Lucy J. Madison journaling on the Appalachian Trail.

By Lucy J. Madison
special to Lesbian.com

The first time I departed for a solo hiking trip on the Appalachian Trail, I over packed. By a lot. Any seasoned hiker will tell you this happens all the time. You start out all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed thinking you need every little gizmo and gadget, and you end up realizing the absolute hell of carrying all that weight for a few extra items you barely use. So, you ditch everything that isn’t critical to your survival.

The backpack weight for my first hike was around thirty-eight pounds for a seven-day trip. That included everything from socks and underwear to food, water, tent, sleeping bag, maps, and more. I recognized pretty quickly that carrying thirty-eight extra pounds up and down mountains on shale, rock, wet moss and muddy trails was both painful and stupid. After that first trip, I spread everything out on the floor and took a long, hard look at each item and even went so far to cut down my toothbrush handle to save a few precious ounces. The next time I went out for a similar hike, my pack weight was down to a very manageable twenty-eight pounds. And each day I consumed food, the pack weight decreased more and more. You might not think ten pounds is a lot, but when you’re lugging that extra ten pounds up and down for ten miles over ten-hours, trust me, you’ll feel differently.

Hiking over 800 miles on the Appalachian Trail taught me a lot about life that I find myself applying to my days both on and off the Trail. Here are some of the lessons I’ve learned:

1. Few possessions matter. I don’t need all the stuff I thought I needed to be content. If you really take a look at what you use and wear on a daily basis, you’ll probably find what I did: you don’t need as much as you think you do, and you can be happy with less. I find that I apply this often to my life and tend to buy fewer items. The items I do buy are well thought out and the highest quality I can afford.
2. Soap is important. Soap is an essential that I am not willing to part with. I’ll deal with cold water rinsing. I’ll deal with re-using a bandana and wearing stinky clothes. But I become incredibly cranky and unhappy if I climb into my sleeping bag dirty and sticky. I don’t sleep well, and I fixate on the dirt. Just because I’m in the woods doesn’t mean I need to smell like a bear.
3. Live in the moment. Hiking requires concentration. Most people think the Appalachian Trail is like a broad, level, and a graveled rail trail that’s a piece of cake to walk on. The truth is almost the exact opposite. Because of the unstable ground, steep inclines and declines, it’s imperative to be aware of every single footfall. I find this incredibly comforting, and it forces me to listen to my breathing, the birds, and the breeze through the trees. It’s like a walking meditation, and it allows me to live in the moment. It’s also taught me that time is an incredible gift.
4. Technology is a tool, not a crutch. The first time I went hiking alone, I experienced severe technology withdrawals. I couldn’t Google every little question that popped into my mind. I couldn’t check the weather radar. I wasn’t able to send or receive text messages, see my CNN news alerts. How was I going to survive? After two literally painful days in solitude, I began to use my senses again, and it felt amazing. I’d been guilty of using technology as a crutch to fill the quiet moments and keep myself stimulated. Without it, I re-learned how to use nature and my own mind to encourage myself plenty. That said, having the safety of a satellite communicator in case of emergency is a technology item I always carry, which proves my point: technology is a tool, not a crutch.
5. The grass is green wherever you are. I’ve often said that hiking the Appalachian Trail is similar to scrambling through a rocky, jade tunnel. You usually can’t see more than a few yards ahead, and it sometimes feels a little confining to be inside the tree canopy. So often we fixate on what other people have, and we think that their lives are somehow better than our own. Hiking has taught me that wherever I am is precisely enough. It’s just up to me to look around and find joy. My attitude is directly linked to my outlook.
6. Effort equals outcome. Every single step is up to me and is a direct result of my own initiative. There are no shortcuts. The trail is the trail. No one is going to carry my pack for me. No one will magically appear to give me a lift. No one is going to listen to me whine and bitch. If I choose to stand in one place all day, I will be in the same place come nightfall. I love this about hiking. It’s brutally honest in that way. The more effort I put in, the more miles I cover that day. And the further I walk, the farther I get.
7. Sleep is significant. We all know what it feels like to operate on a few hours of sleep. We’re often crabby and can’t concentrate when we don’t get adequate sleep. People are often fascinated with the idea of sleeping in a tent or a lean-to in the woods, and they automatically assume that it’s more uncomfortable than sleeping in a cushy bed in a dry, temperature controlled house. But I can tell you the best sleep I’ve ever had in my life has been in the woods. Hiking all day is exhausting in an entirely different way than battling rush hour traffic, and a nine-to-five job is. I love my air mattress and sound of rain as it hits the tent. When I wake, I feel refreshed and ready to tackle the day.
8. Be comfortable with discomfort. I won’t lie: backpacking is hard. And it hurts. I’m not actually sure which is worse – going up or going down. Bones creak, ankles roll, muscles ache. I’ve been stung by bees, fallen down rock faces, skinned my elbows, banged my head. I’ve had blisters that looked like extra toes and walked in wet clothes for days on end. Pain is temporary. It’s so easy to get wrapped up and consumed by discomfort to the point that we are incapable of doing, or thinking about, anything else. Usually, we quit things because our minds let us down, not because our bodies have. I learned that pushing through discomfort means I will be stronger for it. To feel exhaustion is to be humbled by it. Life isn’t always comfortable. The key is to become comfortable with being uncomfortable.
9. Snickers bars. That is all. Frank Mars invented the Snickers bar in 1930 and named it for his favorite horse. The man was a genius. Eating a Snickers bar after hiking for five hours in the rain is, well, life-altering. I’ll leave it at that.
10. I am enough. Backpacking is an experience. Backpacking alone is entirely different. I’m forced to rely on myself for everything. Navigation, meals, safety, purified water, strength, persistence. I can’t look to anyone else for support. I can only gaze within. Being alone in challenging circumstances in the woods has taught me about self-reliance more than anything else ever has. I am capable. I am stronger than I think. I’m smart. I’m also good for nothing if I’m too hungry. These experiences have shifted my approach to relationships. I no longer seek things out from other people that I may need. Instead, I find what I need within myself, and that has helped improve every relationship in my life because I can enjoy others without requiring or expecting, anything in return.

