Writing

WIPpet Wednesday: Former Missionary

Happy Wednesday! We finally got to see WICKED on Sunday. What a show! No wonder it’s my daughter’s favorite. Not one but two of my acquaintances had friends in the cast. So before the show, we got to message with one of the actors, and afterward, we met the other (as well as getting autographs from the two main characters). My 11yo had chosen to see this one, so I didn’t think I’d get to go to any others this season. But another friend asked if I wanted to go see Cabaret, so in a little less than a month, I’ll be back in the theater for that one. In almost exactly a month, my 13yo and the rest of the cast of Barnum will be back on stage in that same theater for a local event. Next season, we’ll be seeing Rent, and the year after…Hamilton! (In case it’s not clear, I love musical theater in any form.)

Okay, on to the WIPpet. I have several WIPs going:

Short stories related to Cat/Micah
A longish short story about a former missionary
Drumbeat, the sequel to Anthem and Nightsong
An as-yet-untitled YA
A sequel to An Act of Devotion

Yes, I know that’s a lot. But my brain doesn’t work well trying to focus on one thing until I have enough written that I hyperfocus. I share some traits of ADHD with my son, and that’s one of them. So I’ve learned to go with it.

Today, I’m setting aside the short about LR and posting a bit from my (needs a title) short about the missionary. It’s priority right now, as it’s the next thing I need to finish.

WIPmath: 4/12 = 4 + 12 = 16 sentences

Jo stared at the card in her hand. It was addressed under her pre-married name, Hodges. She hadn’t yet changed it back, even after two divorces, the most recent one less than a year old. The person had sent it to her eighty-three-year-old mother, who had laughed and forwarded it on. Even she recognized the sheer foolishness of anyone thinking Jo wanted to be reminded of her missionary summer.

Forty years. That was the reason for the postcard invitation. When they were still untouched by the events at the end of their trip, she and five other girls had agreed they would meet every ten years on the anniversary to catch up on each other’s lives. Whether it was because she’d moved—and changed names—twice or because her mother had thrown out the previous invitations, Jo had never received one until now. She wouldn’t have been surprised to learn her mother had burned them, though she couldn’t fathom why she would pass this one along.

If everyone showed, all five of the others would be meeting back in the same part of Chicago where they’d spent a summer fixing houses and making Bible-themed artwork with school-aged children. Jo was the only one, as far as she knew, who still lived there. She’d stayed to make it right after what had happened that summer, but she’d only succeeded in making more messes. Three of them, in fact. She supposed she was fortunate her mother had come around eventually. If only some of that would rub off on Jo’s grown daughter.

Like what you read? Be sure to check out the other entries and add your own. Just post a bit of your WIP, connect it to the date, and link up with us. Many thanks to Emily Witt for giving us this space. Happy reading and writing!

Rainbow Snippets: Race Car

Fiction, New Love, Published Works, Sex, Writing

Happy Saturday! My big kid is back home from his trip to D.C., and we’re finally seeing Wicked this weekend. Even better, I was invited to go see Cabaret, too. In case it was not clear, I love musical theater of any kind. I grew up on everything from opera to Broadway. Come to think of it, I could find something I like in every single genre of music. Well, except perhaps old-school Muzak.

This is probably my last snippet of Pink in the Mirror. I was going to stop after last week, but the steamy scene got such a warm welcome that I thought I’d give you one last peek. I’m not sure what I’ll be snippeting next. Probably back to Nightsong, since it’s less than a month until it releases.

Something in Barbara let loose, and she shifted to tower over Dottie. She straddled Dottie and leaned down so their mouths were close. She shocked herself with the words that came out. “I want to ride you like my race car,” Barbara whispered.

Dottie’s mouth hung open, and she panted. “Oh—oh—yeah,” she gasped.

Rainbow Snippets is a safe and welcoming space for LGBTQIA+ authors, readers, and bloggers to share 6 sentences each week from a work of fiction—published or in-progress—or a book recommendation. Feel free to join in!

Identity, entitlement, and allyship

Writing

CW: Homophobia, transphobia, fake-ass allies, and death threats against queer people

I don’t even know where to begin with this. Ordinarily, I might try to combine the personal with some well-reasoned arguments. Ideally, some good discussion might happen: people might suggest alternative points of view, we might banter a bit, but in the end, we’d hopefully have had respectful dialog resulting in a handshake.

Not today.

Because I can’t. I’m certain I’ve pissed a few people off with my harder stance on preferring #OwnVoices books. I’ve had my fair share of debates on whether or not it’s okay for cisgender straight folks to write M/M romance. I’ve firmly asked allies to stop comparing writing LGBTQIA folks to writing serial killers and vampires. Some folks don’t like when I do it, but I’m okay with that. If it gets a few people to think about what they’re doing and why, it’s worth getting a few people annoyed.

