lgbtq – aliciajoseph

Moving On

When I was in college, back in 1998, I took a Creative Writing course where I wrote two horribly-written short stories and some really bad poems. The stories were called The Hideout and The Attic. Apparently, I wasn’t very creative with titles back then.

To this day, I don’t know why I didn’t toss those papers in the trash the moment the semester ended. But not only did those pages make the trip back home with me, they managed to survive a couple decades in a bin with so many of my other failed writing attempts.

About eight years ago, (damn time flies) I pulled out that dusty bin and went through those old writings. It had been a while since I’d written at that time and I wanted to get back into it. After all, being a writer was always my dream. Life, with all of its distractions, had pulled me off course for a little while, but I found my way back to it, and I thought past writings was a good place to start.

Turns out, I was right.

Even though those old stories were really bad, as I read through them I found a storyline in each I could build on. I turned The Hideout into a novel called A Penny on the Tracks that was published in 2017. It’s an LGBTQ coming-of-age story about friendship, loyalty, and the struggles of coming out. The story revolves around two best friends, Lyssa and Abbey, who discover a hideout near some train tracks and spend the summer before sixth grade hanging out and finding freedom from issues at home. But their innocence shatters when the hideout becomes the scene of a tragic death.

As for the other story, The Attic. Well, that one went through many rewrites with two major plot changes, taking me two extra years to write. It was frustrating and many times I wanted to give up, move on to another story, but I kept writing until I got the story right. Not only have I finally finished the story, but I got it contracted. The name of the book is Annabel and the Boy in the Window. I’m unable to put into words the relief I feel in finally being able to put that story to rest.

I am now in the process of revising what was my first attempt at writing a full-length novel that I wrote shortly after I graduated from college. I ended up finishing it, but as with the short stories, the writing was horrible.

So in the bin those pages went. Then a couple years back, I fished the pages out of the bin and just like with the short stories, I’d found a storyline I could work with. I’m hoping to be finished with the story by next summer. After that, I have two more previous attempts at novels I need to take a look at and see if there’s a storyline in them I can work with.

Despite having a drawer full of new story ideas, I can’t leave my old stories behind. They’re taking up too much space in my head and I need them gone before I can fully concentrate on anything new.

If you’re a writer, do you keep old stories? How do you decide which ones can be salvaged and which ones to let go? I’ve realized it’s not just old stories I have a hard time letting go. Past relationships, old friendships, cherished memories from a time that can never be lived again, all have a hold on me.

It’s hard to move on, isn’t it?

Excerpt from my YA book, A Penny on the Tracks

Lyssa and her best friend Abbey discover a hideout near the train tracks and spend the summer before sixth grade hanging out and finding freedom from issues at home. Their childhood innocence is lost when the hideout becomes the scene of a tragic death.

As they’re about to graduate from high school, Abbey’s family life spirals out of control while Lyssa is feeling guilty for deceiving Abbey about her sexuality. After another tragic loss, Lyssa finds out that a penny on the tracks is sometimes a huge price to pay for the truth.

APennyontheTracks-web — A Penny on the Tracks

Excerpt:

I WAS MAKING our favorite sandwich—bologna, lettuce, and cheese smeared with mustard and mayo on white bread—when Abbey called for me from the living room.

“Lyssa! Hurry up! Poison’s on!”

The sandwiches lay on the counter amid a mess of open condiment jars and scattered pieces of lettuce and lunch meat. I quickly smashed the top slices of bread onto both sandwiches against the piled-stack of a sloppy mess I had created and hurried into the next room, dropping bits of food as I ran.

Abbey was standing on the couch, shouting out the lyrics we both knew by heart as Brett Michaels’ voice filled the room.

I handed her a sandwich, jumped on the couch, and screamed out the chorus to “Talk Dirty to Me.” I took bites of my sandwich during the guitar solo, and Abbey held her sandwich high in her left hand, as though it were the end of a guitar, and strummed her right hand against the front of her shirt. We banged our heads in unison, hair (and food) flying everywhere.

