tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41376832024-03-04T23:38:11.128-05:00FARBlog: Famous Author Rob ByrnesThe sporadic thoughts and musings of Lambda Literary Award-winning gay novelist Rob Byrnes on writing, politics, culture, gossip, and everyone else's typos. Defining deviancy down since 2003.Rob Byrneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12634717603420390392noreply@blogger.comBlogger1952125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4137683.post-80956582224931897392011-01-07T14:39:00.002-05:002011-01-07T14:56:06.946-05:00THE JANUARY 7 MASSACRESo I figured if I'm committed to breathing a little life into this blog again, I should clean up the links...<br /><br />It seems I was not alone when I went on an extended hiatus. I ended up deleting half the links in my sidebar. It happens. If any of you decide to start blogging again, drop me a line.<br /><br />Still, it's hard to believe that only a few short years ago so many of us built a community around our blogs.<br /><br />See what you've done, Mark Zuckerberg? <em>See what you've done?!</em><br /><br />Okay, that's enough for now. I've got to get back to <a href="http://www.facebook.com/rob.byrnes">Facebook</a>...Rob Byrneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12634717603420390392noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4137683.post-38324906329219373782011-01-06T11:35:00.002-05:002011-01-06T11:44:32.517-05:00NEW DAY DAWNINGOh, my poor blog! How I've neglected you!<br /><br />But it's a new year, and it's time for me to make a new commitment to my abandoned baby. Especially since I have news!<br /><br />(But why write it myself when I can simply cut-and-paste this press release from <a href="http://www.boldstrokesbooks.com">Bold Strokes Books</a>?)<br /><br /><br /><blockquote><strong>January 5, 2011 Press Release: New Title from Rob Byrnes</strong><br /><br />Bold Strokes Books is pleased to announce the acquisition of Rob Byrnes’s new novel, <em>Holy Rollers</em>, scheduled for release in 2011 from Bold Strokes Liberty Editions.<br /><br /><em><strong> Holy Rollers – Coming in 2011</strong></em><br /><br />When Grant Lambert and Chase LaMarca—partners in life and crime—learn that $7 million in not-so-petty cash is hidden in the safe of a rightwing mega-church, they assemble a team of gay and lesbian criminals to infiltrate the church and steal the money. But this Gang That Can’t Do Anything Straight quickly finds its plans complicated by corrupt congressmen (and their gay aides); an “ex-gay” conference; an FBI investigation; the unexpected appearance of a long-lost relative; and—most jarring for these born-and-bred New Yorkers—life in the northern Virginia suburbs. And then there is Dr. Oscar Hurley—founder of the church—and his right-hand man, the Rev. Dennis Merribaugh, who prove themselves every bit as adept as the professionals when it comes to larceny…<br /><br /><em><strong>About the Author</strong></em><br /><br />Rob Byrnes is the author of four novels, including the 2006 Lambda Literary Award-winning <em>When the Stars Come Out</em> and 2009 Lammy finalist <em>Straight Lies</em>. His short stories have also appeared in several anthologies, including <em>Fool for Love</em> (2009), <em>Saints & Sinners 2010: New Fiction from the Festival </em>(2010), and <em>Men of the Mean Streets</em> (2011).<br /><br />A native of Upstate New York, Byrnes was born and raised in Rochester and graduated from Union College in Schenectady before moving to Manhattan. He now resides in West New York, New Jersey, with his partner, Brady Allen.<br /><br />Visit <a href="http://www.boldstrokesbooks.com/categories.php?category=Paperback-Books/Gay--Fiction/Browse-By-Author/Rob-Byrnes">Rob Byrnes’s Bio Page at Bold Strokes Books</a></blockquote><br />So... back to writing, and back to blogging. Yay!<br /><br />One final thing: I am thrilled by this new relationship! And I look forward to it being a long, happy, and productive one.Rob Byrneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12634717603420390392noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4137683.post-29375115901958068562010-12-07T20:37:00.002-05:002010-12-07T20:39:48.793-05:00Happy Billy Hufsey Day!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs0q6guiLJC2cE2eI4bcySagF8fiu6pa-LrUi5rqEGuI5B6G-0IdGf8PJ-EcU93t-fRbE3bvI7mZCh8Qt1aQOIs5kJNicNkML1smxP8cDXG0KuAEgUHoM1eQ3896B62fwWskiq/s1600/Hufsey4.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 235px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 136px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548120074795088658" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs0q6guiLJC2cE2eI4bcySagF8fiu6pa-LrUi5rqEGuI5B6G-0IdGf8PJ-EcU93t-fRbE3bvI7mZCh8Qt1aQOIs5kJNicNkML1smxP8cDXG0KuAEgUHoM1eQ3896B62fwWskiq/s320/Hufsey4.jpg" /></a> <div>My first blog post in 4-1/2 months is to remind you that Billy Hufsey turns 52 in just a few hours.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Just sayin'.</div>Rob Byrneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12634717603420390392noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4137683.post-22359493598354869632010-07-18T23:11:00.003-04:002010-07-18T23:16:03.451-04:00BLOW OUT THE CANDLES...Oops. Just realized this blog celebrated its seventh anniversary last Friday.<br /><br />Hopefully in this eighth year I'll get my blogging mojo back. In the meantime, scroll through the archives. Back in the day -- yes, I've been blogging for so long I call it "back in the day" -- I used to be sort of funny. <br /><br />Or, you know, "funny-with-air quotes-indicating-stupid." Same root, at least.<br /><br />Whatevs. I'm still here.Rob Byrneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12634717603420390392noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4137683.post-59986071419190090372010-07-13T21:14:00.002-04:002010-07-13T21:29:34.796-04:00Who Likes FARB Shorts?... well, really, not tons of people. Still, here we are. The elite will be ahead of the game, and masses will catch up. Some day.<br /><br />I keep forgetting to tell you people that my short story "Saint Daniel and His Demons" -- which apparently <a href="http://www.facebook.com/?ref=home#!/rob.byrnes?v=wall&story_fbid=123365991040762&ref=notif">reads like Vonnegut</a> -- although maybe that's Tony "No Relation" Vonnegut, not Kurt -- is in an awesome anthology... and I'm in it!<br /><br /><a href="http://n8an.livejournal.com/681028.html">'Nathan has reviewed it.</a> And awesome writers like Jess Wells, Aaron Hamburger, Greg Herren, Jewelle Gomez, Jeff Mann, and Lucy Jane Bledsoe contributed to it...<br /><br />What's not to love? You can buy it at <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Saints-Sinners-2010-Fiction-Festival/dp/1608640353/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1279070781&sr=8-3">Amazon</a>, or course, but patronize your friendly neighborhood LGBT bookseller, if you can.Rob Byrneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12634717603420390392noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4137683.post-63417464047711040922010-07-05T23:20:00.004-04:002010-07-06T09:13:12.408-04:00THE BREAKSBreaks.