There are occasions (admittedly rare) when I do keep my mouth shut because it’s not my circus, not my monkeys. This time, I don’t feel right about not speaking up. Because this, folks, is the result of a community built on the concept of white straight women writing about the lives and experiences of gay men. It’s about entitlement and how easy it is to find out who was never an ally in the first place. Being an ally is not just about tolerating our presence and voting that it’s okay to get legally married or even to pee in the right bathroom. It’s about seeing and understanding the complexities of our lived experience and honoring that.

Yesterday, everything blew up with a well-known author making what appeared to be a joke about being a gay man. It was in poor taste, but it was also on the heels of a catfisher and Rachel Dolezal’s ridiculousness. On a personal level, it irritates me when cisgender straight people do this. I already have to deal with having my gender called “fake,” and this doesn’t do me any favors. I wasn’t going to step in, though, because I have no direct link to this author. I left it to people in a better position to address it.

As is usual in these situations, someone called the author out, which allowed more people to feel safe enough to say something. A few authors didn’t respond directly but chose to make their own posts, explaining what life is like for them as trans men and transmasculine non-binary folks. While a few gay men jumped in to support the author, quite a lot were offended.

All of that is more or less to be expected. People say foolish things all the time, get called out for it, a big argument happens, and eventually there’s tenuous peace (until the next time). It grates on me when “allies” show up to support the straight person and chastise the queer folks, but at least that tells me whose books I have no intention of buying or reviewing. It was actually pretty heartening to see gay, bi, and trans folk in solidarity. #GoTeamQueer

Except it didn’t end there. It went to the next level. I got up today to see that one of these “allies” had suggested we all remove ourselves to an isolated location and “just kill ourselves off.” Followed by a laugh-crying emoji.

Because queer people killing ourselves is 100% funny, right?

Let’s think about this. No one was there to ruin the straight white ladies’ fun. Almost all of the objectors whose names I knew are LGBTQIA. There were people being open about how this conversation was so hate-filled that it triggered our gender dysphoria. There were folks talking about how they cannot be out, which is why they write under pseudonyms as men and/or gay (their true identity). Some of us also know what pretending to be what you’re not does to people. Many of us have been at a point when we had to choose to come out or die.

The closet kills, and “allies” like these contribute.

You are not an ally if you tell queer people to kill ourselves off. You’ve also proved that you think straight folks and the gay men they treat like pets own a genre written about the lives and experiences of queer men and that rest of us ought to just buzz off. Or, you know, kill ourselves. Whatever is more convenient for you.

I’m all out of fucks to give here, folks. I’m tired of defending straight white women writing M/M. I’ve always been a bit uncomfortable with it to begin with, but I also don’t believe in telling people what they’re allowed to write. I’d rather urge people to think about why they prefer to write exclusively about a marginalized group they’ve never been part of. Now I don’t want to anymore. I can’t tell who genuinely cares about the LGBTQIA community, who has our interests at heart and who might turn on us if we object to their brand of allyship.

If you’re a straight white woman writing M/M, step up and prove yourself. Show us that you’re not chummy with homophobic, transphobic authors. Make it clear that you’re not on board with telling us to “kill ourselves off.” Take a stand for once and tell these people no, even if you think it’s a risk to your career. Don’t give me any bullshit about how you’re not good at standing up or you’re afraid or some blah-blah about being blacklisted. You know what’s really scary? Being told you deserve to die. So if you can’t bear witness for us against your fellow straights, we know exactly who our allies are—and you’re not on the list.

WIPpet Wednesday: Protective

Fiction, Other Relationships, Writing

Happy Wednesday! I sent my big kid to Washington, D.C. this morning for his 8th grade trip. I’m torn on how I feel right now. This is the farthest he’s been from home without us. I miss him, but I also know he’s having a great time. How do I know this? He keeps texting me to tell me things!

Today’s WIPpet is probably the last I’ll post from this short story. I think this should mainly clear up what’s going on with LR. I’m not sure what I’ll post from next, since I have several things I can go with. I suppose it depends on how the mood strikes me.

When we last left LR, Cat confessed he’s worried about David all the time (due to David’s health). Here, LR is trying to find a way to explain to Cat that she has a lot of the same feelings.

WIPmath: 4 paragraphs for the month (or 17 sentences for the year; you pick).

LR stroked his hair. “I’m sorry if what I said upset you.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t mean to.” He slid back down. “Back to what’s going on with you, though. What happened?”