About Lucy J. Madison: Lucy J. Madison is a novelist, poet, and screenwriter from Connecticut. She’s the author of two contemporary lesbian romance novels In the Direction of the Sun and Personal Foul as well as a collection of poetry entitled I.V. Poems (Sapphire Books). In the Direction of the Sun features a main character who hikes the Appalachian Trail to heal her broken heart.  www.lucyjmadison.com Connect with her on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter @lucyjmadison.

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Lucy Madison playing basketball as a young girl.

By Lucy J. Madison
special to Lesbian.com

My mother always referred to falling in love as “the thunderbolt.” The first time I fell in love, it was magical, sudden, and entirely unexpected, as if I had been hit by a beautifully energetic bolt of lightning. The feelings were so intense I couldn’t sleep, I didn’t want to eat. I couldn’t think of anything except my newfound love and how we could be together forever.

I was eight years old, and the object of my attention was a leather basketball, twenty-nine inches in circumference, twenty ounces in weight with seams about one-quarter inch apart. I’ll never forget the first time I held that brown leather Spalding ball in my small hands, felt the dimples of the leather, saw how my hand naturally curved to cup it. I stood in rapt fascination in the game aisle of a local store lost in my own thoughts. I barely noticed the snot-nosed boy and his father sniggering at me, a girl with blonde pigtails, cut off shorts, a Joan Jett tee shirt and scabby knees in the sports aisle of the local department store in the summer of 1980.

Over the next thirteen years of my life, I focused most of my energy on learning the game played between the lines of the ninety-six-foot rectangular shining hardwood court. My life revolved around practice, repetitions, studying the greats like Larry Bird, Magic Johnson, and Michael Jordon on television. I ate, drank, slept, and existed entirely for the sport I loved. The sound of a ball hitting the hardwood immediately calmed my nerves. The court was my home, and I was my most authentic self on the court. Shot after shot, drill after drill, year after year, my focus was laser sharp, and my goal was elusive but straightforward: to be the best player on the court every single night.

Lucy Madison playing high school basketball.

While I wasn’t always the best player on the court, I was good enough to become a standout high school player in a Connecticut private school program and ultimately go on to play college basketball. Through four years of college at a small liberal arts Division III school in New York, my eyes were opened to life outside of basketball. I fell in love with writing, ultimate Frisbee, late nights out with best friends, the college newspaper, classes in philosophy and literature, and all the experiences that life in college brings.

During my junior and senior seasons, basketball started to feel like a chore, a time commitment I began to resent. It became a job, a responsibility and something I no longer did for the joy of it. Although I had the opportunity to play professionally in Israel upon graduation, I couldn’t see a career in the game, although I tried to. I tried to imagine how many good years I had left in my body. I tried to imagine myself as a coach or a commentator, or to envision how I could make a good living inside the sport. But try as I might, I could not see the way forward. So, the day I graduated from college was the same day I walked away from the game I loved.

To say I wasn’t prepared for the first year after graduation, away from basketball, is a severe understatement. For the first time in my life since that day when I was eight years old, I did not have basketball to come home to. No practices, no teammates, no National Anthem, no butterflies before the game began, no pre-game rituals or studying film, no competition, no outlet for all my physical energy. All of it was gone in the blink of an eye, disappeared by own doing. I had no one to blame for this but myself.

Looking back, I realize now that I spent the first year after college in an intense mourning period. We often only think of loss regarding the death of a loved one, but other types of losses are equally challenging. My entire identity had been centered on basketball. Without it, I had to learn who I was all over again and proved harder than I could ever imagine.

