Sexuality and Gender

A “hostile work environment”

I don’t think I would have considered talking about this, probably ever, if it hadn’t been for the fact that I was doing some training courses for my day job (more on that another time). One of my recerts was workplace sexual harassment. And oooh, boy, did that open a can of worms.

I see a lot of people ask why folks don’t report an incident when it happens, and answers vary. But one thing I don’t see discussed all that often is how it might be difficult to know if harassment has happened.

Last fall, I was working in a particular place for a couple of months. It wasn’t a friendly place to begin with, but there were a few people I connected with and some I could work with comfortably even if we weren’t friends. Being new to the job, I had to rely on others around me for support.

One of the people I considered supportive-but-not-a-friend asked me one day during my lunch break if I had some time. I said sure. In hindsight, I should’ve said no, but it’s not like I could have predicted what happened. He disclosed to me some personal information about his relationship and said he needed a “wife’s perspective.”

What followed was details about his sexual exploits at work in a way that made me uncomfortable. Would I have said it was harassment? Not at the time, no. Weird and awkward, yes. But on the level of a reportable offense? Well, I didn’t report it, so there you go.

Until I watched the training video for a different job (the one I’m currently in). I know I’m being vague, but trust me, when I saw the video, the specific things this person said to me and the way he cornered me alone and manipulated me during the conversation were absolutely and without question harassment.

This is the sort of thing I have dealt with since junior high school. Boys (then) and men (now) tend to say things to me that are definitely not acceptable. Nine times out of ten, it’s someone I barely know: a coworker I just met, a casual acquaintance from a class, a virtual stranger on the internet. There’s also a vastly different tone than a close friend talking about something personal. This includes threatening me or stalking me if I say I’m uncomfortable or I walk away. I once blocked a man on social media for the things he said to me, and he proceeded to stalk my website and send me angry messages because he “opened up” to me and I was being “cruel” for rejecting him.

I really don’t know exactly why this happens. Maybe I’m particularly gullible when it comes to the manipulation tactics these men use to get my attention before they drop the pretense. Maybe they either think of me as “one of the guys” (odd, since I’m definitely not particularly masc) or they see me as an unfuckable sounding board and figure it’s “safe” to tell me their sexual woes. Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve written books that include detailed intimacy, particularly queer sex, so people think that I’m available to listen to their real stories.

Some of the problem is that I don’t always recognize the harassment immediately. As I mentioned before, I didn’t even think it was more than just uncomfortable until the specific things said to me came up in the training video. The people who have done this to me often phrase it in a way that makes me think it’s not that big a deal, at least at first. I once had a man message me because he wanted to thank me for being open-minded. He started off by telling me he’s had a lot of bad experiences with women not liking that he’s bisexual. And of course, I’ll always defend my bi brothers, so I had no problem with him sending me a quick note. Sadly, that exchange ended with him sending me a dick pic.

But I think there’s another layer. Without exception, every single person who has approached me in this way has been from a marginalized community. It’s almost exclusively men, but I have experienced it from a couple of women and a couple of nonbinary people. Only two (to my knowledge) of the men who have done this to me in my adulthood have been cisgender heterosexual, and while most have been white, not all have been. I think that this makes me particularly vulnerable because I try not to be seen as someone unsafe for marginalized folks. Yes, I’m part of some of those communities myself, but I’m also keenly aware of places where I have privilege. So no matter how uncomfortable I might be, I’m wary of doing harm by reporting these incidents or even saying no to lending an ear. I didn’t want to report Dick Pic Guy because I didn’t want him or anyone else to think the problem was his sexuality and not the fact that he sent a perfect stranger an uninvited image of his schlong. On top of that, the one person I told that this had happened excused the behavior and made it clear they did not think I was aware of how things are “really” done in queer circles.

Except that this type of behavior is doing harm to me. Being sexually and romantically liberated does not magically confer the right to exploit other marginalized people, to create unsafe and hostile environments. My work as an author does not make me a therapist or available to anyone who asks. And as much as I know I need to use caution when someone wants to speak to me, that does not in any way excuse the behavior of the other parties involved.

Unless we are good friends, have known each other for years, and have had conversations about many other topics that don’t involve sex, I do not want to hear it. I am not your therapist or your partner. Even if we know each other, please use care when sharing things with me. Ask first, don’t assume. And don’t put me in the position of having to decide if my trauma or yours takes precedence in matters of sex and intimacy. Definitely don’t send me pics of your genitals no matter how well we know each other.

#OurBiFlag and the collapse of BiNet USA

Bi+, Social Justice

I first heart about the squabble over the bi pride flag on Wednesday afternoon. I’m not sure how long it had been already going on at that point. My colleagues at the Bi+ podcast were discussing it in a private chat, and one of them linked to this article: This Organization Wants to Be Paid for Use of the Bi Pride Flag.