LR resettled herself, taking time to think over her words. How could she tell Cat everything without making him feel like it was his fault? There was no one to blame but herself. Cat hadn’t placed such unreasonable expectations on her, yet she’d established them anyway in her efforts to be everything she thought she was supposed to be. The good daughter, the one who didn’t need anything. Perfect.

And then she’d done so many things to relieve the pressure she’d applied. Being terrified that her latest poor choice in a partner might have resulted in a baby no one wanted was the least of her concerns. She hadn’t known it would be so hard to be away from Cat. As always, protecting him was front and center—and there was no way to tell him that without doing more harm than good.

Rainbow Snippets: Have you done this before?

Fiction, Sex, Writing

Happy Saturday! My week has been…something else. We were supposed to see Wicked on Thursday, only that show was cancelled due to sound issues. The worst part was that the kids were supposed to do a backstage tour with one of the cast members, which obviously didn’t happen. We have tickets to see the show next weekend, but no tour. We do still get to meet some of the cast, though, as long as that still works out.

There were a number of other weird things this week too, including a visit from the plumber and my phone screen shattering and several small things. Not to mention I have a concert to play tonight. I’m a little off at the moment, so any positive thoughts anyone would like to send are appreciated.

On to the snippet. I decide that rather than skip another week, I would post in hopes of lifting my spirits a bit. So here’s a little more of Pink in the Mirror, my f/f 1950s drag racing short. How about a little bit of heat between Barbara and Dottie? Technically, it’s 7 sentences, but I think it’s okay, since the 7th is only one word.

It was all so much at once—too slow and yet too fast, overwhelming but not nearly enough. By the time Dottie’s wandering hand worked its way up underneath Barbara’s skirt, there was no way Barbara wanted to stop. She arched into Dottie’s touch, and Dottie’s fingers paused at the place where Barbara’s garter belt and stockings met.

“Have you done this before?” she asked.

“Not like this,” Barbara said, the words quavering as they came out.

“With a boy, then?”

“No.”

Perfection

Books, Writing

It’s raining, yesterday was A Day, and I’m exhausted. So instead of doing what I should—writing any of my WIPs or doing book reviews—I’m here drinking my coffee and blogging.

This is hard to admit, but when it comes to my writing, my perfectionism kicks into high gear. That is not to say I’m a “perfect” writer; far from it. What I mean is that I have a tendency to cave to my anxieties and believe that absolutely nothing, no matter how hard I try, will be good enough on an interpersonal level.

It’s never about the actual words on the page or the characters or the plot. It’s always, always, always about whether or not I’ve “perfectly” represented some particular thing. Sometimes this isn’t even a large part of the story. Most often, it’s an aspect of a character’s identity.

There is no such thing as a perfect novel or perfect representation. Almost no matter what we do, someone will have issue with it. I’ve seen people criticized for writing about their real-life experiences, both because someone felt that narrative was “overdone” and because they felt it was “incorrect.”

There will always be people on both sides of any situation, with nearly anything for which a person can be marginalized in our society. It’s unnecessary (and I would argue does more harm than good) to self-righteously insist one’s personal preference be the yardstick.

That’s not to say there can’t be terrible representation or wonderful representation. Only that most falls somewhere in the middle, and we need to be careful when addressing it that we aren’t invalidating someone’s lived experience or need for validation in their books in the process. This is different from when people who are part of a marginalized group repeatedly explain to those who are not that what they’re doing is harmful. I’m specifically talking about #OwnVoices work here and whose narrative is allowed to be put forth.

When I read the “you should always/you should never/you should stop doing XYZ,” it flips a switch in me. I go from feeling like I can put myself into my work to believing that my experiences are “incorrect” and not worthy of appearing on page because they fit too neatly into a “problematic” narrative. Instead of being allowed to explore healing through my art, I feel as though I have to quite literally change who I am in order to be accepted—to pretend these are not parts of my life.

To be honest, it’s also reminiscent of the type of interpersonal perfectionism which is rampant in evangelical Christianity, too, only they usually call that “sin.” It’s a level of nit-picking which is really more about personal preference than anything which does actual damage. This is the voice of my trauma, the way in which I was led to believe that who I am is so broken that I’m lucky “God” was willing to glance my way.

I’m trying to let go of that type of perfectionism. Of course I’ll still work to listen and understand, particularly when it comes to identities apart from my own. However, I also need to give myself permission to write about my life and feelings, free of “thou shalt nots.” I think in leaving the door open, I will also be able to extend more grace to others about their work.

WIPpet Wednesday: Former Missionary

Rainbow Snippets: Race Car

Identity, entitlement, and allyship

WIPpet Wednesday: Protective

Rainbow Snippets: Have you done this before?

Perfection

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