by Bill Burleson
At about the one-and-a-half
hour mark, I abandoned all hope and went for the buffet like a vengeful
angel. A few attendees and a number of staff were in the lobby to witness me
stuffing my face with all the food I could fit on a little appetizer plate.
Then this young author, a Princeton student with a two-book deal with
HarperCollins who I had talked with earlier over a similar plate of food,
walked out of the auditorium, saw me gnawing on a piece of roast beef, and
laughed. “You’ve pretty much thrown in the towel, haven’t you?” he said.
He’s right: not that I wasn’t enjoying the programming. I was. It’s just
that the auditorium is oversold and I had to sit on the steps, and after an
hour-and-a-half, I just couldn’t do it any longer. Not if I didn’t want to
end up in traction, anyway.
The sold-out event was the 19th Lambda Literary Awards. On May 31, about 300
well-dressed queer folks packed into the Fashion Institute of Technology
auditorium in New York City. “This was the 19th presentation of the awards,”
Charles Flowers, Executive Director of the Lambda Literary Foundation, told
me after the ceremony.
“Lambda Rising Bookstore started the awards in 1989, and the Book Report in
the early ’90s. The bookstore ran both programs until 1996, when they were
spun off and Lambda Literary Foundation was created to run them. We’ve been
an independent nonprofit since 1996.”
I came because I write a column for the Lambda Book Report and was a judge
for one of the 25 categories this year. Well, that’s one reason. I also came
to meet in person some of the authors I’ve read and admired. But the main
reason I was in Midtown Manhattan was to meet Flowers and all the others
I’ve met through e-mail, built friendships with, and yet have never met
face-to-face.
Take Sheela Lambert for example. We had never met, but as judges in the same
category, we must have sent a thousand e-mails to each other over the past
year. I met Lambert right as I entered the reception. Really, I’m not sure
how I knew it was her, I just did.
I asked her what she thought of being a judge. “I loved it,” she said, “I
was very flattered to be asked.” What were the best parts? “I had a group of
people to discuss the books with, and it was fascinating to me that we had
such different opinions at times.”
After the event, we checked in again. She was exuberant: “I got to open the
envelope and call the winners up on stage. I’m still high off that!”
Another person who was flying high was Ron Suresha: “This was my second time
at the awards ceremony, and I must say that it’s much more exciting when you
have a book in the running!” In his case, two books—in 2006 he edited the
anthologies Bi Guys and Bi Men (the
latter working with Pete Chvany).
Neither of which won, but, says Suresha, “…just in case, I wrote some
acceptance notes. I was planning to say how likely it is that George W. Bush
is a closeted bisexual man, according to my research of his sexual history.
As you can imagine, thinking about saying that at the Lammy ceremony made me
incredibly nervous all day long.”
Even with all this excitement, Suresha told me after the event, “The best
part of the evening, actually, was meeting the other bi authors. A group of
14 of us went out for dinner and drinks afterward—that’s when I really got
to chat with the other bi authors for the first time. We griped about our
publishers, sketched out our plans for bi domination of the universe, and
had a great time.”
What strikes me about this event is how it is just like any other community
group. The only difference is that the members of this community are spread
all over the country. For example, “We actually have a geographically
diverse board,” according to Flowers. “We have 7 board members, two from LA,
two from San Francisco, one from Chicago, one from Baltimore, and one from
Florida/Boston.”
Of course, this is all made possible because of the Internet. As we all
know, it is not unusual to have a community group that exists either solely
because of or greatly facilitated by cyberspace. And cyberspace is just
fine, but for me, face time is what counts. It occurs to me that I’m with
Suresha: the best part of this event isn’t the awards or the politics of gay
liberation or the furthering of GLBT writing, but meeting all the people
I’ve worked with via e-mail, and joking with a young author from Princeton.
Finally, I return to the auditorium, and ultimately the ceremony takes over
three hours. I say my goodbyes, and I’m back home again. I sign on the
computer and begin e-mailing the people I just saw. I guess community is
where you find it.
Do you want to know who won a Lammy? Go to
www.lambdaliterary.org. Have a group
that you would like to see written about? Contact me at
www.forwhomthebilltolls.org.