After some digging, I found a few people talking about it on Facebook. It sounded like a mess, but I couldn’t gather enough details. Eventually, I wandered onto Twitter and took a look at #OurBiFlag. Holy hell.

But this is bigger than one person going off-script and making a big deal about an indie creator using the bi pride flag in some merch.

Most people were talking about the flag, of course. However, other patterns were emerging. And that’s where I want to go with my story. I got permission from my Bi+ colleagues to talk about it, since it’s partly their story too. When it comes to the part of this where they had involvement, they can correct me or add details if they choose. I don’t know everything that went on. None of us do.

Bear with me, this is long.

It starts before I even knew what BiNet was. In 2014, I had just finished writing my first novel. I was excited and nervous, as I’d passed it along to a friend to show her publisher. It was during that waiting stage that a bunch of things converged to push me to come out as bisexual. (Note: The language I use in that post does not reflect how I currently identify, both religiously and in terms of gender.)

Through friends at the time, I connected with the BiNet USA Facebook group. I had never heard of the organization prior to that. But once I was in the group, I knew I’d found my people. I made a lot of friends. Some of the wonderful Bi Elders came to support me.

Shortly after that, I learned my first novel had been picked up and would be released the following year. That date was pushed up because I was efficient in responding to edits and proofreading. Ultimately, Lower Education came out November 1, 2014.

Due to my work explicitly writing fiction about bisexual people, and my history of blogging, I quickly found myself doing a lot of cool stuff. I gave an interview for the BiCast about my novel because they were looking for bi creators. Later, I had articles published in The Advocate and LGBTQNation.

None of these were outlets associated directly with BiNet. But I was able to connect with people through the Facebook group. At the time, while the group itself was an offshoot of the organization, it wasn’t required that everything be kept internal.

I joined some other Facebook groups as well, for writers and for activists. None of these groups was or is directly affiliated with BiNet, although former board members are part of both.

In 2015, my second novel was ready for release November 1. I was scheduled to appear on the BiCast for the second time. Just after the novel came out, I attended the Transcending Boundaries Conference. I was able to do this because it was within driving distance of my home.

First, I will say that I had an absolutely wonderful time. I stayed offsite at an Air BnB house and walked to the hotel for the conference. While there, I met some of the coolest people, including author Jendi Reiter, Larry Nelson (whose partner, Brenda Howard, is regarded as the mother of Pride), and activist and all-around cool person Robyn Ochs.

At that time, I also met Lynnette McFadzen in person. She’d interviewed me (along with Jon Clark) for the BiCast. It was amazing to finally sit down and talk face to face.

Lynnette introduced me to Faith Cheltenham, who I regarded as THE go-to person for activism and advocacy. She was a legend in my eyes. I was star-struck and really had no idea what to say. I think I completely babbled. She was gracious about it, if not necessarily warm. I felt overwhelmed in her larger-than-life presence. She still seemed to me to be so cool, nearly a goddess.

At first, she seemed so encouraging. I mean, she even seemed to regard me as almost a celebrity, despite the fact that I was (and still am) relatively unknown. I was only starting out as an author back then, with barely a toe in the door. But it was my ticket in, and I was invited to things like the private lounge and spending time with people who ran other groups and organizations.

I was too busy making friends and enjoying myself at the conference to spend much time thinking about Faith. My interactions with her were somewhat awkward, which I attributed to my own missteps. It felt “off,” but only in the way I always feel “off” as an introvert when I’m around an extrovert.

After returning home, we became friends on Facebook. I was very interested in her advocacy work. It quickly became clear that I would need to jump through hoops to be her friend, though.

I considered myself to have two separate pieces of my life: work and not-work. “Work” included my activism. “Not-work” was mostly sharing Facebook memes and catching up with friends by way of photos of their kids or dogs. I tend to prefer to have some separation or the blurred lines make me anxious.

That’s significant because I considered Faith a friend, in the same way I considered the other people I’d met to be friends. So I would, for example, engage with things she posted in the BiNet group differently from how I engaged with her on her personal Facebook.

And that was when the rules began. I started noticing that she would periodically make posts about her expectations for people to remain on her list. What posts we should be reading and liking. How we should respond to things. Who could comment or not. I had trouble separating the reasonable from the unreasonable. But ultimately, I stopped liking or commenting at all because I felt that it was so much micromanaging that I couldn’t keep track.

Around that time, there was a dust-up regarding a protest that happened at the Creating Change conference. I was not there; I can’t speak to what happened. I do know that I added my voice in support of Nancy Marcus, also a longtime advocate (who I believe was with BiLaw at the time, someone can correct me if I’m wrong).

I was scolded like I was a small child because I hadn’t been at the conference. But trust me, I could feel the obliterated line between anti-Israel and antisemitic attitude. (It resurfaced later on as well, in the conflagration over the banning of the Magen David at Dyke March.) I was pretty much done. I don’t tolerate antisemitism, and I’m not a pushover.

