I’ve been asked by Marc, one of the organizers of EuroPrideCon, to guest blog on their site, as part of the ongoing preparations for July. Seems an eternity until then, but when Marc calls, authors answer. It’s what we do… Some people move to Florida when they’re old, authors answer when Marc is calling.
His request however, was not an easy one:
“I think you do have wonderful stuff to tell. I found it fascinating to learn more about your books, about the many languages you speak, about you and your husband being fathers. You can mention the new book that comes out, your experience with GRL, why you will attend Euro Pride Con and why you think the ties to the LGBT community will be a good thing for the convention, perhaps how Sweden deals with discrimination and equality, about the panel you will be a part of, I think there will be many cool topics But sure, if you have a cool Friday the 13th story, please share that.”
Wonderful stuff to tell? Me? Hmm! Each of the topics mentioned warrants a post of its own, and since I’m not awarded blog posts daily until July, it’s going to be difficult to do Marc’s request justice. Besides, I’m not very good at talking about myself, boasting or blowing my own horn if you will. As Swedes, we’re expected to be “lagom” (which here might best be translated as “bland”), quiet and not to stick our heads above the crowd. Fits my personality perfectly, even though I wasn’t born Swedish. I merely got let in through the back door.
As for my books, yes, I have written a few, and the best way to learn about them is to visit my website (where there is a little horn blowing taking place) or – even better – read them. Marc is also right that my new novel will be out in time for the convention in Munich, and if I’m lucky, I might even have a second one out come GRL this fall, if only I get back to writing it. Talking about other conventions is probably not a wise thing, although I have to say that GRL was quite something, and I remember taping a short video for Marc and his followers last fall.
Let me just say this: if EuroPrideCon is as loving, warm and embracing as GRL, we’ll have a great time in Munich. It’s going to be the first of four conventions I attend this year, and I haven’t been to Munich for three years. It’s going to be good to come back to the Bavarian metropolis. I don’t have any expectations as such, and as for the reasons why I’m attending? Well, it’s nice that there’s finally a convention in Europe, and not just on in the US and Britain. As an author, of course I want to support that. And it’s a great excuse to get away from home…
So, after this rather lengthy introduction, let’s get to the gist of the post. When Marc asked me to blog on Friday the 13th, my first reaction was: “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” I hate that day, it’s a date that sends the most unpleasant of vibes through every gypsy gene in my body (roughly 25%, if handed down evenly from my grandma.) I recall her telling me stories of all the bad things that could happen to you and all the many things to avoid (not just on that – twee twee twee – retched day, but any day really), from black cats, to walking underneath a ladder to keys on the table, but nothing had as scary a notion as Friday the 13th. For years, I’d try to conjure up diseases and injuries to be allowed to stay in bed, but alas, with a mother who had 50% gypsy genes in her body, there was no such luck. She was a firm non-believer and saw through any and all plots on my part. You could also say she was simply smarter than me, but that would be a stretch to my male ego to admit, really. Yet she had been the witness to my biggest spout of bad luck, ever, and yes, it was a Friday, and yes, it was the thirteenth, and I was very young and totally innocent. Can’t say I am any more.
We had this coffee table in our house, lined with copper and with very sharp edges. I’m surprised they actually sold this to families with small kids. Then again, I survived sticking screw drivers in sockets and lighting fires behind the house. Anyway, me and my cousins were apparently playing and horsing around when one of them pushed me, and I fell backwards, with my head falling down just beside the coffee table, far away enough not to hit it with my skull, but too close for comfort nonetheless: I severed my right outer ear in the process, and it hung off of my skull by a piece of skin from my earlobe. Two hours later, with a towel pressing the dangling body part to my head and rushing to the ER, my ear was sewn back in place, but to this day, a thin whitish line marks where it was once severed, all those years ago.
To grandma and me, it was proof enough (not that we ever needed any) that Friday the 13th is a day best spent in the comfort of your bed, under the covers, safe from any outside harm, whereas my mom, well, she just oppressed the memory and denied herself the truth. Which is why I’m not writing this post on a Friday, but on a safe Tuesday. If Marc wishes to publish it this Friday, it’s on him. Twee, twee, twee!
See you in Munich! Twee, twee, twee.