WIPpet Wednesday: Cafe confessions

Books, Writing

Happy Wednesday! I’m trying to get back to doing these. My doctor and I are still working on figuring out my health issues. I’m following up with the rheumatologist in about a month, and then with my doctor after that. He has a long-term plan for getting me a proper diagnosis. I can’t tell you how amazing it is to finally have someone who is listening and problem-solving rather than slapping me with a diagnosis before digging deeper.

I’m still (very slowly) working on Minuet. I did manage to write a short story for Valentine’s Day, which you can read here.

Today’s snippet follows from last time, a little farther on in Amelia and Jomari’s date. He speaks first here, and he’s about to tell her something.

WIPmath: 2/27/2019 = 27 = 2 + 7 = 9 paragraphs.

“So…I’m thinking you want to know why I asked you to meet up.”

Amelia had been, but she played it cool. “We haven’t had a lot of time to talk since summer.”

He chuckled and leaned in to whisper, “You mean since we spent the night screwing like bunnies?”

“That too.”

“You should know that I, uh, went home with Mack the other night. Your friend.”

“I know who Mack is!” Amelia laughed, covering—she hoped—her surprise. Though now she thought about it, was it really so shocking? The guys had gone out to see Cian at the bar. Jomari was Cian’s fiddler and his friend. Jamie was away, and Mack had been lonely. She couldn’t be sure whose idea it was, but it did make some sense they’d try to set Mack up. Of course, they probably didn’t know it wouldn’t go anywhere but the bedroom.

“It’s not weird for you?” Jomari still hadn’t touched his sandwich, and now he fidgeted with his cup.

“Not really. I don’t think our one night together gives me some kind of claim on you, does it?”

“Well, no, I guess not.” Was that disappointment in his voice?

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 Wrayburn for giving us this space. Happy reading and writing!

A random unpopular opinion about fictional characters

Writing

Humor me, I’m sick. I saw my doctor yesterday, and I do indeed have the flu. Bummer. I’m on strict bed rest, and I’m incredibly bored because I’m on the mend (it’s been most of a week already) and the cough meds my doctor prescribed are basically magical. Since I’m tired of Netflix and browsing social media, it’s Unpopular Opinion time.

Okay, this one probably isn’t all that controversial, but here goes: I don’t view my fictional creations (characters, setting) as fully formed beings who talk to me and have free will of their own. I mean, they came from my head. I don’t buy into the culture of “I just write what they tell me to.”

I know some of that isn’t really serious, and I take a lot of it as joking. But honestly, it’s sometimes draining when the conversation implies that these are living, breathing people. I think that’s partly because I’m a bit more concrete and a bit more literal. It isn’t that I don’t understand it; it’s more that’s not really how my mind works.

But here’s why it’s really important to me to recognize and understand my writing as an extension of my own brain: This is how I process trauma and other things that I cannot put into words in everyday conversation. Writing is a therapeutic process, and I need it fully grounded in my own reality in order to use it as a tool for healing.

Here’s a good example. When I wrote Passing on Faith, I was in a horrible place, emotionally and spiritually. I’d only just finally come out as bisexual a few months before I began writing it. We were also less than a year from leaving what was, for me, a highly traumatic church experience (combined with on and off religious-based shaming and trauma for nearly 25 years). I had a lot of rage and grief to manage, and I gave it all to my fictional hero to bear because I couldn’t put voice to that pain any other way.

In the same novel, I also created a tender, loving foil of sorts for my hero. He represented the love and grace I needed. Combined, the two of them allowed me to find a space between, somewhere I could process the tension between hurt and healing. I put my fractured self back together by creating a personified romantic relationship between my trauma and my faith.

Later, I more overtly processed the grief of death. But in Keeping the Faith, I chose to allow my main character to work through his sadness in the same way I’d previously worked through my trauma—in the writing of a complex story. I used similar symbolism in Walking by Faith with a main character who uses religious vows to represent inner turmoil.

In a more concrete vein, I chose to make a character genderqueer not because he “revealed” anything to me but because I had only recently revealed to myself that my own gender existed outside the binaries. It is exceptionally important to me to be clear on this point because these things come from my way of trying to understand and/or cope with my world.

I think it can be valuable to distance ourselves a bit from our own emotions by claiming it’s what our characters insisted on. Sometimes we need that because things are too deep to admit even to ourselves. Also, we may not be ready to reveal to the world all our inner workings. When I wrote Cat as genderqueer, I wasn’t fully out yet. It was easier at the time to say it was “what Cat wanted” rather than saying, “Hey, I discovered new things about my gender” that would necessitate explaining it.

But I am now at a stage of life when I would rather be honest that this comes from inside my head. I fully actualized that when I wrote Year of the Guilty Soul. Toni, the main character, is very nearly literally me. I gave her life experiences that I didn’t have, and I changed some details of real-life situations both to protect people and to make a more compelling fiction. But she is me and I am her in a lot of ways.

The other problem I have with speaking in terms of what my characters “made” me do is that it is a place of privilege. We need to own it when we write characters different from ourselves if we are in the privileged position and they are not (i.e., white folks writing people of color, non-queer folks writing queer people, queer people writing about those of a more marginalized stripe, etc.). I have to be very clear that I on purpose strive for diversity not because of some social obligation but because it reflects the world I live in. Saying my characters caused me to write a thing can easily become a way to absolve myself of missteps in writing outside my experience.

