July 29, 2013

LLF DAY1: Ghosts of Fellows Past

The day started at 2 AM with me loading up the car and driving to the Kansas City airport.
Economy lot.
Bus to the terminal.
TSA molestation.
Waiting for an hour to board.

Soccer boys on the plane.
Won the championship in KC.
One fell asleep on my shoulder.
He apologized then did it again.

Landed at LAX.
Went hunting for queer writers.
Went to the observation deck of that white thingy that looks like two McDonald's french fries crossed.

Waited for queers.

Waited for queers here.

Queers landing at American Jewish University

Gays lounging

Immediately after arriving, I felt a longing for last year's Lambda Fellows who weren't there with me. I took a moment to sort of absorb it for them and send them good energy to remind us of our time here last summer. 

I also made the decision that in order for me to get the most out of this year's workshop, I needed to be fully present. That means not longing for last year or for boring the new fellows with tales of how we did things -- unless they asked.

They're a fine group of writers and I owe it to them, and myself, not to cast a shadow on this year's experience. Though I feel the essence of last years fellows are here with me. And it feels nice.

So with that, I posted a message on Facebook to last year's fellows asking them for any advice to impart to this year's group.

July 26, 2013


Miguel's Goal Reached!

Thanks to everyone who donated to my Lambda Literary Foundation fund! 

I needed to collect a whopping $1,300 and you guys exceeded that goal by $170!!

The excess funds do not go to me but they will go to the Lambda Literary Foundation which does so much to support LGBT and Queer writers. Thank you for encouraging my efforts and strengthening them.

Please follow me on Facebook and Twitter to keep track of my progress at the Writers Retreat for Emerging LGBT Voices!

You can follow more of this year's LLF fellows by tracking the #LLFellows2013 hashtag

July 8, 2013

Sun Damaged

Working in the Texas soybean fields as a kid
under a blazing and insolent summer sun
that tempted him with mirages of
cool rippling lakes along the horizon,
he dreamed of a future working
in an chilled, air-conditioned office.

He’d sit in a cushioned chair
and wear a dark, clean suit, and a fresh thin tie
instead of muddy, oversized boots
and sweaty bandannas.

He’d have shiny black dress shoes with black laces
and folded white handkerchiefs.
He’d wear a sleek watch and a thin belt
not a thick one showing a man riding a bull on its buckle.

He’d go to lunch whenever he wanted
instead of having to eat when the sun was at its highest
and when they were closest to the car
that had everyone’s lunch
packed into a foam cooler in its trunk.

He’d walk with a purpose
and smile at people.
He’d talk to strangers
and they would welcome it.

He wouldn’t constantly scan the toiling soil
looking for thorned weeds to scissor.
He wouldn’t talk quietly to himself in order to pass the time.
He wouldn’t wonder what everyone else in the world was doing
at that exact moment.

He wouldn’t be ashamed to tell his friends
what he did over the summer
because he’d have gone on vacation
like everyone else
and not worked the fields
dreaming of a time when
when he would escape
the assiduous sun.