Making Transitions

By

Eric Andrews-Katz

I first met Diane and Jacob Anderson-Minshall in Palm Springs, California at the yearly Bold Strokes Books book event held there. To me they seemed like the perfect couple, well balanced in personality, career and energy. Diane’s gregarious personality exudes being an editor/writer for The Advocate among many other publications, while Jacob’s subtlety seems to ebb forth like a warm tide. When Diane identified herself as lesbian and Jacob as her transgender husband I was taken aback. Not because of any procedure, but because I have met very few people that radiate a personal harmony, an energetic serenity more than Jacob did from the very first moment I met him.

Over the weekend I had the pleasure of listening to them read from their upcoming memoir, Queerly Beloved (tentative release date 2014, Bold Strokes Books). I found myself intrigued by not only the obvious challenges they’ve faced over the last 20 years, but how they handle the day-to-day obstacles life throws in everyone’s path. I wanted to know more about them, and was highly pleased when they agreed to do an interview.

Eric Andrews-Katz:              What was your name given at birth?

Jacob Anderson-Minshall:  I was born Susannah Christine Minshall, but preferred to be called “Suzy”. I was born a girl but my parents let me be a Tomboy. They didn’t force me into gender roles.

Eric:                Describe the family you were born into and the life you had growing up?

Jacob:             My parents are both scientists and I am a middle child. My older sister is two years older, and the other is ten years younger than I. We lived in Pocatello, Idaho (then it was the 2^nd or 3^rd largest city in Idaho with a population of about 40,000). We moved five miles outside of Inkom, Idaho (population 800) when I was about 8 years old. While my family was Catholic, Inkom is more conservative and more Mormon of an area.

Eric:                Were there childhood incidents that helped you recognize your true identity?

Jacob:             Looking back there are a lot of things, but I had been blind to them myself for many years. I used to hang out with and play with other boys, but after we moved to Inkom, they saw me as a girl and therefore different. So they stopped playing with me. People had more restrictive ideas of what was appropriate behavior for girls vs. boys. It was that period, when other people were focused on my gender variance, when I had the most problems.

Eric:                What were your ‘Coming Out’ experiences like?

Jacob:             When I first came out as a lesbian I thought that all those feelings that I didn’t understand were what made me a lesbian. I was always thinking that being a Tomboy was being a lesbian and that that was the ‘lesbian experience’. I didn’t admit it to myself until I was 35 the other possibilities. When I started to look back there were all these incidents. At one time I convinced the other boys that I was a boy (I insisted and convinced them so I could hang out with them). I was just me, and no one told me I wasn’t a boy until we moved to the [Inkom] farm. Because I was only hanging out with boys at school, I was taken to the school Psychiatrist. I wasn’t allowed to hang out with them anymore.

I am thrilled that there are kids now who are three or four years old and know they are trans [gender]. They vocalize it. There are people who come out later in life, like I did, with my same experiences and they don’t recognize themselves for whatever reasons. I think we [trans people] all recognize it at different points in our lives, but just don’t know how to vocalize it. It’s really hard to understand [those feelings] that make you feel different. Once you identify that, it all makes sense.

Eric:                How did you first meet Diane?

Jacob:             We met at the Boise, Idaho pride parade.

Diane Anderson-Minshall:             It was only the 2^nd gay pride parade in the state. We were both 22 at the time. A friend of a friend introduced us, but there was no big ‘click’. A few months later he came up [to where I lived in Idaho] and we hit it off.

Eric:                How long were you two together [as a couple] before the subject of transgender was brought up?

Jacob:             We were together 15 years before the actual subject was broached.

Diane:                        I started becoming aware about six months before he told me, so I had six months to process and worry. I went into ‘Emergency Mode’; ‘what do I need to do’? ‘Who do we need to see and figure it out’? I wasn’t thinking about myself as much as what Jake needed as part of his Gender Dysphoria (former called “Gender Identity Disorder”). I just wanted to solve the issue immediately. The feelings came later.

Eric:                How do you differentiate between the feelings of attraction to women – as a biological woman, versus the attraction as your true self as a man?

Jacob:             I don’t think it was like that. It was really of more being honest with myself about my true identity. I was always uncomfortable in my skin and was not always good at figuring out why that was. At that time, I was about 35, Diane was working on an anthology called “Becoming: Young Ideas on Gender, Identity, and Sexuality”, and she recommended it to me. I started reading and in some of the stories I heard parts that I was identifying with, people were writing and capturing my feelings. I started to say, “Maybe if I was born in a different time I would identify as transgender. At first I felt that maybe if I were younger I would identify as a ‘boi’ *

Diane:                        * B-o-i is a political spelling used by women as a way to identify themselves, on a scale of masculinity, as a gendequeer person.