Over the years, I dipped my toe back into the game. I played in some leagues, coached high school and pee wee girls, at one point had season tickets to the New York Liberty. To an extent, all of it felt false to me. Because I had only known how to give 110 percent to the game, anything less felt inauthentic and, to a certain degree, a colossal waste of time.

Now, as I sit and watch the WNBA playoffs in their twenty-first season and my forty-fourth year of life, I realize that I’ve moved into a different phase – appreciation. I’ve lived, and watched, the women’s game change and improve by leaps and bounds over the years. I often attend WNBA games at the Connecticut Sun Arena or UCONN games at Gampel Pavilion and still get a little misty-eyed when I watch an exceptional performance or play. The National Anthem always gives me goosebumps, and sometimes, I close my eyes to recall the days when I stood courtside too, sneakers double knotted, a wad of bubble gum in my left cheek, ready to do battle. I’ve learned to appreciate the Diana Taurasi’s and Sue Birds of the league much more entirely because of their commitment to the game, to be the best every single night.

Some people are born with a natural talent and physical attributes for the sport, but there are very few who also possess the inner desire to be the best. While I’ll never be an Olympic basketball player, basketball has taught me so many lessons that I now apply to my life as a professional writer such as:
• Practice your skills.
• Never stop trying.
• Hate losing (or rejection) so much that you’ll do whatever it takes to avoid it.
• Writing, like basketball, is a discipline that can be learned and improved.

It’s taken me years to fully understand how much my life changed that day way back in 1980 when I first held a basketball. I wouldn’t be the person, the woman, I am today without the game of basketball. Love changes over time, but when it’s true, it lasts forever.

About Lucy J. Madison: Lucy J. Madison is a novelist, poet, and screenwriter from Connecticut. She’s the author of two contemporary lesbian romance novels In the Direction of the Sun and Personal Foul as well as a collection of poetry entitled I.V. Poems (Sapphire Books). Personal Foul features a love story between a WNBA player and an official. It was recently named one of the top 10 Lesbian Sports Romance Books by the Lesbian Review. www.lucyjmadison.com Connect with her on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter @lucyjmadison.

The post A love that lasts forever first appeared on Lesbian.com.

Thirty years have passed since British lesbian writer Jeanette Winterson published her first novel, “Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit.” A semi-autobiographical experiment in meta-fiction, the novel is a truth-bending rewriting of Winterson’s own childhood as an adopted daughter of a domineering Pentecostal mother. Covering her life — or a version of it — from age seven to 16, it tells the tragic, witty and inspiring tale of her coming of age in this strange, oppressive environment. Winterson was only 24 when she wrote it, having escaped her abusive background to attend Oxford University. The book won The Whitbread Award for a first novel.

“Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit,” despite a subject-matter some might find controversial, is taught in schools in the United Kingdom. This is where I first discovered it. A troubled and intense baby-queer, I was assigned the novel in my A-level English Literature class. Winterson, for her revolutionary combination of working class grit and high-minded poetic sensibility, as well as her devilish gallows humor and melodramatically romantic spirit, became my favorite author.

In 2012, Winterson revisited the time in her life that was the basis for “Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit,” this time in a memoir, “Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal.” Revealing the brutal truths behind her first novel, it is the perfect companion to it. Having read the memoir and re-read “Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit last year,” I had a chance to reflect on some of the wisdom contained within these books.

Religion, like everything, is open to interpretation

Jeanette’s mother is fiercely religious in a way that dominates her life. Not allowed to read any other book than “The Bible,” the stories and ideas within become her only frame of reference. Though, by the end of the novel, Jeanette is unsure whether she still believes in God, she admits that she misses the companionship of an unconditionally loving entity.

The novel is even split into chapters named after bible chapters, showing that even after escaping her mother, Jeanette cannot quite escape her influence. However, Jeanette has managed to find her own interpretation of the religion that permeated her early life and there is always, throughout the book, a sense of two Gods and two bibles. Her mother’s God is wrathful and judging, while Jeanette’s is comforting and forgiving. Her mother’s bible is a long list of rules and limitations peppered with portents of certain doom, while Jeanette seems to look upon the text much like she does the Shakespeare she reads in secret. To Jeanette, “The Bible” is just a good book full of stories about the human condition. This rejection of dogmatic belief shows us that religion, and life, are what you make of them.

Humor and poetry can transcend tragedy

In a lot of ways, “Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit” is a rather dark novel. Though Winterson doesn’t go into the full extent of the abuse she suffered at the hands of her mother, later detailed in her memoir, she does paint a picture of a strict, stifling home life with a cruel and overbearing mother. The parts of the novel that deal with Jeanette’s sexuality are particularly painful, though playfully and artfully undercut by humorous asides and magical realist flights of fancy. The subject might be dark, but “Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit” is full of wit and poetry.

