Marcus Lopés

LGTBQIA2S+ Author, Blogger, Runner

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Façade

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“Who are you?” Ryan asked with an edge.

“I’m Toby,” the olive-skinned man said, holding out his hand.

Ryan shoved his hands in his pockets. “And how did you say you knew Mitch?”

“He was…” Toby clasped his hands behind his back. “We were friends.”

“He never mentioned you.” Ryan, drawing in a deep breath, tried to tamp down the frustration rumbling in his contralto voice.

“No, he wouldn’t,” Toby said quickly. “That would have complicated things.”

Ryan bristled. “It would have complicated what?”

“Well…” Toby gave a nervous laugh. “The truth is … Mitch and I were more than friends.”

It was the last thing he expected to do, but it felt like he had no control as his fist flew through the air and struck the side of Toby’s Romanesque nose. Ryan could feel all eyes on him as a hush fell over the room. He flexed his right hand, which was starting to throb, as he watched Toby pick himself up off the floor.

“Man, you’ve got a good right hook,” Toby said cheekily. It was somewhat muffled as his hand covered his mouth as he pinched his nose to stop the bleeding.

A tall brunette appeared with a handful of tissues, handing them to Toby while his acorn-brown eyes were locked on Ryan. “What’s going on?”

“Get him out of here, Sam,” Ryan said through gritted teeth.

“He only stayed with you because he was sick,” Toby spat. “Had he lived —”

Ryan raised his balled fist, but when Sam put himself between the two men, he let his arm drop to his side.

Sam turned to the guy. “I don’t know who you are or why you’re here, but I’d go if I were you.”

Toby, still applying pressure to his nose, stared a moment longer at Ryan before slinking away.

Slowly, a low chatter began to rise in the room as people resumed their earlier conversations.

Sam took a step forward and grabbed Ryan by the arm. “What was that all about?”

Ryan, blinking magnificently, didn’t say a word. He jerked his arm free and then made a beeline for the exit. Outside, he made his way around to the side of the funeral home and sat down on a stone bench. It didn’t make sense. None of it. He and Mitch had been together since they met, during the first semester of their graduate studies. They told each other everything — who had hurt them, what they feared the most, how they hoped to change the world. They were best friends, confidants … the only thing that broke down the chaos of their worlds and made them feel alive. They’d been happy together. At least that was what he now needed to believe. The hand pressing down on his shoulder made him lift his head.

“Here,” Sam said, holding out a bag of ice. “That hand looks like it’s swelling.” He sat down beside Ryan. “Where did you learn to throw a punch like that?”

They laughed.

Sam wrapped his arm around Ryan’s shoulders. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what,” Ryan said dryly. “The fact that Mitch might have been cheating on me, and I just met his lover at his funeral?”

“Whoa!” Sam removed his arm, then straddled the bench so he could study his friend. “That guy said he was Mitch’s lover?”

“And you know what the worst part is?” Ryan turned to look at Sam. “I believe him.”

“Ryan —”

“I like to tell myself that Mitch and I had the perfect relationship.” Ryan gave a nervous laugh. “A year before his diagnosis, something happened. I don’t really know what, but we were always at each other’s throats. We didn’t really talk, didn’t have sex … didn’t do much together. And I think we were both afraid to admit that we’d fallen out of love. We were together yet absent to each other. And maybe he was prepared to call it quits until he found out he had cancer. That scared him. It scared me. Maybe that made staying easier.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam said, cupping his hand to Ryan’s shoulder. “I didn’t know.”

“You weren’t supposed to know. We wanted everyone to believe that everything was perfect. I didn’t want to admit that our relationship of fifteen years had fallen apart.” Tears banked in his eyes. “And you know, despite everything, Mitch is the only man I ever really loved.”

Sam stood. “Come on. I think we should get that hand of yours looked at.”

Ryan, slow to stand, levelled his gaze at Sam. “Why do you keep doing this?”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Keep doing what?”

“Saving the day,” Ryan said. “I mean, fifteen years ago I picked Mitch over you. I’ve never felt like I’ve deserved your friendship, yet you’ve been a rock all these years.”

Sam chuckled. “And yet you still haven’t figured it out.”

They walked in silence towards the silver Passat parked in front of the funeral home entrance. Ryan pulled his keys out of his pocket and tossed them at Sam. “I think it’s broken.”

“Are you talking about your hand or you?” Sam didn’t wait for an answer and climbed into the car.