I can’t tell others what to do, but I would urge others to use caution as well in this area. While I feel there are times when it’s okay for an author to hide behind a character (as I did when coming out), I also think it depends very much on the situation. I realize most people don’t mean it seriously, but the discourse often leaves me feeling really uncomfortable, especially as it surrounds marginalized identities. I want to be able to talk about how my queerness has shaped my life and my writing, and this is made exponentially more difficult when non-queer people (or when cis people or non-bi people or able-bodied people or gentiles) insist that their characters “talked to them” and told them they share my identity(-ies) but not their creators’. More often than not, it leaves me with the sense that the writer wants brownie points for diversity or being open-minded, and they won’t like what I have to say about my real-life experiences. It’s not a position I enjoy being in, and I will not put someone else in that place.

At this point, I won’t be describing my writing as driven by viewing my characters as active, living humans. I’m not going to affix blame on my characters for a story taking a new direction. No one “revealed” themselves to me. Either I learned something about myself that a character is reflecting, or I developed an idea, or I decided to create a character with certain life experiences. I may still joke about bossy characters, but I won’t ever discuss it as though I’m being serious. And I will never, ever discuss it in terms of a character “telling me” they have an identity that I don’t personally share.

I have a lot of thinking to do about my current work-in-progress. I believe one of the reasons I’ve been so stuck on it is that I’m afraid of what feelings it may dredge up. So it’s time to let myself have those feelings, in the same way I’ve done with every other book in this series (and, if I’m honest, my writing overall).

DOLCE: a Notes from Boston Valentine short

Writing

Dolce

part of a Beaten Track Valentine’s Day collection

Jack wiped the surface of the bar, drying the condensation left by the last customer’s glass. The guy had tipped, despite the fact that Grand Slam had a policy of paying employees proper wages and not forcing them to rely on patrons’ good manners. Like most everyone there tonight, the man had accepted another person’s flirting and an offer to dance—even if the music was dreadful.

Valentine’s Day, a perfect time to be home having a nice, comfortable mope and either doing work or gaming. Not a night to be working at Grand Slam. Except, of course, that this was a busy evening, and Denver—the manager—needed all hands on deck.

Jack had cut his hours a bit after landing a job with a firm that handled hazardous waste. He was biding his time, getting some field experience before applying to law school. Judging by the way most people eyed his beard, his ear gauges and the beer tattoo on his forearm, they likely wouldn’t guess he’d studied environmental engineering and had graduated cum laude the previous spring.

He watched the crowd, spotting a few regulars: the big, blond guy, his equally blond, frizzy-haired girlfriend, and his slightly nerdy black boyfriend; the deaf dancer, currently watching his man on stage, drumming with the awful band. Missing were the ex-drag queen and that guy who sang opera at last year’s charity event. They’d just gotten married on Sunday, so it made sense they weren’t around.

A lot of them had met in this very bar. Jack couldn’t exactly take credit for getting them together, even if he had listened to their romantic woes over the last couple years. He supposed that was another assumption people made about him, that his full-time job in the bar was to matchmake for the clientele.

That was hardly it. He wasn’t responsible for the love lives of the folks who came in here. What he was responsible for was keeping the bar clean and knowing everyone’s orders. Quietly stashing condoms in discreet locations, even though they technically didn’t have a back room here. Calming everyone’s tempers when Denver and her partners—the co-owners—were arguing over some petty detail. Serving his alcoholic friend water when he came in an emotional wreck, because the guy had made it clear Jack wasn’t to give him anything no matter how much he begged.

And maybe, just maybe, lending a shoulder when he knew someone needed it.

Denver appeared at his side, and he realized he’d been so distracted that he hadn’t noticed her approaching. He put the hand towel away and faced her.

“Thanks for coming in. I know it’s nuts in here tonight.” She cringed. “And the band. Good lord. I mean, they’re better than they were, but next time I’m scheduling the entertainment for a busy night, remind me not to hire them for the early slot. Everyone needs a lot more booze to enjoy this crap.”

Jack chuckled. “I like their original stuff these days. They’re only bad now when they’re doing covers of other bands. They tried, I guess? But that version of ‘Take a Chance on Me’…”

“What the hell was that, anyway? The Creepy Crullers are hard rock.” Denver shook her head. “Come to think of it, I’ve never really been a fan of ABBA anyway, so maybe that was an improvement.”

“I love ABBA!” Jack grinned at Denver’s incredulous expression. “Nope, that was definitely not better.”

“Well, whatever. You wanna take a break? Looks like it’s a little slower for now.”

“Yeah, sure.” Jack untied his apron and hung it up before sliding out from behind the bar.

He thought about going outside, getting some fresh air. But it was cold, and he’d have to get his jacket. That would waste precious minutes. Instead, he stood at the edge of the crowd and people-watched. Tonight seemed to be mostly regulars. The group of friends with the blond guy appeared to have expanded. He saw a number of others he recognized too.

The band had switched to something slower, and it was surprisingly good. Jack suspected their lead singer had written this one. He sighed, wishing someone would ask him to dance. Three minutes gone, twelve more until he had to get back to work. He figured if everyone was just going to pair off, he might as well go back early.

Denver eyed him suspiciously, but she said nothing when he put his apron back on. It was busier again, so he had plenty to do for the time being. He made his way down the line, drawing on his innate cheerfulness to cover the longing in his heart.