<br /><br />Yes, I've had a bit of one with this blog. But no, that's not what I mean by "breaks." Maybe I'll apologize for walking away from the blog some day; probably not.<br /><br />Because I'm guilty of far worse breaks over my half-century on this planet. You probably are, too. It's an ingrained part of the human psyche, I think. Or at least mine. You deal with what you can deal with, and the rest... break.<br /><br />For example, my parents separated when I was 18, and divorced a year later. Three months after that, my mother remarried. <em>You </em>do <em>that </em>math. In any event, I sunk into a decades-long pattern of avoidance, and managed to strain my relationship with both my mother and father for years. These were, in true WASP fashion, very cold breaks: emotional distance papered over with quarterly phone calls.<br /><br />Sometimes less than that. During one lengthy period of estrangement, my father only learned that I had moved from Rochester to New York City from an item in the Rochester newspaper. He reached out to me. That is to his credit; not mine. I was bull-headed enough at the time that I was willing to make the clean break, and if I hadn't heard from him, well... But I did.<br /><br />There have been other breaks -- I jettisoned a lot of people from my past when I came out, because I knew (or thought, and I'm pretty sure I was right) they wouldn't understand, and it wasn't worth my time -- but the family breaks had a bitter taste.<br /><br />I never got over the problems with my mother. That mostly had to with her husband of the last 30 years, but it's not a great excuse. She deserved better from me than avoidance and neglect. I was never really angry with her, but I'd been trapped in the middle of the problem when I was 18 and 19, and, well... I broke. And now she's been dead for the past 26 months, and I can't go back and make anything better.<br /><br />I can kick myself and admit she deserved better than she got from me, but I can't make anything better. Now.<br /><br />My father -- the alpha dog of the family -- is slowing down, too. Bad hips, bad shoulders, you name it. At 76 -- 77 next month -- his body is showing the wear and tear of hard labor (which I do <em>not </em>do) since before I was born. He's probably got another decade in him. Maybe two. But sometimes I'm scared to get glimpses of his relatively recent frailty.<br /><br />A few days ago, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Bradykins</span> and I flew to Rochester. It was supposed to be a quiet weekend, but -- minutes after we arrived -- we discovered my stepmother had just broken her hip. She was in the hospital before we arrived, although she'll hopefully be home tomorrow. She's a fighter. We used to drink together back in the '80s. She'll get past this. Still, that's a bad break.<br /><br />When we left this morning, he (like my stepmother) kept apologizing that -- because of her broken hip -- we probably had a boring weekend. Quite the contrary. It sort of opened my eyes.<br /><br />The thing is... if Brady and I hadn't been in town, my father would have been wandering around between the hospital and an empty house. That's not a good place for a 76-almost-77-year-old <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">with</span> a bad hip and bad shoulder. We were glad that he had us to come home to, and I feel a bit guilty tonight that he came home to a dark, empty house.<br /><br />And -- much as I hate the phone -- I also broke pattern tonight to call both of them (her in the hospital; him at home), to check in.<br /><br />I can't undo the past. I can only start appreciating what I have now. So I will force it, if I have to, to keep those ties strong.<br /><br />Because, really, they break too easily if you let them.Rob Byrneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12634717603420390392noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4137683.post-25763585944354665542010-05-26T22:42:00.003-04:002010-05-26T22:57:44.015-04:00I GOTCHER LAMMYS RIGHT........ HERE!Okay, so I haven't updated in a month. And I wonder why maybe four people stop by on a good day. Mmmph.<br /><br />ANYWAY... I'll try to be better. <em>(That is not a promise; just a very positive thought. And it's always good to think positive thoughts, right?)</em> <br /><br />In the meantime, tomorrow night at roughly 7:00 PM (Eastern, that is), the Lambda Literary Awards will kick off. For up-to-the-minute action -- give or take a few minutes, 'cause I'll probably be drunk -- follow me on Twitter: <a href="http://www.twitter.com/RobByrnesWriter">http://www.twitter.com/RobByrnesWriter</a>.<br /><br />Yes, as a matter of fact I <em>am</em> a finalist for Gay Mystery. This is what I've been practicing for when the winner is announced:<br /><br />http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kyZRiEJnIag<br /><br />Good luck to eveyone!Rob Byrneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12634717603420390392noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4137683.post-28633462255937298492010-04-25T19:34:00.002-04:002010-04-25T19:35:12.686-04:00WHOOPSThe "50 Excerpts" project fell off track due to life. More coming...Rob Byrneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12634717603420390392noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4137683.post-22694321151422838012010-04-22T01:00:00.000-04:002010-04-22T07:17:00.441-04:0050 EXCERPTS: #13<blockquote>...Grant wasn't a fan of Jamie Brock. The three of them -- Grant and Chase on one side, Jamie on the other -- had been distant acquaintances for most of the fifteen years Grant and Chase had been together, a fact he blamed on Chase. But Jamie was the type of person who only knew you when he needed something. In a sense, Grant felt he and Chase -- both approaching career criminal status, despite his partner's low-paying Groc-O-Rama gig on the side -- were <em>still</em> more sincere and productive than Jamie, who continued to play his "trust fund boy" game with the moneyed gay crowd a decade after the last time it had actually worked on a meaningful scale. Now that he was solidly joining Grant and Chase in what some would consider "middle age," the act was getting older than he was.<br /><br />Chase allowed himself a smile as he returned to busywork. "Screw Jamie. I can hear about his latest Hamptons drama the next time we see him out at the bars."</blockquote><br /><p><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj02cO3QI6htMtglFE89WvkmyRb8N9VHNLZADGeq_IULTM3U2NNjxw6qZwI7DPp8OlccfkfHSVMgOexXfNmuzeu8xmWioXVhNCZwKc2QR32aspgRBiKkGlSbJAYGjIpfHX-XORt/s1600/straightlies.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461569163921537634" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 297px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj02cO3QI6htMtglFE89WvkmyRb8N9VHNLZADGeq_IULTM3U2NNjxw6qZwI7DPp8OlccfkfHSVMgOexXfNmuzeu8xmWioXVhNCZwKc2QR32aspgRBiKkGlSbJAYGjIpfHX-XORt/s320/straightlies.jpg" border="0" /></a><strong>from <em>Straight Lies</em><br /><br />Kensington Publishing Corp.