STRANGER THAN FICTION
When I woke up this morning my first thought was, Bradykins feels so small and cold and hard and glass-like.
Then I realized I was cuddling with a Lambda Literary Award.*
Then I remembered I won a Lambda Literary Award.
Then I remembered that I was attacked last night by one of the other finalists in the Best Gay Romance category.
Okay, seriously, this was not expected. I'm friends with several of the other finalists in the category -- especially Teej and Becks and Andy Zeffer -- and I had planned on applauding wildly as they took the stage and accepted their well-deserved award.
But... I won. Go figure. And suddenly there I was, on the stage and unprepared and babbling out thanks to whoever I could remember to thank, and totally blanking on people I should have thanked or things I should have said.
More later. Right now, the entire experience has still left me a bit stunned. And gratified, of course. (I might feel a bit conflicted, but I'm not giving the fucking thing back.)
Oh, one last thing: Christopher Rice? Every bit as adorable in person as in his author photo. Just sayin'.
* = not really. That would be too wrong even for me.