LGBT month - 3

We're wrapping up the month of guest blogs with our own Larissa Glasser. Read below for some very specific insight.

Final Girl
Some thoughts on writing dark and speculative fiction from a trans woman’s experience
Larissa Glasser

I am trans woman who writes horror and dark fiction. I work as an academic librarian and am fortunate to have access to incredible resources, including genre studies, deep history, and transfeminism. I didn’t always have this. In fact, I had to struggle like hell to here. Perhaps that is partly why I’ve identified with the final girl < https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Final_girl >, that lone survivor archetype of slasher/horror films. She endures and survives the violent trauma she experiences as her friends and family drop like flies at the hands of the serial killer(s) or an environmental force (sometimes both). Sometimes she unwittingly creates the danger herself. Trans living can be like this, and I remember reading one news article where someone stated all the hate-crime murders of her friends all around her made her think she was stuck in a slasher film, waiting for her turn to fall at the hands of maniacal bigotry and transphobia. Misogyny is a dire problem for all women in a patriarchal society, and trans women are no exception.

But what is trans, anyway? Transgender people are distinct from cisgender people in that they do not identify with the sex they were assigned at birth. Sexuality and gender identity are also separate. We unequivocally fit into queer culture, because we sparked the actual resistance.

Although studies have indicated characteristics of the brain that differ in trans people, no one knows why it happens. I feel it may be a randomized rain of frogs, as Charles Fort < https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Fort > might have suggested. However, there are instances where siblings are trans, the most famous example is perhaps The Wachowski Sisters < https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Wachowskis >. It’s just something that happens, more often than we all think. But let’s leave that extrapolation for another time and place (sighs of relief all around) and work with the givens here.

During the late 1990s, I had finally transitioned, and as with many major life adjustments, I was living in a state of abject terror. This, coupled with my childhood abuse and criminal assault trauma was a lot to handle when there were precious few support resources available. The first year or two is a harrowing experience for many, and the unsolved murder of Rita Hester < https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rita_Hester > rattled me especially. Rita had lived in my neighborhood, and her killer is still out there somewhere. I wonder if he (likely some cis dude) has killed again.

With visibility comes the danger of increased discrimination, assault, incarceration, deportation, murder.* That holds true especially now, when eight years of multicultural progressivism and civil rights advancement are in real danger of being completely erased by reactionary fascism. The swift forward-and-backward motion of living trans can give you whiplash. And it fucking sucks.

[* full disclosure, I am a white trans woman, raised upper-middle class. I will not purpose to speak to any experience except my own. I have experienced trauma, and I do not qualify—nor will I ever—the traumas and experiences of others. Trans people of color are most at risk for violence and discrimination, which I find to be nauseatingly unjust.]

Pride Month can be problematic for many trans women. Even as far back as 1973, Sylvia Rivera called out < https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9QiigzZCEtQ > the discrimination she faced by the rising gay liberation contingent in New York. She helped blaze the trail for many who would also lift their voices. But we sometimes we experience transmisogyny from the gay rights movement, even though all non-straight people tend to get lumped together by enemies who deny our humanity. And yet change is possible, and to be a positive cultural agent of such change is part of why I write dark fiction. Diversity is crucial to genre.

And part of belonging is to just keep showing up.

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I’m not new to horror and fantasy. I devoured the work of Clive Barker, Clark Ashton Smith, Shirley Jackson, Tolkien. But the confidence of my voice, before-during-and after transition, was a missing piece of the puzzle. That frustrated me for many years. Was I late in coming to grips with who I am and what I want to read and write about? Perhaps, but I’ve recently arrived at this new set of priorities. I’ve had a lot of help recently.