<br />April, 2009<br /><br /><br />Buy it at <a href="http://www.tlavideo.com/rob-byrnes/person-38023-2-1120?sn=1438">TLA Video</a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></strong></p><br /><p><strong><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></strong></p><br /><p><strong><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></strong></p><br /><p><strong><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></strong></p><br /><p><strong><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></strong></p><br /><p><strong><span style="font-size:85%;">What's this about? </span><a href="http://robnyc.blogspot.com/2010/04/50-excerpts-introduction.html"><span style="font-size:85%;">Click here</span></a><span style="font-size:85%;">.</span></strong> </p>Rob Byrneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12634717603420390392noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4137683.post-60369555393761919722010-04-21T01:00:00.000-04:002010-04-21T07:20:27.187-04:0050 EXCERPTS: #12<blockquote>"You said she walked in on you?"<br /><br />Jimmy was visibly energized, and took Quinn's vacated deck chair. "Now <em>that</em> was a scene! You know the story of how we met, right?" Noah shook his head. "It was on the set of <em>When the Stars Come Out</em>. He was starring opposite her -- and let me tell you, I love Quinn dearly, but he should not have been doing musicals -- and I was a dancer in the big musical number at the end of the show. Anyway, I had just ended a horrible relationship with an evil, evil man -- dead now, God rest his soul -- and I didn't think I wanted to meet anyone, but we were on the set, and our eyes met, and something just clicked."<br /><br />"And... happily ever after?"<br /><br />Jimmy threw his head back and let out a loud, high-pitched laugh. "Not exactly. Remember, Quinn was married to the top box-office draw in the nation, maybe the world. And up to that point, he had never even admitted to <em>himself</em> that he was gay. It was very complicated. Let me give you a brief flashback..."</blockquote><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDBFTt5T9iuLgfgN5mtd7wx64T1zTsqaZThpre6mlEOAZJniBqXZYTSKlJbHJVAXyW0dwt8TLQit2xABV8REKa2zRtxppYm2dI4dTYKnnpdR2W-z9EMlLKcdobQ8lkcnZT1N1d/s1600/A-StarsComeOut2-773715.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461566317157665858" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 170px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 265px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDBFTt5T9iuLgfgN5mtd7wx64T1zTsqaZThpre6mlEOAZJniBqXZYTSKlJbHJVAXyW0dwt8TLQit2xABV8REKa2zRtxppYm2dI4dTYKnnpdR2W-z9EMlLKcdobQ8lkcnZT1N1d/s320/A-StarsComeOut2-773715.jpg" border="0" /></a><strong>from <em>When the Stars Come Out</em><br /><br />Kensington Publishing Corp.<br />September, 2006<br /><br />Buy it at <a href="http://www.outwritebooks.com/NASApp/store/Search;jsessionid=abc0KA6jvtEID-kVBBH9r">Outwrite Bookstore & Coffeehouse</a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">What's this about? </span><a href="http://robnyc.blogspot.com/2010/04/50-excerpts-introduction.html"><span style="font-size:85%;">Click here</span></a><span style="font-size:85%;">.</span></strong>Rob Byrneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12634717603420390392noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4137683.post-55836539823167071762010-04-20T01:00:00.000-04:002010-04-20T06:29:14.638-04:0050 EXCERPTS: #11<blockquote>I stood in the darkness outside Bar 51 and reflected on the indignity of it all. Being asked to leave Bar 51 before closing was like being asked to leave a dive bar before all your teeth have fallen out.<br /><br />Since the night was cool, and I wasn't ready to go home, I decided to take a walk through midtown to the east side, where I could catch a train back to Astoria. I needed to calm down, and I thought the walk might burn off some of the alcohol that had ceased doing me any favors.<br /><br />I walked up Ninth Avenue, then turned east of Fifty-seventh Street, along surprisingly empty sidewalks. As I crossed Fifth Avenue, thereby officially entering the east side, a group of equally drunken girls shouted catcalls at me, which at least put a smile back on my face.<br /><br />It had not been my intention to return to the Penthouse, but, as I walked, I realized that was exactly what I was going to do. I was going to find Jamie, and take him in my arms and promise to protect him... to never let him go... to...<br /><br />The blare of a taxi horn stopped me seconds before I would have been run down, and I leapt back to the sidewalk.</blockquote><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOTOBIKHdfO3eIB4Qdr0oM2BFmnErHlEu5QpDOQvqampB5UEGCvojRhkbpU1QM-iQzUX0NKzOLD4CAKpvv9lKzeLKkOEwkyaRoY2SilCl0VEtvaaTc9JXObRIVdBX6GeJ8RJ0z/s1600/trustfundboys2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461562412618478514" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 177px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 265px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOTOBIKHdfO3eIB4Qdr0oM2BFmnErHlEu5QpDOQvqampB5UEGCvojRhkbpU1QM-iQzUX0NKzOLD4CAKpvv9lKzeLKkOEwkyaRoY2SilCl0VEtvaaTc9JXObRIVdBX6GeJ8RJ0z/s320/trustfundboys2.jpg" border="0" /></a><strong>from <em>Trust Fund Boys</em><br /><br />Kensington Publishing Corp.<br />June, 2004<br /><br />Buy it at <a href="http://www.lgbtbooks.com/">Common Language Bookstore</a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">What's this about? </span><a href="http://robnyc.blogspot.com/2010/04/50-excerpts-introduction.html"><span style="font-size:85%;">Click here.</span></a></strong>Rob Byrneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12634717603420390392noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4137683.post-38213883554331472432010-04-19T01:00:00.001-04:002010-04-19T06:38:55.014-04:0050 EXCERPTS: #10<blockquote>The next morning I took the subway one stop past my usual station and walked a few blocks out of my way to Fifth Avenue.<br /><br />Hanover's Book Store wouldn't be open for another hour, but the window gates had already been rolled back up. I squinted at the displays in the row of windows lining Fifth Avenue but only saw the same old authors and the same old books set out to entice impulse buyers and window shoppers. Stephen King's latest; Jackie Collins's latest; a new collection of shorts by Garrison Keillor; the new unauthorized joint biography of Arnold Schwarzenegger and Maria Shriver; Doris Kearns Goodwin; Diana Gabaldon; Tom Clancy; Nelson DeMille...<br /><br />I was about to leave, my anticipation unrewarded, when I thought I saw a familiar sight out of the corner of my eye. I strained against the glare of the sun off the plate-glass window and, sure enough, saw the cover of <em>The Brewster Mall</em> in the hands of a store employee, just as he was about to set the book on a wooden prop in the window.