Winterson has a skillful way of driving home the tragic nature of events while simultaneously highlighting their absolute absurdity. The old adage that you either laugh or cry is very apt in this case. The humor that runs through the novel humanizes its less likable characters, chiefly Jeanette’s mother, without excusing their actions. Winterson is reminding us that if you maintain a rich inner life, it can never be taken away from you, no matter how hard life gets.

“Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit”

The book’s title refers to the oranges that her mother offers Jeanette whenever she is upset or in doubt. As the novel goes on, these oranges come to represent heterosexuality and “the norm.” As a child Jeanette accepted the oranges without question but as she gets older she begins to question them. When she bumps into her ex-girlfriend, now married and looking “bovine” (Winterson’s amusing assessment of anyone who seems conventionally happy) offers Jeanette an orange, she refuses it.

For people who are unconventional, especially born to more conventional parents, it is a powerful message to hear that “oranges are not the only fruit”. The real Jeanette and her mother, Mrs. Winterson, had an interesting conversation when Jeanette was leaving home at 16.

Jeanette told Mrs. Winterson that being with her girlfriend made her happy and Mrs. Winterson replied, “Why be happy when you could be normal?” When the fictionalized Jeanette chooses, in “Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit,” to leave home and work a string of strange jobs (ice cream parlor, funeral home, mental hospital) rather than remain in her mother’s narrow world, she is choosing a kind of happiness we all aspire to. Not the “bovine” fake happiness of the norm, but the vibrant, electric happiness of freedom.

Francesca Lewis is a queer feminist writer from Yorkshire, UK. She writes for Curve Magazine and The Human Experience as well as writing short fiction and working on a novel. Her ardent love of American pop culture is matched only by her passion for analyzing it completely to death.

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When Christine Svendsen’s first book was turned away by publishers, she launched her own publishing company.

Now, four years later, she’s got a stable full of award-winning lesbian authors and her own award-winning books published under the pseudonym Isabella via Sapphire Books.

“Believe in yourself. Rejection isn’t the end of a story, it can be a beginning,” Svendsen said. “Looking back, I didn’t think in terms of what if this doesn’t work? I only thought of the possibilities.”

Sapphire Books is offering anyone who likes their Facebook page a free book. After you like the page, email to Svendsen.

Svendsen took time out of her busy schedule to share the secrets to Sapphire’s success with us.

What do you do and why?

I’m the publisher and an author at Sapphire Books Publishing. I started Sapphire Books Publishing in 2010. We publish lesbian novels, written by lesbians. Our authors include Linda Kay Silva, Kim Pritekel, Beth Burnett, Karelia Stetz-Waters, Linda North, Lynette Mae, Riley Adair Garret, Lorraine Howell, Rhavensfyre and Stephanie Kusiak.

What did you do before you started your company?

I do the same thing now as I did when I started Sapphire Books, I work as a community college instructor in California. My current job affords me the luxury of working remote for most of my work load. The flexibility allows me to set my own hours, which really helps with the publishing company.

How did you come up with the idea for your company?

I had submitted my first manuscript to two publishers and was rejected by both. One said they weren’t looking for my type of story at that time. The other company wanted me to completely rewrite the story and resubmit. I thought long and hard about rewriting it. After talking to my wife, I decided that I’d try and publish it myself.

I researched self-publishing, looked at all the options and decided to start a publishing company. I’d always thought about growing the company at some point, but that was in the future. When Linda Kay Silva, a popular lesbian author, left her publishing company, I sent her an email. We met and discussed writing, publishing and motorcycles. It clicked for us and the company took off from that point. We’ve signed some really awesome writers. I have to say that I’m thrilled to work with some really talented ladies.

What do you find most rewarding about owning your own business?

I get to work with some amazingly talented women. They write books that blow my socks off.

Where do you see yourself / your company in five years? Hopes / dreams / plans?

Sapphire Books isn’t going anywhere. We’re in it for the long haul and plan on adding to our already growing list of fantastic authors.

What resources would you recommend to someone who is contemplating starting her own business?

Research the industry. Do your homework and ask questions. Learn everything you can and even then there will still be things that surprise you, so plan to be surprised. Roll with it, flexibility is important in today’s business world.

Social media is starting to play a huge role in business and it’s important that you treat social media as a tool in the business tool box.

Go to conferences, meet people in your industry and make sure to check out the competition. See what they are doing right and notice what isn’t working. IBPA and SPAN are great resources, if you really want to get into publishing.

Finally, be persistent.

What’s the process for an aspiring author to get published with Sapphire?

