LET THE SLAPFEST BEGIN
I'm popping some popcorn and settling in for a while. This could be goooooood.

LAMBDA LITERARY AWARDS ANNOUNCED
Congratulations to this year's Lambda Literary Award winners, which were announced last night in West Hollywood. And a special shout out to my friend Susan Lucci Greg Herren, who finally picked up a writing award after 37 nominations.

LGBT ANTHOLOGY
First Person Queer, edited by Richard Labonte and Lawrence Schimel
Arsenal Pulp Press

LGBT ARTS & CULTURE
The View From Here, by Matthew Hays
Arsenal Pulp Press

LGBT CHILDREN'S/YOUNG ADULT
Hero, by Perry Moore
Hyperion
NOTE: a really good, fun book!

LGBT DRAMA/THEATER
Return to the Caffe Cino, edited by Steve Susoyev and George Birimisa
Moving Finger Press

LGBT EROTICA
Homosex, by Simon Sheppard
Running Press

LGBT NONFICTION
Gay Artists in Modern American Culture, by Michael S. Sherry
University of North Carolina Press

LGBT POETRY
Blackbird and Wolf, by Henri Cole
Farrar, Straus & Giroux

LGBT SCI-FI/FANTASY/HORROR
The Dust of Wonderland, by Lee Thomas
Alyson Books

LGBT STUDIES
Between Women, by Sharon Marcus
Princeton University Press

BISEXUAL
Split Screen, by Brett Hartinger
HarperCollins Children's Books

TRANSGENDER
Transparent, by Cris Beam
Harcourt

LESBIAN DEBUT FICTION
Among Other Things, I've Taken Up Smoking, by Aoibheann Sweeney
The Penguin Press

GAY DEBUT FICTION
A Push and a Shove, by Christopher Kelly
Alyson Books

WOMEN'S FICTION
The IHOP Papers, by Ali Leibegott
Carroll & Graf

WOMEN'S ROMANCE
Out of Love, by KG MacGregor
Bella Books

WOMEN'S MYSTERY
Wall of Silence, by Gabrielle Goldsby
Bold Strokes Books


WOMEN'S MEMOIR/BIOGRAPHY
And Now We Are Going to Have a Party by Nicola Griffith
Payseur & Schmidt

MEN'S FICTION
Call Me By Your Name, by Andre Aciman
Farrar Straus Giroux

MEN's ROMANCE
Changing Tides, by Michael Thomas Ford
Kensington

MEN's MYSTERY
Murder in the Rue Chartres, by Greg Herren
Alyson Books

MEN'S MEMOIR/BIOGRAPHY
Mississippi Sissy, by Kevin Sessums
St. Martin's Press


By the way, Andre Aciman -- the Men's Romance winner -- is heterosexual. See how tolerant the 'mos are?

NOW I JUST HAVE TO ADD A WALKER TO MY AMAZON WISH LIST
The week's mail brought an end to my denial:



And you know what? I am definitely going to join. If I have to be this old, I'm going to at least get my discounts.

Also, get off my lawn!

SLICE OF THE PAST
Circa 1977, a group of friends and I decided to audition for a Rochester-area community theater production of "Anything Goes." We had just done the show in high school, where I played the bishop, meaning I was on stage for 4 seconds, then went back to the chorus.

This time, I was determined to hit the big time. By Rochester-area community theater standards, at least. And this is the song I sang at the audition:



I nailed that song. No, I nailed it. My friends -- waiting outside the room -- heard me, and said I'd never sounded better. And back then I didn't smoke and could hear better -- plus they were the sort of evil people who loved taking loving swipes at their friends, much like my friends today -- so I think I did.

But then the community theater people asked me to show them how I danced.

Yeah... my rhythm is fascinatin'...

You might have noticed that I express my creativity by writing these days. Ah well... community theater's loss is light gay lit's gain, I guess.

GETTING THERE
Waiting isn't always advisable or good for the soul, but sometimes it does pay off.

Of course, my boyfriend won't marry me until I first give him a baby, a taser, a puppy, and a cell-phone blocker. Guess it's good I technically live in New Jersey.

MEANWHILE, ON THE WEST COAST...
Right now tens of thousands of gay homosexual sodomite writer-types are descending on the Greater Los Angeles area for this year's Lambda Literary Awards ceremony. I had actually considered going, but -- as usual in May -- fiscal reality caught up with me. Fortunately, in only a few weeks I should receive my next royalty check, which will no doubt fatten my bank account... even after I buy that new Cessna I have my eye on.