Abbey’s house had a bigger TV and better food options than bologna and cheese sandwiches, but we never could have done what we were doing right then if we were at her house.

Twisted Sister’s “We’re Not Gonna Take It” came on next, and we both lost our minds. We dropped what was left of our food onto the table and yelled out the lyrics to our favorite song. Abbey sang the song with more conviction, as though she had a lot more that she didn’t want to take anymore.

The video ended, and we both collapsed onto the couch and finished our lunch. After, I went into the kitchen and grabbed a couple cans of pop from the fridge. Hanging on a magnet, on the side of the refrigerator, was a note from my mom reminding me she was working late that night and that there were frozen dinners in the freezer. At the end of the note she promised a home-cooked meal soon.

Abbey was often envious of the lack of parental supervision at my place, especially when it came to dinner. She was jealous I got to eat whatever I wanted. Even if my mom left dinner for me in the fridge, if I wanted to eat S’mores for supper, I ate S’mores.

“You eat dinner on the couch while watching TV?” Abbey had asked me one day.

“If I feel like it,” I answered.

“You’re so lucky. My mom makes me eat with her at the table, even if my dad isn’t home yet. And I can’t even put my elbows on the table.”

I ate on the couch while watching TV because my friend didn’t know the loneliness that crept inside a person while eating dinner among empty chairs.

But I had forced a smile. “Yep. I am lucky.”

I walked back into the living room and handed one of the cans to Abbey.

Abbey didn’t take it. “My mom said I drink too much pop.”

“Your mom’s not fucking here.”

Abbey smiled and grabbed the can from my hand.About eight videos later and a sore neck from head banging, Abbey had to go home.

I walked her to the door. “Let’s ride our bikes tomorrow.”

“Where to?”

“I don’t know. Somewhere far.”

“Last time we did that we were almost too tired to ride back,” she reminded me.

“That was because of the wind,” I explained. “It was blowing against us on our way back.”

Abbey considered this. “Okay. If it’s not very windy tomorrow, we’ll ride our bikes far.”

You can purchase A Penny on the Tracks on the link below at Amazon.com.

Thanks for reading!

Trump and the LGBTQ Community

Months ago, Donald Trump decided transgender children will no longer be protected under federal law. They will no longer be allowed to choose the bathroom that matches their gender identity. Instead, they will be forced to use the bathroom that matches the sex they were born. Even though with all their souls, and everything they believe in, these children feel they were born in the wrong body.

I’ve heard the argument that not allowing transgender people to use the bathroom of their choice is to protect children, even though there has never been a record of a pattern of child sexual abuse by transgender people. Too bad the same can’t be said for Catholic priests, yet no one has ever suggested banning them from public restrooms.

Now Trump wants to ban transgender people from the military. A five-time draft dodger, who once claimed Sen. John McCain wasn’t a war hero because McCain was captured, and Trump likes war heroes who weren’t captured, wants to prevent a group of people, who are ready, willing, and able to fight for their country, from serving their country.

How poetic.

I say anyone who supports banning a capable person from the military better put on a uniform and take their place. If you’re too old, then offer your children.

It’s disappointing when people you know exert what you think are bigoted sentiments. Before the presidential election last year, I had a conversation with a woman I’d known for years. She had always seemed pretty liberal, but that day she was wearing a “Make America Great Again” hat, while attempting to reassure me that Donald Trump had no plans to take away the rights of the LGBTQ community.

If there is such a thing as white privilege (and there is), then there is such a thing as straight privilege because this woman very casually urged me not to worry because Trump didn’t want to take away the right for gay people to marry, he just wanted to leave it up to the states to decide.

“But we live in a blue state,” she said. “People here won’t vote against it.”

I’m not a selfish person. Whatever rights I have as a gay person in my state, I want my gay counterparts in every state to have those same rights. Whether you live in Kentucky, Illinois, Alabama, Mississippi, or California, gay people should be protected by the same equal rights. Marriage Equality gave every gay person in this country the federal right to marry, despite any prejudice ideology that may be popular in certain states.

