LGBTQ

Own Your Exclusivity

After a fellow author commented on her frustrations with “lgbt” review sites that really only review m/m (gay) books, I was reminded again how much I hate the way so much of our community is geared toward or based on gay men—and a very narrow subset of them at that.

There is nothing wrong with exclusivity by itself. Why shouldn’t upper-middle-class white gay cis men have things to read and relate to? That’s really not a big deal in isolation. It’s not good for anyone to only experience the perspective of their own group (and this is really not a problem for people outside the dominant culture). However, everyone wants to see people they relate to.

The real problem is when that group assumes their narrative applies to everyone. This applies to publications, review sites, books, and television. On the surface and in name, the whole rainbow is supposedly represented. Yet there’s an unspoken agreement that one group speaks for all of us.

When we challenge it—when those of us not represented stand up to it—we’re told it shouldn’t matter or that we’re bullies or biased or being unfair. When we talk about the overt misogyny found in m/m romance or the fact that The Advocate relegates women, bisexuals, and trans people (but not men) to subsets or the way activism fixates on the ways religious bigotry hurts gay men*, we’re suddenly the problem.

My least favorite response to this has been, “But it’s to increase acceptance of gay and bi men because society already is okay with lesbians and bi women.” No. Society objectifies us; that’s not acceptance. Also, no word on how that even remotely helps trans people become more visible and accepted. We’re rendered invisible in queer lit and media unless we make ourselves seen, just as all of us are in our wider society.

This isn’t some zero-sum game of More Oppressed than Thou. I could probably play my bingo cards on that one all day. That isn’t the point. One group does not deserve more attention than another, and certainly not from supposedly inclusive organizations and media.

If you’re going to call yourself “lgbt,” then BE inclusive. Give equal time to every part of the spectrum. Do not focus on one letter at the exclusion of the others or even more heavily than the others. Otherwise, call yourself by the one (or possibly two) letters you represent and own your exclusivity. That way, those of us not in your scope will know to avoid you.

*See the recent furor over “My Husband’s Not Gay,” the upcoming TLC show about “not gay” married Mormon men. Wonder where a similar show about “My Wife’s Not a Lesbian” is. It’s assumed that women are never put in therapy to become “straight” or that ex-gay therapy is the only/most harmful thing that could happen to a person. I guess being pressured/coerced/forced into marriage and expected to be sexually available doesn’t really count. Maybe it’s assumed women in religious cultures don’t want sex anyway and have to be convinced to do it, so there’s no extra level of harm to a woman who isn’t straight. Or maybe it’s assumed that women can “fake it” more easily because a woman doesn’t need to be aroused to have sex with her husband. Don’t even get me started on “therapy” for trans people, which is undeniably just as bad as any ex-gay therapy.

By and Bi: Bisexuality in LGBTQ Fiction

Books, Fiction, Love, Sexuality and Gender, Writing

Happy Tuesday! We’re officially into Week Two of my pre-launch celebration before my novel releases next month. If you’re late to the party, just click on the main site to scroll back through all the good stuff we’ve had here so far.

Today I’m going to do what I do best: get a little ranty, have a little fun, and tell you about one of my super pet peeves. Buckle up, kids.

Phin blew out his breath. “Did you or did you not tell [Michael] that it was okay for him to like boys?”

“Of course. I still don’t see—”

“Did you tell him that it’s okay for him to still like girls, too?”

“I…not exactly.” Alex raked a hand through his hair.

“Right. That’s what I thought. Which version of lying did you accuse him of?”

Alex drew his brows together. “Point taken. But that’s not what he’s confused about? I don’t understand.”

Phin shook his head. “He wanted relationship advice, you dolt, not advice on coming out.”

~Lower Education, chapter 11

If there is one thing I cannot stand, it’s horrible bisexual tropes in fiction. There are no good ones. Everything from “gay for you” (i. e., straight until meeting The One) to “there are no bisexuals” (every time someone’s in a same-sex relationship, it means GAY), these are painful to read. If I had my way, no one would ever write them again.

I am a sucker for a good coming-out story. These can be so wonderful—from heartache to wholeness, from self-discovery to sweet sensuality, there is so much good stuff to be had. However, one thing I don’t tolerate well is when characters are very clearly and easily identifiable as bisexual…until they’re not.

It’s true that some people do go through a phase in which they identify as bisexual before fully embracing being gay or lesbian. But it’s truly not as common as it sounds. In fact, it’s equally likely that a person previously identifying as straight, gay, or lesbian will embrace bisexuality. There are many reasons for that, which I suggest everyone take the time to learn about. (I’m not using this space for that right now; feel free to message me if you have questions, though.)