Faith removed me from her Facebook friends list, which I didn’t feel especially sad about. I’d grown to not really like her. What I’d initially seen as exuberant and full of life by that time felt overbearing and threatening. I didn’t get it full in the face, but others did, and it was awful to watch.

I sort of…ignored her after that. We didn’t need to interact. I wasn’t going to conferences because my health wasn’t good due to an undiagnosed (at the time) autoimmune disorder.

In 2016, I became part of the BiCast as an interviewer. It was good fun. I liked my cohosts, and I got to interview a lot of really cool people. I mostly did author interviews, which included my now cohost, Mick Collins. Elizabeth Mechem was on board doing a lot of our tech stuff, and the two of us also had the chance to interview people together. (That’s always fun, as we get somewhat distracted and end up on wild tangents!)

I can’t recall when it was that BiNet received a large donation, but it was after that when things went downhill. In February of 2019, Elizabeth had invited Faith as a consultant to put together something for Black History Month.

Around then, I’d been on a break while volunteering at my kids’ school. According to Elizabeth, there was some pressure to add a black cohost. Permanently or just for Black History Month, I’m not sure. This isn’t unreasonable, so obviously there wasn’t a concern in doing so. We just didn’t expect things to go the way they did afterward.

We still don’t know what happened. It was sudden, but to me it had the feel of being planned and seeking a wedge to get in. The others could probably explain the “partnership” we developed with BiNet; I don’t know the details. It was a fiscal sponsorship that had apparently been started some years earlier. However, none of us know the exact terms despite asking multiple times.

Elizabeth even asked for documentation. When Lynnette left the BiCast to Elizabeth, she didn’t give any details or instructions. So Elizabeth thought it might be wise to cut ties and dissolve the fiscal sponsorship right away. However, we were not able to do so. Lynnette couldn’t produce the documents, and Faith said the board would be angry if she gave us the information.

Aside from that, what I do know is that without my knowledge or consent, Faith stepped in and began telling us how to run the podcast. Up until that point, it had been us seeking out interesting bi+ creators who didn’t have a large platform. Ordinary, just people in our community doing cool stuff.

All of a sudden, we were pressured into getting celebrities. The guests I’d had lined up were no longer acceptable because they were unknown. We were told we needed approval from the board (or more likely Faith herself) for any guests. There was even a spreadsheet with contact information for “approved” people. I’m sure most of the lesser known people I’d lined up wondered why no one ever contacted them back after they sent us their initial emails. We simply were not allowed to without “board” approval.

For the record, a fiscal sponsorship does not give the sponsoring organization this kind of power unless those are the agreed on terms. Since we have no idea what the actual terms are, we felt trapped.

We were also all told to use a specific program for the interviews, despite how we’d been perfectly capable of using the tools already at our disposal. Only BiNet-approved programs could be used, and only with their login. We were not properly trained. When we asked for this, Faith told us she didn’t have time.

This happened with multiple things over the course of her takeover of the BiCast. She would set us up with something needing training, then tell us she was too busy or not an expert. We were left holding the ball more than once.

The real kicker for me came in an interview with performance poet Gray Crosbie. First, I was locked out of the interview. Initially, it had been meant to be Elizabeth and me. This was before Faith took over. Once she took over, she insisted on being part of the interviews. (In fairness to Elizabeth, she thought I might be too busy once Faith stepped in.)

I found out about the interview an hour before it was to happen. I insisted on being part of it because we were interviewing a nonbinary word creator, and I am a nonbinary word creator. This was my wheelhouse. Faith told us she would only allow one of us, me or Elizabeth, because that was too many white people. Elizabeth graciously stepped back and recorded for us.

Before the podcast, we also discussed inviting a Jewish person for our panel. I wanted to know why, seeing as I also come from a Jewish background. It felt to me first like tokenism and second like people who don’t take you seriously if the “wrong” parent is Jewish (my father is my Jewish parent, not my mother). She made a couple of other remarks about “cultural Judaism,” despite not understanding it at all. It was frustrating but not surprising.

Once we did the interview, it was awful. Faith kept pressuring the guest to talk about American race relations, something our guest in Scotland knew almost nothing about. She virtually took over the interview, spending little time getting to know the guest or what they were there to discuss. I finally had to wrench the conversation back. You can hear most of this in the podcast.

My cohosts had similar difficulties. In the end, when Faith left us hanging again, we collectively decided we would not work with her. Instead of telling her to step back, we got an email from Lynnette saying she was taking down the podcast. (I don’t know whether she actually had this authority, to be honest. She’d already left the podcast with us and only came back in a limited capacity, and the podcast’s originator was still part of it in the background.)

We were sad, but we understood and felt it might be for the best. We decided to turn to podcasting on our own, with fewer restrictions regarding the guests and who was allowed to interview them. And the next thing we knew, BiNet had entirely taken over the old BiCast and was resurrecting it…using all the work we’d done for years.

