AVAILABLE NOW!

 

In response to the HB2 nonsense going on in North Carolina, Falstaff Books (based in Charlotte, NC) wanted to do something to show their support for the LGBTQ community. A hashtag was started at first (#WeAreNotThis) and now it is an anthology of stories and poems (fiction and non-fiction) about those in the LGBTQ community to show that NC is not HB2. Those who live there are NOT all supporters of HB2.

 

All authors have waved pay (as has the publisher once costs for editing and publishing are covered) and ALL proceeds of this book will go to benefit outreach programs in NC for the LGBTQ community. So pick one of these up today! Show your support and stand up, saying, "We are not this! We have your back!"  Link buttons are below the cover. Thank you!

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UPDATE! UPDATE! READ ALL ABOUT IT!

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The Falstaff Books Charity Anthology,

We Are Not This, Carolina Writers for Equality is available now!

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Proceeds from this anthology go to support Time Out Youth, Queen City Theatre Company, and Equality NC.

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Featuring stories from Jay Requard, David Childers, Edmund Schubert, Stuart Jaffe, Tamsin Silver, Lucy Blue, Nicole Kurtz, Joanne Spataro, and literally dozens more!

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Please spread the word - We are not hate, we are not discrimination,

We Are Not This.

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~~~Here's a snippet from "The Color of Love" by

Tamsin L. Silver that is a part of this anthology.~~~

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“Check it, Vince, that’s enough!”

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“Not by a long shot. This faggot needs to understand we don’t want his kind here,” Vince replied, stomping his booted foot onto my ankle, dislocating it. 

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I cried out in agony.

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Vince kicked toward my face. Using a move my dad taught me, I sat up and blocked his foot with my arms just as someone shouted at us from the main entrance of the auditorium.

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“Hey! What’s going on back there?”

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“I’m out!” Petey said, running toward the tennis courts as the sky opened up, dropping a torrential downpour on us all.

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Vince also took off, weaving between the cars still left in the student parking lot.

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Fear of being seen like this prompted me to try and hide. I pulled up my knees, wrapped my arms around them, and skootched back to lean my back against a quiet car. Turning my head to the right, I spit blood onto the pavement thinking it was too bad I didn’t get money when I lost a tooth anymore.

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“Hey, are you okay?” came a voice to my left.

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All I could do was sigh. Of all the people, it had to be Sascha Lee, a junior who was as handsome as he was kind. “I’m fine, Sascha, just a little banged up. Go back inside out of the rain,” I called over the car alarms, knowing damn well he wouldn’t go.

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I knew this because we’d been on a few dates a month or so ago. Not that I had a clue where we stood now, but here he was, and here I sat, bleeding.

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“Tyler? What the hell?” 

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Sascha squatted in front of me. His usually perfectly coiffed, jet-black hair wilted in the rain as eyes full of concern captured my heart. They always did. I wasn’t sure if he felt the same about me though.

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My throbbing ankle brought me back to the moment, reminding me that no one should see me injured. It would make things difficult to explain tomorrow, so I tried again. “I’ll be fine, Sascha. You’re getting soaked. Go back inside.”

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“The hell I will. You’re bleeding.”

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“Minor technicality,” I said. Something my father used to say.

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“How about your ankle, it looks like shit. That’s minor?” Sascha’s almond shaped eyes, blue-green like the water in the Florida Keys, stared me down.

 

Though I found it difficult to look away, I forced my focus downward, staring at my blood on the pavement as the rain washed it away. “Fine, I’m a bit banged up, but I’ve been worse.”

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~~~For more about Tyler and Sascha,

pick up We Are Not This online today!~~~

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