Literature by and for trans women has blossomed over the past few years. When I attended a writer’s workshop in Brooklyn last summer, it comprised entirely of trans women and femme-identified trans people. I networked among peers, made some friends, and found new possibilities where trans characters take center stage and tell stories on their own terms, without their narratives being appropriated and told for them. I never had anything like that when I was younger. But it’s all here now, and it’s getting exponentially better as more trans writers hatch and share their works, each of them unique and engaging. Few whom I’ve met so far write genre, but I am learning to apply these principles to my own interests in dark fiction.

I am a work in progress.

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Although I hadn’t had the option to transition at a younger age, I latched on to the alternate worlds opened by horror and fantasy < https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Creature_Double_Feature >. That aesthetic stayed with me as I began to develop as a writer who felt I was self-censoring my own trans-ness for fear of prejudice. Women have often been mistreated in horror < https://www.theguardian.com/film/2016/nov/03/carrie-stephen-king-brian-de-palma-horror-films-feminism >, and although advocacy for trans rights has gained traction, there is still a long way to go < https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kasiov0ytEc >.

I wanted to countermand the negative portrayals I’d seen in the media for decades, and I found good representation to be a sticky affair when it came down to writing from the darkness, so intrinsic to horror. But I feared my own darkness. But then an editor whom I greatly admire encouraged me to write from that same darkness, especially when it comes to writing trans characters, because others who struggle with their own darkness might find healing there. That is what I hope for in everything I read and learn from.

However, writing trans narratives within genre is very new to me. I’m still terrified of doing it for fear of making bad representatiomn, and am still trying to get acclimated and find my voice. And yet I must—not because it is safe but because it is honest. My first novel, The Night Faith, featured no trans characters nor did it even touch upon the issue of being queer. My current novel-in-progress concerns the rights of trans students, and it doesn’t flinch from that—full disclosure: it’s also about heavy metal.

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Although I gravitated to genre film and literature my whole life, representation of queer characters has been problematic for a very long time. This why I am concerned about writing trans narratives through a horror filter. The first impression many people have of the trans-and-queer character is of a maniac brandishing a raised weapon. “Psycho,” “Silence of the Lambs,” “Dressed to Kill,” “Sleepaway Camp”** among too many others. And yet I love these films in other respects. So where does that bring me? How do I write trans characters into genre and avoid these pitfalls of negative and/or dishonest representation?

[**on her podcast, trans writer Imogen Binnie had a great take on Sleepaway Camp—the central character Angela is a hero for trans girls because she just kills everyone who tries to fuck with her, and how awesome is that from revolutionary perspective < https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/imogen-watches-classic-films/id1091126807 >.]

Art can be made by trans for trans. The writer can always create for themselves of course, but one’s audience cannot be wholly ignored. So then how does one write trans narratives into genre in a way that can also resonate with cisgender (non-trans) genre readership? I take a step back and see that darkness is universal, and plays with our emotions no matter what our gender identities may be. A good story works on its own merit.

Outside of horror, many people see trans characters within the framework of the “transition narrative,” proffered over the past few decades by cis writers who do not have the lived experience of being trans. Some see gender confirmation surgery as our only life goal (which is silly, but it stems from decades of media representation). No amount of research can channel the trans experience for those who haven’t lived it. And yet many of us are weary of giving “Trans 101” sessions. I think we’ve moved a little beyond that, now that trans literature has taken off exponentially.

But how does a trans woman write, say, a trans-identified villain without falling into that trap of portraying Buffalo Bill < http://feministing.com/2016/03/10/my-auntie-buffalo-bill-the-unavoidable-transmisogyny-of-silence-of-the-lambs/ >, a predatory serial killer who covets womens’ skin? Auntie Bill is an often-addressed pivot point in the history of trans visibility.

I eventually thought if I was going to have a go at creating some art, I would try to represent trans characters in a more positive light. Recent works by and for trans people have made this an increasingly viable possibility for me and others.