The ride to the hospital was quiet, Ryan staring absently out the window the entire time. He’s right, he thought when Sam shifted the car into park. I’m broken. Maybe I’ve always been broken. He’d barely unbuckled his seatbelt when the passenger side door swung open. Sam helped him out of the car and they stood there, their gazes locked, looking at each other in a way they’d never done before. For the first time in years, Ryan felt something stir inside of him. No, he’s not still…

Ryan stepped out of the way to let Sam close the door, eying the man who’d always seemed to be there for him when it mattered. They headed for the emergency entrance, but just before going inside Ryan cut in front of Sam and blocked his path. “You mean … all these years —”

“Today’s not the day to talk about this,” Sam said.

“But I —”

“You’ve only ever seen what you’ve wanted to see. And that’s okay.” Sam smiled and tapped Ryan on the arm. “Let’s get your hand looked at.”

Ryan followed Sam through the sliding glass doors. Maybe it was the pain, becoming more intense, that had him questioning everything he thought he knew. He wanted to believe that he had truly loved Mitch and what they’d lived was real. Now he wasn’t sure about anything.

All he knew was that when the time was right, and if he got a second chance at love, he wouldn’t be the same fool twice.

5 Rules to Live By

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As a kid, I hated rules. That’s because rules weren’t fun. They were meant to mould my behaviour and, perhaps unknowingly, stifle my creativity.

Rule: I had to eat everything on my plate before I left the table (that was hard, especially on the nights my father served burnt, chewy liver for dinner).

Rule: I couldn’t stay out late on a school night.

Rule: As long as I lived in my parents’ house, I’d do as they say.

Rules sucked. Big time.

Breaking the Rules

It probably comes as no surprise that, growing up, I was a rule breaker. Tell me I couldn’t do something, and I’d set out to prove that I could. Tell me I had to do something one way, I’d do it a different way and achieve the same result. ‘Rebelling’ was second-nature to me. In a way, it led me down the path to becoming who I am today.

Breaking the rules taught me a valuable lesson: that I had what it takes to be who I am, and not who others wish me to be. It came with a ‘price’ in that the people who wanted me to remain the same — friends and family alike — eventually slipped out of my life. To be honest, for a time that bothered me. But only until I understood that being my truest self is the greatest gift I could give to myself and the world. Marianne Williamson says it best:

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, ‘Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?’ Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.” [note] Marianne Williamson, A Return to Love: Reflections on the Principles of “A Course in Miracles,” 1992[/note]

 

Not being small meant doing the thing that I love the most: writing. As I gave myself over to it, there was a mega shift in how I looked at rules. I saw their potential, how they could help me create the life I wanted.

From Rule Breaker to Rule Setter

When I first knew I wanted to be a writer, my goal (naïve as it was then) was to sign on with a well-known publishing company like HarperCollins or Penguin, or a literary agency. Self-publishing and being an indie author like we know them today didn’t exist. The one thing an emerging writer like myself wanted to avoid was being swindled by a vanity press.

Since then, the publishing industry has been completely turned on its head. Now, it’s easy and affordable for writers to publish their own works through Amazon’s Kindle Direct Publishing (KDP) and other platforms. The competition is fierce, which makes it hard to get your book to stand out in a crowded marketplace.

But when you do what you love, you don’t throw in the towel when the rejection letters start piling up. You don’t give up, either, when your first book flops (as mine did). You try, try, and try again because this is the thing that you must do. It’s the reason you’re here on earth. It’s your calling. And you must heed the call.

I write for the love of writing, to tell a story, to [I hope] offer a unique view of the world. And even though most days the idea of ambition and being successful makes me squeamish — almost like I don’t feel I deserve it — my aim is to write full-time. It’s why I show up every day to write. My dream won’t come true without me putting in the time and doing the necessary work.

Working to build a writing career around a day job, familial responsibilities and life in general, it’s pretty easy for me to get distracted. To stave off distraction — procrastination, resistance, self-doubt, etc. — I needed rules to get me through each day. When I became a self-published author, and responsible for marketing and promoting my book, rules became even more important. I had to find balance, especially when dealing with social media, which permeates all aspects of our lives.

Yes, I needed rules to stay focused and increase my productivity as I worked to achieve my goals. For me, it all comes down to this:

5 Rules to Live By

    1. Get up early: I’ve always been a morning person, but for over a year now I’ve been getting up around 4:30 am to jumpstart the day. That quiet time of day is when I do some of my most focused work without distraction. And by the time noon rolls around, I’ve checked off quite a few items on my to-do list.
    2. Do the most important thing first: Most days I succeed in tackling the most important task on my to-do list first. Usually, this is the project that requires the most focus and effort. Doing it first thing in the morning when I’m at my best makes the work feel ‘effortless.’
    3. Eliminate distractions: For the longest time, I tried to eliminate distractions on my own. You know, power down the phone and hide it somewhere out of sight. Close the internet navigator. Turn off the TV. Yet I often found myself saying, “Oh, I’ll just quickly check my e-mail.” Two hours later, I’ve not only checked my e-mail, but I’ve also squandered away time on Twitter, Facebook and CNN.