<br /><br />And then he took away a Tom Clancy book. No, not just one Tom Clancy book... <em>all</em> the Tom Clancy books! One by one, as I stood in slack-jawed witness, he removed copies of the New York Times number-five best-seller from that valuable window space and then, when Clancy was gone, replaced the entire display with copies of <em>The Brewster Mall</em>. By Andrew Westlake. Me.<br /><br />I decided that it was going to be a wonderful day.<br /><br />I was wrong once again.</blockquote><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCwqIFABedW9aZ5OCdy8H68kUxPQ0b6qVX5qJSzELRfwg7l-IG9Lzu5CHFaf4di1UK25N702KSfRgAHx2cb5AZvOsxmNu1VTk1hy5yHAeC_2XbBXbhIjvq-UNoChopJdxigvYj/s1600/TheNightWeMet2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461558380495470722" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 177px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 259px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCwqIFABedW9aZ5OCdy8H68kUxPQ0b6qVX5qJSzELRfwg7l-IG9Lzu5CHFaf4di1UK25N702KSfRgAHx2cb5AZvOsxmNu1VTk1hy5yHAeC_2XbBXbhIjvq-UNoChopJdxigvYj/s320/TheNightWeMet2.jpg" border="0" /></a><strong>from <em>The Night We Met</em><br /><br />Kensington Publishing Corp.<br />September, 2002<br /><br />Buy it at <a href="http://nowvoyagerbooks.com/">Now Voyager Bookstore & Gallery</a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">What's this about? </span><a href="http://robnyc.blogspot.com/2010/04/50-excerpts-introduction.html"><span style="font-size:85%;">Click here</span></a><span style="font-size:85%;">.</span></strong>Rob Byrneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12634717603420390392noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4137683.post-79655891349128617042010-04-18T14:44:00.004-04:002010-04-18T14:58:41.283-04:0050 EXCERPTS: #9<blockquote>If he ever thought about how he ended up doing what he did for a living, in an entirely alternative -- well, okay, <em>illegitimate</em> -- field, Grant would have been hard-pressed for an answer. But he seldom thought about it, so it didn't really matter. What mattered to him as each day drew to a close was that he was working, putting bread on the table, and... that was about it.<br /><br />The handful of times he <em>did</em> think about it, he thought it was a mostly wrong but inescapable career path, to the extent that being a professional thief was a career. Which is certainly was, to him.<br /><br />Growing up in a fading industrial city in southern New Jersey, close but not too close to Philadelphia, Grant watched the rich get richer and the more numerous poor get poorer. Just like the song promised, except without a catchy tune. That's why he had to get out of there. Not only was it no place to live as a gay man, it was no place to make a decent living, unless you were fortunate enough -- or lucky enough, which he figured was about the same thing -- to be one of those rich getting richer.<br /><br />But it wasn't a Marxian appraisal of economic inequality -- not that he would know Karl from Zeppo from Richard -- that led Grant Lambert to his alternative economic lifestyle.<br /><br />It was New York City.</blockquote><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhINVuHIREQT8UH2onLRPcmKUA5vh6XdkwnVLASY1v-Z5cD6STm2voSl-9ZsyOB5xMWB8OtQV-_nMl4yGlvW3RqQDVlr_XTz4Ne8Nka1PcWQucdzJwugNUrxoEBFoPt2E61Prrf/s1600/straightlies.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461552030794152194" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 297px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhINVuHIREQT8UH2onLRPcmKUA5vh6XdkwnVLASY1v-Z5cD6STm2voSl-9ZsyOB5xMWB8OtQV-_nMl4yGlvW3RqQDVlr_XTz4Ne8Nka1PcWQucdzJwugNUrxoEBFoPt2E61Prrf/s320/straightlies.jpg" border="0" /></a><strong>from <em>Straight Lies</em><br /><br />Kensington Publishing Corp.<br />April, 2009<br /><br />Buy it at <a href="http://www.gohastings.com/?attempts=1">Hastings</a></strong><br /><br /><br /><br />What's this about? <a href="http://robnyc.blogspot.com/2010/04/50-excerpts-introduction.html">Click here.</a>Rob Byrneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12634717603420390392noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4137683.post-32597189717389731592010-04-17T06:45:00.001-04:002010-04-17T08:31:46.703-04:0050 EXCERPTS: #8<blockquote>Returning from the projection room after turning off the VCR, Jimmy had a tissue in his hand.<br /><br />"Here," he said, and Noah took it. Jimmy leaned against the aisle chair across from Noah. "You saw The Glance?"<br /><br />"I saw a lot of things," Noah said, grateful to feel Bart's arm reach around his shoulder. "But, yes, I saw The Glance."<br /><br />"Well, first of all, don't listen to that asshole husband of mine. I can guarantee you that in just a few minutes he'll be locked in the bathroom, crying like a baby. He can be a bastard, but at least he's a <em>sentimental</em> bastard." Noah laughed. "And secondly, let it flow. It was a beautiful moment that led to the rest of our lives, and it's preserved forever on celluloid. That's sort of special, and if it's beautiful enough to make you cry a little bit, I think that's great."<br /><br />Noah smiled, even though that made his head hurt even more. "Thanks, Jimmy."<br /><br />Jimmy patted Noah, then Bart, on the shoulder. "I'm going to bed. Thanks for joining us for movie night."<br /><br />They said their good nights. Then, when Jimmy was gone, Noah turned to Bart.<br /><br />"You know what else?"<br /><br />Bart smiled knowingly. "I think I know. They were young once. And now they're not." His hand squeezed Noah's shoulder. "I know, baby, I know."</blockquote><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1znErG3Rcxba622l0ZiBDCGbFxWXcEcieBhwDOPIZ7aMIMmi8DOIx9U3L5VUlpWiUrHZ2ofIeCGsUT67LUebwjv8lC4OlqXaM-NeTjHjOFxMnQTiZGJiBAjUmPPvIsaHGi03F/s1600/A-StarsComeOut2-773715.jpg"><strong><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459573567805145794" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 170px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 265px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1znErG3Rcxba622l0ZiBDCGbFxWXcEcieBhwDOPIZ7aMIMmi8DOIx9U3L5VUlpWiUrHZ2ofIeCGsUT67LUebwjv8lC4OlqXaM-NeTjHjOFxMnQTiZGJiBAjUmPPvIsaHGi03F/s320/A-StarsComeOut2-773715.jpg" border="0" /></strong></a><strong>from <em>When the Stars Come Out</em><br /><br />Kensington Publishing Corp.<br />September, 2006<br /><br />Buy it at </strong><a href="http://www.queerbooks.com/"><strong>Giovanni's Room</strong></a><strong><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">What's this about? </span></strong><a href="http://robnyc.blogspot.com/2010/04/50-excerpts-introduction.html"><strong><span style="font-size:85%;">Click here.</span></strong></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span>Rob Byrneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12634717603420390392noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4137683.post-38369670927832949692010-04-16T05:26:00.001-04:002010-04-16T06:02:27.888-04:0050 EXCERPTS: #7<blockquote>The Penthouse was located in the low East Sixties, a few buildings off Second Avenue. I followed Rick through the front door of what I first thought was a residential brownstone until he opened the interior door and the commingled conversation and laughter of a hundred male voices spilled out into the vestibule.