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Here is one stipulation, however: I’d like to depict trans characters as people, warts and all, rather than as one-dimensional props for the unfamiliar reader’s curiosity. As I stated before, this has been done too much, too often, whether the trans character is a perpetrator or victim. However, trans women and femme characters cannot (and should not) be perfect girl scouts. Casey Plett wrote in The Walrus < https://thewalrus.ca/rise-of-the-gender-novel/ >, that trans people are much more complex in real life—we have flaws and we sometimes behave unkindly to each other. Many of us do not connect easily because we are cagey and guarded. We are conditioned into that with the trauma of dealing with a society that invalidates you, wants you to remain invisible, excluded from public accommodations, women’s spaces, and the workplace. That’s what makes us such a strong component of humanity, but it can also prohibit us from connecting with one another. A design of oppression is to keep us isolated from one another. That’s where the writing comes in—to throw our stories like Molotov cocktails past the razorwire and (hopefully) reach the trans readership and encourage them to contribute their own narratives on their own terms. That’s what this is about for me. And the darkness can be safely, if carefully, integrated with that passion. Hopefully, our lives can be enriched by that.

SOME SUGGESTED TRANS LIT READING:
descriptions in the links

Binnie, Imogen. 2013. Nevada. New York, NY: Topside Press. < https://www.amazon.com/Nevada-Imogen-Binnie/dp/0983242232/ >

Plett, Casey. 2014. A Safe Girl to Love. New York, NY: Topside Press. < https://www.amazon.com/Safe-Girl-Love-Casey-Plett/dp/1627290052/ >

Witchmonstr, Moss Angel. 2017. Sea-Witch vol. 1 (May She Lay Us Waste).

[Place of publication not identified] : 2Fast2House. < http://2fast2house.com/store/sea-witch > and < https://www.patreon.com/monstr >

Valens, Ana. 2016. Stray Thoughts on the Subway. Self-published. < https://spacedoctorphd.itch.io/stray-thoughts-on-the-subway >

Peters, Torrey. 2016. Infect Your Friends and Loved Ones. Self-published. < http://www.torreypeters.com/book/infect-your-friends-and-loved-ones/ >

Larissa Glasser is a librarian and SF writer from Boston. Her fiction has appeared in The Healing Monsters Volume One and Procyon Press Science Fiction Anthology (2016). She has previously published nonfiction in Harvard Review, The Boston Phoenix, and Maelstrom. She is a Member at Large of Broad Universe < https://broaduniverse.org >, which promotes, educates, and advocates for women writers of speculative fiction, and is an associate member of The Horror Writers Association < http://horror.org/ >. She’s on Twitter @larissaeglasser and blogs at https://larissaglasser.com/

LGBTQ Horror Month - 2

In continuation to celebrate and recognize LGBTQ Horror Month, our own John Grover.

Enjoy!

Winds of Change…

I’ve been a horror fan all of my life- movies, books, comics, games, I love it all. I knew I wanted to write horror the moment I read the classics in school- Bram Stoker’s Dracula, Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, Shirley Jackson’s The Lottery and We Have Always Lived in the Castle. This was before I had even discovered Stephen King!  I knew from a young age that I wanted to write horror and instill that sense of fear, wonder, delight and rapture in others.

I also realized from a young age that I was different, I was gay and that made reading and writing even more important to me. It meant that I could escape being me and create any world that I wanted. I didn’t have to think about pretending to be straight or avoiding awkward questions until I began to notice that I didn’t read about many characters like me in the horror fiction I loved. There were few if any to speak of in horror movies as well. If they were there they were a victim or repressed or a really deranged person. There weren’t that many that were overtly gay. Sure, you could read between the lines but for the most part, I missed them. I took this as a cue in my own writing.

When I first started to take my writing seriously and try to get published, I avoided writing about any gay characters. All of my characters were straight, or at least they appeared that way. I was under the impression that gay characters wouldn’t sell and that it would hinder my writing career. For a while I was probably right. Everything I had experienced had told me there was no market for this. To that measure, I hid all personal information about myself in my bios. I never told anyone outside of family and close friends that I was gay. Again, I thought it would be the end of my writing. So that was that, I had accepted that horror fiction was a straight world.