      About three years ago, I discovered StayFocusd, a Google Chrome extension that blocks the internet. And earlier this year I started using Freedom, which blocks the use of all apps on my iPhone. Together, StayFocusd and Freedom have decreased the time I waste online (procrastination) and significantly increased my productivity. I’m writing more. I’m finishing more projects. I feel like I’m actually moving forward.
    4. Manage social media engagement: I think I’ll always have a love-hate relationship with social media. I love it because of how I can connect with writers and readers from all over the world. I feel like I’m a part of a vibrant, supportive and encouraging community. I hate social media because it can suck you in and, before you know it, half the day is gone. (That’s another reason why I use StayFocusd and Freedom.)

      Apps like Freedom can only do so much. At some point, I had to practice self-control and self-discipline. And that meant learning to be purposeful in my use of social media. With Facebook, for example, I aim to post three or four times a week. Some may say that’s not enough, but it works for me and I don’t feel pressured to produce content that no one’s going to pay attention to.

      Twitter is my pandora’s box. I had to find a way to not let it overwhelm. So, about six weeks ago I made two important decisions that would impact my use of Twitter. 1. I’d only check in (reply to or like tweets) on Wednesdays and Fridays (days were chosen arbitrarily); and 2. I’d no longer check Direct Messages (DMs). These two decisions have helped me to reclaim my day, allowing me to focus on what really matters.
    5. Take care of yourself: As a child, I didn’t have an iPhone or xBox, and I wasn’t racing around the city playing Pokémon Go. (We had Atari and the Commodore 64 … do you remember those?) So, on sunny days I was always outside playing. In my late teens and my twenties, especially as a university student, I was a nerd and loved to be inside reading and writing.

      In 2008, I stepped on a scale (for the first time in over five years because I had the Blanche Devereaux mindset that my weight of 175 pounds never changed) to see the needle move past the 200-pound mark. I was devastated. It was the middle of February, -25°C, and in the cold of the night I decided to start running. Not knowing how to dress for a winter run, I ended up sick as a dog for two weeks.

      But that day changed my life. Not only did those unwanted pounds fall away in the weeks that followed, but running became a habit, one that’s held strong for ten years now. Best of all, running got me out of the house and living a more active life.

      And more recently, I’ve stopped drinking, reduced my sugar and salt intake, and in addition to running I’m also working out regularly (thanks to the Nike Training App). I have more energy, feel a lot better about myself and am enjoying all that life has to offer. I love running because it helps to clear my head, zone out … become one with myself. It’s also the time when I have my ‘Conversations with Oprah.’ In the zone, I can hear Ms. Winfrey asking those big life questions to one of her guests on Super Soul Sunday. Only I’m the guest, and when I hear myself give the answer there’s clarity — about how to move a story forward, or how to deal with a situation that I’ve been struggling with. I always come back from a run enlightened and energized, ready to take my game to the next level.

      We mustn’t neglect ourselves. We are our most valuable resource. When we take care of our body, mind and spirit, we are ready for whatever comes our way. And we know that there is nothing we can’t do.

Be Who You Are

These are my rules. They work for me as I strive to create the life I imagine — to let loose the truest, ultimate expression of who I am. I can’t afford to break them. Breaking the rules creates havoc and puts everything I’ve worked hard to achieve at risk.

As I continue to evolve, the rules may change or need to be tweaked.

But for now … I’ll keep playing by the rules.

Do you have any rules you live by? How do you stay focused? What is the one thing that is holding you back? What is the one thing you can change to allow yourself to move forward? Let me know in the comments section below.

Shelter

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“Unbelievable. Fucking … unbelievable!”

The contralto, from-the-stomach grunt thundered on all sides, but Zach Logan didn’t flinch. The deep moodiness of Adele’s voice, streaming through his earphones, had transported him to another world.

“Ten freakin’ percent probability of precipitation!”

Wedged into the corner of the bus shelter and updating his Facebook status, Zach turned up the volume.

“Can you fucking believe this?”

Zach killed the music and lifted his head. He wanted to but did not — could not — move. All he could do was watch as a guy with a scruffy beard wrung out his longish dark hair, huffing with each movement.

“For Christ’s sake!”

Zach, hypnotized by the hard, pink nipples showing through the man’s shirt, suddenly felt the quiet awakening of an ache he hadn’t felt in months. Then came the piercing scream that made his heart pound in his chest. He levelled his gaze at the stranger’s wild apple-green eyes. “Are you all right?”

