Long legs, long arms, long nose, untamable hair, a short torso, slightly asymmetrical chest, and ears that protrude to the sides like jug handles. That’s me, I’m afraid. It gets worse when I open my mouth, my favorite things being to complain and to give unsolicited advice to others, according to my husband.
One is happy, in any case. I could be happier if you got a haircut, but that’s not any of my business. My husband and I are a happy couple. We make enough money to pay the bills and take small vacations. We go out for walks and there’s always something nice to watch on Netflix. Having a happy marriage is a terribly boring thing, I know, but I’m proud of the achievement, for once, because my husband is a real catch—he’s truly adorable—and then because we are part of the first generation, among all homosexuals that ever lived on this Earth, that have claimed the right to tie the knot with the one they love. Do you know any old, fat, bitter queen, disenchanted at life because they never found a partner? That could have been me! Bonding is an essential human need that my kind was denied for millennia.
What else? I have a day job, to pay the bills. I was a student for a little too long, and now I am one again, thinking that I better prepare and get a job that I like, as a plan B, in case plan A fails.
Plan A is writing. I am a novelist. My first book, Cuadrillas y Contradanzas, a historical drama set during the War of Reform in Mexico, was very good but barely anyone read it. Never self-publish. The second one, Love, or the Witches of Windward Circle, set in Venice, California, throughout the first half of the 20th century, has had a little more success. I was a panelist at the LA Times Festival of Books earlier this year, got a few good reviews, and I’ve been invited to a couple of readings. Last night I sold two copies. I write about truly deplorable people. I’m always on the side of the ugly, the dispossessed, and the villains. I think that evil people are victims too. I have a twisted sense of humor too, and a gift for irony and sarcasm, which one could blame on cowardice and personal failure, but I dare say comes from my adroitness at portraying human behavior.
I am currently working on my third novel, about a bookkeeper that kills a German intern.