Then something happened. I discovered Clive Barker. A gay writer! He wrote about monsters, serial killers, demons, he made movies! He was popular. People loved his work and some of his stories featured gay protagonists like in his Books of Blood. That was the first time that I noticed that gay characters were beginning to creep into mainstream horror and movies.  Stephen King had Tom in his novel Cell. Brian Keene had a lesbian character, in his book The Conqueror Worms, who was nearly seduced and killed by a monstrous siren—how cool is that!

Gay fiction began popping up everywhere with books titled Queer Fear, Triptych of Terror, Night Shadows and more. Gay authors were making themselves known and putting out amazing fiction, which I’m sure they always had but for me this was a great time and my favorite genre was becoming inclusive.  It was a turning point in my own writing and that meant… it was on.

I finally wrote my very first story with gay characters… Majestic. It was the tale of two soldiers who fell in love while facing impossible odds at the hands of supernatural foes. It was never officially published but that didn’t stop me. The floodgates were open. I began to spin out more and more gay-themed tales and was getting them published!

My story A Strange Turn of Events is about a gay man returning home from a one-night stand gets more than he bargained for when he stops to help a woman being hunted by a serial killer. It was published in the anthology Dark Things II published by Pill Hill Press.

Beauty Ritual is about a gay man who faces the ultimate horror- growing older. He turns to extreme measures to avoid this at all costs and keep his younger boyfriend at his side. It was featured in the anthology Ante Mortem by Belfire Press. It has been republished in my newly released collection: Best of Shadow Tales, more info on that later.

The Longing is about a long time gay couple that is once again rejected when they attempt to adopt children. Heartbroken and angry they turn to supernatural means to have the children they have always longed for. Scarlet Galleon Publications published this story in the anthology Dead Harvest.

My tale of a lesbian witch and her partner doing battle with an ancient wraith appears in my co-authored collection Space Stations and Graveyards by Double Dragon Publishing. The story is called The Red Book.

Then there is Just the Three of Them at the End of the World, my gay zombie tale. Three gay friends sharing an apartment in the 80s face the zombie apocalypse together while growing closer and expressing the love they never dared share before. This was published in Library of the Living Dead’s Zombiality anthology.

I was no longer afraid to include gay and lesbian characters in my stories and books, and I would no longer hide who I was as a person and an author.  It was like a Pandora’s box of gay horror had opened and it wasn’t closing anytime soon. Finally, the inclusion of gay characters in fiction began to spill over to TV, comics and games. Shows like Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Teen Wolf, The Vampire Diaries all featured gay characters and storylines, even Supernatural, one of my favorite shows, had gay hunters in one of its seasons. Superheroes were coming out in comic books, you could play as gay characters in video games and other genres were following too, like the Sci-fi show Torchwood, a spinoff from Doctor Who.

Even in social media I’ve seen fellow authors asking for advice on writing gay and lesbian characters with many sincere replies on keeping the characters true to themselves and true to the writing. It has been great to see such a huge shift in today’s fiction and art and to log into social media and see readers and writers who are actually craving more of this. Things have come a long way since I first made the decision to write a creepy story for a school assignment and I have many more stories, with both gay and straight characters, just waiting to come out. Wink-wink. I can think of no better time to write these tales than now.  I’m proud of where I’ve come from and who I am and both have made my fiction what it is today.

Check out my work on Amazon, Barnes and Noble and Smashwords. My most recent release is called Best of Shadow Tales, named after my own website/imprint, it is a collection of twenty of my previously published works of horror and dark fantasy.

Visit me at the links below for more information on any of my titles.