He reached the last person, and his heart nearly stopped. Someone was approaching the bar, heading for the only empty seat. They had flawless light brown skin and dark hair pulled into a high, messy bun. They had on a short black skirt with suspenders, a white blouse, and a fabulous pair of high socks with kitten faces at the top. Once they were close enough, Jack had a better look at their face. Heart-shaped, with a cute button nose and full, glossy lips. Their irises were so dark the color almost swallowed their pupils. Jack rarely noticed or cared about makeup, but theirs was striking, colorful but not heavy.

He knew he had to be flushing tomato red, but the person didn’t seem to notice. They only smiled as they hopped up onto the seat and folded their hands on top of the bar.

Jack pulled it together enough to ask, “What can I get you?”

“Hm,” they replied. “What do you suggest? I’m in the mood for something…sweet.” They gave a cheeky twitch of their eyebrows.

Flushing even deeper, Jack wanted to say, You seem plenty sweet already. Instead, he said, “Our special tonight is lollipop martinis. Would you like one?”

“Ooh, yes, please. That sounds yummy.” They flashed a dimpled grin.

“Apple, watermelon, or berry blue?”

“Which one is your favorite?”

The apple was a little on the tart side, the berry on the overly sweet side, and the watermelon nicely in the middle. He studied the person in front of him, wondering which part of the spectrum they fell into. He supposed that someone asking for a drink that tasted like—and included—candy probably wanted the most sweet, though he personally preferred the watermelon.

He told them so. “I like the watermelon best, but for you, I’d suggest the berry blue.”

“Okay.” Another charming smile.

Jack mixed the lemonade, berry blue liqueur, and bubble gum vodka. He stuck a berry blue Dum Dum lollipop in it as a garnish and set it in front of the customer, waiting for their reaction.

They sipped. “Mm. Perfect! Thank you.”

“Any time.”

Jack watched them go, their short skirt swishing as they walked. They turned back and gave him a tiny wave, and he swooned a little right where he stood.

“You never did finish your break,” Denver murmured in his ear, nearly giving him a heart attack.

After he recovered, he glanced at her and then back out at the person who had just left the bar. They were settling themselves at one of the high tables near the back. Alone.

“But—” he started to protest.

“The rules are pretty relaxed here, and I saw them flirting with you. If it bothers you to do it while you’re on the clock, tell them your shift’s over in an hour.”

“I—”

“Jack.” Denver touched his arm. “Take a chance for once. It’s Valentine’s Day.”

He nodded and once again left his apron behind the bar. He stepped out and headed for the table at the back, stopping right in front of the person he’d just served. He focused on the bright blue drink.

“Hey,” he said. “How, uh, how is your…that?” He waved at the martini glass.

The person giggled. “Tasty, thanks. But I get the feeling that’s not all you came over here for?” That smile!

“I get off in an hour,” Jack said, then flushed again at their amused expression. “I mean, I’m done working. Will you still be here?”

“Depends. Will the band be any better?”

“It’s a different band by then, so my guess is yes.”

“Good. Then I’ll be here.” They winked, and Jack almost fainted on the spot.

“Awesome. Ummm…I’m Jack, by the way.”

“Quinn.”

“I should get back.” Jack hitched his thumb toward the bar and turned to go. “So…see you in an hour?”

“Count on it.” Quinn’s smile was possibly the brightest thing in the room, outshining even the stage lights. As Jack headed for the bar, he spotted Denver watching. She raised her eyebrows in question, and Jack rolled his eyes but grinned. Denver gave him a thumbs-up. Take a chance, she’d said, and he had. Tonight was a good night after all.

Read the other Notes from Boston books:

Anthem
Nightsong
Drumbeat

Coming soon: Minuet

Read other stories:

After the 80s Party – Bob Stone
Does your mother know – A. Zukowski
Hustle and Hart
I’ve Been Waiting for You – Dawn Sister
Nina, Pretty Ballerina – Debbie McGowan
The Visitors – Neptune Flowers

Also available as a free ebook from Smashwords.

WIPpet Wednesday: A lunch date

Writing

Happy Wednesday! I’m so sorry I’ve been absent for a long time. I’ll spare the ugly details, but I’m in process of having an old (wrong) diagnosis corrected. The only things we know so far are that I have an autoimmune disorder and that it’s getting progressively worse. I either don’t have fibromyalgia at all (likely), or I have it on top of whatever else I’ve got (possibly).

Basically, I’ve been in survival mode on and off since November. I have multiple more doctor visits scheduled, no end in sight. So in the meantime, I’ve been sparing my energy for stuff with my kids and for paid jobs. Everything else has been sidelined.

That said, I have managed to do some writing. I co-wrote this cute short with Debbie McGowan, giving us a chance to get two of our favorite characters together. I also wrote a Valentine short set in the Notes from Boston world, featuring Jack the bartender—a character of my son’s creation (he approves the family-friendly story).

I also wrote a bit in Minuet. It now has a blurb and an official page on the publisher’s site, so I guess that means I’d better finish it! We’ve seen Jomari from Mack’s perspective, so now let’s see him from Amelia’s.

WIPmath: 2/13/2019 =

Jomari was waiting for Amelia when she arrived. He looked good, as always. Casual, just a soft green T-shirt, faded jeans, and a black hoodie. For some reason, he didn’t have his cross necklace on. She’d never seen him without it. Amelia wasn’t religious herself, but she knew Jomari’s family was Catholic, and she was fairly sure he still believed. She’d never asked outright, but there were subtle cues.

