The Big Fat Queer Prophesies of Marjorie Nostrathomas

From an old journal entry dated April 9, 2004:

I just received my next writing assignment from OutSmart Magazine: Interviewing Michael Thomas Ford about his newest book. As if that wasn’t enough to give me an aneurysm, the editors gave me all the relevant contact info and were like, “Have at it.” So now I’m calling his publicist in New York, leaving Very Important Messages, etc. I feel so grown-up, I could just plotz.

In other news… wait, there is no other news. I get to call up one of my favorite authors and have a nice chat about literary things. Here’s my secret, cunning plan: MTF is going to be so impressed with my professionalism and earnestness, he’s going to give me his address and say, “Drop by next time you’re in San Fran,” and I’ll be all, “Sure thing, Michael Thomas Ford!” And then when I write my first novel, he’ll endorse it, and I’ll win the Lambda Literary Award, and in 50 years, we’ll sit on the front porch of the Retirement Village for Gay Writers of the Early 21st Century and talk about times past, and how our friendship has been such a grounding influence all throughout our lives.

I was being facetious, of course — successful authors with cult followings do not, as a rule, develop long-term, platonic relationships with the overly enthusiastic wannabes who gush the hell all over them. (But in my defense, I made it until the very end of the interview to have a fanboy ecstati-seizure.) That acknowledged, and the past being immutable, I’m going to go ahead and accept my mutant ability to predict the future, because although I got the date wrong, Michael Thomas Ford’s latest column is all about (wait for it…) the grounding influence of our friendship.

I feel so gaymous, you guys. And I’m really, really lucky to have Mike as a BFF.

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