A Little Fiction

Met with my writing group tonight. It's incredible to me that we've been meeting every (or at least most) Tuesday nights for almost three years now and still have 3 of our original members. We meet at a bar - the Stoned Crow - and have outlasted three regular waiters.

Anyway, I was up tonight, so I thought I'd share a little sample of the short story I'm working on.

Nathan Czarnecki hated gay pride. Not that he wasn’t proud. Just that he found it ludicrous to think it was anything special for every faggot in New York to go out en masse and do all the drinking and drugs and sucking and fucking on one weekend that they were all doing anyway all the rest of the year and think that it somehow had any kind of political significance or was something to be proud of or was something that in any way mattered. It didn’t and he wouldn’t do it.

Not that he wasn’t proud of being a faggot.

But I said that already, didn’t I?

He was proud. He said so. Proud of being a faggot. That’s what he was.

Nathan just knew he’d never march in any damn parade or go to one or go out in any of the gay neighborhoods of New York City on that weekend or in any way support, be a part of or condone the biggest sham “celebration” of faggotry the homos could ever foist upon themselves or the world.

You can read the rest of the opening two scenes here.

No title for it yet. Suggestions?