First, write your book. Polish the manuscript. Send the best work possible, you only get one chance to make a first impression. Sapphire isn’t the traditional lesbian publisher. We don’t have a formula. I like to think we publish great books that a lot of other publishers wouldn’t touch. For example, we’ve published books that were over 500 pages, most publishers in lesbian fiction won’t publish long manuscripts. We’ve published some truly scary books about serial killers and fetish killers. We also have published erotic books, Sci Fi, paranormal as well as romance. We just signed an author who writes the Happy Lesbian Housewife blogs and she has been referred to as “the love child of Erma Bombeck and Chelsea Handler,” so we are pretty open as long as they have strong lesbian characters, written by lesbians. Writers can contact me at publisher@sapphirebooks.com.

What would you say is the single most important key to sustaining a business long term?

Have a plan and be flexible. I can’t say that enough. The industry is constantly changing and we need to change with it.

What obstacles did you face in establishing your company and how did you overcome them?

I think the biggest obstacle I faced was being taken serious, both as a writer and as a publisher. I won an award for my first book and that started the ball rolling. When we signed Linda Kay Silva, a lot of people started to take notice.

After that, we signed some pretty awesome talent and our authors started winning awards, which moved Sapphire Books up on the list to be noticed.

Follow Sapphire Books on Facebook and Twitter.

The post Enterprising women: Sapphire Books, Christine Svendsen first appeared on Lesbian.com.

“Getting Over the Rainbow” by Danielle Ariano
92 pages (E-book only)
$2.99

Danielle Ariano has written a wonderful memoir about coming out.

Yes, we still need these stories. Of course we do, especially when they are as well-written and engaging as this book.

“Getting Over the Rainbow” follows the author through the years beginning with her accepting her sexuality and ending with her wedding. This memoir immediately sends the reader to the nostalgia train back to one’s own coming out process.

Sometimes painful in its honesty, (Ariano writes the shame she felt about being gay) it is also funny and touching. From beginning to end, it was a pleasure to read. This is her first book. I hope we see more from her in the future.

Danielle Ariano is a writer and cabinetmaker. Her work has been featured on Huffington Post, Baltimore Fishbowl and Cobalt Review. Her forthcoming memoir, “Getting Over the Rainbow,” will be published by Shebooks October 31, 2014.

Ariano lives in Lutherville, Maryland, with her wife and their two dogs. When she is not writing or building, you can usually find her at the beach surfing. She blogs at Daniwrites.org.

The post Review: ‘Getting Over the Rainbow’ first appeared on Lesbian.com.

K’Anne Meinel, an American author, was born in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, and emerged full formed behind a keyboard, sometime in the 1960s, where she still resides today after a 17-year detour through Southern and Central California on the beach.

Her first novel, “Ships,” written in 2003, was the beginning of many masterpieces to come. Bringing her characters to life in the pages of her books, she discovered a real talent for writing romances.

She is the best-selling author of the novel “Lawyered” and “Represented.” Her other works include “Long Distance Romance,” “Germanic” and “Timed Romance.”

Her novella “Sapphic Surfer” has been a best-seller. Her “Sapphic Cowboi,” “Sapphic Cowgirl” and “Ghostly Love” have received acclaim.

Buy “Lawyered” on Amazon.com. Learn more about K’Anne on her website.

CHAPTER ONE
The view from her window wasn’t that impressive as she looked at the dismal aged and gray buildings outside on an equally dismal and gray day in New York, but at least she had a window and a view. Not all associates had a window, most were in inner offices but she was a senior associate, a lawyer of counsel if you will, and it was part of her perks. She looked out her window a long time, lost in thought even though she knew she should be getting to the pile of briefs on her desk. Instead she daydreamed about the incredible offer she had just received. She had known it was coming, she knew she deserved it, but at the moment wasn’t sure if she should be insulted.

Nia Toyomoto worked for one of the most prestigious law firms in Manhattan. It wasn’t a small thing to be an associate at Chase-Dunham. It wasn’t a small thing to be a lawyer of counsel either. To be offered a partnership though was something that Nia had worked towards for years. Everyone knew she was on the fast track, everyone knew that she deserved it, but at this moment, she wasn’t sure. When Stewart Dunham had scheduled this morning’s meeting she had assumed it was for a personal update on certain cases that she was handling for him, for others, and with others. Although she had eventually expected the offer, the stipulations had surprised her. She didn’t realize her personal life would be part of the offer. Not that she had anything to hide but being a partner at Chase-Dunham required a certain panache that Nia simply didn’t have at this time. Stewart had kindly pointed out that they needed her to ‘spruce’ herself up, to become a bit more social. It was not a matter of her talents as a world class attorney, no, that was why they wanted her to be a partner. It was a matter of smoozing with the right people, having parties, attending the elite of the elite. Her reputation was such that she fit in but her appearance left a little to be desired. She was all business. They wanted her as a partner but they also wanted her to use every means at her disposal to get them new clients. Not that she hadn’t drawn them in the past with her incredible expertise but being a partner meant that she would represent the firm on levels that she hadn’t thus far. Her talents alone wouldn’t sell the firm.

