It’s the end of January. The books are published and on Amazon. The great project of 2023 is, at last complete, and 2024 opens wide with possibility. The world, as they say, is my oyster.

Yet instead I feel like Jonah trapped in the belly of the whale. Partly that’s due to some health stuff that has me worried, but a lot of that’s because of Sex Bunker Apocalypse. It took me until this morning to figure out why that was. 

Every year I travel to conventions and art shows with my darling spouse to sell their wire-wrapped jewelry. Their work is exquisite, all done by hand, absolutely beautiful. They have a fabulous eye for color and style. And their stuff sells really, really well. But it didn’t always sell particularly well. And for a moment I want to talk about when that changed.

At Arisia my spouse, K, and I used to consign their work through another vendor. They’d get a cut, and in exchange they’d handle sales.  We did this at Arisia because K and I liked attending the show. And every year we’d make some money, enough to make it worthwhile. Arisia was our little post-Christmas couples time. K went to panels, I’d go to a few panels and fall asleep on K. Sometimes we’d swim, or eat until we felt sleepy. It was perfect. K and I are simple creatures at heart.

Then one year, before the pandemic, not forty-five minutes after we set up K’s work under consignment, a piece was stolen. K was heartbroken and I was upset at seeing them so upset. It became very clear to us both that we could no longer trust the folks with whom we’d consigned for so long to watch K’s stuff with an appropriate level of attentiveness. I also knew K really wanted to see the guest of honor speak at a few panels, and see their friend speak at another. We’d had a whole weekend planned out! Arisia’s a ton of fun, of course we were going to fill the weekend up with panels and food and swimming and sleep. 

So I said to K, my love, go forth and enjoy Arisia, I’m gonna sit here and try to sell your stuff. At least I can keep an eye on it. And K went out into the world and I, a five foot five, slender man with no hair stood at a booth with the most beautiful wire-wrapped jewelry I’d ever seen and thought for a long time about how to sell it. I am not a salesman at heart. I’ve taken no classes on it, didn’t study it in school. But I loved K’s work, so I settled on trying to tell potential customers, inside twenty seconds, what was so good about my spouse’s work. 

And I sold tons of it, because K’s stuff is gorgeous and very reasonably priced. But I think a lot of it had to do with the fact that I believed in it. It was easy to see – the colors, the wirework, the price, we take care of the taxes, I can help you try it on. No problem. And over the years I’ve refined the sales technique until some of you (I know you’re reading this) come back every year not just for a new hairpiece or pendant, but because you really like The Show. I daren’t repeat it here, but rest assured it’s scrumptious. Don’t believe me? Come see us at Arisia or Watch City, I’ll prove it to you.

Then this year hit and I had to sell Sex Bunker Apocalypse, and I had a really, really hard time with it. The usual stuff didn’t work. You can’t pick up SBA and look at it and know it’s a good book. You can tell Sarah Morrison’s work on the cover is ace, of course, but without opening it up and paging through it, you can’t tell if it’s some schlock written by a nitwit or if it’s genuinely good stuff. And at this last Arisia I didn’t even have the books with me! I just had a Kindle, a poster of Terri and some postcards that tell you where to find the first book. I brought SBA to Arisia on a wing and a prayer, and so many of you looked at it and said, “Brilliant, I’ll take it!” anyway. Thank you so much for that, truly.

But I didn’t feel like I had something worthwhile to sell. And it took me, as I said earlier, until today to realize what that was.

Let me be super up front with you. Sex Bunker Apocalypse is awesome. It’s funny, it’s heartfelt, it shows people being kind and decent to one another, the action is thrilling and the naughty bits are, well, naughty. But I’ve already told you that. And it’s selfish of me to ask you to buy my book, to review my book. I want your money and your time? How impossibly selfish of me. I know it might not make much sense, but with K’s work I’m showing you a means by which you can not only improve your outfit, but improve your month, bring some art into your life, all for the low price of whatever it is you’re holding in your hand. 

I forgot to do that with SBA at Arisia. In fairness, I was terrified. Putting your art out into the world is, in my opinion, worse than being in a street fight, worse than being shot at, worse even than worrying about my health thing at the moment. What if people hate it? What if they laugh? What if they go online and review it and say it’s the worst thing they’ve ever read?

Well, first of all, I’d survive all of that. I’ve survived worse, we all have. We are all of us warriors, brave souls briefly given form and sentience by a weird universe so we might find ways to love and understand those around us. All of us have jobs or responsibilities that, at times, we wish were lessened, or gone for good. All of us fight and suffer and wish life would just get on with it. Where are the good bits? Where are the people like me, that I want to spend time with (especially after this damn pandemic)?

At Arisia I forgot the following message. It will not happen again. Feel free to read this in the Proprietor’s voice, if you like. 

Ah. My friend. My dear one. Have I got a solution for you. It won’t change everything, sure, but if you’re stuck, like I am, in a capitalist hellscape waiting for a train or a bus, or wishing this meeting or month or illness would just pack up its shit and skeedaddle, I do have a solution. I will take you out of yourself and into a world full of good people and naked elves and terrifying Misaligned. I will fill your dreams with magic sex toys and Dirk and a hundred other silly ideas. I will give you what you want. Fear not, I have it here. 

And sure, it’s not a forever thing. You’ll finish the book, maybe read the second or third (I hope you do). You’ll move on, head back into the fight. You’ll raise your shield against the slings and arrows of the universe while you try to find people to love and things to admire. Sometimes things will be awful. That’s life. I know that you know.

At Boskone, I will try to remember that I can help you escape that for a while. I’m afraid too. My shield is up all the time. Most days, I assure you, that I fight in the shade. 

But we can take a break from the fight, together, with Sex Bunker Apocalypse. I promise, and I promise I’ll remember the next time I see you.

Happy Writing,

Adam