<br /><br />And that's how, minutes after nine o'clock on a warm Thursday evening in June, Brett Revere, Trust Fund Baby, made his debut at the Penthouse, following Rick Atkins dutifully as he snaked his way through the crowd to a long, polished bar.<br /><br />I took a look around the room while Rick ordered drinks. The rumors were true: the patrons were on the older side, and many of them were still in suits, not having had quite enough cocktails to steel them for home. However, as Rick had promised, there were enough young men not readily identifiable as prostitutes to give the place a bit of variety.</blockquote><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuvuRxr69C7EeH3Lh7cuQd1hjI-axDEapGWHFYqp3E_eLpTw4tIzv5xRMu8_yc2j1Ja3VzosnMOGuqnr0iV9N-mPmUsEaqppFh1tsCfV-VWd_wr7aQomam5pMaQitq6MlAHaoC/s1600/trustfundboys2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459569503071096834" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 177px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 265px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuvuRxr69C7EeH3Lh7cuQd1hjI-axDEapGWHFYqp3E_eLpTw4tIzv5xRMu8_yc2j1Ja3VzosnMOGuqnr0iV9N-mPmUsEaqppFh1tsCfV-VWd_wr7aQomam5pMaQitq6MlAHaoC/s320/trustfundboys2.jpg" border="0" /></a><strong>from <em>Trust Fund Boys</em><br /><br />Kensington Publishing Corp.<br />June, 2004<br /><br />Buy it at <a href="http://http//www.booksinc.net/NASApp/store/Search;jsessionid=abcQcATzl9BA8553mzE_r?s=results&initiate=yes&ks=q&qsselect=KQ&title=&author=&qstext=Rob+Byrnes">Books Inc.</a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">What's this about? </span><a href="http://robnyc.blogspot.com/2010/04/50-excerpts-introduction.html"><span style="font-size:85%;">Click here.</span></a></strong>Rob Byrneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12634717603420390392noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4137683.post-72688609618643773402010-04-15T05:00:00.002-04:002010-04-15T06:04:24.135-04:0050 EXCERPTS: #6<blockquote>"...(L)et's face it, Drew, you and Frank were mismatched from the start. You had almost nothing in common except a mutual attraction, and mutual attractions don't last forever. Trust me on that. I mean... the guy wasn't even gay!"<br /><br />"Oh, I think he was gay. Well... sort of."<br /><br />"With you, maybe. Which wouldn't make him the first heterosexual to experiment, would it?"<br /><br />"It just seems like we've gone through too much to have it end this way," I said, not answering her question and still trying to rationalize the relationship.<br /><br />She sighed again. "I'm not saying you didn't go through a lot, Drew. But we all go through a lot every day. We're New Yorkers. It's our<br />lifestyle."<br /><br />We're New Yorkers. Right. And everyone knows that the average New Yorker's day is spent dodging bullets while being indiscreetly watched by cops and robbers, all while streaking up the New York <em>Times</em> Best-seller List as an overnight -- literally -- success story, thanks to an on-air endorsement from an extremely popular radio shock jock.<br /><br />Right. I was living a New York life, right down to the tapped phone and the bruised ribs.<br /><br />Right. </blockquote><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjBQCtSUifB-U19m4Lf_EW9DxuTq3q7ETY-ENEHrbKSkR9tCTV1TQa_sDfcYForl2PZ1FB1NQuPpPZLiLoqADT5aoW1QHfCxSDhHi6DRg8WrCaqfDCwhB9h9Mvz9VmjsOanHkt/s1600/TheNightWeMet2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458623399797470930" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 177px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 259px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjBQCtSUifB-U19m4Lf_EW9DxuTq3q7ETY-ENEHrbKSkR9tCTV1TQa_sDfcYForl2PZ1FB1NQuPpPZLiLoqADT5aoW1QHfCxSDhHi6DRg8WrCaqfDCwhB9h9Mvz9VmjsOanHkt/s320/TheNightWeMet2.jpg" border="0" /></a><strong>from <em>The Night We Met<br /></em><br />Kensington Publishing Corp.<br />September, 2002<br /><br />Buy it at </strong><a href="http://www.outwritebooks.com/NASApp/store/Search;jsessionid=abc0KA6jvtEID-kVBBH9r"><strong>Outwrite Bookstore & Coffeehouse</strong></a><strong><br /></strong><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">What's this about? </span><a href="http://robnyc.blogspot.com/2010/04/50-excerpts-introduction.html"><span style="font-size:85%;">Click here</span></a><span style="font-size:85%;">.</span>Rob Byrneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12634717603420390392noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4137683.post-68984755289047017012010-04-14T05:00:00.002-04:002010-04-14T06:25:55.296-04:0050 EXCERPTS: #5<blockquote>Twenty minutes later, the lights were turned back up. Hadley glanced at Romero and, sure enough, the actor was ashen. This was going to be easier than he had hoped.<br /><br />"So you see the problem here," he said, and Romero nodded, not making eye contact with anything but the aquarium. "If this tape were to get out, well... like I said earlier, it would mean the destruction of your career. Romeo, everything you've worked forty years to build would be destroyed within days."<br /><br />"What do you want, Ian?" His voice was weak.<br /><br />Hadley laughed. "I assumed that was obvious."<br /><br />Romero nodded his understanding of the unspoken blackmail demand. "And the tape? I will get possession of it, of course."<br /><br />"Of course." The smile disappeared. "As soon as I'm adequately compensated for my silence and discretion, you will get the tape." He paused, then: "Can I ask you a question, Romeo? Why did you do it?"<br /><br />Romero finally looked at him. His eyes were tired. "Because I am a human being, and I'm weak."<br /><br />"Hmm." Hadley tented his fingers on the desk and stared at them. "That's interesting. You see, I've always been fascinated by the things people do to self-destruct. And you, well... you especially fascinate me. Thirty years out of a forty-year acting career spent pretending to be gay, just to keep your calling alive. And then to almost have it undone by an indiscreet romp in a hot tub, well... that's fascinating."<br /><br />"That's one way to look at it."<br /><br />"And you know what made it worse, Romeo? You know what made the whole thing so sordid?"<br /><br />"What?"<br /><br />"That Speedo you were wearing. I mean, <em>what</em> were you thinking, man?"</blockquote><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2PD3PH3OMxZK2j1b3HUEPnRQFEwmgj1uAgLLGoVOlzYgPhdptyjIXZtg3MdzsCrRy4h0crosTwxv7Un4NjJqTL8mzGvHbq9R0EFP8JhXfaih3lkgUA4-VV3GXhs4NH-ezxX_N/s1600/straightlies.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458619019246590850" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 297px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2PD3PH3OMxZK2j1b3HUEPnRQFEwmgj1uAgLLGoVOlzYgPhdptyjIXZtg3MdzsCrRy4h0crosTwxv7Un4NjJqTL8mzGvHbq9R0EFP8JhXfaih3lkgUA4-VV3GXhs4NH-ezxX_N/s320/straightlies.jpg" border="0" /></a><strong>from <em>Straight Lies</em><br /><br />Kensington Publishing Corp.