Nia sighed. She wasn’t one to get ahead on her looks. She was overly tall for the average woman at 5’10” and this for someone of Asian descent was almost unheard of. Not that you could tell she was Asian except for the certain narrowing of her eyes that gave her a feline like appearance. Her father was pure Asian, a former executive from Japan, he had fallen in love with a German-American woman who Nia had inherited most of her looks from. The clunky black glasses she wore hid the slightly exotic Asian tilt of her eyes. Her smooth round face v’d becomingly, but with her straight dark brown nearly black hair with occasional reddish tints that she held severely back in a bun, she gave herself a no nonsense appearance. She had never cared for her looks. She wasn’t like other women. Her nails were cut short, purely functional; no polish had ever graced them. Her long legs were encased in nylons and this only because she was fairly pale in appearance and the style was to have a semblance of tan. She had business suits but these too were merely functional. She owned six or seven that she interchanged to provide variety but these were of lessor quality and again, she just hadn’t cared. Now they were making her care, in fact making it a condition of her partnership.

The suggestion and not too subtly that her partnership hinged on her doing a makeover, buying better clothes, and a better place to live was ludicrous. But Nia knew that the good ole boy network could find other reasons to deny her this plum chance. She also knew at thirty that she would be one of the youngest partners in Manhattan. She also knew she deserved it. She had worked hard all her life for this very thing.

She had graduated high school in three and a half years and would have graduated in three but for the moron that was the principal at the time thought her too young at sixteen to graduate her junior year. She had to wait until she was seventeen and graduated halfway through her senior year. It wasn’t that her grades hadn’t warranted an early graduation, no, she had always been effortlessly at the top of her class but this was an age where he felt her social abilities would be hindered by not graduating with her peers. Nia didn’t have a lot of friends and those who really knew her knew she was destined for great things. Graduating early would only expedite those goals she had set for herself. Once she graduated from high school she had gone straight to college. Attending Wellesley College, she had sailed through in three years before enrolling in Harvard Law School for her graduate work. If she could have done it in one year she would have but had done it in the normal three years before graduating at the top of her class. An offer from Wall Street and Chase-Dunham had been the culmination of her dream. She’d had other offers of course, many from those she had worked for in summer internships, but Wall Street and Chase-Dunham’s reputation was such she knew that was where she wanted to be. For her to be an associate there had guaranteed her future, something she didn’t really think about in the broad spectrum of life, instead she wanted very specific things in life and now this partnership was part of that dream.

To hold it up because she wasn’t properly garbed or social or looked right for the part angered her but when she thought about it practically she understood. She was perfect for the job and she knew she would eventually capitulate but it didn’t set well with her that it was mandated by the men in this firm. Then she thought of how few partners over the years had been women, especially on Wall Street much less in Manhattan.

She thought for a long time about what other goals she had set for herself and realized that at thirty she had achieved most of them. She had gotten into Wellesley on a scholarship and paid for extras through the little her mother sent her after Papa’s death. Papa had died after he knew his only child had graduated from high school and his life insurance had paid off their home but left very little for frivolous living, her mother had pinched every penny. Going to an Ivy League School had never been in doubt but paying for it had been. It was expensive to be so highly educated. Nia had taken that seriously. Never had she thought about any other school after Wellesley but Harvard. It had not been a dream but a serious plan that had only been in doubt due to a lack of funds. Nia had graduated in due time with debts so high that they boggled the mind. The job that she had expected from her high grades, internships, and moral standards had come through and she had begun to pay off those debts through her frugalness.

She lived in a studio apartment that was so small she couldn’t swing a cat for hitting everything. Her mother had passed away and Nia had sold everything of value including the house that they owned except for nine boxes of ‘trinkets,’ paying off her student loans and using the little left to buy stocks to help fund her IRA and for security later in life. Her salary was such that she could move to a larger apartment and in fact she had enough now to buy a very nice place but she had no one she wanted to show her postage stamp apartment to, no one really saw it other than one or two close friends, she didn’t need a larger one, until now. Her frugal living though would pay off now. She had the funds to do what they wanted and with style but her innate sense of fair play almost balked at the idea of changing her lifestyle, her appearance, her everything for a promotion. It was sexist and discriminatory and they would get away with it unless she refused to play, did she want to give up everything she had worked for to stand on the moral high ground? She could sue, theoretically. What they were asking was illegal but did she really want to be known as the lawyer who sued their own firm over her looks? That would certainly create waves in the legal community and also insure that she wouldn’t get another job with any other firm in New York, much less Manhattan, ever.