Of course, all the award finalists are winners (where have I heard that before? Oh yeah. Uh... stet.) But two Friends of FARB are even more deserving than the other finalists, because... well, because they are Friends of FARB.



So good luck and best wishes to Andrew W. M. Beierle, whose novel First Person Plural is a finalist for Best Men's Fiction...



...and to Greg Herren, whose novel Murder in the Rue Chartres is up for Best Men's Mystery.


And if you're a planning to have a Lamdba Literary Award Party at home during Thursday evening's ceremony, you can find the complete list of finalists here. In case you have a Lammy pool going, or something.

MY NEW FAVORITE PHOTO
Even though I'm showing those extra pounds and wearing my glasses -- with age, I am slowly losing both my eyesight and my vanity -- I love this picture 'Nathan snapped of me and Brady in New Orleans so much I not only stole it from his flickr album, I stole his caption, too.


Here's the Famous Author Rob Byrnes and his Bradykins, and lemme tell you, the light that radiates off this couple will get you through the nerves of being alone in a strange city.


Awwww... Which reminds me: remember when I wrote a few weeks ago that no one at Saints & Sinners knew who I was? Not totally true. It was a privilege to meet 'Nathan (and a few other folks) for the first time... especially because 'Nathan was one of the first people to review The Night We Met more than five years ago.

And while we're on the subject of photos from New Orleans, Becky has uploaded a new batch. "Crazy Wonderful," indeed...

BUSTED
You caught me, Cletus. I am indeed the top MSN Search result for "which famous author watched his friend get ran over by a train?"

Remind me to tell you the story some day...

WHAT I DO IN MY DOWN TIME
1. Cocktails

2. Encourage other people having cocktails to put on Rollerblades and skate down the ramp into our favorite bar.

3. Lather, rinse, repeat.


Eh. Dumbest video you'll see -- today, at least -- but I thought you'd like another slice of my life. Worse than that, we laughed about it for days. Pathetic much?

ME, STARRING DENNIS CASS
It's like he lives in my skin.




(Thanks, MSV!)

ONE OF THESE THINGS IS NOT LIKE THE OTHERS
From a FaceBook page I stumbled across:

I keep telling you people I'm Famous!

NEWS FLASH: FLORIDA HOSPITAL ADDS PATIENT BENEFITS
I wonder what the Medicaid reimbursement is like.

THE EARLY BLOGGER GETS THE LINK
I was going to note the exact same thing, but why be redundant?

Also, Representative Peter King is an idiot. But that probably goes without saying.

ALSO, HE MIGHT WANT TO TAKE OFF THE TIE
From the Albany Times-Union's "Capitol Confidential":

Paterson was hospitalized last summer when he fainted on a campaign plane and has said he has a condition that is easily remedied by not sleeping with his shirt collar buttoned.

I guess when you're the governor, you sleep fully dressed because you have to be ready for anything. Or, uh, something like that.

In other news, Happy Birthday and Get Well Soon wishes to Governor David Paterson, who is no doubt reading this blog from a laptop in his hospital room because we famous Famous people keep tabs on each other.

DONE
Effective five minutes ago, I joined the esteemed company of Becky Cochrane and Greg Herren.

Now... onto my next project. Or Happy Hour. I haven't quite decided.

Annnnnd WE'RE BACK!
Hey, children! Miss me?

First, I want to thank you for your cards, e-mails, comments, Facebook postings, etc. They were greatly appreciated.

But it's time to move on. Otherwise, who is going to keep an eye on The Q-Word?

Events over the past few weeks understandably slowed my progress in finishing the final polish on the new book -- which reminds me, the title will be Straight Lies -- but I hope to turn it in tomorrow. No... I will turn it in tomorrow. I want to own my weekend for the first time in several months, dammit.

Then we'll see if Kensington Publishing and/or the reading public is ready for a madcap caper about a misfit gang of lowly career criminals who happen to be gay and lesbian. If the answer is yes, I will happily provide a new book every year. If the answer is no, well... thank God I don't depend on my writing income to pay the bills.

In other news, I spent last weekend in New Orleans at the Saints & Sinners Literary Fesitval. (Meaning, yes, I flew down the day after my mother died. Don't judge.) For obvious reasons, I was not 100% into the swing of things, but still had a good time and met (and re-met) some great people. Even though too many of them are on LiveJournal.

As usual, I didn't have a camera. And I'm too lazy to recap the entire weekend, but other people who were there can no doubt get you up to speed.