I know this is not as horrific as the outright abuse others have detailed. Most of it was just overbearing behavior, pressuring us to do things without consulting us, failing to listen to our perspectives as longtime podcasters, micromanaging us with rules, and ultimately ripping the podcasting rug out from under us. We’ve been able to move on without much more than being rightfully angry.

My hope, though, is that in talking about it, this might allow others to speak up. For a long time, I stayed silent because I did not believe it was necessary or wise. Marginalized people face much more criticism on average, and I did not want to be part of that. I’m very sensitive, and it hurt to think I could be contributing to a bigger problem.

However, I believe that is exactly the tool Faith uses to control people. She knows that many of us are decent, caring people, and she preys on that. Not to say marginalization-based antagonism doesn’t exist or isn’t a problem, or that I have conquered my own biases. Only that pointing out someone’s inappropriate behavior is not that.

If you’ve made it to the end of this, thank you. If you’re thinking none of this sounds terrible, that’s only because I can’t detail everything that was said in these meetings or online. I can’t capture the feelings I had of being intimidated and bullied into compliance.

But if you understand where I’m coming from, maybe because you’ve been there too, then my heart goes out to you. I’m sorry if you’ve had to endure this as well, if you felt like you were constantly on eggshells, watching your every word and deed to be sure you didn’t fail or face public berating.

I also want to say that while this problem is mostly the work of one person, it has been done with the permission and complicity of the BiNet board. Aside from those who resigned or were forced out, these are people who willingly gave themselves over to a person who desires full control. I hope you all don’t wake up one day and find that the rug is gone from under you too.

Balance and the Struggle of Being Between

Balance, Body Image, Health, Life, Sexuality and Gender

Content note: This is about health issues and chronic illness. Not much detail, but I do talk about my journey toward finding answers for a mystery disorder, and there’s mention of medical error and fat-shaming.

It’s been a while since I’ve blogged, aside from the occasional featured book or snippet of what I’m supposed to be working on. So I figured it was time for an update for the six or seven people who might read this. It’ll save me from having to individually explain things, too. I can direct the curious folks to this post.

A favor, before I begin: I’m going to talk about the last year and my challenge in finding a decent doctor and getting a diagnosis for my Mystery Illness. I don’t want or need anyone to armchair diagnose me. So as tempting as it may be, please keep it to yourself. It won’t help me find answers, trust me.

Onward and upward.

One of the reasons I haven’t posted much in the last year is that I’ve a) had too little energy and b) had too many doctor appointments. This is quite a journey, so buckle up.

About six years ago now, I suddenly (or so it seemed) got sick. Really sick. Not the germ kind but the “what in holy hell is wrong with me” kind. I went from very fit and active to feeling all the time like I had the flu, minus the coughing. Body aches, chills, fatigue…constantly. I endured it for three months before I finally went to the doctor to find out if I had mono or something similar.

She barely looked at me, pronounced that I had fibromyalgia, and sent me for three blood tests, kind of the standard for the common autoimmune disorders. The general test came back positive (more or less), and the specific ones negative.

I thought the diagnosis didn’t fit at all. At the time, my symptoms didn’t match the way in which fibromyalgia was diagnosed. My doctor didn’t check beyond the two disorders, and I had the sense there might be others. So I saw a rheumatologist, who agreed with my primary care doctor. He told me to go home, take vitamin D, and do yoga. No lie.

Did it help? Sort of, for a while.

I tried to stay as active as I could, but I was exhausted all the time, and exercise didn’t help or even made me worse, depending. I stopped seeing the rheumatologist because I had the sense he didn’t particularly believe me. Neither did my primary care doctor, so I quit her too, and then she left the practice.

It may seem like the wrong thing to do, and perhaps it was, but I never signed on with a new primary care doctor. I didn’t have the motivation. We got a dog, and I had a brief, mild remission, so I started to get back in shape with my dog. It was nice.

And then I got sicker again over the winter.

Same symptoms, different day. I dealt with it, but it left me worse off even when the flare-up subsided.

What changed my mind on seeking answers was writing a novel.

I had a character in process of being given a complex diagnosis. While researching, I discovered there was a lot of overlap between his symptoms and mine, though I knew I didn’t have the same thing. Still, it motivated me to reconsider getting help.

It took me more than another year. In the meantime, I got tired of being less active than before, so I started a dance class…and promptly had a minor injury.

That caused me to seek medical attention. I took an appointment with the first doctor available, since no one would see me without a new patient visit. That was a mistake (though in the end, it all worked out better this way).

I’d accepted the fibromyalgia diagnosis, more or less, even though it still seemed like an ill-fitting shoe. The resident at the new doctor’s office was fantastic, and he was the first person to suggest I didn’t have fibromyalgia, or at least that we had to make sure.

