Lonely Hearts Chapel

Excerpt from Chapter 1 of LONELYHEARTS 2016, my upcoming campy, surrealish, coming-of-age dramedy novel about a bipolar pansexual at the end of the world.

(In the movie version of my mind, Miss Lonelyhearts’ ringtone is “Break the Ice” by Britney Spears, and he does a ridiculous and slightly provocative dance down the aisle to it while wearing a hooded blue robe. #TheMoreYouKnow)

Thrush barely finished speaking before Miss Lonelyhearts’ phone rang from a pocket in the crowd, causing almost every head in the audience to rotate and scan the shadowed faces around them.

Miss Lonelyhearts let it ring. He wanted to prolong their ecstatic curiosity for as long as possible. Once he answered the phone and revealed himself for the first time, he would no longer be words. He would be eyebrows, he would be teeth, and he would be clothes. He would be judged, if only slightly, so he wanted his last moments of abstraction to feel more eternal than urgent. As he felt the last ring approaching, Miss Lonelyhearts grasped the ticking bomb in his pocket and detonated it. The ringing stopped, as did its vibration and amplified echo.

“Miss Lonelyhearts?” Thrush cooed again, this time into his phone.

“This is he,” Miss Lonelyhearts stood. He kept his phone pressed to his face for only a few seconds. After he walked into the aisle, he ended the rehearsed call and placed the phone back in his pocket.

“Ah, yes, there he is: the lovely and irreplaceable Miss Lonelyhearts, ladies and gentlemen! Sometimes late, but always reliable. Let’s give ‘im a round of applause!” Thrush announced, as if reminding the confused and silent crowd to be respectful.

Controlled clapping filled the auditorium on his command, much different and more considered than the indiscriminate reactions of the crowd thus far. Everyone was too preoccupied with absorbing Miss Lonelyhearts’ appearance to scream or stand, so surprised whispers could be heard above the mechanical applause.

Miss Lonelyhearts swam down the shadowy aisle like a catfish, devouring just enough of the audience’s reactions to maintain his nerve and stride. Confused looks abounded, but the occasional smile shined. “Called it! I told you!” someone whispered to a neighbor as Miss Lonelyhearts passed, probably referring to his sex. Odd, he thought, and faltered for a moment; a lot more men than I was expecting. The swim was short, and the catfish approached the stage. After drawing one last clumsy breath, Miss Lonelyhearts ascended. Feet met stage, fish became man.

Miss Lonelyhearts grabbed the silk robe draped across the foot of the bed, wrapped it around himself, and tied it tightly. The shiny blue fabric concealed his outfit, except for the whisper of a white collar still echoing the peak of his Adam’s-apple. He was haloed in the heart-lights, surrounded by the color of blood mixed with shaving foam. Miss Lonelyhearts had chosen this color to camouflage his naturally flushed complexion. He turned to face his public, and their ocean of applause–along with their handfuls of howls and whistles–parted at his words:

“Thank you for being you, and for being here tonight,” Miss Lonelyhearts smiled at them. “I know how difficult it must be, for all of you, to be yourself and feel present in this room with me tonight–in a world that so often seems to wish you were anything but yourself. That pressure weighs on you, a mysterious stress that never goes away because you can never quite determine its cause. It keeps you up at night, and sometimes it makes you say and do horrible things you don’t really mean. . .”

Read more excerpts (and soon, the first chapters) here.

Love always,

Be gentle; this is only a tentative cover.

your Mister