I, George Allwynn, aspiring author, oddity at large, and all around charming person - claim myself as my favorite author. I believe in my magic to tell an interesting yarn, and I recommend myself to anyone, anywhere, who wants to read a damn good story.I just have to get a book published!
This isn't a case of swaggering egotism. Nor am I passing it off as my sore attempt at humor. I truly love what I write, not because I am a great writer, but because I am passionate about writing. And when I am passionate about the subject I am writing about, the story radiates with a life force of it's own!
My characters react with vitality, my scenes have spirit, and my plots entice readers..., "Come! Experience a story I wrote especially for you."
Or so I would hope that is how my stories are perceived. Especially for anyone who craves a GLBT romantic suspense with an element of humor.
Seriously, growing up in a world where good, GLBT fiction was scarce on any level, I was left to read books about other people. You know, people, different from me, leaving me feel as if me and 'my kind' weren't good enough to have stories or televison programs or songs written about.
In my naive state of mind, I decided to write what I wanted to read. What I wish I could find to read or to watch on TV or hear on the radio. Then, I could share these with people like me. I mean, there had to be others out there like me, right? Because God didn't make mistakes - that is what my Sunday School teacher told me
If I took up a pencil and paper, what I knew to be true in my heart would, somehow, translate to be true on the page as well as true in life.
So, I wrote.
I wrote the stories I wanted to read. I wrote stories for what I wanted to see on television (which was later termed fan-fic.) I re-wrote the words I wanted to hear to the popular songs played on the radio.
And, when I courageously handed my beautiful stories over...
I got laughed at.
Ridiculed.
Threatened.
Abused emotionally by peers, teachers, relatives...
And, at some point, physically hurt by those who swore it was their duty to 'straighten' me out
Yet, my veins don't run with mere blood. It's a mixture of ink, insanity, stubborness and determination (shaken, not stirred.) Whether penned in secret or disguised by using unisexed names and other cues (taught to me by my lesbian high school Art/World History teacher), I kept writing the stories I wanted to read. Why? Because someone had to.I was bored and in desparate need to read - to entertain myself in a fictional world where I could escape modern day cruelity and bask in the fantasy that, one day, people like me would have their own books - written with pride, with zeal, and with an ardor no longer tethered to heterosexual mandates or secret coding.
Thirty years later, I gathered my courage and decided to take my little hobby over the rainbow. I am still aspiring - a work in progress. I know my stories aren't for everyone. My grammer and sentence structure (among a few other things) go against the grain of 'Acceptable Publishing Rules.'
By secular terms, I'll never be a popular, celebrated author. I will never be a New York published author, because I refuse to sell out my life-blood to become another cookie cutter factory voice, force-fed to a population of readers who hunger for originality, flavor and variety.
I won't rank among Ernest Hemingway, Sir Arthur Canon Doyle or Harper Lee. I can't claim to be a Truman Captoe, a Victor
J Banis or a J.L. Langly. Heck, I can't even hold a candle next to my friend D.C. Juris - at least he has some publishing bragging rights to stuff down his trousers.However, through my own blood, sweat and tears, my stories have earned the right to be loved, appreciated and read several times over. I deserve to be somebody's favorite author.
Even if that somebody is me.
Remember the authors motto: You gotta love what you write.