Then I saw the attending physician. There’s a reason I’ve taken to calling him Dr. Jerkface (all my doctors have nicknames). He spent most of our time fat-shaming me, though to his credit, he was the only one who actually physically examined me at that point. And he did point out that my feet have collapsing arches and I needed better shoes. Otherwise, though, he was terrible.

He wouldn’t x-ray my injured ankle until I lost weight, and he told me my fibromyalgia would go away if I weren’t so fat.

I never returned there. I gave up for another six months.

Until I was so desperate and in so much pain (thanks, flare-up) that I had to find a new doctor.

I called my old practice, since I’d always loved that office. The hotline said they had a doctor accepting new patients. The woman who answered told me they had one doctor, a man. I hesitated. Did I want another male doctor who might be condescending or fat-shaming or both?

The woman said this doctor was new, and then she quickly corrected herself to say new to the practice, not new to medicine. Once again, I hesitated. I assumed she meant he was older, a transfer from another office in the system.

But I said yes.

I’m glad I did.

I had an appointment within two weeks of calling, the soonest I’d ever gotten. In that time, I prepared myself. I had my story ready, and I was going to halt any fat-shaming in its tracks. No one was going to treat me the way other doctors had, and if they did, I’d be demanding another doctor.

Whatever I was expecting when my new doctor walked into the room, he was most certainly not it. He was young. Really young. Like, closer-to-my-kids’-ages-than-mine young. The scheduler hadn’t been kidding about him being new, and yes, he was new to medicine (as in, this is his first solo job!).

He read all the notes, and then he started to comment on my weight. I put up a hand and stopped him right there. And then I gave him the saga of my previous five years (in a lot more detail than I’ve put here).

As I talked, his eyes widened and his jaw dropped. He’s got an incredibly expressive face (and manner generally), and he hides nothing. I registered surprise, sympathy, disgust (for how I’d been treated before), and determination.

It took us a few more visits and some blood tests, and he put me on meds that reduce my pain level and keep the fatigue and brain fog at bay. But then he said something: “I don’t think you have fibromyalgia.”

He sent me to a new rheumatologist.

And here’s where it gets tricky.

She ran a bunch of tests. Lots of them. Some came up inconclusive. Some were clearly negative. A couple were definitely, distinctly positive.

Two visits in, I had a new diagnosis and more meds. Except I thought she’d jumped the gun (again). I didn’t have symptoms that matched. A week after starting the meds, I had another flare-up, plus a reaction to the meds.

Everyone denied I was having a reaction.

So I stayed on them, despite intermittently losing feeling in my limbs. I barely survived a dance recital, exiting the stage limping and unable to feel my feet while my legs shook uncontrollably.

That got worse. Much worse.

By the time I stopped the meds, I couldn’t take the stairs or turn my head or raise my arms or lift the half-gallon pitcher of water we keep in our fridge. I couldn’t sing or chew or smile. I couldn’t stand unsupported, and walking was a challenge.

I couldn’t play my violin.

My primary care doctor sent me to a neurologist and for a series of MRIs. My rheumatologist didn’t believe me that it was the meds and told me to keep taking them…for another two months. She noted the weakness and said maybe I needed to add a stronger medication, an immunosuppressant.

A week after stopping the meds, my muscles were all completely fine. The numbness was mostly gone, aside from the little bit I’d already had. I was in more pain, but it was entirely worth it to be able to walk and climb stairs again.

This is already getting long, but to sum up, I still don’t have a correct diagnosis. I won’t be returning to the rheumatologist who ignored my medication reaction and refuses to acknowledge that she diagnosed me based on a single blood test and no symptoms. She kept saying (about both fibromyalgia and her updated diagnosis) that I just had an “atypical” version.

Well, I apparently could have an “atypical” version of several things.

And it turns out that’s a real thing.

I’m not wrong, and I’m not making it up. Somehow, I’ve managed to develop a disorder that sits between other ones, that likely won’t develop into anything that’s a clear, concrete match. It hides itself by borrowing bits and pieces of other things, mimicking them but rarely becoming any of them.

Somehow, for me, that seems fitting.

I’ve always said I’m not a “choose a side” kind of person. I won’t give up my Jewish identity, but I also won’t reject the Christian community that welcomed me in at my worst time. I refuse to become an invisible bisexual in my hetero-appearing relationship. My gender defies the binaries. In all these things, I’ve found peace and balance, a harmony between two worlds.

It makes sense that my body, even in illness, would reject a distinct label.

I’ll be seeing a new rheumatologist, a fresh start. This is a chance to find balance there too. I’ll have to learn how to manage my symptoms better and how to take care of my body while also juggling work, writing, and our family’s active, busy lifestyle.

But I can do this. I can find a new kind of harmony with my body instead of fighting it.

Hey, if you made it this far, kudos. Just to reiterate, I don’t yet have a diagnosis, but I’m ten steps closer. My amazing, wonderful primary care doctor (nicknamed Captain America ‘cause he’s a hero and not jaded enough to be any of the others) has given me a temporary medication to relieve the pain and inflammation. It does work (though not as well as steroids, sadly).