The guy, rocking back and forth, stopped and looked up. “Sorry. It’s just…” He sighed. “Jesus, Joseph and Mary … can’t they get it right?”

Zach shrugged. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“They say warm and sunny, we get wet and cool,” he snapped. “They say rain and windy, we get a goddamn heatwave. And today…” His fingers curled into fists. “I left my umbrella at home this morning because they said there was a freakin’ ten percent chance of rain. Look!” He thrust his right fist towards the glass roof of the bus shelter. “It’s a freakin’ hurricane!”

Zach stared into the intent and probing eyes, the excitement beginning to build again. Then he saw the blackness in them and knew something wasn’t right. But what was he supposed to do? Call the police? They didn’t know each other, and Zach wasn’t sure he cared enough to intervene. He’d heard too many stories about people trying to diffuse a volatile situation and ending up dead. Most of those stories came from his over-protective mother, who didn’t want her little boy talking to strangers. He wasn’t a boy anymore, and his mother was long dead. With someone before him in need, or who at least looked like they were in need, shouldn’t he try to help? “I don’t think it’s an exact science.”

“Science?”

“I mean —”

“It’s not science at all. It’s goddamn voodoo!”

Zach burst out laughing but stopped when he saw the guy’s fiery eyes were trained on him. Then his body went rigid. He remembered the conversation he’d overheard between two of his colleagues about the recent spike in escapes from East 9th Campus, the city’s mental health facility. The last escapee — a tall, dark-haired male — had claimed temporary insanity in the killing of his father. And he hadn’t been caught yet, either. Zach swallowed hard. Is that him? Let it not be him.

Maybe the guy acted ‘crazy,’ but he didn’t look the part. With his face twisted in knots, he looked like a lot of people sprinting through the rain and annoyed at how far off the forecast had been. Even Zach had been caught off guard by the abrupt change in weather. Listening to Junction Morning Live before heading to work, the meteorologist had called for clear, sunny skies. A perfect summer day. That all changed just after lunch when the dark clouds blanketed the city. About ten minutes into his walk home, the threatening skies unleashed their wrath. He whipped out his pocket umbrella, which the fierce winds immediately ripped from his hand and carried off down the street.

Zach checked the time. He’d been holed up in the bus shelter for more than twenty minutes and the rain showed no signs of letting up. He raised his head, and he again found himself staring at the man, who looked critically at him — like he was the enemy that needed to be annihilated. He glimpsed the headlights of the car as it swerved onto the street. It was a taxi with its rooftop light illuminated. Zach moved to the bus shelter entrance to flag it down and bolted for the vehicle when it pulled up to the curb. This was his moment to escape the stranger whose worth he’d been quietly questioning. He was about to open the back door when he spun around. “Can I drop you somewhere?”

“Really?” The word rippled with shock and doubt, and was then swallowed up by the rain pelting the asphalt.

Zach, his wet clothes cool against his skin, didn’t wait for an answer and barrelled into the taxi. He felt resistance as he went to pull the door closed and looked up. Those mesmerizing eyes stared down at him. He slid across the seat. The guy scrambled into the vehicle and offered up an address on Seventh Avenue.

As the cab navigated the city streets, Zach stole sidelong glances of the Adonis slouched back in the seat and staring out the window. What’s he thinking about? Is he all right? Do I really care? He licked his lips, a new vision coming to him. They were stripped down to their underwear and holding each other in a clenching embrace. There was that ache again, gnawing at him.

The car swerved onto Seventh Avenue and came to an abrupt stop in front of a grey stone building. The man edged forward and, after a brief struggle, yanked his wallet out of his back pocket.

“Don’t worry about it.” Zach smiled, trying to dispel the shock and doubt twisted into the guy’s face.

There was a long silence as they stared searchingly at each other.

“Thanks,” was the grunt-like reply, followed by the bang of the door closing.

Ten minutes later Zach, in the front hall of his Hanson Road home, peeled off his wet clothes as he thought about what had just happened and tried to decode its meaning. He felt nauseous. No, that wasn’t it. He was disappointed in himself. He’d wanted to ask the guy’s name but didn’t have the courage. Why? Knowing his name would have forged a bond, made Zach care about his situation and his worth.

Zach wasn’t ready for that.

*          *          *

The computer screen went black, and Zach reached for his grey satchel as he stood. He pushed in his desk chair and stared blindly at the monitor. It didn’t take long for him to be lost in thought of the dark-haired beauty he’d met eight days ago. That was because the guy was all Zach thought about. In his mind, they’d already become the perfect couple with an enduring and unbreakable bond. They confided in each other their dreams and deepest fears. They laughed a lot. They argued, but never held a grudge. At night, they fell asleep in each other’s arms, smiling at how they’d both been saved to a new life sublime. And for Zach, something even more precious. He came to believe in love again.