<br />April, 2009<br /><br />Buy it at <a href="http://www.adlbooks.com/">A Different Light</a></strong><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">What's this about? </span><a href="http://robnyc.blogspot.com/2010/04/50-excerpts-introduction.html"><span style="font-size:85%;">Click here</span></a><span style="font-size:85%;">.</span>Rob Byrneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12634717603420390392noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4137683.post-36001394923004313212010-04-13T06:00:00.000-04:002010-04-13T06:23:39.828-04:0050 EXCERPTS: #4<blockquote><br /><p>Noah left the imposing Sixth Avenue building housing Palmer/Midkiff/Carlyle and began wandering aimlessly up the avenue, into the West Forties. Even though it was still technically the final days of summer, the tourists had largely decamped after Labor Day, and he was determined to enjoy the relatively uncrowded sidewalks. The holidays, with their maddening hordes, would arrive soon enough. After a dozen blocks, as he approached Radio City Music Hall, he saw something out of the corner of his eye that stopped him in mid-crosswalk.<br /><br />It was that stranger, the handsome young man from Bar 51, walking south on the opposite side of Sixth Avenue.<br /><br />Noah squinted, unable to believe that he was having this third coincidental encounter. As he stood in mid-crosswalk, the lights changed; two milliseconds later, a line of cabs and delivery trucks laid on the horns. Noah jumped and dashed for the opposite corner, narrowly avoiding a bicycle messenger in the process.<br /><br />He looked back at the stranger, who now -- thanks to the ruckus -- was staring back at him. And when he smiled, Noah smiled sheepishly in return.<br /><br />His view temporarily blocked by a row of passing tour buses, Noah tried to make a quick decision. Should he be bold, and dart across the street while he still had the light? Or should he walk away and recognize this for what it was: a chance series of encounters?<br /><br />The decision was one that, in the end, he didn't have to make. Because when the buses were gone, so was the stranger.<br /><br />Anxiously, he scanned the sidewalk, looking up and down Sixth Avenue, but he had completely vanished.<br /><br />Noah thought, <em>How the hell does someone disappear like that? Where did he go?</em> And he cursed himself again for letting opportunity slip through his fingers. </p></blockquote><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihoyMOUl-gIfj9279K_U_J2RlXSTBsHk35u1gNcsAWV6xEfQ57b8TkDNPKl6pwGgLFZ-zknEUHSL3IdPVWU6woAKRjDRYYsdJZvQt8AoO2xS0Sx13E8VMdmH-RMmZJnpm54y4e/s1600/A-StarsComeOut2-773715.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458495687914208530" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 170px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 265px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihoyMOUl-gIfj9279K_U_J2RlXSTBsHk35u1gNcsAWV6xEfQ57b8TkDNPKl6pwGgLFZ-zknEUHSL3IdPVWU6woAKRjDRYYsdJZvQt8AoO2xS0Sx13E8VMdmH-RMmZJnpm54y4e/s320/A-StarsComeOut2-773715.jpg" border="0" /></a><strong>From <em>When the Stars Come Out<br /></em><br />Kensington Publishing Corp.<br />September, 2006<br /><br />Buy it at </strong><a href="http://www.tlavideo.com/rob-byrnes/person-38023-2-1120?sn=1438"><strong>TLA Video</strong> </a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">What's this about? </span><a href="http://robnyc.blogspot.com/2010/04/50-excerpts-introduction.html"><span style="font-size:85%;">Click here.</span></a>Rob Byrneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12634717603420390392noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4137683.post-69800525260090992312010-04-12T08:29:00.000-04:002010-04-12T11:00:15.731-04:0050 EXCERPTS: #3<blockquote>In all honesty, after a year of being apart, I was more or less indifferent to his presence. Yes, the breakup had been his idea; and no, I hadn't seen it coming; and yes, I was bitter for a while, especially when I found out who he'd dumped me for. But time had passed, and the wounds had healed. There were even times when I missed him a bit. Not enough to return his infrequent calls, obviously, but I still felt a little something whenever I picked up his voice mail: a tinge of nostalgia, as memories of the good times crept into the corners of my mind.<br /><br />Enough not to mind his company for a few minutes while I waited for David, at least.<br /><br />"So again." he said, after ordering his drink, "what brings you to the Jones?"<br /><br />"I hope this isn't going to sound rude, but I'm meeting someone here."<br /><br />A thin smile crossed his lips and he took a long, slow look at the handful of regulars strung along the bar. "Anyone I know?"<br /><br />"Not even anyone<em> I</em> know." He looked at me, not quite comprehending, so I filled in the blanks. "It's a blind date."<br /><br />Again came the smile. "A blind date?"<br /><br />I looked away and sighed. "An Internet date. Are you happy now? Your ex-boyfriend is so pathetic that he's meeting someone he's only talked to through e-mail."<br /><br />Stuart laughed. "Oh, Brian, that's not pathetic. Well... maybe a little. But why are you meeting him here?"<br /><br />"Because I never come here. If I had him meet me at the Pub, say, he'd know where to stalk me."<br /><br />"It sounds as if you've already decided it won't work out."<br /><br />I shrugged. "It's an Internet date. What could possibly go wrong?..." </blockquote><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3tS84oYw_5Y-j18GEWAw3ODzWbEY_1kl1IeEOoocfltvo3EfAF8KTEaRTLqoaI7dd3kX5jljAKAiCxhXhbvxIO7F-ltB4tECu_ML3m7Tbk0IzvnRFsvRhh6JZyBIDuMEhuiMv/s1600/fool2.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 178px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 260px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458488495772692434" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3tS84oYw_5Y-j18GEWAw3ODzWbEY_1kl1IeEOoocfltvo3EfAF8KTEaRTLqoaI7dd3kX5jljAKAiCxhXhbvxIO7F-ltB4tECu_ML3m7Tbk0IzvnRFsvRhh6JZyBIDuMEhuiMv/s320/fool2.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><strong>from the short story <em>Happy Hour at the Cafe Jones</em><br />published in <em>Fool for Love: New Gay Fiction</em></strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>Cleis Press</strong><br /><strong>February, 2009</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>Buy it at <a href="http://www.lgbtbooks.com/">Common Language Bookstore</a></strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:85%;">What's this about? </span></strong><a href="http://robnyc.blogspot.com/2010/04/50-excerpts-introduction.html"><strong><span style="font-size:85%;">Click here</span></strong></a><strong><span style="font-size:85%;">.</span></strong>Rob Byrneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12634717603420390392noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4137683.post-37452938752342749662010-04-11T08:07:00.000-04:002010-04-12T10:59:56.150-04:0050 EXCERPTS: #2<blockquote>...I returned to the subject of the watch and asked, "So what's the verdict?"<br /><br />"Nice," he said, rolling it slowly through his fingers. "Just don't get it wet or drop it."