Jacob:             Diane was also – at that time – writing for ‘Bitch’ magazine and they assigned me a number of transgender subject books to review and write about. I did think that if maybe I was younger I might identify more with being ‘transgender’ or some other word, but I thought that at my age it wasn’t open to me anymore. Over more time and after hearing more stories, I identified more and that’s when I said I was ‘trans’.

Eric:                At what point did you decide that making the transition was the right decision for you?

Jacob:             Immediately, that’s the funny thing. I told Diane I felt trans and I wasn’t sure if I was going to transition. Diane was very much a ‘go forward and try to solve your problems’ kind of person. Once I finally said it out loud, Diane said that it wasn’t a stopping point, but it was a beginning point of finding out if that’s what I wanted to do.    

 

Eric:                Were/are your family and friends supportive?

Jacob:             Almost everybody is in a supportive place now. There were struggles and the interesting thing for us is that some of the people we thought were going to be supportive had reservations, and vice versa. There was a distinct gender difference input. Most men were congratulatory, while most women said, “How could you do that to Diane? Can’t you just be a different ‘kind’ of woman?” or “But you’re so happy! You’ve had this marriage and everything is going right, so why would you be unhappy?” They didn’t understand back in 2005.

Eric:                Diane, how did you react when Jacob first discussed it with you?

Diane:                        I saw it coming long before Jacob did. I saw the wheels turning about 6 months before. We’d been together for 15 years, and I knew him. I knew he was becoming more interested in trans narratives, and those identified as ‘transgendered’ or ‘gender queer questioning’. It mirrored the other people that had come through having similar movements, and I saw other lesbian feminists having similar thoughts – so it wasn’t completely unheard of. By the time Jake actually said, “I think I’m trans”, I was ready for it to happen in one-way or the other.

Eric:                There must be many steps taken before the final step in making the transition. What are the steps needed?

Diane:                        I was comfortable with the binary, ‘male’ and ‘female’ but no so much in the in between. I was hoping we weren’t going to stay in that in between space, as it was hard for me to navigate. I thought it would be harder than the whole losing a wife and gaining a husband. And I wanted Jake in therapy.

Jacob:             We were in the San Francisco Bay area and part of the Kaiser HMO plan; it took a referral to get into the gender studies program. WPATH (World Professional Association for Transgender Health) and the Harry Benjamin Standards of Care lay the steps out exactly what should happen, when, and under what circumstances that a person should move onto the next part of Transitioning. Seeing a therapist is first, preferably someone used to being part of the gender program. My therapist had been working with transitional people for over 20 years, and she knew the ups and downs of everything going on with me. We had no idea how much we lucked out with her as our doctor. She told me that ‘if anyone in the Kaiser facilities ever treats you differently, tell me immediately and I’ll take care of it’. They immediately made me feel completely comfortable there.

The amount of therapy you need depends on the individual. They judge on where you are, making evaluations to determine that [what you’re feeling] isn’t something else; that it isn’t a mental health issue, or that someone is trying to hide their identity for legal reasons. You have to pass that test before moving forward.

The next step is the Real Life Test – living in the preferred gender role. The rules have changed now [in this day and age], and that’s a good thing. It can be dangerous for someone going from male to female, dressing and living like a woman but still being a biological male. Today there are shorter periods of time to wait between dressing and living [as the preferred gender] and starting the hormones. It now depends on when your therapist thinks you’re ready.

Top surgery for Female-to-Male trans can happen sooner, but the bottom surgery is usually suggested to wait for another year or so. That way the body can adjust to the hormones. For many decades they recommend that you moved to another city and started life over. But now you go away for a month or so and come back a different person.

Eric:                Have you fully completed your transition with all surgeries including Phalloplasty?

Jacob:             There are a lot of trans people that will never have ‘full’ bottom surgery and consider themselves fully transitioned. The idea of being ‘done’ with transition simply isn’t a concept that many trans people understand. For some there is certainly an end point, but for many others, it is an ongoing process, kind of like life itself.

I don’t talk about which surgeries I have or haven’t had because that’s unfair to other trans people, many who don’t get bottom surgery (or even top surgery) because they can’t afford it, don’t want it, don’t have access to it, or are reluctant to get a flawed surgery (as phalloplasty is often seen as). Bottom surgery is still a very expensive process, can range between $50,000 – $100,000, and is rarely covered by insurance, although Medicare is currently considering altering their policies. Until it isn’t out of reach of so many trans people, having bottom surgery is a huge privilege. Those without it often haven’t ‘chosen’ that path, but they are sometimes denigrated and discriminated against for not having it. Also, I should add, more trans men these days are having metaoidioplasty, a procedure that creates a micropenis from the clitoris.