She only realized she must’ve looked less than thrilled to see him when he stepped closer, a puzzled expression on his face. Amelia pulled herself together and smiled.

“Everything okay?” Jomari asked.

“Oh, sure. Got sidetracked for a second.” She leaned in and air-kissed his cheek, not wanting to spoil her lipstick or get it on him.

His cheek-kiss landed its mark. “Good. You hungry?”

“I could eat.” She laughed. “Make that, I am starving. I haven’t had a break since taking an early lunch.”

HIGHLIGHTS: A Short Story

Writing

HIGHLIGHTS

A.M. LEIBOWITZ

and

DEBBIE MCGOWAN

cross posted at https://deb248211.blogspot.com/2019/01/highlights-short-story.html

ePub | mobi | pdf

Highlights

The one where Notes from Boston’s Amelia Roberts takes a much-needed vacation to England and runs into Shaunna Hennessy from Hiding Behind The Couch—a fortuitous meeting for both.

A quiet afternoon at Young at Heart hairdressing salon. Hayley—Shaunna’s boss/salon owner—chats away to her client while Shaunna perches with phone in hand on the high stool next to the counter. Her attention flits between the murmured conversation, a text interchange with BFF Adele and watching for her “two o’clock” to arrive—a new client—Amelia Roberts, according to the diary; she’s the only other appointment this afternoon.

The door opens, and a dark-haired woman, curvy but tiny in stature, steps in. She’s not alone, but one of her companions says something in a clearly American accent to the effect of “we’ll just be out shopping while you’re pampered.” The dark-haired woman looks around, maybe a little unsure about proper etiquette.

Gotta be her. Shaunna smiles and slides down off her stool. “Hiya. Amelia?”

“Yes, that’s me. I have an appointment?”

“You sure do! I’m Shaunna. I’ll be tending to you today. Come in, make yourself comfy and we can chat about what you want—get to know each other a bit.” Shaunna gestures Amelia toward the three chairs—two empty—in front of the mirrors that span the wall to their right.

Standing side by side confirms what Shaunna noticed when Amelia arrived; Shaunna’s a couple of inches taller but otherwise they’re the same build—“womanly,” her mum used to call it, or “hot as all get out,” according to Andy. She hears his words in her head, a sexy, low murmur that makes her smile then blush and laugh a little when she realises Amelia’s watching her in the mirror. “Sorry. I was miles away.” She gestures again to the chair—“Have a seat”—and pulls the other chair closer before sitting herself, catching a glimpse of her reflection. Could I be any redder? Oh, the joys of being a ginger. “So what can I do for you today? Actually, never mind that for now—would you like a cup of tea before we get started?”

“Ooh, you serve tea to your clients?” Amelia grins, but her smile slips sideways. “Um…I suppose my American is showing, huh?” She eyes the gorgeous woman up and down. Shaunna’s older than she is, but Amelia can’t tell by how much. Around her friend Izzy’s age, maybe mid-to-late thirties? Regardless, she’s gorgeous. Amelia’s not sure if she’s actually getting a hetero vibe or if it’s more a cultural difference, but she’s pretty sure flirting won’t lead anywhere other than a good cut-and-colour. Still, the view is awfully nice, and it’s definitely a pleasant change from being around the men all the time.

“Only the ones we like,” Shaunna says with a cheeky wink. “We’re pretty informal here, aren’t we, Hayles?”

“Absoludely!” Hayley confirms, then to her client, “Is that all right for you?” From the shelf, she collects a black-handled mirror shaped like a paddle and holds it behind the woman’s head so she can see the shape of her new bob cut. The woman nods, all smiles, and clasps Hayley’s hand over her shoulder. She’s still gushing thanks as she leaves five minutes later.

“I’ll pud the keddle on,” Hayley says heading back through the salon to the storeroom.

“Hayley’s the boss,” Shaunna explains once she and Amelia are alone.

“She seems nice,” Amelia remarks.

“She is. So…you’ve been here five minutes already, not that there’s any rush, hun, but…should we talk about your hair? Which is beautiful, by the way. Talk about making my job easy.”

“Well…my friends are getting married, and I thought while I was on vacation I’d get something new.” Amelia gestures to her long, wavy hair. “I need to keep it longer so I can put it up for work. But maybe more style, less just-got-out-of-bed? Maybe highlights?”

“Remember when bedhead was all the rage? I miss that trend.” Shaunna sighs nostalgically and blows at the one stray curl that’s escaped the clip securing the rest of her hair which, this morning, was less just-got-out-of-bed than just-been-dragged-backwards-through-a-hedge. “Okay. Mind if I take a look?” She waits for consent and then wheels her chair around to Amelia’s side, lifting a section of her hair. It’s healthy, midway down her back, with a natural curl that’s much looser than Shaunna’s, and the colour of dark chocolate. Hershey’s Kisses…must be the accent.She tried them once, way back, and couldn’t make up her mind if she liked them, although she’d eaten the entire bagful trying to figure it out so thought she probably did.

“Yeah, highlights would be stunning on you. With the right level of lightness, they’ll really show off your complexion and make your eyes pop—oh!” She grimaces, no idea if that translates. “I mean, it’ll accentuate the blue.”

“Great. I figured that’s what you meant.” Amelia smiles, seeming more at ease now. “I’m completely in your hands.” And was that flirting?

“She’ll look after you, sweedie.” Hayley reappears with two mugs, which she deposits on the trolley next to Amelia, digging in her pocket and pulling out a handful of sugar sachets and a teaspoon. She drops those onto the trolley too. “I’ll be out back,” she says and rolls her eyes. “Paperwork, ack.”