Website: www.shadowtales.com

Amazon Page: https://www.amazon.com/John%20Grover/e/B004B7MHG8

Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/johngroverdarkfictionauthor/

Sign up for my newsletter: http://shadowtales.us3.list-manage1.com/subscribe?u=54a0da46b5b76cbadbaf8d0ed&id=c930ce37f3

June - LGBTQ Month

Like we did for Women in Horror Month, we're going to celebrate LGBTQ month with some guest blog posts from our members, Remy Flagg, John Grover and Larissa Glasser.

First entry is from Remy Flagg.

June is when our flag waves its hardest. Rainbows: suspended in the windows of small businesses while parades fill the street blaring Lady Gaga, Cher and Madonna. In every major city (and many smaller cities) June represents a chance to step out of the safety of our bubbles and shout, "I am here." From coast to coast, June is our month of pride.

Yes. I am gay.

This is the first time I've written this statement in conjunction with being an author. I have been out and open about my sexual orientation since I turned sixteen. Growing up in the backwoods of Maine, differences were tolerated as long as they were done quietly, discreetly, and didn't stray too far from the norm. Despite being likable, even popular, it became apparent that I was different than my peers, and thus began an emotional isolation.

At the same time I was coming to grips with my deviance in the setting of a small town, I found myself lost in a world of literature. Favoring the works of R.A. Salvatore, Mercedes Lackey, and Neal Stephenson, I became a sidekick to rogue heroes carving out a place for themselves in a cruel world. Frequently in Lackey's work, elves presented a sexual ambiguity that gave me just enough hope. Somebody knew I existed. Later, I would be introduced to Lynn Flewelling's Nightrunner series where the love and sexual tension between two male characters had me on the edge of my seat as they sorted through complex emotions, identity, and the ramifications of society's displeasure.

These characters imagined by authors reminded me I wasn't alone.

While standing in Borders, a friend placed a book in my hands that would change my life. Having read the back, he purchased it and while we enjoyed crappy coffee, he started reading. Within pages he found himself revolted at the contents and said, "It's yours." Only a few pages in, filled with detailed violence and visual gore, I understood why he rejected the novel. A fan of horror movies, I was more enticed than sickened. The language was as beautiful as the scene was horrific. I found myself captivated by the grotesque.

Exquisite Corpse, a masterpiece penned by Poppy Z Brite spoke to my angst. Her characters were broken, each driven and consumed by a fundamental flaw. Other than the rare appearance of a gay character on an HBO show, they served as my connection to a piece of my identity I didn't have the vocabulary to explore. Despite the brutality she described, there was a sense of duty about her characters, even if it did involve cannibalism. Under the shitty hand life dealt them, conflicting emotions developed a layer of complexity, depicting their sexuality as more than right and wrong. They were real, and for a gay teen growing up in an environment where gay still meant jolly, it was enough.

I devoured everything Brite wrote. When we had access to the internet, I researched what I could. An article explained the Z as being a "third gender," and she identified as a gay male trapped in the body of a woman. Completely unaware of the existence of transgender individuals in my youth, he was my first. He introduced me to the scary, often morally ambiguous world in which virtuous absolutes are seldom applicable. Contained within these captivating and frightening arrangements of words, Poppy Z. Brite showed me a guy can love another guy and that it is indeed, a fucked up rollercoaster of a ride.

It doesn't take knowing me for long before my sexual orientation and preference for bears is made abundantly clear. My writing group has met a boyfriend or two and my memoir, I.Am.Maine: Stories of Small Town Maine speaks of growing up gay in a small rural town. And yet, despite this openness, I have been reluctant to declare my sexuality within my author platform or within the context of my writing. I am willing to be the, "sarcastic author," the "cyberpunk author," the "zombie author," or the "superhero author," but fear has clenched my chest when I ponder being the "gay author."