The penis question feels like a way that non-trans people judge you, asking “Are you really a man?” and by not answering it, I challenge you to accept my manhood on my word, not on my genitals.

As for my transition, it’s been a 7-year process. It’s a whole new way of looking at a new world. It changes how everyone treats you and is a constant learning experience. I don’t think it’ll ever be done.

On the other hand, the minute I said ‘ I am now Jacob’ and started doing the Real Life Test, I started passing in my life in many ways. I wasn’t working at that time, due to a work injury a couple of years before I transitioned, so since my workload was by computer (in print as a freelance writer) I immediately became Jacob [in the byline].

In other ways it was definitely harder when we lived in a small community. Everyone knew my family. Everyone knew me. Everyone knew my dog! It was real obvious to them even when I looked like a boy because they knew me as ‘Suzy’. It’s a constant coming out process.

Eric:                What was the first thing you did as your true self as a man?

Jacob:             Cut my hair and get a new outfit. For the longest time when we went to buy clothes, Diane would steer me to the Girl’s area. I was so happy that I could finally go to the Men’s section and buy a wardrobe!

Diane:                        I wanted to put rules on what kind of man he could become. I kept saying things like, “Hey a lot men shave their chests you know.” And I’d see certain guys and shout, “Not that!” Finally, he said exasperated, “Well what kind of man can I be?” and I thought for a minute and said “Ryan Seacrest.” He was the perfect inoffensive metrosexual. So after that we began using that to make decisions on clothing and other things. Our new mantra became WWRSD – What Would Ryan Seacrest Do?

Eric:                What was your emotional path like when your wife of many years tells you they need to make this type of transition?

Diane:                        There was a lot of over-compensation. When Jake first transitioned we were worried about keeping it a secret. I was the editor of CURVE magazine, and we wondered how people would respond to him, or how people would interpret my work, and us and how it would affect my career. But there were no worries.

Jacob:             At first I would wake up and she would be balling her eyes out. That’s how she dealt with things when I was sleeping. There was a lot of crying in bed at night.

Diane:                        There’s dealing with packing up his girl clothes and adjusting to having mitigate his maleness; like shaving his legs. As a woman, he had these long gorgeous thin legs that any woman would love to have. Now he’s growing hair out on them. I would have a crying fit thinking about this beautiful woman becoming a man. I would try to keep things private since he had so much to deal with already.

Jacob:             Plus the hormones make everything crazy!

Eric:                How did you pick your name?

Jacob:             We took a long time to pick a name and wanted to be true to my parents – all of us kids were named after saints. I narrowed it down to Jacob. Jacob was supposed to be the first born, but his twin Esau prevented that in the womb and was born first stealing the birthright. The true one was supposed to be born first and didn’t make it. I like that idea that my true self was supposed to be born but something prevented him.

Diane:                        One of my favorite songs is Jack and Diane, so it worked as well.

Eric:                How has your life changed post-transition, on a physical, spiritual and mental level?

Jacob:             Basically, I’m the same person I was before but also very different. One of the biggest changes was in terms of my emotional range. As a lesbian feminist I always believed the differences between men and women had everything to do with socialization and nothing to do with biology. After the testosterone started I know better. I don’t have the emotional range like I used to, and that is a relief! I was very sensitive and felt like my nerves were always exposed. Testosterone thickened my skin and my emotions as well. It protected me from the outside world – I became ‘dulled’ so to speak. Diane interprets my emotional range as anger. Apparently my expressions are reduced in range as well.

Eric:                Aside from the physical what traits have Jacob lost after making the transition?

Diane:                        He can’t do the ‘lesbian processing’ thing anymore. That’s a big loss, honest to God! We’ve always been close and talked with each other. Laying around and listening to folk music, talking for hours…we don’t do that anymore. It’s just not in him and he has no tolerance for that kind of conversation any more. It’s different. There are less highs and lows, and he’s just more even-keeled emotionally.

Eric:                Have you ever had a funeral or mourned your former self?

Jacob:             We haven’t. My parents have mourned for the loss, but for me it was a relief. It was difficult for Diane for a while. There are moments where I get stumped in the weirdness. How do you embrace your childhood when it’s not really your childhood anymore? Our society separates us. I was on a basketball team when I was younger, but it was a girl’s team, and not a boy’s team. Parts of my childhood are hard to keep a hold of and maintain because of the transitioning between then and now.

