Watching other people talk about families and Turkey Day in the USA is bringing me back.

I've got a particular set of skills, socially. Often resulting in people questioning their life choices, including inviting me.

As an out gay man in a family that was ..not? super? progressive (or at least nowhere near where they thought they were), I was more than happy to answer questions. Stupid ones. Direct ones.

Look, you don't want to know where that goes, don't ask? I've got annotated images.

I'll be honest. I've got two giant novel length stories banging against the inside of my skull right now. Both want me to spend every waking hour writing them. One is old enough that it's almost terrifyingly complete in outline in my head, the other is less than a month old.

One is fantasy (high fantasy). One is sci fi.

(pokes at idea of actually, you know, writing either)

You know, reading someone's in progress is interesting. One of the many narratives I've placed in my path so I won't write is I could never show it to anyone I do know who writes because it would be embarrassingly bad unless I created perfection.

Seeing a perfectly good piece of writing -on the way to finished- reminds me that if I'm kind there are people who are professional writers who might not actively be thinking I'm a horrible writer and be laughing when I'm not looking.

So. You know.->