AMP: Artists' Meeting Place and Resource Collective

I've finally followed the signs left along my life trail (including a funky dream about Stephen King) and wound up at my current destination, Portland, ME. Now what do I do? I have two magazine projects and the book research to keep me busy, but will they pay the rent? Ah, the harsh reality of affording one's own space to create. Maine is a land of mysterious energies that sort of make things manifest -- be it out-of-the-blue sponsorship or a real job. (Think I'd prefer the former, but hell, if I have to drive a cab, I will.) At any rate, for those of you who are interested in how the production is going, download this month's issue of "Adventures of the Average Woman." See how we've grown and above all enjoy.

Well, the research in "alternative" sexual practices is going like gang busters. I've had over twenty hours of interviews with tons of e-mails on the topic. More than one writing project is sprouting from all this, including a screenplay.

I have had several media people get in contact, including a filmmaker, videographer, and TV producer. Not sure if they are on the up-and-up or simply sniffing me out for ulterior motives. I think I've hit a nerve by exploring this taboo topic.

Again, if anyone out there has anything to offer in the way of opinion, referals, or anecdotes, don't hesitate to contact me at torquedtales@aol.com

Gotta tell you, because of AMP, I can connect. I just met the splendiferous Maddy Rosenberg, a woman whose words and paintings are an inspiration. Above all, we share the same sort of moxy that defies convention. How cool is that?

I also met some up-and-coming poets (including the son of a former Olympic champion) who will hopefully sign up on AMP soon.

This is truly a meeting place worth being.

Oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy. Have I ever stumbled into a touchy research project. I posted ads on Craigslist and My Space for people to take a survey on "alternative sensuality." (Ok, let's call a spade a spade: "kinky" sex.) I am trying to conduct a serious ethnographic study as my anthropological training dictates. The flow of information from people "in the life" is torrential, but my "vanilla" friends (and I'm as vanilla as they come) are quite upset that I am exploring the "seamy underbelly" of society.

Man, this topic's as raw-nerve-tapping as abortion, liberal politics, and gay marriage. What is wrong with this society? Why are we in the dark ages when it comes to human sexuality? Man, now I know how Kinsey felt when he conducted his research. Well, if any of you out there are not put off, repulsed, or just plain chicken shit, then I invite you to take either of my surveys. This is a serious study to determine what makes us tick (and kink).

The taxi ride to Gina’s one-bedroom apartment in the high rise on Piney branch Road proved tense. The “ordinary” African man driving the cab fixed his eyes on their reflection in his rearview mirror more than he did on the road. It suddenly dawned on Gina that, according to vampire lore, Clive wasn’t casting a reflection. Gina squinted to see what the driver was eying. To her amazement, Clive’s image appeared in the mirror. She looked at it, then at Clive.

He ambushed her commentary with a mouth-plugging kiss. Gina let go a mute squeal before succumbing to his ploy. He looked out of the corner of his eye to see the cab driver avert his eyes from the moment of intimacy then scanned the eastern horizon for the subtle hues of dawn.

Preface: Time for shameless promotion of one of my stories featured in "Adventures for the Average Woman." This one is based on an actual nightmare I had (as are most of my stories and graphics). It nearly got published by a Boston imprint but got kicked to the curb at the last minute. :(

Oh well, it's got my limited reading public hooked, so here is the first in a series of chapters for your amusement. (It's either this or more lamenting on how being a starving artist is a picnic with no sandwiches on a fireant hill.)

“Come here, you wretched O.” The vampiress’s words sprayed spittle and blood. She floated on the thick night air.

Here I sit on a gloomy day south of Beantown listening to Bessie Smith wailing "Nobody Knows You When You're Down and Out" on Hober Thinking Radio (www.hober.com) and thinking, "What's the next step? How am I to get the magazine off the ground and flying? Where's the money going to come from to pay the bills? Am I insane? What the hell am I doing?"

I know the easy way out: Give up all I own and hop a plane for Asia. I have friends there. I can find work there. I can exist.

But this isn't about merely existing. It's about expressing hopes, dreams, fears, and cheers through writing, drawing, publishing, sharing. It's about being faithful to the creative spirit and serving the muse. It's about not abandoning the fictional characters who clamor inside my noggin. (If only they could pay the rent.) It's about taking the talent and making it earn ten fold -- or else be cast out into the land of weeping and gnashing of teeth. (Has anyone else pondered that parable as much as I have in terms of the symbolic meaning of "talent"?)

That's the theme for this month as well as the upcoming issue of "Adventures for the Average Woman." Oy, what a broil! It feels like I'm sweating slugs to get it all done: writing, editing, Photoshopping, promoting, yada-yada-yada.

Add to the frenetic creative process the blaring reality that I've got to find gainful employ in order to stay half-way solvent and "un"-indigent. I know you all can certainly relate.

Enough of my tsorris. I did manage a mitzvah for Earth Day by cleaning up some trash along the rocky shores of North Weymouth, MA. I say make it Earth Day every day!

The other bit of good news for all curious, is that I shall soon be posting the magazine as pdf files. Hope this illicits more subscriptions and funding for the cause of action-packed thrilling, chilling, woos-free women-centered literature!

So, here I sit, farting around on this site among others when I have a magazine to edit, articles to write, and a montage to compose, and I can't conjure the word craft. (Sigh.)

Maybe it's because I've bitten off more than I can chew and can't digest what I've started. Maybe it's the never-ending worry over paying the bills. Maybe I'm running out of steam. Maybe it's the interruptions of others. Maybe... maybe... maybe...

Maybe nothing. I've got to get my behind in gear here and get on the writing stick. I need to drudge up data from old memories of my childhood in Dugway, Utah. I have forgotten so much about the place and its people, but somehow it begs me to include it in a story about the search for a mysterious shaman. I recall so little of the Ute people and their lore that surrounded me then. I remember spotting wild Apaloosas running through Skull Valley and finding Conestoga wagon ruts in the hard desert ground. Now, I need to delve more into the past and produce a setting worthy of my characters' development and my readers' interest.

Our readership is expanding. We have subscribers and sponsors from Minnesota, Maryland, Virginia, Washington, D.C., North Carolina, Georgia, Florida, Arizona, Nevada, California, New York, Maine, Hawaii, and even abroad in England and Switzerland! Soon, we’ll be launching in New Zealand. We are happy to announce a new chapter opening up in Boston thanks to encouragement and support from Uncle Scam and Lindakentartist. How’s that for popularity?

It’s been a hard-going, tumultuous time for this small-time serial magazine. Lack of funds, mounting debt, forced relocation have all tried to take their toll on the endeavor, but determination will out! The unemployed, struggling writers and artists who contribute to this effort will not be deterred. Granted, most of the contributed work has been mine; however, others’ offers have been slowly trickling in through the Ethernet. I sincerely hope and pray for a gusher of submissions one day. Then we’ll see this vehicle really fly!