I’m on the right track, though, and I’m going to start off my year attempting both orchestra and dance (now that I’m not too weak!). I’m trying to get into shape for both with some strength training.

And of course, I’m grateful for those who have stuck by me and are still supporting me. It means everything.

I’ll update when there’s something new to know. Until then, I may fall silent again. But know that I’m around, in the background, doing my thing the best I can.

Stop giving us “permission” to use singular ‘they’

Gender Identity

I went back and forth on whether to post this because I was angry, and frankly still am, about this.

Earlier, someone posted this little article from Dictionary.com about use of singular they. Now, this isn’t the fault of Dictionary.com. It’s actually a nice, useful little snippet on a site devoted to telling us how to use words. It’s pretty mild, as grammar tools go, and it’s nice to see a mainstream site with a simple explanation about why it’s no biggie. Kudos, Dictionary.com!

The problem was more the sharing of it. When someone who does not use singular they as a personal pronoun shares such a thing, declaring their “support” for it, that’s wide permission for people to come along and throw in their two cents. And that is simply not necessary, especially in a group full of queer people, many of whom currently use or formerly used singular they.

When well-meaning cisgender (and occasionally other binary gender folks) share this stuff, they usually mean it as solidarity. The problem is, it comes off as patting us on the head and declaring us legit. Newsflash: we already know we’re legit, and the pronouns we go by reflect that.

The second problem is that these well-meaning cisgender (and occasionally other binary gender folks) almost never know what to do with the people who argue about it. The ones who say they are “old school” or it’s “too hard” to remember to use the right pronouns or who say it’s “confusing” when they read it in a book.

(That last one makes me want to throw things. A person can read a book with two same gender people getting in a romantic relationship and not get confused on which he or she is which, but they find they confusing? Nah. Unless a book is badly written, it’s clear when they refers to one person or many.)

Listen up, well-meaning binary gender folks: Don’t post this stuff unless you are prepared to take on the Grammar Cops who come to explain why they can’t or won’t learn. Be there for us. Educate your own. Because otherwise, you are continually exposing non-binary people to this sharp edge and expecting us to both bandage our own wounds and then explain why it hurts to your friends and followers. If you can’t stand up for us, then do us the favor of having these conversations in private among yourselves.

Here’s the thing about why cycling through these conversations hurts. There is a specific type of antagonism reserved for non-binary people, and the refusal to accept and use our pronouns—whether we use singular they or other pronouns—is part of it. (Not all, but that’s a post for another time.) Singular they grates on people not because they can’t adapt but because adapting means learning that you do not need everyone to fit into boxes labeled he and she.

I’ve heard some people say things like, “We need a special singular pronoun like they have in other languages!” Except…we do. We have a perfectly legitimate, long-standing set of neutral pronouns. We use them all the time when a person’s gender is unknown, often without thinking. It’s only when we are forced to acknowledge that someone’s gender isn’t binary that we get nervous and uncomfortable using them.

Think about this: I’ve used one form or another of they (both singular and plural) all through this post. Were you bothered by it? Did you even notice?

When flash fiction contests go (hatefully) bad

LGBTQ+, Social Justice, Writing

Warning: long, angry rant ahead. Contains screen shots. Yes, I’m making an email sent to me public, and yes, I’m publicly calling out this particular writing workshop.

I first saw this flash fiction contest in a Facebook group. A colleague posted it there in its original form:

The highlighted portion reads “No swearing, profanity, explicit sexual scenes, graphic violence, LGBTQ.”

People responded by contacting Deborah Owen, so she changed it to this:

The new text, which you can see in full here, reads:

All contests have parameters. We are not interested in the following genres:
Stories with swearing or profanity
Horrific deaths/torture/horror
Romance in general
Futuristic stories
Sexual scenes
Fantasy
Sci-Fi
LGBTQ – some have asked if they can use gay characters. It depends on the story and how it is written. The judges will make that determination.

(Side note: I read that to my kids. They both said, “Why don’t they just say they want literary flash fiction instead of listing pretty much every genre?” They also thought it was pretty funny that she listed “swearing” and “profanity” as separate and also listed “futuristic” and “sci-fi” separately.)

Aside from the poor wording, this still didn’t feel as if it addressed the overt discrimination. I should say here that one colleague said the site is Christian-based, but I didn’t see that when I went to the website. If anyone can confirm or deny, that would be appreciated. Not that being Christian excuses or even explains anything—there are plenty of Christians who are part of the LGBTQ+ community or are allies, and I doubt they appreciate Christianity as the reason why bigotry is acceptable.

