Send in the Crowns

July 5, 2017


Bette Davis may have been a marked woman, but for the remainder of the week, I'll be a bookmarked woman.

Today marks the opening of the Golden Crown Literary Society Conference, where creators, curators, and consumers of lesbian literature converge annually.


To keep a short story longing, I'm appearing on behalf of Bella Books and their romance anthology Conference Call, which comes out today.

For Bold Strokes Books, I'm representing Girls on Campus, which took the Bronze in the Erotica category of the Foreword INDIES Book Awards and is a finalist in the same category of the Goldies, the winners of which will be announced at the conference.

If I'm in you're good books as well, then throw caution to the Windy City, where you'll meet and greet a shelf-centered writer with Bette Davis eyes.

Curiouser and curiouser,
Allison Wonderland

The Most Wanderful Time of the Year

June 30, 2017

Single Wicked Female Seeks Fairy Godmother 
for shoe-shopping companion 
and sappily-ever-after. 
Must be able to work 
family unfriendly magic with wand.

Summer lovin', had me a blast from the past.

To my childhood, when I routinely watched my VHS tape of a vitriolic vixen who behaved like a heel to her daintily-tootsied stepdaughter.

I didn't realize it once upon a time, but once I reached adulthood, it occurred to me that the duplicity and felicity showcased in the story bestowed a scintillating simplicity upon the toxicity of its messages.

Not only is everyone in the tale expected to exhibit a proclivity to heteronormativity (it's a small-minded world, after all), but all female figures are solely permitted a personality as transparent as a glass slipper.

As a child, I couldn't right wrongs. As an adult, I can't write wrongs. Thus, in "SWF Seeks FGM," my tale in Sacchi Green's lavender-laced storybook, Witches, Princesses, and Women at Arms, Cinderella's malefactor and benefactor are enriched with a mother lode of depth -- as well as a desire to fathom the depths of their feelings for one another.

Told from the purr-spective of the catty Wicked Stepmother, the story enables its leading ladies to experience wiggle room and breathing room from sitting room to bedroom, as you'll see queer -- that is to say, here -- in this excerpt:

Fairy Godmother has more curves than the staircase toward which I'm tugging her, but I must stay ahead of said curves lest she get lost on her first visit to the palace.

In the privacy of my boudoir, mere seconds after I latch the door, we latch on to each other and share true love's first kiss.

It neither breaks the spell she has over me, nor slakes the dry spell I've been under for the whole of my existence.

Instead, the kiss makes my bliss go from bad to worse, awakening me like the fanfare of a thousand trumpets.

I shoot the messenger a flirty look.

Her hand wanders to her wand. She culls it from her cleavage and, with a flourish of the wrist and an infuriatingly infantile incantation, her clothes vanish from her body.

"Surely if I can gussy up a girl, I ought to be able to hussy up one too," she reasons, lifting her shoulders in a shrug. She smirks at my princess-size eyes. "Look at you," she coos, "looking at me. So helpless, so harmless, so speechless. My little pine tree, stripped of its bark." She tickles the underside of my chin as if I'm a kitten. "Cat got your tongue?"

"Not yet," I murmur, as I kneel at her feet. My lips flex against hers. "Now it has."

Has this animated sorceress the power to make a vitriolic vixen's dreams come shrew?

Or, at the very least, true?

Curiouser and curiouser,
Allison Wonderland

Arms and the Manuscript

April 25, 2017


Sacchi Green, curator of a Cleis coterie of witches, princesses, and women at arms, is giving away a complimentary copy of her new collection, Witches, Princesses, and Women at Arms.

The reason?

Women armed with words are highly desirable.

Curiouser and curiouser,
Allison Wonderland

Doing Write by You

March 31, 2017


I may not be a people person, but I am, evidently, a Popple person.

Because this time, the post title is not just a play on words: With my irregular updating, I have not been doing right by you.

You're not going to proscribe me, are you?

You are?

I thought you were pro scribe!

Oh, well. I understand.

I hope you'll still have a book-see at what's coming out:

In June, Bold Strokes will publish a covey of lovey-dovey stories called Girls Next Door.

In July, Bella will debut their new anthology of con prose at the Golden Crown Literary Society Conference in Chicago, which I will be attending.

I won't be the most popular author there, but I'll certainly be the most Popple-ular.

Curiouser and curiouser,
Allison Wonderland

Prose and Conjuring

December 28, 2016


If you're chasing tale, it ought to be a fairy tale you're after.

Before I get ahead of myself, I should announce that enchanting editor Sacchi Green has fabricated yet another electrifying anthology, this one called Witches, Princesses, and Women at Arms.

To keep it personal, add "SWF Seeks FGM" to the announcement, for that is the title of my contribution.

Queer's the story: Single wicked female the Wicked Stepmother is known for being straightforward. But going forward, she is no longer straight. Not since reaching the realization that happiness is a necessary evil. And who better to help her realize this happiness than the Fairy Godmother...?

Think this pairing is unimaginable?

Well, as FGMs are prone to proclaim: Impossible things are happening every gay.

A shorter, sweeter version of this piece first bewitched readers in the Bold Strokes Books book Myth and Magic. Following its release, I boldly stroked the words some more, witchcrafting a tale whose depth was more desirable and whose characters were more desirous.

If you desire this anthology, you may experience wish fulfillment come May.

Until then, you will have to wait _______.

Patiently?

Anxiously?

