I have risen to new heights in my daytime job, but do I want that? Not really...that other dream to be a serious storyteller is always gnawing in my brain like a cancer. One can't shake what he is when he isn't by society terms.
Last Friday I ran into a ballet dancer, a beautiful man he is; he made us coffee & showed me his manuscript, a great big pile as big as PaintedPeopleStory, he's re-writing. His parents were important newspaper writers from Boston or rather suburban Brookline, his dad being a publisher and owner of a newspaper there. High society types. Said he recently returned to Boston area and hated Boston because it was filled with so many white people and not all kinds of people of colour like San Francisco. We share a love of photography, Italy and David's ass, the world's most beautiful ass ever sculptured, in Florence.
So I've decided a successful writer probably needs just one lover who loves him deeply & passionately. No more than that. I believe I have found that in possibly one lover I cherish and love very much . . .
Thus, writing (for me) is more important than having a boy or girl in every port. Pages don't age as profoundly old & useless as men.