The ease at which my friend had suggested I should be okay with putting my rights on a ballot for any Joe Schmo to vote on, displayed a privilege she seems to take for granted. I am certain she wouldn’t be okay with strangers making decisions about anything regarding her personal life, especially one that involves who she chooses to love, but yet, she expected me to accept it.

If my friend ever considered adopting or fostering a child, I am sure she never worried about being denied because of who she loves. Straight people don’t have to concern themselves with things like that.

According to her, if gay and transgender people want rights, we simply need to cross our fingers and hope we live in a tolerant state.

ID-100256429

Photo courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net

Please Help Musa Publishing Celebrate its Three Year Anniversary

To celebrate their 3rd Anniversary, now through Oct 31, Musa Publishing is offering 30% off all its books! Please check out some amazing authors at a spectacular price. Whether your favorite genre is Romance, Young Adult, Mystery, Suspense, Thriller, Paranormal, Historical, Classical, LGBTQ or Erotica, Musa offers it all!

Please go to their website, Musapublishing.com, and take advantage of these great prices.

You can find my lesbian romance novella, Her Name, originally $2.99, for only $2.09!

Her Name is a story about a woman, Madison, who believes the beautiful woman she dreams about is the real love of her life. She has vivid dreams of the same woman every night, and soon, Madison believes this woman is the love she has been searching for. Madison’s dreams become more intense and she realizes the dreams she’s having recreate moments taken from actual events from her life–and this woman is there for all of it. Madison searches for her, but how can she find a woman she knows everything about… and yet nothing? She doesn’t even know her name.

Below is an excerpt from Her Name:

Shelly and I walked across the dog park, chatting while Shelly’s pooch ran free.

“Freddy! Stay where Mama can see you!” She turned to me. “Has Becca tried contacting you?”

I shrugged. “A couple calls. Some texts, but I didn’t respond, so I think she got the message.”

“Good.”

We walked for a little while, and then she asked, “So, did you really wake up crying this morning?”

I had told her over the phone earlier that day about my dream. I looked her dead in the eye and nodded. “My pillow was drenched.”

Shelly shook her head. “And you don’t remember what you were crying about?”

I glanced toward the sky and shrugged. “In the first dream, I didn’t know her. She knew me, but I was looking at her for the first time. In the second dream, it seemed like we were living together and we had our own little routine, like I’d come home from work and she’d cook dinner. But in this last dream, the way she held me in her arms as I cried was so personal. I wasn’t afraid to be vulnerable around her. And then she told me she loved me.”

Shelly stopped walking and grabbed my arm. “Wait, she told you she loved you?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Did you say it back?”

“Of course I did.”

My friend threw her hands in the air. “How could you tell her you love her? You don’t even know how long you’ve known her for!”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “Are you [messing] with me?” I asked.

She looked at me, and I suspected she was holding a straight face for as long as she could before she burst out in laughter. “Of course I’m [messing] with you! This is a [frickin’] dream we’re talking about! She’s not real!” she yelled.

I walked away, but Shelly followed me. “What? You’re mad at me?”

“No, it’s my own fault. I shouldn’t have told you. I’m not even sure why I did.”

“I’m sorry! Please don’t stop telling me! I’m dying to hear more about this amazing fake woman.” She cracked up and wrapped an apologetic arm around my neck. “I’m sorry, really I am, but let me just make sure I’ve got this straight so far. You’ve played games with a hose, you woke up naked with her, you cried, and you told her you loved her, but you haven’t even [slept with] her yet?”

I pulled away and gave her a hard look.

She laughed. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I just insult your girlfriend? If she’s mad, just apologize for me when you see her tonight.”

“You know what!” I yelled. I started to let her have it, but stopped myself. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected my friend’s reaction to be, because they were only dreams and everyone had them.

Thanks for stopping by and please give a Musa author of your favorite genre a chance!