Heroically?

Go on -- villain the blank.

I'll wait.

Curiously.

Curiouser and curiouser,
Allison Wonderland

The Fall of Summer

September 7, 2016

I'd write about the fall of St. Olaf, only it hasn't happened yet.


But speaking of storytellers... I've got one that, ahem, Rose to fame in the anthology Summer Love: Stories of Lesbian Holiday Romance.


Sure, you can no longer catch any rays.

But you can still catch some gays!

The Sapphic sort, to be specific.


Thanks to Ladylit, Summer Love is available for a queer - I mean, mere - 99 cents in ebook format.

That's e for erotic, exquisite, essential. There are no tan lines in my story, "The Boi Who Cried Woolf," a tale of two bookworms who experience a summer of literary pleasures, but there are plenty of laugh-out-loud ones.

Emphasis on out.

But if you insist on staying in, at least make sure your...um, inning is one for the books.

Curiouser and curiouser,
Allison Wonderland

Bachelorette's Degree

June 22, 2016



Never tell tales out of school.

Unless those tales concern students who are out at school, in which case always tell them.

One such tale is titled "Guise and Dolls," and it's currently enrolled in Girls on Campus, taught by Sandy Lowe and Stacia Seaman at Bold Strokes. This tale proves, by degrees, that you can't judge a cover by its book. 

And, thanks to its star students' acceptance and admission, the story never cuts class.

Or sass.

Or...another relevant rhyme.

And now it's time for an examination of the out-at-school tale I've told:


"The only lady parts you like are the ones you get to do onstage," I tease.

Joelle kneels down, begins fussing with one of the many straps that trap her feet inside her shoes. The V-neck of her shirt dips into a U.

"I'll do it." I practically throw myself at her feet. 

Joelle stands. "It's nice to have friends in low places."

Friends. Why did I pursue a friendship with Jo when I can't pursue a romance with her? I mean, what is it about unrequited love that makes it so appalling and appealing at the same time? I hope the professor covers this topic in my Psychology of Women course. Otherwise, I may have to withdraw. "And to answer your question, I dated guys, but I always knew I liked the birds better than the bees, so… Hm. I think only half that euphemism is effective, but you get the gist."

Jo steps out of her shoes. "So did you ever let a bee sting you?"

"Nope." I flop back onto the bed, the pleats in my skirt spreading out like a paper fan.

"I think I'm allergic to bees," Jo says, unbuttoning her shorts. She grins at me. Looking away is not an option. "You've seen London. You've seen France. Now you get to see my—"

"Camouflage underpants? Who do you think you are—G.I. Jo?" I'm surprised they're so simple, but they're sexier that way: no frills, just thrills.

Joelle trades in her shorts for the pair of pants she got from her closet. She leads them up her legs, slowly concealing their svelte shape with the dark denim.

"Do these jeans make my ego look fat?" Joelle inquires, posing like a paparazzi princess in front of the mirror.

"Colossal." I pat her posterior. "Just like your caboose."

Joelle shakes her fanny in my face. "You can borrow them sometime."

"Oh, so you're going to let me get in your pants?"

"Absolutely."

My smile squirms. "Stop leading me on," I mutter, half-hoping she'll hear me and half-hoping she won't. It's my fault—I shouldn't be flirting with Jo, not when she knows I have feelings for her. And she knows. There's no way she can't know. It's plain as gay. Day. Whatever.

"I'm not leading you on," Jo insists, but her tone is too chirpy, like she doesn't take me seriously.

"You're a leading lady. It's what you do."

"I'm not always a leading lady. Freshman year I auditioned for Peggy Sawyer in 42nd Street, but they cast me as Dorothy Brock. It all worked out for the best, though, since Dorothy has this fabulous song about wanting someone to be gay with and play with. Not exactly your garden variety coming-out story, is it?"

Jo wants someone to be gay with? Great. Jo wants to play with someone? "Great, I'm in love with a playgirl."

"Luck be a lady. You're in love with me?"

"Like you didn't know." Atta girl—make her look stupid.

"I knew you were attracted to me, but amour? I didn't know I could wish you."

She's next to me on the bed, smiling with her straight teeth and sitting with her straight spine and… and… "Not exactly your garden variety coming-out story?"

"Oh, come on," she says, eyes spinning like a compact disc. "You think I've been flirting with you all this time for tits and giggles?"

The whirring in my ears mimics the frozen yogurt machine in the cafeteria. I open my mouth to squeak, but this time no sound comes out.

"Okay, clearly you didn't like that question, so maybe you'll like this one: what does a person have to do to get some lip service around here?"

Nothing, apparently—before I can do or say anything, Joelle is shoving her fingers into my hair, letting them tangle in the loopy blond locks. I guess gentlemen aren't the only ones who prefer blondes.

The kiss is long and long overdue. It is liberal and liberating, decadent yet decorous. It makes me want to do a keg stand (I don't drink), study a broad (but with no space between us), and go streaking across campus (fully clothed).

With lips that taste like tropical punch and a mouth that tastes like blueberry yogurt, Jo's kisses are more amazing than Joseph's Technicolor dreamcoat. Go, go, go, Jo! This girl kisses with precision, perfection, panache.

But then, I always figured she would. 

Jo College is not your average Jo.

If you took pleasure in that humani-tease, you might want to consider majoring in Women's Studies.

Curiouser and curiouser,
Allison Wonderland