Shaunna smiles in sympathy. “Thanks, Hayles, and good luck!” Hayley gives her a withering glance and disappears through the storeroom door.

“Help yourself,” Shaunna invites, giving Amelia first choice on the drinks before picking up the other, which, coincidentally, is the mug Shaunna usually chooses for herself anyway. “You said your friends are getting married?” She sips casually, never sure how questions like her next will be received, but years of living with a bi guy…well, she’s heard it all before. Amelia’s not giving off a homophobe vibe, though—quite the opposite—so Shaunna just asks. “The two women who were here earlier?”

Amelia laughs. “Oh, no. Those two are straight as arrows. Uhm…” She flushes, though it delights her to think of Marlie and Nia as a couple. She wonders if she should explain the relationship between her friends—and their boyfriends. Clearly Shaunna doesn’t have a problem with same-gender couples, but polyamorous relationships? That’s always anyone’s guess. She decides to play it safe. “It’s my friend Nate and his boyfriend. They’ve always wanted one of those really fabulous events.”

“And they’re getting married here?” Shaunna looks incredulous.

“Back home in Boston. This was a girls’ week to visit my friend’s cousin.”

“Cool. It’s weird, isn’t it? When you live somewhere, you don’t really pay attention to the touristy type stuff, but there’s quite a lot to see and do around here. And you’re stuck in a stuffy salon for the afternoon…” Taking another quick mouthful of tea, Shaunna leaves her mug, reluctantly, and begins preparing what she’ll need for Amelia’s highlights. No pressure ever in this salon—a big part of why she’s always loved working here—they just subtly move clients along, more often than not without them consciously realising. Hairdressing by stealth, her friends call it; she can guess exactly which one came up with that description.

But stealth mode’s not working today. Amelia is pensive, tracking Shaunna’s prep, yet not at the same time. It sounded like there was a lot more to Amelia’s hesitance in mentioning her friends who were getting married, like she wants to share but is worried what Shaunna will think. They’ll be spending a good chunk of the afternoon together; time to throw out another lifeline.

“My ex and his boyfriend are getting married…at some point. It’s a bit complicated.”

Amelia is startled by this revelation, and yet somehow not. Relationships among her friends have always been complex too. She nods, thinking what to say next. “This was more or less my friend Marlie’s idea. She thought we could use a break from the men. They have been ridiculous while planning this wedding, bickering over the littlest nonsense.” She laughs and rolls her eyes. “Better them than me, I guess. Last I knew, we’d left Marlie’s boyfriend arguing about napkins with his…uh, his…” She falters.

“Go on,” Shaunna says. “I’m listening.”

Amelia bites her lip and peers at Shaunna. “No judgement?”

“None at all.”

Nodding, Amelia says, “Okay, well…” Deep breath. “Marlie and my other friend, Nia, their boyfriends are…boyfriends. And Marlie’s guy, Trevor, has an occasional partner too. That’s who he was snipping at about the napkins. Jamie’s got a bit of a stubborn streak on top of thinking Trevor has absolutely no sense of style. Which, to be fair, he really doesn’t. Just ask Jamie’s boyfriend. And…oh, dear god. This is like trying to explain a spider web. I like your word, complicated.”

“Wow, you can say that again.” Shaunna laughs, relieved to meet someone else with a whole mess of relationship stuff going on, because hadn’t she been there two years ago, when she and Ade… Well, if she’s honest, they ganged up on Kris “for his own good” and in the process spun their very own spider web. Tattered, weather-beaten, still hanging in there. But Amelia won’t want to hear about all that nonsense.

“That’s men for you.” Shaunna isn’t sure where to go from here, wishing to neither pry nor discourage Amelia from sharing or venting or whatever she needs—along with her highlights. “Tell you what. Let’s get you in foils—give us something else to think about for a while? How does that sound?”

While Shaunna applies the chemicals to her hair and wraps it in foil strips, Amelia finishes her tea. It’s cooled a bit, but it’s still good. She thinks the stereotype of the tea being better on this side of the ocean might really be true. Something Shaunna said tugs at the corner of her mind.

“You said your ex and his boyfriend? Is he— Oh, I probably shouldn’t be asking that. I’m sorry.” And she knows better anyway. A woman whose ex is now with a man isn’t that unusual in her group of friends and definitely doesn’t mean he’s gay. Izzy was married to a woman too, and now he only has eyes for Nate.

She slightly changes the subject. “Do you miss being with him?”

“Yes,” Shaunna answers right away, no need to think; she’s done plenty of that already. “And yes, he’s bi if that’s what you were asking. Not confused—or not about that. We split up after he had an affair, but not because I kicked him out. Sure, I wish he hadn’t cheated on me. I wish he’d told me, like he did when he met Ade, but by then it was different. We weren’t a couple anymore. I think that’s where his confusion lies—he loves me, and he loves Ade, but he’s so fixed on the idea of monogamy he can’t see how he can have both. Or couldhave had both before…” Shaunna squeezes her eyes shut. “See the poster over there?” She points blindly to her left and loosens the tension on the section of hair she’s holding just enough she can feel Amelia’s head turn.

Amelia’s eyebrows shoot up. It’s not the sort of thing she would typically see while in a stylist’s chair. She’s not exactly sure what to say, although it really does nothing to mute her appreciation for Shaunna’s beauty. “It’s…nice?” she tries, knowing she’s blushing. She hopes Shaunna doesn’t think she’s being rude; she simply doesn’t have the right words, nor does she know what she’s expected to say. Everything in her head sounds like either oversharing or not enough.