The sudden outburst of gruff voices and laughter brought Zach back to the present. He slung the strap of his satchel over his shoulder and left his office.

“Zach…”

Zach spun around and smirked as Daniel McAndrew strutted towards him. Daniel’s bravado and confidence were all a part of his showmanship. And Zach didn’t buy it. He knew Daniel was a self-conscious, eager-to-please underling working hard to climb the corporate ladder. They both were. Only Zach wasn’t trying so hard. “What’s up, Daniel?”

“It’s Friday,” Daniel said askance and stopped a foot away from Zach. “We’re all heading to Frankie’s for drinks. It’s tradition.”

“Can’t tonight,” Zach said, glancing at his watch. “I have plans.”

“Big date, eh?” Daniel cupped his hand to Zach’s shoulder. “Good for you, man. You’ve got to tell me all about it Monday.”

Zach rolled his eyes as Daniel moved off. That was Daniel looking after his own interests, keeping his eye on the competition. They weren’t best friends, although Daniel made it sound like they were. And Zach wasn’t interested in playing Daniel’s game. God, he’s an asshole, he thought and headed for the elevator.

There were no plans to speak of, no ‘big date.’ Nothing concrete, anyway. But every day Zach left the office, he hoped to run into that guy on his walk home. And if he did, he’d finally ask his name. No more living off crestfallen fantasies. No more living in the past.

Five minutes later, Zach was outside and zigzagging across the plaza towards Main Street. He walked briskly down the sidewalk, dodging around the other pedestrians, like he was on a mission. He was on a mission, sort of. His brief encounter with Daniel had slowed him down, and that wasn’t good. He couldn’t be late. He had to be where he was eight days ago at the exact same time. He was tempting fate, trying to change his life.

He turned onto First Street and the infamous bus shelter came into view. Stay calm. Stay calm. Someone was there, but he was too far away to tell if it was a man or a woman. He kept moving, and soon he realized it was a man. Not just any man. It was him, although he’d changed. The guy’s brown hair was shaved short on the sides, and long and wavy on top. The scruffy beard was gone. And when their eyes met, Zach’s throat constricted. He’d never forget those probing eyes.

“Hi,” the man said.

“Hey…” Zach cleared his throat. “Hello.”

“Evan,” he said, holding out his hand.

Zach gripped the hand, its smooth, velvety feel making him almost swoon. “Zach.”

“I don’t think you expected to see me again,” Evan said at the release of the handshake, the hint of a smirk on his face.

Zach didn’t say anything, just shrugged.

“I’m not sure I’d have remained so calm if I was the one who’d come face-to-face with a crazy man.” Evan’s smirk stretched into a generous smile. “I’m sorry … about what happened. Not exactly my best day.”

Zach opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Really, he didn’t know what to say.

“I wouldn’t know what to say, either. You probably thought I was crazy.” Evan reached into his pocket, pulled out a ten-dollar bill and held it out.

“What’s that for?” Zach asked, clasping his hands behind his back.

“That day … the taxi.”

Zach shook his head. “It’s not necessary, really.” He saw the doubt gleam in those eyes, but it quickly ebbed.

“Are you sure?” After a short silence, Evan put the bill away. “Thanks. Not just for the cab fare. Thanks for being nice on a day when it was … a game-changer.”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” Zach said.

“It was … to me. I mean…” Evan gave a nervous laugh and dropped his head.

Zach shivered at the raw emotion in Evan’s voice. He had to say something, and wanted it to be meaningful. All he came up with was, “You don’t need to explain, not to me.”

Evan looked up. “It’s just been so frustrating lately. You know how the saying goes, something about paving a new road if you don’t like the one you’re on. I don’t know who said it but —”

“Dolly Parton,” Zach interrupted.

“Really?” Evan rolled his shoulders. “Huh.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to cut in like that.”

A bus roared up to the curb, and the two men stepped back as the doors opened and a woman got off. Seconds later, the bus groaned as it started to roll away.

“And your new road?” Zach asked cautiously.

