I found it quite odd to think someone may be remotely interested in my fledgling pedigree. But alas! I do have a vain side, so read further - if you dare - and peek into the zany world of George Allwynn, a simple, gender queer person who amuses some, annoys others, and in the end, remains refreshingly genuine to a fault.
I have been caught eavesdropping. Purely for research purposes, I assure you. Yet, there have been times I have over heard people describe me as being eccentric, elective and effusive.
Of course, other colorful, yet less desirable attributes have been attached to my personality, but I am trying really hard to keep this blog rated PG.
Overall, I have an 'indie' spirit, and devote my time and money in support to the indie industry (films, art, music.) The delight of discovering life outside the box, the uniqueness of individuality it embraces and the expressions of the human spirit leave me in awe.
With that in mind, my bohemian spirit loves independent writers, e-publishing and all small presses that support the Indie thought. Indie (or e-publishing) won't leave me rich or famous, but it doesn't matter. Staying true to my self purpose, writing the prose that best expresses my author's spirit, and experiencing the journey with humility and grace is what I hope to accomplish during this mid-life wake up call.
I was born and bred in Northern Michigan - and have basically lived here all my life with the exception of a military stint down in Fort Bragg, NC during Desert Storm.
I am the only one left in my family, save for my two adult children, my son, Kelley (pictured with me above at a hooka bar in Royal Oak) who is 27 and lives with his girlfriend of 3 years in the metro area of Detroit, and daughter Kerri 26 years old who married her child hood sweet heart Randal Lee, giving me two grandsons, Trenton Lee (6 years) and Devon (9 months). They live in Dalton Georgia. I am fortunate to have my ambitions supported and encouraged by such wonderful offspring. (Even though they roll their eyes when they explain me to their friends. At least they do it with pride in their voices and a smile on their lips!)
This past June, I starting my life over, by moving cross state to Western Michigan, in a small town where there is no cell tower and dial-up is considered high-tech. I live in a small, studio apartment like place with my dog Holly (a yellow lab/golden retriever/beagle mix) and a fat, snowshoe looking Siamese named Mrs. Jones. It's been a cultural shock - not only to me, but to the residents here. Not too many out-spoken, genderqueer writer folks walk the streets of this one horse town and live to tell about it.
My passions include: writing, reading, cats, tattoos, ANYTHING British, research, and green living. I'm an advocate for GLBT rights and have been 'blessed with bi-polarism with manic tendencies. Unfortunately, I've also been blessed with panic attacks and can become quite the recluse. Thank the gods I have friends ( both real, in my head and on the internet) that do not hesitate to kick me in my fat, hairy arse when I need it.
As for writing, I am a GLBT writer. I love to read (and write) M/M or F2M romance stories, with elements of suspense, paranormal, or some kind of odd twist. All penned with humor. Or what I hope readers consider as humor. Well, at least I laugh at what I write.
I've been writing M/M romance [i]before I knew what it was[/i] -- since 1975 (much to the chagrin of Mrs Vanderveer - my first critique.) To this present day, there are moments of self-doubt, I’m haunted by her words.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Under my nose, my fifth grade teacher shook my original, handwritten, 125 loose leaf page story, bound together with scraps of scarlet yarn. “Children your age don’t possess the ability to understand adult ideas.” Her acidic glare through dark framed glasses pinned me against a cabinet. “Where did you learn this?”
Before I could defend myself, the woman pinched her lips tight and examined me as an exterminator does a cockroach. “You’re an impertinent student and a deviant freak of nature. You’ll never possess the discipline to be successful author.”
Although I felt stung by the sharpness of her words, the tears came after hearing the hollow echo of my beautiful first book, tossed in to the old metal wastebasket.
So went my first experience as a writer.
But I continued to write. When I turned 13, I had my own column in the weekly county newspaper, gathering social news in my neighborhood. That job lasted for six years. I was High school editor of our newspaper for two years, year book editor for one. I was voted best story-teller in my senior year in high school and had a scholarship for journalism.
In the 80's I was heavily into Star Trek Slash fan fic (though during that decade - they were published in what was called 'fanzines' and sold at conventions under the tables!) I was 'published' under the name of D.Isaacs, and had like 10 or 12 stories that were novella length.
It was during this time, the 'don’t ask, don't tell' policy was not in effect, so I started an underground newsletter for the gay soldiers stationed at Fort Bragg and Pope Air Force base. It flourished for three years, until the onslaught of Desert Storm.
As adulthood led to larger responsibilities, my writing took a backseat. Time to devote to my passion seemed fruitless, in light of the life stresses and employment issues I faced. As each day passed, I continued the pattern of choosing reality over my fantasy stories, berating myself with guilt over stolen moments of writing pleasure.
The 90's brought in a radical change. Caught by the snare of religion, I felt condemned for using my writing talent in ways that wouldn’t glorify God (as the modern church perceives through man-made rules.) I was convinced to give up my writing and drawing as a sacrifice to God. I had to learn to control my desires and appreciate the gifts He had given me.
So, I traded my typewriter for a chance to have a real family and a clerical license. I became a chaplain, a devoted, faithful partner and later, the foster parent of 7 special need boys (10 years and down.)
In 2006, after a devastating fall out from a government court battle over adoption, I woke up in the ashes of destroyed dreams and once again pick up my sword..., errr, pen and started my healing process by writing. What a difference 20 years make when you add computers over ditto machines! My pen name became Sage Harrison.
In 2007, my successful slash serial on VH.net caught the eye of the two actors (and several of their friends and castmates.) so when I when I did an annual trek to NYC with some friends/internet fans, I met the two actors I wrote about. In a bizarre twist of fate, the actors picked apart my brain, asked for my autograph, swore up and down my writing was better than currently on the show, and encouraged me to stop hiding my talent and embrace my destiny - get serious about the writing and go for it...
In late 2008, I plunged into the choppy waters of the unforgiving world of professional publishing. There, I discovered E-pubs, M/M romance, and the fact I didn't know beans about 'professional' writing, all the rules and unforgiving grammar snafus'.
I went almost a year of doing nothing but taking various writing classes, to the point where I couldn't recognize my own writing voice. It was a sad wake up call. I no longer wanted to write, because I sounded like some kind of cookie-cutter writer being pushed out by New York Publishers. I hated writing, and hated me for being so anal retentive to every writer rule out there.
In 2010, a warm, wonderful publisher reminded me of something very important. Now that I 'know' what the 'rules' are, I can pick and choose which ones to beef up on, and which ones to ignore, thus, improving my voice even more.
So, that's me in a nut shell. A novice of sorts, trying to get it all straight in my head before my manuscripts decimate the desk of an unsuspecting, slightly neurotic editor on the verge of going totally daft if she sees one more submission sporting Pratchett Purple Prose...
And when I become published, I plan on laying my first book on the gravesite of Mrs. Vanderveer, my fifth grade teacher. God rest her soul