“Is that him?” She’s managed to unstick her tongue enough to get back to the conversation they were having. She still hasn’t taken her eyes off the poster, though, and something tells her she already knows the answer to her question is no.

Shaunna stifles a giggle at their matching pink faces. “For the record, I so didn’t want a picture of me all naked and massively pregnant in here. It was taken for a magazine feature. Kris—my ex—is an actor, as is Ade. Their PR woman thought the feature might stop the press hounding them…us. Would you believe Hayley emailed the photographer and paid God knows how much for that photo? Seriously, it’s like Athena porn caught in a time warp. So…anyway, that’s Andy—the guy I’m with now, who’s all free love and hippie surfer dude but also really competitive? He’s an oddment. A sexy one, though, or I think so.

“Oh, and he does that guy thing, you know? Sees me talking to an attractive woman and gets one of those daft grins on his face, like I could just turn it on. He doesn’t get that we’re not all like him. He’s totally open to new experiences—he even says he’s okay with us having an open relationship, with one really, really major exception.”

“Your ex?”

“Bingo! I think it just makes me want it more. But that’s enough about me…unless you want me to keep talking?”

“Ugh, I feel you on that ‘guy thing.’ I have a friend, a woman, I sometimes hook up with. The men are one hundred percent not invited for that.” She sighs. It’s reminded her of the main reasons—both of them—why she needed this vacation. “I also very much feel you about wanting it more when it feels off-limits. Sounds a lot like what I’ve got going on.” She closes her eyes.

“Have you ever gotten together with the same guy your…partner? person-thing? was also seeing?”

“Err…not knowingly?” Shaunna hedges. After all, lack of communication about teenage sex was how Charlie—wearing her PR hat—talked her into doing the magazine feature in the first place. Who knew what those boys were doing when they weren’t doing her? But Shaunna can get quite militant about it when she’s on a roll, and now is not the time. Or maybe it is always the time—for women and girls, at least. “Is that what’s going on with you right now?” she asks, then adds, in case Amelia is merely curious, “If I’m prying, tell me to shut up.”

Amelia sighs for the thousandth time, this one more out of relief. Finally, someone entirely not invested in the outcome who she can talk to without worrying it will find its way back to anyone she knows.

“More or less,” she admits. She figures anyone with a naked picture on their salon wall isn’t likely to judge her or even comment on her various partners, so she forges ahead. “It didn’t start off on purpose. My friend Mack and I have this relationship where we tell each other everything, and then we have sex. He’s aromantic, so it’s not going anywhere else, and I’m good with that. But then we both started hooking up with a mutual friend— I think I’m getting ahead of myself.

“I spent the night with a casual friend. It was fun. Then Mack spent the night with him after meeting up in a bar. That would’ve been the end of it, but we both kind of…kept doing it. Meeting up with him, I mean. And, well, it’s become a problem, but not probably for the reasons you might think.”

“Hmm…” Shaunna’s second-guessing what Amelia expects her to think. “I’m not sure I think anything, but…from experience? I’d probably guess…” She shakes her head and laughs. “Sorry. I don’t know, honestly. I mean, when the three of us were living together, Kris was the only one who had a problem with it, and I’m pretty sure it had more to do with all the times he’d fended off people telling him he was just greedy. I tell you, if Ade was bi too, it would’ve saved… No, actually, that’s stupid. I love Ade to bits, but we’re way too much alike. All I’m getting at is if all three of us had two lovers each, it would have been more fair? D’you know what? I should shut up and let you talk. We’re about done with the lightener, by the way.”

“Okay.” Amelia thinks for a moment how to respond. “Well, really, it would’ve been fine. Mack and I have been best friends for years. He’s known all along he doesn’t want a romantic relationship, and I assumed I didn’t either, until I met Jomari. JoJo is everything I’ve ever wanted in a partner but didn’t realize. He’s warm and sweet and we have so much in common…” Amelia trails off, knowing her face must be crimson. She’s never said it out loud before, but here she is, about to reveal it all to a complete stranger in another country. “Uh…and there, as I’m sure you can see, is the problem. Mack might not be in love with JoJo—but I am.”

She sits up a little straighter. “I said it, and the world didn’t end. I’m in love.” Her shoulders slump. “But I have no idea what to do now.”

“Well…right now?” Shaunna swiftly secures the last piece of foil, intervening before Amelia’s mood nosedives through the floor. “I propose another cuppa while Mr. Schwarzkopf works his magic.” She thumbs at the storeroom door. “There’s a packet of chocolate digestives in there with our name on it. That is, if you eat biscuits—oh, they’re something else, aren’t they? Cookies. Chocolate digestives are delish, especially when you dip ’em in your tea, and…that’s all the advice I’m giving. Dunk your digestives. I could also tell you a story about a friend of mine who fell in love when he was seventeen and didn’t realise for twenty years. Imagine that! So you’re not doing so badly, and of course, we could all see he was in love, so maybe JoJo already knows?”

Amelia smiles. “Chocolate anything sounds awesome right now. And someone who was in love for twenty years and didn’t know? That’s…wow. Well, I sure hope there’s time for that story.” She slides off her chair. “Honestly, JoJo knows. I think he’s been waiting for me to say it. How we’re going to make it work with Mack between us is anyone’s guess. But at least I know I can tell JoJo the truth, the thing I’ve been too chicken to say.” She wonders if being real with both of them will make it easier. Hiding didn’t seem to do anything other than make all of them miserable. If only she knew a way they could all have what they needed. Maybe in time.