<br /><br />"Is it that fragile?"<br /><br />"Yeah. But only because it's probably some five dollar knockoff, not the real thing."<br /><br />"I assumed one of his ladies gave it to him."<br /><br />Jamie raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Maybe." He paused, then added, "But did you think to ask yourself why Michael would give you a watch worth... well, for the sake of argument, let's say he didn't find it on Canal Street, and it's really worth thousands of dollars. Why would he hand it over to you?"<br /><br />"Good question. I suppose if he has a few good watches and thought I needed one..."<br /><br />"You're overestimating the generosity of Michael DeVries. If Michael thought he had too many Cartier watches, he'd want even more Cartier watches." He handed the watch back to me. "Still, on the outside chance it's real, congratulations."<br /><br />"Well... it looks real." I strapped the watch around my wrist. It <em>did</em> look real. To me, at least.<br /><br />"Yeah, it looks real." He let out a bitter laugh. "Story of our life, right?"<br /><br />I ignored the comment, even though those might have been the most truthful words I had heard all day. </blockquote><br /><br /><br /><br /><p><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDyZCO-7LzjlXCGpWorBgqOLpy2g2HEyzgUSb4BwyFX32OIBxy0OXnJoBUA-VTriT-6AVObqUTsZYVpvEzltsUUCplN5oNUcZSf0aJ2SinllLNnJW9MwBBdly9znvvCSgWujGi/s1600/trustfundboys2.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 177px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 265px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458481944898477266" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDyZCO-7LzjlXCGpWorBgqOLpy2g2HEyzgUSb4BwyFX32OIBxy0OXnJoBUA-VTriT-6AVObqUTsZYVpvEzltsUUCplN5oNUcZSf0aJ2SinllLNnJW9MwBBdly9znvvCSgWujGi/s320/trustfundboys2.jpg" /></a><strong>from <em>Trust Fund Boys</em></strong></p><br /><p><strong>Kensington Publishing Corp.<br />June, 2004</strong></p><br /><p><strong>Buy it at <a href="http://nowvoyagerbooks.com/">Now Voyager</a></strong></p><br /><p><strong></strong></p><br /><p><strong></strong></p><br /><p><strong></strong></p><br /><p><strong></strong></p><br /><p><span style="font-size:85%;">What's this about? </span><a href="http://robnyc.blogspot.com/2010/04/50-excerpts-introduction.html"><span style="font-size:85%;">Click here</span></a><span style="font-size:85%;">.</span></p>Rob Byrneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12634717603420390392noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4137683.post-27341604317832663692010-04-10T07:41:00.003-04:002010-04-10T08:05:29.740-04:0050 EXCERPTS: #1<blockquote>"...I can't even begin to tell you how many things I get invited to. Openings, benefits... Most of them are very tiring. I don't even bother opening half the envelopes that come in the mail."<br /><br />"Then why are you inviting me? Aren't there going to be any eighteen-year-old Armenian sailors in port that night?"<br /><br />He glared at me unpleasantly. "If you'd rather not go..."<br /><br />"Sorry."<br /><br />He brightened again. "I'm inviting you for three reasons. First, because I've come to enjoy your company despite your puzzling habit of biting the hand that feeds you. Second, because I'm hoping that an appearance by the author of <em>Allentown Blues</em> and <em>The Brewster Mall</em> might generate a little interest and publicity and help make both of us some money. And third, because maybe you'll meet your next lover there."<br /><br />"That's very noble of you."<br /><br />"Nobility has nothing to do with it. If you meet a nice upstanding white-collar man, maybe you'll stop moping and rediscover your muse. Then you can write me a best-seller."<br /><br />I realized with a jolt that we were headed toward Ted and Nicky's love nest, so I gently took hold of David's arm and guided him around a corner. He never even seemed to notice.<br /><br />"This place is going to be great!"<br /><br />"Who owns it? Who's Benedict?"<br /><br />"Bene<em>dick</em>," he corrected.<br /><br />"Oh. Now I understand."<br /><br />"No, you don't," he said, shaking his head. "Benedick. Remember your Shakespeare? <em>Much Ado About Nothing?</em> Although I can't be sure there's not an intentional double entendre at work."<br /><br />"Classy. There's nothing like a bunch of Shakespeare-quoting homosexuals in spandex dancing to Madonna to give me hope for the future of our sexuality. And anyway, wasn't Benedick straight?"<br /><br />"As far as I'm concerned, the jury's still out. Remember, he was a confirmed bachelor in the beginning of <em>Much Ado About Nothing</em>..."<br /><br />"And almost a married man at the end," I pointed out.<br /><br />"Details," he snorted. "Even Oscar Wilde was a married man. Maybe you're still too bitter to go out in public."<br /></blockquote><p><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3M8LXsF8wgVGj-Ppl122WjR7q15dXTV2n0UJi7vSKnj-fR5eK0twXvOnexpVe6ke38vs3qwdb5WrPYYHbkMq7OGd5UR0t8vcmQtH4U9FKkJVkRFws2jZq3_Zv22PKEk3B4w5h/s1600/TheNightWeMet2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458477535938040034" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 177px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 259px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3M8LXsF8wgVGj-Ppl122WjR7q15dXTV2n0UJi7vSKnj-fR5eK0twXvOnexpVe6ke38vs3qwdb5WrPYYHbkMq7OGd5UR0t8vcmQtH4U9FKkJVkRFws2jZq3_Zv22PKEk3B4w5h/s320/TheNightWeMet2.jpg" border="0" /></a><strong>from <em>The Night We Met</em></strong></p><p><strong>Kensington Publishing Corp.<br /></strong><strong>September, 2002<br /><br />Buy it at </strong><a href="http://www.queerbooks.com/"><strong>Giovanni's Room</strong></a></p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">What's this about? </span><a href="http://robnyc.blogspot.com/2010/04/50-excerpts-introduction.html"><span style="font-size:78%;">Click here</span></a><span style="font-size:78%;">.</span><br /></p>Rob Byrneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12634717603420390392noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4137683.post-78472118408373686002010-04-10T07:30:00.003-04:002010-04-10T07:41:10.566-04:0050 EXCERPTS: The IntroductionSince I'm making a series of public appearances over the next six weeks or so (New York City, April 22; Chicago, May 4; New Orleans, May 13-17 -- so mark your calendars) and doing some writer-ish things this spring (Saints & Sinners Literary Festival; Lambda Literary Awards), I thought it would be a good time to introduce and <em>re</em>introduce you to my work.<br /><br />Because you really should be buying more of my books. Like, now.<br /><br />So starting today and continuing for the next fifty days, I'll be uploading a short excerpt from one of my novels, short stories, or (possibly) works-in-progress, as well as revolving links to booksellers where said works can be purchased for a modest price that's probably less than you'll blow on heroin on any given night.<br /><br />You see, people? I am going this For Your Health! You're welcome.