“Oh, well…” Evan flicked his eyebrows. “I guess it’s still under construction. I’ve been applying for jobs but I haven’t received one callback. I have a job. I’m a server at The Stables, I just … I have a master’s degree in modern thought and literature. I’m twenty-nine, and I feel like I should be doing something more with my life. Is that crazy? I don’t have any friends. Well, I do, but they’ve all moved to Toronto or Vancouver. I can’t seem to fucking escape Junction. And my mother, God love her, keeps pestering me about settling down and starting a family. It’s not like she doesn’t know that I’m gay. I freakin’ came out to her when I was twenty.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Christ, I don’t know why I’m telling you this or why you’d care. We don’t know each other. But that day … the weather, I don’t know … I’d just reached my breaking point.” He blinked magnificently “Maybe you believe in fate. I don’t know what I believe, but running into you…” He sighed. “I was on my way to Welland Bridge.”

Zach saw the glint of shame on Evan’s smooth face and, one more time, was at a loss for words. Welland Bridge made his body go rigid. Welland Bridge, or Jumpers’ Central as the locals called it, attracted people from all over Southern Ontario and Upstate New York. People who struggled to fit in. People who desperately needed help but had no lifeline. People who thought plunging into the rocky, fast-flowing Moldova River was their only choice. Area residents were always on the lookout for jumpers, eager to prevent the long traffic delays caused every time someone decided to leap. It was mid-July, and the Junction Gazette kept a running tally of the successful jumps since the beginning of the year. The count, up from two days ago, stood at eighteen.

“Now I know you’re thinking this guy must be crazy,” Evan said cheekily, “but I’m not. Crazy, that is. If I’d made it to the bridge, I probably wouldn’t have jumped. I don’t like heights. But that day I was just so … fucking miserable.”

“And now?”

Evan shrugged. “And now what?”

“Are you still miserable?”

“I’m taking it day by day,” Evan said soberly, then checked the time. “Look, I didn’t mean to ramble on. I just wanted to thank you for being kind to me. It’s made me believe that, maybe, there are good people in this world after all.” He wiped away the tear that rolled down his face, then turned to walk away.

“Evan…” Zach waited for Evan to face him again before continuing. “You’re right. We don’t know each other, but fate, if you believe in it, brought us together. How about grabbing a drink? If it sounds crazy —”

“Why?”

“Why —”

“Why would you want to have a drink with me?” Evan asked with an edge.

Zach scrunched his eyebrows. “It might be nice to get to know each other.”

“I said too much,” Evan said quickly. “I don’t need your pity.”

“Wow. I was just trying to be nice.”

“No one’s ever nice to guys like me.”

“I’m starting to see why. It’s hard to be nice to a prick.” Zach started off down the street, turning back once and throwing Evan a look of disbelief.

God, I’m such an idiot, Zach thought when he reached the corner and waited to cross the street. He’d let himself be swept up in some silly fantasy, idolizing a guy he’d met on the street. Was that really how he thought he’d meet his future husband? Was he that desperate for love? The light turned green and Zach stepped off the curb. When he reached the other side of the street, he felt a hand in the centre of his back. He cranked his head to the right, saw Evan, and kept walking.

“Zach…” Evan grabbed Zach’s arm and pulled him off to the side. “I’m sorry. I’m a prick. A world-class prick, actually. You caught me off guard and I didn’t know how to react. I’m not used to —”

“Not used to what?” Zach asked, his voice flat.

“I don’t know.” Evan rubbed his eye. “Someone being interested in me.”

“You’re kidding, right? Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

If Zach had a type, Evan hit all the buttons. Tall. Dark-haired. Fit and lean, but not one of those muscle jocks who spent all his time at the gym. A gentle demeanour, for the most part. And most importantly, a tri-cornered smile that had that ache burning inside him.

“I have issues,” Evan said. “You can see that. No one wants to be with a guy who’s —”

“Maybe going through a rough patch?” Zach broke in, placing his hand on Evan’s shoulder. “Some days suck. That’s life. And we get through them, like you said, day by day.”

“It’s more than that.”

“So, tell me about it over a drink,” Zach said, his hand falling away. “And maybe, at the very least, we’ve both made a new friend.”

“I probably shouldn’t drink.”

Zach pointed at the Starbucks sign down the street. “Then let’s grab a coffee.”

They stared intently at each other for a moment, then headed to the Starbucks.

Waiting in line, Zach turned to Evan, who flashed him that heart-stopping smile. God, he felt silly when his manhood went hard as steel and slipped his hands into his pockets to conceal it.

They both ordered lattes and, when the drinks were ready, sat at a table in the corner.

“Tell me about your ‘issues,’” Zach said playfully and winked.

“We could be here a while,” Evan said dryly.

“I’m in no rush.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Evan smiled mischievously. “I was sixteen when I was first diagnosed…”

Sipping his drink, Zach listened as Evan spoke, never interrupting. He sat there, his gaze locked on those penetrating eyes, at one point reaching out and placing his hand on top of Evan’s. Then came the shock. He couldn’t believe how intense — despite the details Evan shared of his life and struggles — the ache had become.

