Jimmy Mender: the denouement.

Back in February, I wrote a post about a friend and fellow indie author, Leland Dirks, who had died shortly before. Leland was a special guy. He lived in southeastern Colorado, way out in the sticks, with an assortment of dogs in a house he built himself. He was also gay. And he made no secret of it -- not in his public persona and not in his writings. Everyone who knew him, loved him.

But there's a dark undercurrent running through Leland's work. He talked about growing up in a fundamendalist Christian family where he was not accepted for who he was. During Pride Month 2017, he wrote this on his Facebook page. I'm not going to include a link to his page, for reasons that I'll address below.

What I am proud of first is that I have survived. I did not kill myself, as far too many young people have. Which is not to say that I did not try.... 

I am proud that in the face of hatred and purposeful misunderstanding, even by close family members, I did not deny or lie about a part of who I am.

I am proud that I, like many young boys and girls, survived sexual abuse. I am proud that I sought help in overcoming the damage that left behind. 

Not long after Leland died, I ran across a Facebook post by one of his nephews, announcing his death. On that post, his brother commented with a hateful screed laced with biblical references, condemning Leland's "lifestyle". I don't think he explicitly said that he believed Leland would go to hell, but for sure that was the implication. The nephew claimed the brother's comments were made "out of love." 

I kept my mouth shut. But what I wanted to say was, "If that's what passes for love in your family, no wonder your uncle moved to the back of beyond."

Shortly after that, the brother got into Leland's Kindle Direct Publishing account and rewrote his About section. Here's a link. You can read it yourself, if you have the stomach for it. 

All of Leland's Kindle titles have been unpublished. His paperbacks are still listed, but most are "currently unavailable". His YouTube channel is void of content. His Facebook and Twitter accounts are gone. Someone else is using his Tumblr account. The only place online where I could still find his writing is his author page on Facebook, which I am not going to link to because I don't want his family to be aware of its existence.

I try really, really, really hard to avoid trashing other people's religions. But I cannot understand how followers of a religion that preaches love and forgiveness can sit in righteous judgment of their fellow humans. Isn't that the job of their god? And if Jehovah made everyone in his image, as they claim to believe, then how can they condemn any part of his creation? "Hate the sin but love the sinner" just doesn't cut it for me; it strikes me as mental gymnastics to justify the treatment of other people as less than human.

In that 2017 post, Leland also wrote:

I am proud that I read the book that people used to tell me that I was going to hell and found instead the story of David and Jonathan, the story of the Centurion who asked Jesus to heal the young man he loved, the story of Ruth and Naomi, whose words are often used in many weddings of all sorts.

He got it. I'm sad that his brother hasn't. 

To that man, the brother who is intent on trashing Leland's legacy to "save souls", I say this: I hope that when you get to the afterlife and see Leland again, you will realize the error of your ways. May he be kinder to you than you have been to him. 

Netrun78 | Deposit Photos

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Several years ago, Leland messaged a few of his indie author friends, including me, and suggested that we promise each other to be the protectors of each other's writings. We all agreed. But as far as I know, when Leland knew he was dying, he never followed up with any of us. 

Creative friends, consider this a cautionary tale. If you have an inkling that your heirs will not respect and protect your work after you're gone, please, please make provisions to hand over the reins to someone who will. Do it today.

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These moments of sad and angry blogginess have been brought to you, as a public service, by Lynne Cantwell. Happy Pride Month, y'all, and remember: LOVE WINS.

 

Wedding bells in Michiana. #lovewins

In honor of last week's U.S. Supreme Court decision on gay marriage, I am pleased to offer this vignette featuring some of the characters from Seasons of the Fool.

Allan Ajifo | CC 2.0 | christianbed.com

 
"Do I look all right, dear?" Thea emerged from the hallway into the living room of the tiny cottage, squeezing a pair of white gloves with both hands. She was resplendent in a skirt suit the color of beachgrass, her iron-gray hair swept back from her temples and fastened at the back of her head with a deep green clasp.

Elsie, in a matching suit of a delicate pink, broke into a smile. "You look wonderful, dear." Her hair, whiter than Thea's, was pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck. She showed it off to Thea. "See the rosebuds? They were Randi's idea."

"So darling," said Thea. "That girl is going to be an artist for sure. Aren't we lucky to have such wonderful neighbors?"

For it was Randi's stepmother, Julia Morton Turner, who had insisted on planning the wedding. As soon as the Supreme Court made marriage equality the law of the land, Julia had been on their doorstep. "Do you two want to get married?" she had said, brandishing the day's copy of the Chicago Tribune with the news of the decision in big type across the top.

They did, of course. But neither of them ever thought they would live to see the day when they could do it without leaving home. "And anyway, a wedding isn't necessary," Elsie had told Julia. "We had one when we were handfasted, thirty-five years ago."

"Thirty-six," Thea corrected. "No, thirty-seven."

"But handfasting doesn't grant you any legal protection," Julia had said. "You're obviously committed to each other. Let's make it legal so there won't be any question." She threw up a hand as both Thea and Elsie opened their mouths to protest. "You're not going to talk me out of this, so don't even try. I'll plan the whole thing, and Dave and I will pay for everything. We can have the ceremony on the beach and the reception at our house. All you need to do is give me a guest list and show up."

"It's very kind of you to offer, Julia," said Thea. "But we couldn't possibly..."

"Please, Ms. Thea," Julia said. "Let me do this for you. For everything you two have done for us."

And that was that. Julia was true to her word -- Elsie gave her a very short guest list and picked a date in late September, and the younger woman did the rest. Today was the day.

Together, the women walked to the beach. When they reached the top of the staircase to the sand, Julia started a recording of Wagner's "Bridal Chorus." And by the time they reached the makeshift altar, they were both crying so hard that they could hardly recite their vows. But they did. And when they left the beach, Elsie Weber and Thea Dahl had become Elsie and Thea Weber-Dahl.

All through the reception, they beamed at their dear friends and family. "I never thought I would see this day," Elsie said over and over.

"Nor did I, dear," Thea said. "Isn't it wonderful?"

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More wonderful news: At last, Firebird's Snare is coming this week! I'm aiming for an official release date of July 1st, but keep an eye out for my newsletter with the final word. And thanks, everybody, for your patience.

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These moments of bloggy bliss have been brought to you, as a public service, by Lynne Cantwell.