A knock on her door had her spinning around in her leather chair and looking up surprised as Stewart Dunham stuck his head in the door. “You busy?” he inquired with a smile. Stewart Dunham was a spare man of fifty five who had inherited the firm of Chase-Dunham through the expedient manner of marrying Elliott Chase’s daughter. They had worked together through some lean years and had expanded it exponentially from their partnership. When Elliott Chase had passed away, Stewart Dunham had been one of the first on Wall Street to hire women and bring in clientele that had appreciated his foresight. The people he hired were excellent; he had an eye for talent and had picked Nia Toyomoto himself. She had worked a summer internship up in Boston for a friends firm and he had raved over her insight, her brilliance, and her enthusiasm. He had watched and learned as she participated in the debate team up at Harvard. An Alumni himself, he had availed himself of her records and been suitably impressed. He had romanced her into coming to work with his firm right out of college and had never regretted it. Her work was consistently superior and she deserved every promotion they had ever given her. His other partners had been worried that they were giving the youngster too much too soon but he knew she could handle it. She had been only twenty three when she graduated Harvard but had within one year won them an impossible case. The lawyer of record had to drop out at the last minute for cause and she had picked up the slack despite her lack of experience and with very little supervision had won and the senior partners had been suitably impressed. Her record since then had been equally impressive. If she just didn’t look so…frumpy. From her horn rimmed square glasses to her unattractive and severe bun of hair she screamed ‘old maid’ and he knew some of the clients wouldn’t want to work with a partner that made them feel like she was their grandmother. He had often wondered if she were a dyke but she gave no appearance of that either. She didn’t date men, she didn’t date women, she didn’t date that he knew of. She was kind of uni-sex and that didn’t set well with the partners. Many insisted that if she represented the firm she needed to take advantage of her feminity and had complained about her lack thereof for years, now they insisted on this change or no, they didn’t want her as a partner.

She smiled kindly and this changed her austere appearance, without really answering the CEO of Chase-Dunham she asked instead, “What can I do for you Mr. Dunham?”

“Would you come with me for a moment?” he gestured outside her office.

Nia rose up and walked immediately over to her small office door. Stewart held the door for her and she walked out before him. He indicated the elevator and she assumed they were going up to the Senior Partner’s level to the private offices of the CEO which were on a floor above the associates and counselor levels. They stood as equals as they waited for the elevator. Nia’s own height was only an inch or two below Stewarts. He thought she would be even more impressive once she realized her full potential, it had to be her decision though, and she could still turn them down, although they both knew she would be foolish to do so. Stewart was risking, big time, that she wouldn’t take offense to what they had shoved down her throat in their offer. Instead he hoped, and gambled, that she would grasp it with both hands and prove the nay-sayers wrong, very wrong. He had always seen the potential of this woman from her days at Harvard, he still saw potential, if his daughters had shown any inkling of the talent of this young woman he would like to think they would be as good as she. His son had gone in a totally different direction and become an accountant. He had been very disappointed but survived the blow to his ego.

Stewart led, not to the CEO offices but to a corner office at the opposite end of the building. Nia hadn’t really been to these offices since she had very little business with some of these partners and almost none with the senior partners except when they needed a consult on a case they were handling. They walked into a nice little office that would suit any executive secretary or assistant as people now called them. Through this empty and rather plain office they walked into an immense corner office that had not one but two banks of floor to ceiling windows. The room was absolutely bare of furniture. Stewart led her to the windows and they stood looking out at the impressive Manhattan skyline as Nia wondered why she had been brought here. They hadn’t spoken the entire ride up in the elevator or really since they had left her office.

“I thought perhaps you might need a little something to make the offer even more worthwhile,” Stewart began.

“Mr. Dunham, I assure you…” Nia began but stopped when he held up his hand.

“Please, if you accept this position you will have to begin calling me Stewart. This isn’t a standard partner agreement we have offered you, Nia. This office is just one of the perks. You will have to choose a car that we will pay for. You will have to choose an apartment that we will make sure your mortgage is handled through our banking contacts and the payments reasonable. You will have six weeks paid vacation. The perks you might pass up from refusing are more than you realize.”

Nia looked at him incredulously. They hadn’t even discussed the perks of her partnership agreement. This office? It was incredible. She glanced around and for some reason the sun began to shine through the impressive windows. She could already picture the office with deep cherry wood furniture making it a warm and professional one. She could even put in an electric fireplace she thought barely controlling the grin that threatened at her thought. A car? What was wrong with her little Fiat? She realized though that she would be a fool to pass it up but she had played her cards too well for too long to show them to this master player. She nodded coldly as she considered her options which she really knew were few. She could quit but that would be self-defeating, besides she loved her job. She could refuse and remain an associate but it would never be the same, they would treat her as though she had insulted them. She could sue but then she would never again work in Manhattan and who wanted to hang out their own shingle with that on their resume? She could accept and have a make-over. She needed to think about it but she had already told this man and his partner’s that very thing when they made their initial offer.

