Katia Noyes left home at the age of 15. She has worked as a roofer, math tutor, journalist, go-go dancer, and content developer.
Her debut novel, CRASHING AMERICA, was a Book Sense Notable Book and was chosen as one of the Ten Best Gay/Lesbian Books of 2005 by Amazon.com and the United Kingdom's Rainbow Network.
It was also nominated for the Northern California Book Award, Publishing Triangle Award, and Lambda Literary Award.
Her short stories have been published by Cleis and Down There Press. She lives in the Glen Park neighborhood of San Francisco.
drop me a note!
Here's what my book jacket bio doesn't say:
I grew up on the Stanford University campus in a family of radicals. Our major daily goal (other than swimming a few laps in our pool) was, well, to build a revolution! I marched in enormous rallies in San Francisco, ran from the police many times, saw people I knew get beaten.
By the time I was thirteen, it was clear the revolution wasn't coming. I was at a loss. The government should have been overthrown by then--and along with it mundane institutions like Terman Junior High.
I began cutting class along with the very good Bad Girls in the C Wing bathroom. Soon we were doing drugs, drinking, making out with foxy dudes (while eyeing each other), and running away from home. I ended up hitchhiking around, sleeping in fields, and getting arrested for "Being Beyond Parental Control."
The summer when I turned fourteen, I lived with a friend on Geary Street and got involved with queer culture in San Francisco. I went to my first Gay Day, helped men dress up in heels and padded jock straps, threw silver glitter on my eyes, zipped up my platform boots, snorted amyl nitrate, and danced.
I kissed my first girl. She was perfect and wore navy blue men's flared pants. (Sandy, where are you now? I'm ready to have your baby) and fooled around in an after-hours club called The Shed. My male cohorts were toothless convicts, straight prostitutes, outrageous fairies. My girl friends were cranky feminists, unemployed hermits, blues singers.
But soon it became clear the world was changing. I no longer felt safe hitchhiking and my closest friends were getting into heroin. I looked around for what I wanted to do with my life. One day I came home from school and started dancing and realized I didn't want to stop. I wanted to be famous! I found a way to skip 2 1/2 grades (I hated high school), get my high school degree, and leave home at 15.
I lived and danced all over, ending up in New York and Los Angeles. I joined experimental dance-theater companies, choreographed solos, performed in obscure warehouse theaters and was sure big-time stardom was imminent. I supported myself by filing papers in a factory, dancing to Lou Rawls in Times Square, answering phones at a health club, being a roofer on an all-woman construction team...I spent fourteen years living this life.
At 29, I was in an accident that shattered my back. I tried to keep performing, but pain kept me awake and watching Perry Mason reruns until 2am--wondering if my life was over or should be. I settled down with a loving partner, got work as a math tutor, and tried to believe I could be happy.
A friend invited me to write dance criticism for a local gay rag. A whole new wave of wonderful dancers had just hit San Francisco. I did my best to write about underground performances and seek out the most interesting work.
To get back on stage, I wrote performance pieces. I spent a year writing and deleting. Eventually I had one paragraph I almost liked. My most ambitious solo performance piece was called REPARATIONS, about sorrow and the legacy of race.
I studied briefly with Dorothy Allison and Michael Cunningham, became inspired to write dirty, violent stories, did public readings, and finally became serious about studying writing. I once thought spelling was bourgeois, so believe me, it was a long apprenticeship.
When it came time to write a novel, I was once again at a loss. It wasn't till I started thinking about my connection (or lack of connection) to place and family and home that I knew I had a book:
CRASHING AMERICA.
