My Cardboard Balcony

As I've done before, I will be spending the night at my family's cabin. Which means no internet for a while. Which also means that while my Saturday OneWord may be on time (since I still have computer access tomorrow morning and early afternoon), my Storyteller will definitely not be. Fear not, oh very few readers. It will happen. Big news, though: While I still have been working on my TV script, due to a very fabulous video by Todrick Hall, I have been inspired to write a very campy and very, very gay novel titled The Sequined Door. I'm not going to give a whole lot away, but let's just say it involves a good dose of wit and drama, some magical realism, lots of fashion, drag queens, and some good old-fashioned lesbian romance. In my furthest dreams, I would like this to be published so proceeds can go to Legalise Love and The Trevor Project , in order to support same-sex marriage and those LGBT youth who are in need of our support. Needless to say, I am feveris

Overview by Belinda Roddie In Novato, next to nothing happens. It’s one of those suburbs just a little too close to the pastures and just a little too far from the next big city. So of course, nothing happens there. It’s not like one of those very small towns, though, like the ones with the Population: 2,500 signs, enveloped by low plains scorched brown from the summer heat. People in Novato are luckier than that; the sign that not so blatantly welcomes you when you drive down the highway says that Novato’s population is 49,500. I would hazard a guess that its population’s around 55,000 now, since every time I step outside, I always seem to find someone else that I’ve never seen before. Still, next to nothing happens. The city isn’t much to look at; it’s divided into four separate regions, sort of like a pie on a cheap aluminum plate. Although hills impose their authority on the entire area, each region has its own little quirks. Bel Marin Keys is half surrounded by dark, question

A slew of texts, littering tiny blacklit screens with technicolor vomit-inducing display images. They all begin the same way. They all end the same way. They always use the same emoticon. You read the phrases with the regular blank expression. You feel nothing and scratch at the hair on the back of your hands. You don't leave this room, or this house. This is the only way she can ever contact you.