next deadline looms over the horizon.

In actuality, that idea works for blog writers as well.  Ciao!

My readers ask me “Vern” (I prefer Vernon but what the heck) “How do you come up with all them stories? Where’d you get all them ideas? Do you write fast, or half-fast?”

I tell them it’s a combination of diligence and research. Think up a plot, look up the relevant information to support the premise and don’t stop typing ’till it’s finished.

Excuse me. The doorbell rang.

Great, it’s those DVD’s I ordered. I’m a film noir fan. Several interesting titles here…

Oh yes. Story writing. I find a marked level of concentration is crucial to good story writing. I usually…

Whoops, microwave beeped. Just a sec.

Yummy, beef tips in pasta. It’s been a while since lunch…

As I was saying, I do a lot of research before I…

Now this is interesting. Did you know the male porcupine urinates on the females quills to soften them before they mate? Neither did I. Don’t want to get pricked while your using your…

Okay, back to the subject. I usually sequester myself in my den and concentrate on what I’m writing and…

My cell’s ringing. Hello? Excuse me for a minute..

No kidding? Okay I’ll be there in a few. Yes, I’m leaving now…

Darn it, I forgot my dart tournament was tonight. My team was wondering where I was.

Can I get back to you on this? Thanks.

Anyway, let me leave you with this advice.

Both diligence and concentration are the keys to being a successful author. It has always worked for me.

Shoot, they’re calling again.

Gotta run. caio everone.