My first foray into horror, Suburban Zombie High pitted a group of unlucky teen clichés against a relentless hoard of undead. Setting the stage for comedy, my only LGBTQ+ character is Victor, a teenage soon-to-be military recruit who is wrestling not with his sexuality, but with feelings of intense devotion to a superior officer. Despite the book being directed at young adults and poking fun at the horror genre, Victor is a variation of my teen self. He has emotions he can't quite put into words, and only when another character comments on him being gay do the elements align. Victor is this idea that a masculine man, in a situation where heterosexuality is the norm, can be gay, and campy all while being accepted.

My first experiment with an LGBT+ character provided humor, comic relief, and in many ways reflected myself. But as part of an ensemble cast, his story only scratched the surface, dealing mostly with his coming out process. While this would have been a relief to read as a young reader, I still found myself dodging the desire to make my protagonist a gay male. Fear of having my early career pigeon holed or worse yet, rejected entirely, hovered over my shoulder. Then I found horror.

I've had the opportunity to mingle with many horror writers since I started this journey. While my love of horror is predominantly in film, these authors had no issue welcoming an unknown author. These authors, who write about physical, psychological, and societal trauma, have been a safe harbor while determining how I wanted to proceed and expand upon my identity. Rarely do they make assumptions and more often than not, I've watched them rally to defend silenced minorities. While I've seen many hide for fear of confrontation, they welcome the opportunity to make the world better one step at a time.

In Nighthawks, my first science fiction novel, the main character is a sarcastic art major who develops superhuman abilities. Surrounded by a tyrannical government, a deep-rooted conspiracy, and robots trying to kill him, I found there was little time to delve into his sexual orientation. When working on the back blurb for the book, my publisher went as far as to suggest a budding relationship between him and his female muse. During a wave of edits, I decided a character who had been wearing a head scarf was being white-washed, and now represents a vibrant, strong, Muslim female. But to make the protagonist gay, that remained difficult. While I didn't out him in the book, other characters have made observations and alluded to this eventual reality.

The book was well received and one of my former students messaged me saying thank you for writing a character like him. He struggled with his sexual orientation, but he refused to let it define his existence. He appreciated that my character had this dimension, subtle and without grandstanding. It dawned on me in that moment, that I needed to think back to Poppy Z. Brite and tackle my personal demons so I could expand as a writer. In Night Shadows, the sequel, the two male characters, after surviving a near-death experience, finally have sex. I decided I label the relationship, as I feel a younger me never needed the label itself. I needed to know not every act of intimacy required categorization, and at this point, I'm not sure if the characters' passionate exchange will be more than a friendship with perks.

Gays in horror, reflecting on this I've always wondered, why this genre and not the fantastical possibilities of fantasy or the progressiveness of sci-fi? Being a visible member of the LGBTQ+ community has gotten easier for me, but there are those mortifying moments when you ponder, "What if..." What if that man slinging slurs at the bar had started a fight? What if I'm told I'm being sent to rehabilitation? What if I find myself jailed for public displays of affection? What if I'm tortured for who I am? These horrors exist for many around the globe.

As a horror writer, I've been known to rake my characters over the coals and put them against incredible odds, but at the end of the book, there always remains a sliver of hope. After persisting, enduring, and surviving, we see a character able to grow and persevere. Even in the bleakest of horror where the character falls victim to these horrors, we mourn for the loss of an individual whose future still had promise . In essence, we place ourselves in their shoes and insist we make it to the final page. In horror, we find ourselves surviving the worst and hoping for the best.

I am gay. It will remain one of the many facets of who I am as a person. My fear of being labeled a "gay author," has become a hindrance, preventing me from penning the work I needed when I first identified as such. I am gay. I am an author. I am proud of both. Label as you must, but for now, I have characters in need of saving.

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Jeremy Flagg is the author of the CHILDREN OF NOSTRADAMUS dystopian science fiction series and SUBURBAN ZOMBIE HIGH young adult humor/horror series. Taking his love of pop culture and comic books, he focuses on fast paced, action packed novels with complex characters and contemporary themes. For more information, visit www.remyflagg.com.