What I don’t like is the way it’s used as a literary device. Over the past several months, I’ve had the opportunity to read and review many books under the lgbtq fiction umbrella. I’ve lost track of how many times I had to read something along the lines of:

I like boys sometimes. I like girls sometimes. Wait…I’m now with someone of the same sex. Oops, guess I’m gay/lesbian after all, since we’re now in a committed relationship.

Yikes. That’s not how it works, people. Identity is not the same as a relationship. I’m absolutely cool with monosexuality (exclusively gay/straight). Trust me, one does not become monosexual by entering a relationship, committing to that relationship, or getting married. Nope.

But it happens in books all the time, especially when characters come out. There are so many variants on that theme, including being misidentified by others and simply adopting it as fact or persistently being labeled as “confused” until some relationship catalyst comes along to rescue the character from a dreaded bisexual limbo. If we think people can know their orientation as gay or lesbian with conviction, why are we so afraid to admit one can know their bisexuality with conviction?

Here’s another disturbing one that’s perhaps a bit more subtle: Discovering one’s gay/lesbian identity because the sex is so fabulous that the character can’t help themselves. Newsflash: it doesn’t work that way, either. Sex with someone who is hurting you or doesn’t care about you can be really, really crappy. Sex with someone you love very much and want to be with can be freeing and fantastic. That should not be confused with “I guess I was gay after all.” Writers should try to avoid setting up a coming out story with that sort of scenario.

I read one—and only one—book this summer which included a bisexual character for whom it simply wasn’t a big deal. It was two small things, hidden in the rest of the context of the story. First, the character implies he’s probably not gay despite a same-sex relationship near the beginning. Then, later on, he says to the person he’s in love with that his lovers have been both men and women, but he’s never forgotten his one true love. It’s a non-thing; a part of who he is, but he isn’t owned by or defined by it. It’s so subtle some readers will probably miss the enormity of it or think it means something other than what it does.

That was a rare treat.

Maybe this is why I like to write characters who mess with binaries, be that orientation or gender. Do I write people who are monosexual and binary male/female? Yes. But I like to add variety. My first novel includes more than one bisexual character, and my work-in-progress has more than one person with a non-binary gender identity (which probably deserves its own blog post).

I don’t expect everyone to write bisexual characters; I’m not looking for that. But with so much variety to human experience, there’s no excuse for lazy writing that perpetuates tired stereotypes and myths. If you’re going to write a character who demonstrates a definite bisexual identity, please do not ruin that by having the character change their mind. Let it be what it is—a person who has discovered a wonderful part of themselves and entered into a relationship with the person they want to be with. It doesn’t have to be any more complicated than that.

On the co-opting of harmful words

Faith and Spirituality, LGBTQ+

Thanks to social media algorithms, this image has been cropping up in my feeds lately (apologies; might be triggering for some):

If you’re like me, you may have come of age hearing this phrase on repeat; maybe if you (unlike me) grew up in the church, you heard it all your life.

And if you’re anything like me, the phrase elicits a very specific, gut-churning reaction.

While I understand some people heard this language used in reference to any person committing an act the church considered unholy, I only ever heard it used towards lgbtq people. Ever.

I’ve heard it in all sorts of tones, ranging from pitying to disgust to matter-of-fact. I’ve heard it in countless contexts, from sermons to gossip. I’ve even heard it truncated to just “love the sinner” by well-meaning people who can’t get past their prejudices but want to sound less hateful.

But I have to admit, this is a new one for me.

I first saw it because someone on my friends list had “liked” a Facebook page featuring a picture of a t-shirt featuring the above image. I was momentarily startled and felt a bit sick at seeing the phrase, despite the strikethrough. However, I scrolled past, thinking it was a fluke.

Nope.

There are all sorts of problems with this use of the phrase, starting with how hurtful it is for so many of us to see it at all (see my above comment about feeling sick). So many unfortunate implications are held within the phrase no matter how many words get crossed off. Even without the direct association with lgbtq people, it still smacks of the church’s propensity for making a Major Sin List and expecting congregants to adhere to it—or else.

Those would be bad enough, and reason enough, to ask for a cease-and-desist on using the phrase, strikethroughs or not. Unfortunately, in this case, there’s actual money to be had in making use of such a damaging phrase. That automatically qualifies it as co-opting.