Poet and writer Jan Steckel shared most of the above on her page, including the text of the emails she sent to Deborah Owen and the responses she received in reply. She urged us to contact Ms. Owen as well, which I did. This is the text of my email to her:

I am a published author and member of the LGBTQ community, writing about your flash fiction contest. I had seen the original call, which listed LGBTQ content as unwelcome for submission. I see that you have updated the parameters, but they remain discriminatory.

LGBTQ is not a genre. You have already stated that you do not accept romance or erotic content as well as other genres. There is nothing inherent to LGBTQ content that would place it in any of those genres. It is not necessary to list it as a separate category.

Stories should be judged based on whether they meet the criteria required by a contest. Unless a story with LGBTQ content fails to meet the other criteria, it should not be listed separately with a caveat that judges will decide whether it’s appropriate.

As it stands, there is no reason for me to recommend this contest to my colleagues. Given the discriminatory rules of the flash fiction contest, I also cannot in good conscience recommend anything else on this site either. I would have concerns that authors would face similar or worse antagonism.

I hope that you will reconsider removing any rules regarding LGBTQ content from this and future contests. If not, then I would expect a detailed explanation of why this policy exists and how you plan to address it. Otherwise, I will be sharing this with my writing groups as one place to avoid participation for their own benefit.

Sincerely,

Amy M. Leibowitz

To which she replied:

Does everyone have to like LGBTQ writing? I think not, and I don’t. Neither do I like a dozen other things, and we will not entertain those either. You are very welcome to enter like everyone else, under the same guidelines.

You ask why LGBTQ is still on the list. Because they have defamed my name, slandered my school, hounded my friends, disrupted my live interview, jammed my mailbox with garbage, sent filthy pictures and stories, called me every name in the book, threatened me, and declared war on me without so much as approaching me in a decent and reputable way to begin with. And for that reason it will remain on the list like a flag on a ship that will not go down. LGBTQ does not own my school. Gay writers are more than welcome to enter under the same guidelines as everyone else. I hope you will think for yourself, write an amazing story and win!

Thank you for your letter.

Deborah Owen

No one is asking her to “like” LGBTQ writing. And not one of us is suggesting that we “own” her school, so I am not sure where that is coming from. I cannot fathom what other way besides contacting her in the only method she has provided would be more “decent and reputable.”

She can certainly do what she likes; it’s her school and her contest. I actually don’t much care if she changes her mind on any of it, nor do I particularly care if she hates me personally or the entire LGBTQ+ community as a whole. Lots of people already feel both of those ways, so it isn’t as though it is life-ruining to discover one more person with that attitude.

A bigger problem for me is that her spoken rule is an unspoken one in a lot of other corners. Authors frequently can’t even get to the agent stage, let alone a publishing contract, if they are offering LGBTQ+ stories. It’s even worse for people who publicly identify as part of the community and are writing LGBTQ+ characters and themes. Many LGBTQ+ books are published by small presses or are self-published.

The rare few books that do make it into the mainstream are often written by straight authors, and there are definite rules for how those stories must go. Even something like Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda, which is now a major motion picture, suffered from this problem. It’s intended to be an uplifting meet-cute teen romance, but the problem is that the plot relies on a particularly tired trope: the gay kid being “punished” via bullying and public outing. Does that happen? Yes, of course. But exactly zero percent of heterosexual teen romance includes some form of tormenting the protagonists for a vital part of their sexual orientation.

I don’t fault Becky Albertali necessarily for this problem. The best I can say is “she tried.” I wouldn’t be surprised if her agent or editor recommended she include this little morality-play-type gem (or if that was what made it easier to gain acceptance). Although she did a similar thing with her book about a fat girl, so it’s entirely possible this is how she sees the world: teenagers having to endure shame in order to end up happy. In any case, it poses a distinct problem for LGBTQ+ writers which is connected to the above issue with Ms. Owen’s contest.

Jan Steckel accurately referred to calling LGBTQ+ books a genre as placing our writing in a ghetto. We have few options as queer authors. Publish with a small press or self-publish; pull a Simon and write a book with a limited vision for queer teens; or don’t write. We’re not welcome in a lot of places in the publishing world.

I’ve been disappointed for a long time at the shape of queer literature. If we aren’t being punished for who we are, then we are expected to forgive or even befriend our tormentors (another problem Simon suffers from). We must make our sexuality overt on the page or else be presumed cisgender (not trans), heterosexual (rather than lesbian, gay or bi) and allosexual/alloromantic (rather than asexual/aromantic). Our books must fall into some combination of Issues Books, erotica, and romance, or our stories must be cleverly disguised via speculative fiction.

And the difficulty with all of that is how much it limits our freedom to explore what is really underneath our struggles to come out and live authentically as ourselves. If I choose to write about what it was like coming of age as queer in a religious community that did not accept me, then am I, too, relying on queer pain to sell books? Or am I owning my past self with all my scars? If I tell a story about grief and loss after a long-term partner’s death, am I falling into the trap of Kill Your Gays? Or am I sharing the heartache of my losses?