“Here is one more thing for you to think about,” Stewart finished with. Nia looked at him expectantly. “We are waiving your buy in, your bonus’ will be deferred for the first three years but you do not have to come up with the normal buy in amount. Based on your performance and what we anticipate you bringing into the firm in the future we have decided that this will be enough for your buy in.”

Nia was incredulous, this offer, this incredible deal was worth possibly a million dollars or more!

Buy “Lawyered” on Amazon.com. Learn more about K’Anne on her website.

The post An excerpt from the lesbian novel ‘Lawyered’ first appeared on Lesbian.com.

“Brooklyn Love” by Whiskey Blue
Top Shelf Erotica; 1 edition (March 10, 2014)
Amazon Digital Services, Inc.
ASIN: B00J8WXIYG

This is an ebook with three stories of literary erotica. And yes, there is such a thing.

In the first story, an anonymous lesbian makes love with a dancer. They spend weekends together. They get all heated up by hours of imaginative sex, then walk in the snow to brunch.

The second is about love between two Sarah Lawrence grad students. They study, read and have sex together until one of them cheats with a cafeteria dyke who tries to make it with as many undergrads as possible. This causes them to break up, of course, but being grad students, addicted to words and each other, they have cyber sex online even though they continue to live right across the hall from each other. Because she couldn’t go on seeing the cheater, after she cheated, right?

The last may be my favorite, titled “Amelia Earhart,” about two women, one from Australia, one from Canada, who move in together in New York for three years, until their visas expire. Something about this one made me want to continue reading.

It’s a very short collection, less than fifty pages. It is well written. And hot, of course.

The post ‘Brooklyn Love’ spins three tales of literary erotica first appeared on Lesbian.com.

Available now from Amazon.com.
Demons are not what people think they are.

There are seldom horns or spiked tails, no cloven hooves or red skin.
They come in all shapes and sizes, and aren’t anything like Hollywood portrays them. Hollywood casting agents erroneously casts demons as some sort of an evil specter or dark spirit lurking in the shadows seeking retribution or revenge. They connect them to Satan or some other demonic leader as if they were the antithesis to angels.

But Hollywood seldom gets the supernatural world correct. There’s usually a set of fangs and claws involved, and often a trench coat or dark glasses. Of late, Hollywood demons are Japanese girls with wet, stringy hair who hide in the dark to creep us out with their open mouths and scary sounds. They are cast as men wearing masks or revenants who need to feed in order to survive.
Outside of the Hollywood caricature of the evil spawns, demons can be either spiritual or corporeal. They can be violent or just plain annoying. They may be after a certain individual or anyone who walks into their path. They are young and old, adept and clumsy, smart and stupid. They can be many things and take on different forms. The one thing Hollywood got right is that all demons have one thing in common:

They are evil.

Pure evil.

Evil personified means evil walking and talking as a human being. Hitler, Manson, Jeffrey Dahmer, and Jim Jones held the kind of evil in their hands that only a true demon possesses. People who shoot at school children or hold young girls hostage for ten years are the worst kinds of demons in disguise walking among us.

And they are everywhere.

I know.

I’m a demon hunter.

Part of my therapy for my relatively new job involves journaling about my experiences, though I’m pretty certain my therapist believes I’m a nut job. We are conditioned in this Christian society to believe in angels but not their counterparts. It’s okay if we believe in miracles but not magic. It’s fine to get your past lives read as long as you don’t walk around telling everyone around about it. Some guy walking on water or a chick chatting with a snake is acceptable, but anything else is blasphemy?

Hardly.

I’ve seen them. I’ve hunted them. I know what they look like and where they hang out.

My therapist probably believes I have delusions of grandeur at the very least, and have broken with reality at the most.

Who knows? Maybe I have. I mean, given my life lately, it’s entirely possible.

I used to be a normal — wait, make that a semi-normal — college student. Semi-normal because I was raised by two oddballs whose last name was Silver. My parents loved to laugh and were always doing the word jumbles together in the morning. They loved words. They loved pubs. They were goofy and silly together and one night after a party of some sort, they decided their children would be so much more interesting if they had interesting names. So, they named my older sister Sterling, my younger sister Pure, and my brother Quick.

Me?

My name is Golden. Golden Silver. Get it? Oh, I’m sure they had lots of laughs over that one. Parents who give their kids crazy names set them up for all sorts of battles, and we’ve all had our fair share of those. I mean really. Quick? The girls in high school used to have a field day with that one. Poor guy.

I go by Denny for obvious reasons, though my mother and older sister prefer Golden. They believe calling me that would somehow bring a light into my world, but they were wrong. So very wrong.
Denny Silver is my name and I’m a demon hunter.

This is my story.

The post Demon Hunter excerpt by Linda Kay Silva first appeared on Lesbian.com.