What am I doing? This is crazy? But he was hooked, by a stranger no less who’d stirred something inside of him. He couldn’t help but wonder — and hope — if this was the moment he’d finally step out from the shadows of his past.

Or maybe, in the most unexpected way, he’d found his shelter.

Never Give Up

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Every day I write. In the morning. In the afternoon. Sometimes in the evening.

It’s not a choice for me.

It’s a calling. And when I stopped running away from myself, I heeded the call.

You see, when my pen touches the page, that’s when I feel grounded, centred … at one with myself and the world.

Writing is the truest expression of who I am.

The ‘Why’

I don’t write with the aim of becoming a New York Times bestselling author or hoping to win the Man Booker International Prize. Sure, those things could happen, but that’s not what keeps me in the game.

Writing is about witnessing the world around me, taking a snapshot of a moment in time — and trying to make sense of it all. Writing lets me tell a story through a different lens, from the experiences that have shaped my life and helped me to become who I am. Writing frees me from the hate, intolerance and misunderstandings plaguing our world today. Writing is a golden opportunity to showcase the beauty that is this world and the great things we’ve done — and can still do — when we come together in spite of our differences.

That’s why I must write … every day. When I don’t write, I’m irritable, grumpy and feel like I’ve lost my footing. That’s how I often felt on days when I went without coffee (before I gave up caffeine).

Like I said, it’s not a choice for me. If it were, I would have abandoned writing when my novel, Freestyle Love, flopped in 2011. But I kept writing and, not letting self-doubt get the better of me, self-published The Flowers Need Watering in 2017. I could have given up after receiving countless rejections from various literary journals and publishers. Instead, I kept writing, honing my skills and opted to share my stories online through Twitter Fiction Tuesdays (#TwitFicTues) and my Fiction Friday series.

Yes, I kept writing for the love of the work, to see it through to completion, to — in some small way — be of service.

Never Give Up

Despite my passion, despite my commitment, there are still days when I ask myself: What’s the point? Am I on the right path? Is anyone paying attention? So, I take a moment to remind myself of what Steven Pressfield says in, Do the Work!: “Resistance is a repelling force. It’s negative. Its aim is to shove us away, distract us, prevent us from doing our work.”[note]Steven Pressfield, Do the Work!, Do You Zoom, Inc., 2011.[/note]

That’s when I buckle down and focus. Resistance won’t have dominion over me.

When we write, paint, compose — create — for the love of it, I feel like that’s the moment when providence moves. The stars align and our creative world comes into focus. We know exactly where we are, where we want to go, and what we need to do to get there.

When we show up each day for the love of the work, we know we have the necessary courage and faith to do whatever it takes to make our dreams come true.

That’s why we’ll never give up.

Take a Deep Breath

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Throughout this long writing journey, I’ve had one steady companion: Doubt.

Doubt tells me I’ll never succeed. That I’m wasting my time. That I’m an amateur and that I’ll never be anything more than that. Some days, Doubt almost has me convinced that all of these things are true. That’s when I know Doubt has power over me and I’m the one feeding it.

Since the beginning of the year, I’ve been in a ‘funk’ that I’ve been struggling to shake off. There are peaks and valleys in life, right? Well, I’ve been stuck way, way down in one. And that wouldn’t be so bad if it were like Pine Valley and I was living the glamorous life of Erica Kane. But it’s been something altogether different. It’s kept me on edge, left me battling procrastination and, to a certain degree, not giving a f*ck about much.

It’s that last one … that’s when I knew something was off.

And it was this: I’d let Doubt bully me, then seduce me away from the work I’m most passionate about. Writing.

So, during my recent staycation, I brought the war to Doubt’s front door by setting up and following a routine. I started each day, like I always do, with my Morning Pages. After that, I either went for a run or worked out using the Nike Training App. Then I stuck to a schedule that had me working — and making progress — on various writing projects.

Writing shields me from Doubt’s strangling grip.

Writing reminds me of my worth.

Writing takes away my fears.

And Doubt coupled with fear is a deadly combination. Lately, I’ve been consumed by fear. I’m afraid that, maybe, Steven Pressfield is right, and Nobody Wants to Read Your Sh*t. Afraid that the revised version of Freestyle Love, that I’m hoping to rerelease this year, will be a flop like the first. Afraid that I’m not on the right path.

Then something strange happened, something that I’ve never experienced before (or at least I’d never been conscious of because of my on-again-off-again relationship with God).

On the day I returned to work earlier in the month, I sat down to write my Morning Pages. Before beginning, I asked (or maybe it was more of a prayer) this question: What do I do next? My hand sped across the page, capturing the words as the Universe/God/Life spoke directly to me.