One argument I’ve seen in favor of the continued use of the image is it isn’t “just” used against lgbtq people and many people weren’t aware it had been used that way. I find that surprising from anyone born and raised in a church after the Religious Right’s rise, but even so, it hardly matters. When multiple representatives of an oppressed group say something is specifically harmful to their group, that’s not the time to argue back.

It’s not acceptable for an individual or group to profit from something used largely against the very people they claim to be allies for. Regardless of how “helpful” some members of the lgbtq communities and/or lgbtq Christians may find the X’d-out phrase to be, quite a lot of us find it triggering and hurtful. While I can’t tell anyone what to post on their own social media page, I can—and will—say that absolutely no one ought to be making financial gain from something that wounds others.

If this is something you personally find meaningful, I won’t tell you how to feel or that you shouldn’t like and appreciate it. But I am asking that we not support anyone—particularly someone who doesn’t identify as lgbtq—in making a profit from this phrase. Don’t make a purchase. Don’t keep sharing and passing it around. Don’t continue to grind salt in the wounds of those of us who have been on the receiving end of “correction” through use of the phrase.

If you are truly an ally (or heck, a card-carrying member of an lgbtq community), there’s a far better way to show that you’re about love (and not all the other unmentionable crap in that phrase). Put your money not towards a poorly-designed shirt but into a charitable organization for lgbtq causes. There are dozens of them, likely including ones in your own hometown. Here’s your chance to be the church, not just cleverly change the church’s worst slogans.

Bridge to Nowhere

LGBTQ+, Religion

Last night, I was on Twitter discussing the Ethics & Religious Liberty Commission Summit. Unsurprisingly, there is still a lot of ignorance in the Southern Baptist Convention about LGBTQ people and issues. I won’t waste time quoting the worst of it; you can easily search for it if you’re that curious.

What I found interesting was the ensuing discussion about building bridges. Just the term building bridges is often so loaded that it can be hard to have a conversation about it. It’s been used to mean everything from asking LGBTQ Christians to make the first move to progressive Christians who won’t take a firm stand but want dialogue to liberal Christian allies sharing the burden for reconciliation. There’s disagreement on all sides about whether any or all of those things are good.

To be perfectly honest, I’ve never been much of a bridge-builder. I’m pretty fierce when it comes to standing with those I love. When I was new to blogging about these things, I was in a much darker place than I am now. I was immersed in a church culture that seemed intentionally unloving towards LGBTQ people while putting on a good face. There was nothing in me that wanted to bring people together—I wanted them to change their minds!

To an extent, I still feel that way. But now, I also believe it’s my responsibility to use my perceived privilege to reach out to people who might not be sure how to take that next step. I’m still not convinced that “I don’t care if you’re gay, but you shouldn’t be in a relationship” is terribly loving. In fact, I’m sure it’s not. On the other hand, I don’t need to be hostile about it, either. That’s the point at which I will do more good affirming people’s humanity than arguing my point.

With all of that said, there are some people who will never be able to have rational conversations about any kind of sexuality. Their condescension, moral superiority complexes, and outright hate prevent any kind of dialogue. It is impossible to claim, “But I love gay people!” while looking down your nose disapprovingly. The sorts of people who would compare being gay to rape or who would deliver entire sermons outlining the finer points of gay sex for the shock value or whose gag reflexes are tripped by gay people are not the sort whose table I want to sit at.

I’m not the only one. I enjoyed tweeting with Rachel Held Evans and Ben Moberg (as always; they are good people), and we had this exchange (it’s hard to read, so the text appears below):

Rachel Held Evans: And yet, in spite of all the misinformation etc. I sense a desire for grace from #erlcsummit. How do we build bridges? I really don’t know.

Ben Moberg: @rachelheldevans I’m unsure if we want a bridge going there.

Me: @Runaway_Writes @rachelheldevans I really kind of don’t. This is one case where THEY need to be the bridge-builders.

I’m in favor of working things out. I may not agree with some of my more conservative fellow Christians, but there can be thoughtful conversations. These people, though? They need to make the first move. It can’t always be us, LGBTQ people and allies. And it absolutely cannot, under any circumstances, be them reaching out their hands beckoning us to join them. We’ve done that for far too long. If they want peace and reconciliation, it’s going to be on our terms, on our side of the divide. They need to ask for a seat at our table.

These men (let’s be honest; even the women who agree with them have very little authority here) have acknowledged that they’ve lost the culture war. Now they’re going after other Christians who disagree with them, and most of us just aren’t buying it anymore. Ultimately, unless they decide to take those steps, they are going to find themselves alone on their island of hate, shouting to no one. It’s up to them to decide if that’s what they really want. If it isn’t, the rest of us reasonable people will be over here living our lives, ready to welcome them home if they choose to cross the sea.