None of that would matter at all if we weren’t being judged on the sexuality and gender of our characters. If our books were viewed through the same lens as any other story, then people like Deborah Owen wouldn’t need to mention us by name as though we belong in the same category of “filth” where she slots graphic violence, sex, and swearing. It could be assumed that we understand what “no explicit sexual scenes” means and that we, like any author of heterosexual stories, would not include it.

This is a time for our allies to step up. Read our books. Promote them. Author colleagues, understand us and our lived reality when you write about us, and understand that some stories probably aren’t yours to tell—especially if they rely on queer-specific pain. And please, please, if you have a moment, let people like Deborah Owen know that they need to move themselves into the twenty-first century if their goal is to guide new writers to improve their craft.

But it’s not grammatically correct!

Gender Identity, LGBTQ+, Writing

There are very few subjects I write about that get an immediate and angry response. Some of that is my natural avoidance of politics these days—anyone left still in the dark about my views probably hasn’t known me long. The one topic that gets instant and palpable hate, though?

Use of singular “they.”

No joke. Any time it comes up, there’s at least one person (usually more) who will still cling to, “But I learned in school…” I’m sure they did. I did too. But let’s discuss it, shall we?

If we were talking about whether or not use of singular they was appropriate in a generic context, that might be one thing. Still not wrong, but at least understandable why someone thinks it is, given how anyone over the age of 35 probably had at least one teacher who was a stickler.

That’s not what happens, though. It typically comes up in the context of personal pronouns. Someone says they use they instead of he or she, and within a heartbeat, someone else Has Words about it. These are not usually Nice Words.

I remarked recently that a person isn’t truly respectful if their reply to “My pronouns are they/them” with anything other than “Okay, got it.” You would think I’d accused people of eating babies and kittens for breakfast with how swift the defensive response was. (That’s not unusual, by the way.) If it bothers you, I can’t change that, but you really do need to keep it to yourself if you’re trying to show love and respect.

Inappropriate responses include but are not limited to:

Fine, but it grates on me.
That’s not grammatically correct.
I’m old-school, and we don’t say that where I come from.
But the style guides say it’s wrong.
We should have real gender-neutral pronouns.

Let me answer those:

So? It’s not my job to use the pronouns you prefer.
It’s grammatically just fine and has been used for centuries.
I’m old-school too, and I managed to adapt.
I have access to multiple style guides for work. Allow me to prove you wrong.
We’ve tried neutral pronouns. People complain they’re “too weird.”

Besides being plain rude to speak to anyone that way, there are two specific points I want to elaborate on. First, I work in the publishing industry. I rub shoulders with people at all stages of the process, and there’s a wide range of education among my colleagues. I can assure you that use of singular they is considered appropriate and correct. Most style guides and dictionaries have adapted. The holdout, the Chicago Manual of Style, allows it specifically for use as a personal pronoun. If you’re not in the industry, you simply don’t get to use our references to uphold your view. And if you are in the industry, then perhaps try educating yourself on what’s in those style guides you cling to.

Second, there is no one more indoctrinated into “singular they isn’t grammatically correct” than I am. My parents were more strict about it than my teachers. My parents insisted from the time I could make sound that I do it properly. I mean, my father was the sort to take a pen to a library book if he found something he thought was wrong. One time, he humiliated me in front of my friends. He was giving them a ride home after an event. When he asked how it had gone, I said, “It was so fun!” And he gave me a 5-minute lecture on how I could only say, “It was so much fun” or “It was such fun.” Slang? Not in my household. And forget about singular they—I got corrected more times than I can count.

All of that is to say I was thoroughly immersed in the cult of Grammatical Correctness. I am now in my 40s, and I am happily using singular they as a personal pronoun as well as in many other situations. My kids have never heard the rule, not even at school.

The last thing I will say is to ask, why is that the hill you want to die on? What is so vitally important about clinging to an outdated (and frankly incorrect) rule about singular they? Are there really no other important issues to discuss? Even if it does bother you, why make a fuss about it to the person who is obviously coming out to you about their gender identity?

When someone comes to you and says, “My pronouns are they/them,” that person is coming out to you in the same way any other person in the LGBTQ+ community comes out. That is someone telling you they do not relate to or experience the binary identities of “man” or “woman.” It’s not your turn to question them, even “nicely,” about it. It’s not your chance to go all philosophical about the tragedy of our gendered pronouns or an opportunity to educate anyone on proper grammar. It’s a chance to embrace a person you care about and make the effort to treat them how you would want to be treated.

Either you respect people or you don’t. Slip-ups happen, and using the wrong pronouns while you adjust is normal. But there is absolutely no excuse whatsoever for intentionally shaming someone by playing Language Cop. Do better, folks.

A “hostile work environment”

Balance and the Struggle of Being Between

Stop giving us “permission” to use singular ‘they’

But it’s not grammatically correct!

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