Any further talk about their “unconventional” love lives is put on hold when Hayley re-joins them. “Oh! Tea and bic-bics? Don’t mind if I do!” She leaves Shaunna little choice, but perhaps it’s for the best. Hayley’s wonderful, but she has her limits, not to mention it’s virtually impossible to talk over the shower’s spray as Shaunna rinses the bleach from Amelia’s hair. As for the dryer—a pneumatic drill couldn’t be any more intrusive, but at last silence reigns once more. It’s the moment of truth, those few seconds when, even after all these years, Shaunna’s so nervous her hands shake. God, I hope she likes it.

Amelia stares at her reflection so long she’s afraid Shaunna will think she hates it. It’s exactly the opposite. Her hair is shorter than it was, but not so much she can’t still throw it in a ponytail for work. Now, though, the soft chestnut waves frame her round face. The highlights accentuate the natural shades of her hair, and the strands almost glow as she turns her head back and forth in an effort to see it all. She lets out a tiny gasp and reaches up, but she doesn’t want to touch it and ruin anything, so she drops her hand.

“Oh,” she says. “It’s amazing. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.” Phew! Shaunna conceals her relief with a smile that’s genuine enough but a little beyond her control. Funny how some clients have this effect on her—not so much that they’re more important than the rest, but she feels a connection here, an affinity. Likeminded women brought together by chance.

They’re finishing their second cup of tea and the biscuits when the door opens, and Amelia pauses mid-laugh to wave to her friends. She loves the way Marlie’s jaw drops, and Amelia shakes her head just a little to make her wavy hair sway.

Marlie turns to Nia. “I knew I should’ve made an appointment too! That right there is pure hair magic.”

Nia shrugs. “I think your cousin would understand if you wanted to come back here. Also, she freaking told you that already, but you didn’t listen.” Nia steps closer to Amelia. “Your friend know anyone with that skill who can take care of afro-texture hair?”

“Ask her yourself,” Amelia says. Turning to Shaunna, she says, “These are my friends, Marlie and Nia. Guys, this is Shaunna, worker of hair miracles.”

“Lovely to meet you.” Shaunna smiles at the newcomers, and Amelia is struck again by how beautiful she is. And by how it’s too bad she’s all the way on another continent usually.

On the other hand, there is social media. Amelia notes that Marlie is, in fact, pulling out her phone, likely to schedule her own appointment. Which means another trip here, something for which Amelia isn’t sorry in the least. She feels a bit bad for Nia, though she knows her friend has a stylist back home practically on speed-dial.

“So,” Amelia says, trying to be casual. “Shaunna, maybe I can find you online? You know, stay in touch.” She allows one teeny, tiny almost-wink, even though she’s positive Shaunna’s not interested.

“Fab!” Shaunna doesn’t need asking twice. She whips out her phone too. “Okay…” Yay for social media.Amelia is gorgeous and fun, and yes, Shaunna’s nosey; she’ll hold her hands up if pressed. But she also wants to hear all about the wedding. She wants to see how things pan out for Amelia and her guys. More than anything, she hopes she’s made a new friend.

The End

About A.M. Leibowitz

A.M. Leibowitz is a queer spouse, parent, feminist, and book-lover falling somewhere on the Geek-Nerd Spectrum. They keep warm through the long, cold western New York winters by writing about life, relationships, hope, and happy-for-now endings. Their published fiction includes several novels as well as a number of short works, and their stories have been included in anthologies from Supposed Crimes, Witty Bard, and Mischief Corner Books. In between noveling and editing, they blog coffee-fueled, quirky commentary on faith, culture, writing, books, and their family.

Find A.M. Leibowitz online:

Facebook:https://www.facebook.com/amymitchell29

Facebook Author Page:https://www.facebook.com/UnchainedFaith/

Twitter:https://twitter.com/amyunchained

Pinterest:https://pinterest.com/amyunchained

Website:http://amleibowitz.com

Goodreads:https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8544236.A_M_Leibowitz

About Debbie McGowan

Debbie McGowan is an author and publisher based in a semi-rural corner of Lancashire, England. She writes character-driven, realist fiction, celebrating life, love and relationships. A working class girl, she ‘ran away’ to London at seventeen, was homeless, unemployed and then homeless again, interspersed with animal rights activism (all legal, honest ;)) and volunteer work as a mental health advocate. At twenty-five, she went back to college to study social science—tough with two toddlers, but they had a ‘stay at home’ dad, so it worked itself out. These days, the toddlers are young women (much to their chagrin), and Debbie teaches undergraduate students, writes novels and runs an independent publishing company, occasionally grabbing an hour of sleep where she can.

Find Debbie McGowan online:

Website:debbiemcgowan.co.uk

Newsletter Signup:eepurl.com/b8emHL

Blog:deb248211.blogspot.com

Facebook:facebook.com/DebbieMcGowanAuthorand facebook.com/beatentrackpublishing

Twitter:@writerdebmcg

YouTube:youtube.com/deb248211

Instagram:instagram/writerdebmcg

Google+:plus.google.com/+DebbieMcGowan

Tumblr:writerdebmcg.tumblr.com

LinkedIn:uk.linkedin.com/in/writerdebmcg

Goodreads:goodreads.com/DebbieMcGowan

Queer YA and the problem of tragic narratives

Books, Writing

I was scrolling through my social media yesterday, looking for interesting articles or funny memes to share on my author page. I came across a sponsored ad for a book which led me to the purchase link. After finding out the content, I was disappointed and frustrated.

