Writing a Memoir is challenging. It’s like opening a box of Cracker Jacks and getting a prize you had no idea existed.
I am in my eighth decade, and finally, my crazy and no-regrets life is starting to make some sense. I am coming full circle—from first time kissing a girl confused the hell out of me at thirteen to being free of the pressing concerns of desire; desire to be be beautiful, hot, sexy, desirable and accomplished so I could feel worthy of being love. That’s all behind me now.
My life is a series of snapshots, faded photographs, old postcards, letters, diaries, and heaps of souvenirs, a compilation of coming out at eighteen as a queer girl during some of the most challenging years of the twentieth century.
My world is permeated by the sounds of rock and roll, rhythm and blues, jazz, folk, and Afro-Cuban salsa. At 18, the world is your oyster, and anything is possible. I witnessed all the twists and turns of a bohemia that made me who I am today.
Ron DeSantis wants to wipe away what I and other gays survived—what transformed me into an active student, not only in my own life but in the lives of the people I met along the way during the borning civil rights movement I was part of during the 1960s-1980s when loving someone of the same sex automatically made you a criminal.
At first, I thought Bohemia—living at the edges—was the path to enlightenment. I was that “kid-faced lover” who worshipped Bob Dylan and Joan Baez and repeatedly referenced Ginsberg’s Howl.
What my friends and I discovered was that drugs equal death, loneliness, and pain. But as one of my favorite lesbian poets, Mary Oliver, advises: “…the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting—”
Living a worthwhile life means maintaining hope, love, joy, and openness, and enduring the rapids of your moment no matter how confusing, exasperating, and brutal—one of the reasons I am trying to get this memoir out to Generation X and beyond before I hit my expiration date.
I have always been lousy at letting go of what I love—once I allow myself to love. It took a lifetime for me to understand my value as a human being and to cherish prioritizing my well-being. I should have titled the book FUCK YOU-Miami 1960–1979: A Queer Struggle. Before the folk revival, I used to listen to the Beatles, I wanna hold your hand! A criminal act for gay people that could get you in a whole lotta trouble. Jail wasn’t the worst of it for any of us, male, female, or otherwise. The cops were either on the take or going to take you in various ways you never imagined, but more about that in the book.
My life is a series of snapshots of human behavior I experienced coming out as a lesbian during some of the most challenging years of the twentieth century. I witnessed all the twists and turns of a bohemia that made me what I am today.
What I lived through made me an active student of my own life and those of the people I met along the way to enlightenment. These were the people in South Dade County and beyond who became activists, like my friends Ruth Shack, Marty Kreloff, and Robert Kunst, who led the charge for the ordinance that changed everything. Of course, a lot of missteps were made along the way, and it was far from a smooth transition from Anita Bryant’s conviction that she and her “Save The Children” movement had the absolute, God given right to deprive a group of other Americans of their Constitutional Rights. If that doesn’t sounds\ familiar and oh so currentI you’ll want to read my book once it’s completed. I anticipate 2026-2027 if I can find an agent and/or publisher who has the guts to take it on.
In terms of starting the query process, I have already accepted the idea that no one does everything right. I started this process by thinking all I had to do was tell my story, and everyone would see how current and needed it is. But no, I was like a stone-deaf musician. My approach was all wrong for the market. No surprise, because I didn’t start my writing career to make money. I just wanted to get my work out. But back to the beginning.
At eighteen, I thought Bohemia—living at the edges—was the path to enlightenment. What my friends and I discovered along the way was that drugs equal death, loneliness, and pain.
The most important lesson I have learned from life is the importance of maintaining hope, love, joy, and openness. Now, I listen closely but choose to keep my own counsel.
I have always been lousy at letting go of what I love—once I allow myself to love. It took me a long time to acknowledge my value and learn to prioritize my own needs. When I finished the first in this series of explorations in Erase Her: A Survivors Story (yeah, I know, but it got your attention—more about that if you ask me), I thought I was done. That was set in the Catskills Borscht Belt in the heyday of the resort era. My family had a bottled gas company there and serviced the region, including most of the fabulous hotels. Many of those bungalow colonies are referenced in the Netflix Amy Sherman-Palladino comedy-drama hit, inspired by real-life comedian Joan Rivers, The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel. Watching the six seasons was like looking at the bread and butter of my life.
But that was before my father moved the family to Miami. I was five years old, had to leave my only real friend, my dog Tootsie, behind, and I hated Miami with its bigotry and experienced antisemitism for the first time in my life.
All of the fault lines of American Society are fresh and alive in our minds as we experience the crucible of the second DJT reign. But more about our current chaos under his fascist regime, and why my book is all about resistance, resilience, revolution, and joy in a future conversation
Those were the days, despite all. I had my mouth full, and poolside was the way we chilled after getting together to make a poster and shove leaflets under doors.