Bonus: Lisa gave me a voodoo doll and Trebor Healey -- who is very nice, even if he has no clue who I am -- gave me a plastic lizard. This weekend I'm gonna see what I can do with them, so some of you might want to watch out.

Oh, by the way, Becky has captured me in all my squinty glory on her blog. Eh... who needs eyes, anyway?

Recurring theme of the weekend, which is why I'm so certain Trebor Healey doesn't know who I am: no one knows who I am. On the last afternoon of the conference, one woman thought she recognized my name, but she also thought I wrote erotica, which would be a big "Uh... no." Fortunately, at the closing party I ran into this guy, and -- although we had never met -- he knew who I was... especially after I spotted him next to me at the bar and said, "You once called me 'crinkly.'" (And, yes, he seems like a nice guy, although our conversation was far too short. Maybe some other time...)

Alas, thanks to the weather, I arrived back home three hours later than I had planned, so I totally missed Marc Acito's reading. Then again, he had a crowd of 90 people, so if I had been in the audience I probably would have had to hurt him (said the man who usually reads to crowds of one.)

Whatever. Acito probably wouldn't be considered famous Famous in New Orleans, either. Those Hurricanes have weakened their minds.

IT'S OVER

Pianist
Homemaker
Perpetual Dieter
Lounge Singer
Avid Reader of Mysteries
Rape Crisis Counseler
Pro-Choice Republican
Writer of Silly Poetry
Cat-Lover
Folk Guitarist
Wife
Wife, Again
Adult College Student
Piano Tuner
Lover of Chocolate-Covered Cherries
Village of Naples, NY Municipal Clerk
Bad Cook
60-Year-Old Law School Graduate
Organist at St. George's Episcopal Church
Bookkeeper
Hospital Clerk

Mother to a Lawyer. a Doctor,
and a Tippling Gay Writer.
But Two Out of Three Ain't Bad.


March 24, 1937 - May 7, 2008

THE LAST GRAINS OF SAND IN THE HOURGLASS
I never contemplated writing an entry like this. I understand why people do -- getting the words out is good therapy sometimes -- but I couldn't see doing it myself. I thought it would feel too self-indulgent.

Then again, for better or worse, I have always been my own therapist. And it's Sunday afternoon... and Bradykins is out of town so I'm alone... and if I play another game of Web Sudoku I'll probably scream. So maybe it's all right to be self-indulgent.

This morning I learned that, barring a non-medical miracle, my mother will probably die within the next 24 hours. Certainly within the next 72. This is not a shock, really. More than fifty years after being diagnosed with Crohn's Disease, she has already beaten the early odds. For the past six years her health has been extremely precarious, with a mounting list of serious ailments, including major respiratory problems, most likely the result of prolonged steroid treatments for the Crohn's. The family has been braced for this day for quite some time.

She entered the hospital yet again the other day and, this time, made an informed decision to not go through the increasingly complex routine. No respirator... no draining of fluid from her lungs... no monitors... nothing but morphine for the pain and oxygen to help her breathe. She was given a DNR wrist band and moved into a 'transition' ward, which is a nice enough euphemism, I guess. This morning the doctor examined her and gave her husband the shortened timeline.

Her three children all agree that she made the right decision. I cannot imagine the emotional pain she felt when she consciously made the decision that it was time for her to die, but I know it pales compared to the physical pain she has endured... pain that would only get worse, never better.

I may disappear for a few days, but just to keep my head together. I won't be rushing home to Rochester. After a few dozen phone calls over the weekend -- and you know I am taking this seriously, because I hate the telephone -- my brother, sister and I decided that nothing would be accomplished by gathering around the deathbed. We'll get together at a later date to celebrate her life. In the meantime, we can take a measure of solace in knowing that the entire family was able to gather in late March, when her health and mental awareness were quite good. I think we all would prefer to remember that day, not the day that will come early this week.

As you may recall, I have recently been tracking my family tree. There is order in the chart, as generations come and go. It's a reminder that the cumulative effect of many lives, intertwined, is vast. The lives lived, the people loved, the children nourished and raised to adulthood... that's what 'family' looks like on paper.

Real life isn't as orderly, of course. And it's all too brief.

Still, at some point this week I'll probably log on to my family tree to add the date of death for Barbara Ann Fisher Byrnes Nixon, 1937-2008.

And I will mourn, in my own way, but also remember those better days. Because the measure of a life should be in the joy and happiness it brought, not how it ended.