This past weekend I found out that an anthology I’ve contributed to, my second to be released, is now available in e-book. The print and audio versions are coming soon. And ordinarily I would have celebrated. Publishing is still a big deal for me. But when I got the news, people were running for their lives in Charlottesville, VA., and also in Nairobi, Kenya.
It’s difficult to celebrate when it seems that hourly there’s a new tragedy, another atrocity, evil at the helm. It’s difficult to write, to exercise, to fuck. Or maybe it’s the opposite—maybe we hide in the pages, a long jog, a searing shag. There’s the pendulum of extremes and it’s swinging faster and nothing feels quite comfortable like it used to last year.
And yeah, I know: that’s my privilege talking. For far too many people, the only bright days are in the future (if they come at all). It’s horribly unjust, and it’s too easy for me to admit.
I announced on Twitter, and I want to do it again here now that I’m contributing the fee I earned for my story “Purity” to Charlottesville Pride, an LGBTQ organization that runs a variety of programs and events in Charlottesville. I’m looking forward to telling you more about “Purity”, but not today.
Today I’m still at a loss.