<br /><br />Questions? A favorite short passage? You know where to find me...Rob Byrneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12634717603420390392noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4137683.post-21657642644826763742010-03-30T21:51:00.004-04:002010-03-30T22:38:00.452-04:00RICKY & ME & USSo Ricky Martin is out of the closet -- oh gosh! Should I have warned you about the spoiler? -- and the Internet is abuzz with the usual combination of pride and condemnation.<br /><br />No surprise that 97% of the condemnation comes from people named "hotguy4792" and "BigDaveinTempe." Because, since their names are so readily available in your local white pages, they have no fear that you'll call them on their bullshit.<br /><br />(Also, these anonymous idiots are the first ones to fling the term "coward" at someone else who uses their real name. Remember our old friend <a href="http://robnyc.blogspot.com/2009/01/return-of-spewie.html">Spewie</a>? Yeah, bravely anonymous people like that, keeping in touch with the world from their mothers' basements. Oh... and I just made up "hotguy4792" and "BigDaveinTempe." I'm sure the real "hotguy4792" and "BigDaveinTempe" are fine, fine people.)<br /><br />Oh yeah... Ricky Martin. My take? Glad you asked.<br /><br />To each, their own time.<br /><br />I have made no secret of the fact I came out in my very late 20s, and I know a number of other people who came out even later in life. That was when it was right for us to come out. Some of that, I hope, is generational and will change over time. Some of it is tempermental. Sometimes it's driven by individual factors we can't begin to understand.<br /><br />In my case, no doubt there was an element of cowardice. More importantly, there was a lack of self-awareness and self esteeem. When I got that together -- and <em>only</em> when I got that together -- I was ready to move forward with my life. We're all better off for that time well spent.<br /><br />It would have been great if Ricky Martin had come out 20 years ago. But he didn't, and he had his own demons to come to grips with. The important thing is... he's done it. He's out.<br /><br />And now -- like those before him -- he can be a role model.<br /><br />A few years ago, a very wise writer -- that would be me -- wrote a Lambda Literary Award-winning novel, <em><a href="http://www.giovannisroom.com/NASApp/store/Product;jsessionid=bac4C9o0JFw85cSrEaYEs?s=showproduct&isbn=9780758213242"><strong>When the Stars Come Out</strong></a>.</em> In that brilliant award-winning novel, the main character -- Noah Abraham -- is a spoiled and proudly out young man who has never wanted for anything, including money and acceptance. He cannot understand why everyone's life isn't like his -- out and proud -- and though I, as the writer, want you to <em>like</em> Noah, I hope I'm somewhat successful in making him a self-righteous twit in the earlier chapters of the book.<br /><br />As <strong>Whe<em>n the Stars Come Out</em></strong> opens, out-and-proud Noah is frustrated that he can't get a gay Republican congressional staffer to speak to him. He shifts his writing focus to an elderly actor who is gay but publicly closeted, and convinces him to tell his life story. As a result, a younger, more popular actor is encouraged to come out of the closet, and the young star gives the gay Republican the courage to come out long after he's forgotten self-righteous Noah.<br /><br />It's a ripple effect. The stones keep getting tossed into the pond, and they disrupt things. In a sense, all of our stones -- mine, yours, Elton John's, Ellen DeGeneres's, even Clay Aiken's -- are part of the process.<br /><br />And I don't care when Ricky Martin' s stones landed in the pond. As long it was the right time for him.<br /><br />The important thing is he's now helping us make waves.<br /><br />So let's keep splashing.Rob Byrneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12634717603420390392noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4137683.post-15117108501328231872010-03-22T15:53:00.003-04:002010-03-23T16:59:08.595-04:00DONALD & MEYou already know that I have been a huge fan of the work of writer <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Donald_E._Westlake">Donald E. Westlake</a> for decades, and that his <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Dortmunder">Dortmuder novels </a>inspired <em>Straight Lies</em>, because you hang on my every word.<br /><br />Drewey Wayne Gunn doesn't know that, though.<br /><br />So imagine my surprise when I came across <a href="http://www.lambdaliterary.org/reviews/fiction/03/23/gunnshots-spring-2010/">this review</a> on the Lambda Literary Foundation website:<br /><blockquote>For years film star Romeo Romeo has been building his film career on his image of “the brave gay actor who has stepped forward when all the closet cases were [...] being closet cases.” But Jamie Brock (from <em>Trust Fund Boys</em>), using an outdated camcorder, gets the proof that the star is actually very heterosexual. Jamie is all set to blackmail Romeo, when he stupidly leaves the incriminating tape in a taxicab. He turns to long-time petty crime professional Grant Lambert, the antihero of the novel, to find the tape — for a cut in the proposed blackmail money. Soon Grant is pulling his lover, Chase LaMarca, and most of his friends into what turns out to be, as in all good capers, an accelerating series of comical mishaps. In the process Byrnes creates a memorable string of eccentric characters and gets to skewer various pretentious New York types. One leaves the novel dizzy from all the twists and turns the plot takes as Grant invents one ingenious scheme after another, only to have each one somehow blow up in his face. No doubt the spirit of the late Donald E. Westlake floats benevolently over the novel, but this is totally vintage Byrnes with his own signature writ large and clear.</blockquote><br />Awesome!Rob Byrneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12634717603420390392noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4137683.post-56476709040224120702010-03-16T23:19:00.002-04:002010-03-16T23:29:21.412-04:00I'LL TAKE BIZARRE FOR $500, ALEX, AND JUST GIVE ME THE DAILY DOUBLEThe blog that no one reads -- that would be <em>this</em> one -- has had dozens of hits tonight. All because seven weeks ago I got pissed off and Twitter-baited some <a href="http://robnyc.blogspot.com/2010/02/poor-babies.html">homophobic assholes</a>.<br /><br />I have no idea what that's about -- or why they even <a href="http://floridafamilies2.blogspot.com/2010/02/sentinel-devotes-column-to-criticizing.html">linked back to me</a>, unless they felt that I was some sort of example of the evil that would befall the good people of Florida if the LGBT community was to, oh, be treated with some respect -- but I'll take the recognition.<br /><br />This blog hasn't been this popular since "salad tossing" and "Lindsay Lohan's boobs" were all the rage. But we were <em>all</em> so much younger and innocent then...Rob Byrneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12634717603420390392noreply@blogger.com