Whole

LGBTQ+, Sexuality and Gender

I swore I wasn’t going to do this on my blog. I told at least three people I wouldn’t, in fact. And yet, here I am, finding that sometimes, when we speak publicly about things, then we are obligated to be honest about our own lives. With that cryptic opening, I’m taking a deep breath and plunging in.

In the last six months, a lot of things happened that I won’t get into now but which sent me into a sort of blogging burn-out limbo. Terrified of saying the wrong thing in the wrong way, I stopped posting much. It wasn’t all bad; I focused on finishing a novel and starting another one, along with several beta-reading projects and some good, old-fashioned pleasure reading. I hoped that my time away would be healing.

It wasn’t.

I was still occasionally experiencing mild panic attacks, bouts of having to hold back tears, and general anxiety, particularly related to the various messes on social media and among my fellow bloggers. I had retreated so far into myself that I buried my feelings, which then leaked out in incredibly unhealthy ways.

Then, over the last several weeks, three things happened. First, a friend contacted me and asked if I was all right. At the time, I was cleaning up the final draft of my manuscript, so I was feeling pretty good. I said I was okay, dismissed the offer to chat casually, and went on with my life. I was honestly puzzled, as I had no real idea that my online bloggy drama was bleeding over into other places. After all, I’d already cut myself away from the community that was eating me alive, and I figured my emotional state was just residual from that.

About four weeks ago, this article happened. I blogged about it, in fact. But just reading it triggered an entire day (I’m not exaggerating in the slightest) of on-and-off feeling overwhelmed, miserable, and teary. Being Saturday, I lit my candles, said the rosary, and then collapsed into sobbing. Even then, I had no idea why I was crying, only that I could identify the feeling as grief and loss, rather than some other emotion.

I tried to piece it together, and it wasn’t until about two weeks later that it all came together. (In a future post, I’ll explain; this one is too long already.) First, I talked to my husband. Then my sister and two friends. I decided I didn’t really have anything to hide, so I was just going to more or less do the live-and-let-live thing. Mostly, I had myself convinced that, as I usually do, that I and my feelings are comparatively unimportant.

And then I read this. (You really should read it too; it’s important.) And said to myself, Oh, shit. No, actually, I did. I felt like Janet Edwards was speaking to me. She called me out on not acknowledging my whole self. And oh, dear God, that hurt, mostly because I knew she was right. Three things particularly struck me:

I identify as bisexual because I know I am able to love people of my own gender and of a gender different from me. I’m not straight, but I can pass as straight because I am married to a man.

and

I cannot love God with my whole heart when I am keeping a central aspect of my self—my soul and body—hidden from both myself and from others.

and

Because I am so solidly protected by being in a marriage with a man, this very protection compels me to speak up for those whose voices have long been silenced and whose sense of self or livelihood is still regularly threatened by the church.

I relate to—and agree with—all of that. Which is to say, like Dr. Edwards, I am a bisexual woman married to a man, living with all the privileges and responsibilities granted to me as such. If I’m to keep blogging, keep tweeting, and even keep writing novels, there is no way to do that without telling people who I am.

Because I am so solidly protected by being in a marriage with a man, this very protection compels me to speak up for those whose voices have long been silenced and whose sense of self or livelihood is still regularly threatened by the church – See more at: http://www.believeoutloud.com/latest/confession-bisexual-granted-straight-privilege#sthash.PvbY15QZ.dpuf

I identify as bisexual because I know I am able to love people of my own gender and of a gender different from me. I’m not straight, but I can pass as straight because I am married to a man. – See more at: http://www.believeoutloud.com/latest/confession-bisexual-granted-straight-privilege#sthash.PvbY15QZ.dpuf

There’s been a lot to process, and I do want to share that journey with you, if you’re willing to read it. But first and foremost, a big part of me feels like I owe some people an apology. I am honestly, deeply sorry if my own failure to acknowledge who I am has been hurtful. Please understand that it’s not because I’ve ever judged anyone else unworthy but because of my own twisted belief that things are okay for everyone else but me. (It would take a novel to explain how I ended up in that place.) I have not been lying or pretending or even hiding; I simply refused to see what was right there in front of me.

Please also know that by owning my identity, I am not seeking some kind of authority. I hold no claims on speaking for an entire and vastly diverse community of people. I’m not even speaking on behalf of the comparatively small minority of long-time married, liberal Christian women who come to terms with their sexuality twenty years after their adolescence. I speak for no one but myself. I do, however, both acknowledge the privilege I’m afforded and stand in solidarity with other LGBTQ people.