This is what I heard:

Accept Your Situation

Accept where you are and make the best of it. As much as you may be tempted, don’t ‘abandon ship’ (i.e., quit the day job). You need a roof over your head and food on the table. That’s the way life works. But you can, outside of the pesky day job, work on what you’re most passionate about. That means being present where you are. This is your moment in life, so enjoy it. Stop trying to run towards some uncertain future. Today, you can finish the rewrite. Today, you can start a new story. Today, you can cherish the people in your life who support and encourage you.

Procrastination isn’t the ‘Devil’

If you want to procrastinate, fine, just accept it. It’s okay not to want to work sometimes.

Getting Past Discouragement

When you feel discouraged, like you want to give up, write something. Not with the expectation of glory — of being published or revered. Write to soothe your soul, to clear out the inner critic from inside your head. Write to remind yourself of who you are and why you do what you do. Remember, life is a journey. Each day presents opportunities to grow as a person and as a writer. The question is this: Are you paying attention?

So, Pay Attention

Pay attention to how you spend your time. Do you really need to watch The Bourne Identity again? Really, you could play Jason Bourne because you can recite all the lines from beginning to end. In the ninety minutes it’d take to watch it, you could write a blog post or edit that short story that’s been sitting on the corner of your desk for months. Have you counted how many times a day you check your Twitter feed or KDP reports? Add that up over the past six months and you could have had plenty of time to visit the AGO like you talked about. Have you thought about asking for help with some of the household chores? Maybe you’d feel less tired or like you never have enough time in the day to get everything done. Don’t give up the cooking, though. You make delicious meals from scratch — Bolognese, cinnamon buns, gnocchi, apple pie. It’s another form of creativity in your life that keeps you healthy and on your game.

Pay attention to the people who come into your life. Some people you meet will love and support you unconditionally. When you need space to write or sprint to the end of a long rewrite, they’ll understand when you ‘disappear.’ And when you reappear, they’ll be the first to ask, “How did it go? Great! Now, let’s go to dinner to celebrate.” Others will try to take advantage of you. They’ll want to take your time, energy and focus for their own needs without giving anything in return. By the time you realize it, you’ll be frustrated and resentful, and what suffers is your creativity and peace of mind. You must be able to see quickly who’s there for you and who’s there simply to ride in your shadow. Dump the latter fast! You don’t need any other distractions.

Keep Reading

Reading is a great way to expand your mind, delve into worlds that are foreign to you, and discover other exciting authors.

Don’t Forget to Rest

You want to get your next book out. Good. You’re excited about it. Good. You’ve spent so many years working on it that you can’t wait to share it with the world. Good. But you’re often running yourself ragged. You work until your body says, “No more,” and then you’re out of commission anywhere from four days to two weeks. During that time, everything suffers, or slows down, because your body needs rest that you’ve deprived it of. Pace yourself. Better yet, take a break and let loose your inner child. There’s nothing wrong with taking a day off. It lets you step away from your current work-in-progress, especially if you arrive at a point where you’re not sure how to move it forward. Forget about it. Do something else that you love. Go see Black Panther or Laura Croft: Tomb Raider. Check out that bakery in Little Italy everyone’s talking about. Have fun. Then, when you go back to the writing, you’ll have a fresh perspective and see things differently.

Love Yourself

The journey you’re on is not for the faint of heart. You’ve experienced success and failure … lots of failures. But you don’t let that faze you. You try, try and try again. That’s because you love yourself and the path you’re on. Sometimes, in the hustle and bustle of life, we forget to treat ourselves. Loving yourself means that sometimes (maybe more often than you’d think) you must put yourself first. It’s okay to decline invitations to guest post on someone else’s blog or help a friend move. It’s okay to take a weekend for yourself and not visit your in-laws. It’s okay to say, “No,” when what’s being asked of you is not true to who you are. That doesn’t mean you’re not a nice person. It means that, by living with intention, you’re loving yourself. Remember Polonius’s advice to his son in Hamlet: “This above all: to thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.”

Never Give Up

You’ve come so far on this journey to let Doubt scare you away. The best thing you can do is to just show up daily and write. One hundred words. Five hundred words. Two thousand words. It doesn’t matter. It’s all progress. And that shows your commitment to your craft, and your dedication to learning and growing. Don’t look to see who’s ahead of you or who’s behind you. Don’t worry about what other people think. What you create isn’t going to be for everyone, and that’s okay. Write for your one true fan who cheers you on to the end.

Focus on you and creating the life you imagine.

You’re on your way. Take a deep breath and carry on.