It’s yet another LGBTQIA+-themed YA novel with a coming out story that almost ends in violent tragedy. Another story in which a well-meaning non-queer (allocishetero) author has taken a story that is not theirs to tell and wrapped it in what I call a “punishment” narrative.

First, I’m not naming the author or the book. I have read previous works by them, and I’ve liked some and disliked others. I’m also making it clear that yes, unless this person at some future point says otherwise, I do know them to be non-queer. I believe they mean well but very often execute things badly. They are not on blast here, and I think it’s bad form to name and shame, seeing as they are not the only one nor the worst offender.

But it did bring up something in my mind which I feel is very serious, and that is the way non-queer authors write both YA and coming out stories—especially when those two things are in the same story.

I won’t go so far as to say that non-queer people should never, ever write a coming out story or queer YA in general or about bullying and gay-bashing. But I will say that non-queer people, who have never personally experienced those things in a queer context, should tread lightly. In particular, I think it’s wise if they can stay away from having all those things in the same story.

There are a number of observations I’ve made after reading hundreds of queer books over the last five-plus years. I believe this is probably for a few reasons, but one of them is that even allies who have queer friends and family only seem to be aware of a few media-driven storylines.

In some way, non-queer authors still buy into the idea that queerness is itself some kind of heartbreaking condition, like a cancer diagnosis. They have, in their minds, condemned us to experience nothing but tragedy before overcoming and having a romance-driven happily ever after. But that tragedy is centered on and rooted in our queerness, not in all the other things that can be painful or challenging in life.

Coming out stories, as written by non-queer folk, tend to follow a specific trend: a closeted person, fearful of others’ reactions; an unaccepting audience (friends, family, community, etc.); a violent incident (beating, forced into homelessness, suicide attempt); freedom in the form of a relationship (usually same-gender, unless the character is transgender).

The other trend I’ve seen is that these coming out stories focus primarily on gay boys and trans girls. This may be in part because allocishetero women are the main authors. Many straight women are uncomfortable writing about lesbians and bisexual women, but it also tends to collide with media coverage of lgbtqia+ people. The public seems to take perverse delight in the punishment of some while glossing over the violence done to others. It makes it easier for allies to believe that certain queer people deserve more pity than others.

I have had numerous discussions with people who genuinely believe that queer cis women have it “easy” compared to queer cis men. They also have a parallel belief that trans people assigned female at birth have it “easier” than male assigned people. Compounding this is the fact that up until recently, one of the ways trans folk had to use to prove they were, in fact, trans was attraction to cis people of their same birth-assigned gender. Put another way, trans women were expected to be interested in cis men and trans men were expected to be interested in cis women.

Non-queer authors writing coming out stories are rarely aware of this history nor of the long fight to change that perception. So in most of these books, trans characters are first perceived as gay, then heterosexual post-transition. This unnecessarily conflates gender and sexuality as well as being a tell that these non-queer people don’t genuinely see trans people as more than exaggerated gay men or lesbians.

To complicate it further, most of these folks are white and middle class, so they do not understand the role that race and class have with regard to queerness. They also don’t understand that physical violence, bullying, and verbal abuse are not the only ways in which queer people face oppression.

Thus is born the narrative of the poor, tragic white queer boy (or, on occasion, trans girl) whose story results in violence until they can be rescued either by true love or by a magnanimous non-queer person (or both). I’ve seen a version of this with trans boys and with non-binary male-assigned people, but rarely with queer cis girls or female-assigned non-binary people.

I get it. These stories are very rarely for us. Even when they are, they promise us our happy endings only when we’ve faced queer-antagonism (i.e., punishment) first. But even if they are aimed at helping other non-queer people understand us, they do a poor job with a limited number of flat, tired storylines.

We don’t need that kind of help. The media already does a great job of highlighting every one of our stories that ends in our deaths. They also do a great job highlighting every story that shows how we are “just like you, only more queer!” They fail to show all the beautiful, messy, complicated stuff in between.

Ally authors, if you really want to write our stories, stay away from those extreme narratives. Especially if you’re writing YA. Queer teens deal with all the same stuff as everyone else—sexual orientation and gender identity are only part of the coming of age process.

Do you need teen tragedy? Write about a trans girl with loving parents whose mother dies. Write about a gay boy being diagnosed with cancer. Take us through the heartache of having family who moves a lot or who is too poor to afford food sometimes. Being queer complicates all that but doesn’t dictate it.

Do you need something less heavy? Give us the heart-stopping tension of queer kids auditioning for a big production or playing football against the best team in the region. Tell us about that time students picketed outside their school or town hall. Give us a story about bullying and mean kids, but make it about literally anything other than queerness.

Write us into speculative fiction. Make up a school for pixies or gods or werewolves. Send us on adventures in outer space (or inner space). Give us super powers. Make us geniuses who invent solutions for global warming and evil geniuses who thwart our plans to save the planet.

Whatever else you choose to do, please leave tragic coming out stories for us to process and share ourselves if we choose to. Don’t hurt us so you can later save us.

WIPpet Wednesday: Cafe confessions

A random unpopular opinion about fictional characters