The Fix reviews Sea, Swallow Me

The book was graced with this glowing review that begins with:

Craig Laurance Gidney loves words…sensually, sexually, omnivorously. He streams out floods of them in his stories so that you, too, can taste their deliciousness. He wields them with abandon and precision to create little worlds that rise off the page and engulf you in snow globes of sparkling beauty and perceptiveness. Each story in his latest collection, Sea, Swallow Me and Other Stories, has a strong immersive effect.

You can read the rest here.

Open Mic Report

I read my story Magpie Sisters. I was third on the list.  I think I did pretty well–I gestured, looked at the audience.  My story was cut short–there was a 6 minute time limit.  I will read the story in its entirety for the book release party in December.  It was great to see many of my friends and family (my brother came down from Boston) out there to support me.

I liked many of the other readers, but I missed their names, unfortunately.

New Review!

Rainbow Reviews reviewed Sea, Swallow Me.  Here’s an excerpt:

Every story in this excellent collection is truly a delight to read and a joy to behold. Author Craig Laurence Gidney’s lyrical imagination and poetic prose soar and dip, propelling us to mountain peaks and casting us into abysses. Depths of character delineation vie with descriptive narrative (both first and third person) against a backdrop of intriguing secondary players. Although Mr. Gidney writes from the perspective of a 21st century Gay African-American, and vitally explores that viewpoint, his stories reach out to touch every reader in profound and stirring fashion.

Read the rest of the review here.

New Blurb

John R. Gordon, the screenwriter of the Noah’s Arc movie, provided Sea, Swallow Me with a lovely blurb:

Both poetically acute and narratively suspenseful, these sharply-glinting and spookily enjoyable stories are queer Weird Tales for a new millennium.


Tor review John Klima had this to see about Sea, Swallow Me:

Gidney’s stories often center around being African American and being gay, which is a fascinating viewpoint and part of why I like to read: because I get a chance to experience other lifestyles and racial backgrounds. The author, who is gay and black himself, creates vibrant and real characters that I identify with and care about. There is a lyrical mysticism in much of the writing that made me want to read the stories out loud.

Check out the rest of the review at!

Panel Schedule @ Gaylaxicon 2008

Is It Good Because It’s Gay Saturday    10:00 AM
Jim Grimsley
Craig Gidney
Stacia Seaman
Rob Gates
Fandom 2.0: Social Networking Saturday    11:00 AM
Craig Gidney
Jo Graham
Alex Martin
Everyone’s A Little Bit Racist Saturday    1:00 PM
Nathan James
Rebecca Ore
Cecilia Tan
Craig Gidney
Paging Captain Subtext Saturday    3:00 PM
Warren Rochelle
Craig Gidney
Jo Graham
The Best of the Best Monday    10:00 AM
Craig Gidney
Rob Gates
Reading: Craig Gidney, Warren Rochelle Sunday    11:00 AM
Craig Gidney
Warren Rochelle


Walking into a gay bar is like going underwater. There’s no air, because of the smoke, the cologne, the press of people; the pheromones, the alcohol, the drugs, the hidden vials of poppers. The loud music rivals the crash of surf on the beach; diva’s voices break through the relentless beats, like the clanging of distant buoys. The chattering voices are as annoying and ubiquitous as the screeching of gulls. The bar itself is a coral reef of stools and countertop. The servers are unusually fine specimens, sailor boys, with crew cuts, bronzed by the sun(lamps). Toxins are held in transparent solid jellyfish (glasses), and the patrons begin their displays of mating and challenge. Most are dressed to kill, in plumage, feathers and fins—or Abercrombie and Fitch and J Crew. They prowl the tiny aquarium with precision of sharks, and hunger of piranhas. The pretty ones always find each other through some system that I’m not privy to—some mysterious navigation, sexual echo-location—who knows? These guys always glow with some private fire, the sheen after a workout, the lift of X or poppers, glitter smearing their faces and bodies in bioluminescence. In this ecosystem, I am an anemone.

Tiny. Full of bristles. Stuck to a rock, in a small pool, away from the action.

Oh, occasionally, something will come by to devour me. A fat squid in clothes too tight, his beak quivering in anticipation, his sex oozing out like ink, making the waters murky. Or a blobby man o’ war will drift up to the tidal pool, lazy tentacles questing, with desperation the stinging poison. But most ignore me.

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