I’m sure many of you will have questions for me, and I’m happy to answer them. I’m equally sure I will lose friends over this. That makes me a little sad, but I also understand why. If it would be a point of contention between us, I’d rather we part respectfully than that we waste time talking past each other.

If you’ve made it this far, thanks for reading. I would love to talk with you all more, and if you put any questions you have for me in the comments, I will do my best to answer them. When I’m able, I’ll share my journey with you. Being able to embrace my whole self is a process, and not an easy one at that. But my hope is that in being fully honest, I can return to writing as a better person than when I stepped away.

Much love to you all, and I hope to hear from you.

I identify as bisexual because I know I am able to love people of my own gender and of a gender different from me. I’m not straight, but I can pass as straight because I am married to a man. – See more at: http://www.believeoutloud.com/latest/confession-bisexual-granted-straight-privilege#sthash.PvbY15QZ.dpuf

Why I don’t need a video to prove I’m not “like that”

LGBTQ+, Relationships, Religion

At this point, I’m not sure who’s reading this and also has some knowledge of the NALT (“not all like that”) project. I also don’t know who’s reading this and also might be either upset by or supportive of the project. Either way, I want to explain why I’m okay with the project, but I won’t be making a video.

Some years ago, when I was first trying to figure out how to love and serve LGBTQ people, I could’ve used something like NALT. I was in a situation in which I didn’t know any other Christians who believed same-sex relationships were not sinful (though I knew a few who thought the “condition” of being gay might be okay so long as one didn’t act on that). I knew exactly two gay Christians. And trans* people? Hell, they didn’t even exist in that world. Just to be clear, I wasn’t necessarily looking for other straight allies–just anyone who had a different view from the conservative one. When I went seeking, all I found were organizations that wanted my money. It took about two years of actively pursuing it to find others, and then it was only because I decided to open a Twitter account and follow people who looked like they might be progressive. Believe me, I understand the desire to find like-minded people.

One of the reasons I kept up the effort is that I have a lot of LGBTQ friends, family, and acquaintances in my offline life, and I had done a lot of damage with my religious posturing. I’m lucky some of these people decided they still like me. I suppose I thought I needed to make things up to them somehow. I had been so trained in “love the sinner, hate the sin” that I wasn’t sure anymore how to just love people. Of course, I do know better these days, and I no longer need an outside source to tell me how to care for my friends.

I also have a lot of friends, family, and acquaintances who are not LGBTQ. By now, the majority of those people should be aware of where I stand on things, whether it be in regard to Christianity and LGBTQ people or feminism or the doctrines of total depravity and hell. I don’t feel the need to explain or defend myself. The people close to me don’t need me to say anything else; they already know I’m “not all like that.” In fact, some of them have used those exact words to describe me. I had to laugh once when my cousin said she was telling a friend about my husband and me and she said we were Christians but whispered, “But they’re not like that“–and apparently, the other person knew exactly what she meant.

All of that is why I see no need to make a video to announce to the world that I’m “not like that.”

That’s why I’m choosing not to participate in the NALT project. My offline loved ones don’t need it; I’m not a big enough online voice to be noticed by megachurch pastors; and it won’t do anything to help my online acquaintances. On the other hand, I’m not going to write a blog post condemning the project. I know far too many people who have found it to be meaningful and powerful. I know straight allies who have found each other, I know LGBTQ Christians who have, some for the first time, heard the message that their spiritual and sexual identities are not mutually exclusive. I know people–cis-het and otherwise–who want to use this as a way to stand up to bullying anti-gay pastors. I can’t slam the project on the grounds that some people don’t care for the terms used or don’t see the project as helping them or their loved ones directly, even though I do understand where those feelings come from.

One of the criticisms I’ve heard about the project is that it’s taking some kind of “easy” way out of being a “real” ally (and yeah, that’s mostly something I’ve heard cis-straight people say). I’ve seen online arguments about it and a good deal of the sort of rage usually reserved for Mark Driscoll or Hugo Schwyzer. So tomorrow, I’m going to talk about being an ally, walking that fine line, and what it really means for something to be easy or hard in that context.

What are your thoughts on NALT? Will you make (or have you already made) a video? What might be some better alternatives for people who don’t want to make one?

Own Your Exclusivity

By and Bi: Bisexuality in LGBTQ Fiction

On the co-opting of harmful words

Bridge to Nowhere

Whole

Why I don’t need a video to prove I’m not “like that”

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