Eric:                Diane, do you miss your former wife?

Diane:                        In the beginning there were periods I felt that. I missed certain things about Suzy that did stop after the transition. Not all of them were about him as a person. I realized how often two women could actually be together. There was the first time I went to the gym and had to go to the changing room by myself. Or at the spa when we used to sit and chat in the hot tub or sauna, but he was ushered into the men’s section and separate gender experiences. I felt robbed that he couldn’t be here with me. It was then that I felt alone.

On the other side of that coin, we instantly got heterosexual privileges that I didn’t even realize we were missing. The day after we officially got married (we were a Prop 8 couple, so we had to end our legal marriage and our domestic partnership in order to re-marry as man and woman), I called the creditors. In the past I had to jump through hoops to get access to his account information, but as soon as I changed one word (from ‘wife’ to ‘husband’) they instantly gave me unlimited access to his files. No passwords needed. We had also asked our friends (who couldn’t get married) for their permission, and everyone knew we had advocated for decades for marriage equality, and they all urged us to do so.

Eric:                Are there attributes (aside from the physical) that Jacob brings into the relationship that Suzy couldn’t?

Diane:                        Jake is definitely more comfortable as a man and that has helped, but in ways that doesn’t depend on his maleness.

Jacob:             When you are perceived as a man there are definite tradeoffs.

Diane:                          He’s less approachable. Women perceive him differently. A woman can smile at a stranger’s child, and can approach them in ways that men can’t.

Jacob:             If I see a lesbian couple approaching I give them the ‘we’re both lesbians’ nod, but they perceive me as a man.

Diane:                        It didn’t affect our bottom line, but it does affect him as a man when he goes to a mechanic.

Eric:                How has your intimacy as a couple changed since the transition?

Diane:                        Intimacy is different from raw sex. That’s what most people want to know about. Do we have sex? You bet we fuck!

Eric:                Has Jacob’s transition changed the way you identify?

Diane:                        My partner’s genitals have changed, but my orientation hasn’t. It was important for me not to lose my identity. We are both transitioning. We have to adapt and recognize where we are in the world. I still identify as a lesbian, or a lesbian identified bisexual, if that’s how you want to define someone. I don’t want to disappear into the heterosexual community, although it is fine for other couples [experiencing transitions] to do that.

Eric:                How do you identify as a couple?

Jacob:             We like being ‘Queer’- it covers it all. Identifying politically is important.

Diane:                        I always insisted on called Suzy my wife, instead of partner. It’s more political and in-your-face. As he began transitioning we were thinking, ‘Now what’? Calling him my husband felt so ‘straight’, and that wouldn’t feel right for either of us. ‘Partner’ didn’t feel right, so I started explaining it as, ‘I’m a lesbian and this is my transgendered husband’.  Basically, you can call me what you like, just don’t call me a ‘Straight Girl’.

Diane Anderson-Minshall has been a journalist most of her life. After being an editor for On Our Backs, Girlfriends, and Curve magazines, she became the Executive Editor for The Advocate, and Editor-in-Chief for HIV Plus Magazine.

Jacob Anderson-Minshall is a freelance writer who has written several published essays, and has penned the nationally syndicated column “TransNation”. He has just recently been accepted onto the board of the Lambda Literary Foundation.

Together they write the “Blind Eye Mystery” Series (Bold Strokes Books).

Then I Go and Say Something Stupid like I’m Bisexual

 by Mel Bossa

Ah, identity. What a great and fucked up thing.

You know, I’ve been quiet for a year–well, not in my house, but on the web–and I took that time to step back and check it all out. See what you all had to say about this and that, and what really got you all heated up or snoozing. I went to my regular favorite websites and blogs, and hung around goodreads and LGBT review sites…

Oh and I wrote a book. But I’ll tell you about that one later.

Anyway, here’s the thing: I think bisexuality decided to take a sabbatical this year. I don’t know, but I haven’t seen it around much. If it wasn’t for Johnny Travolta and his little one man show, I don’t think we’d remember how to spell the word. Oh, and this just coming in, the guy from One direction might be bi directional. Okay, so that’s what we’ve got.

All right then.

We are slipping off the face of the earth, and yet, according to the latest studies, we are growing in numbers, people, Just like Nicholas Houx’ fans. Maybe, if bisexuals were zombies, we’d have more of a chance.

Oh, Mel, you whine so well.

I’m going to get serious with you for a second. I’m going to share something that happened to me and hurt me and forced me out of the dark and here, upfront,talking with you. I volunteer for a help line where I take calls from people who need to talk. One of the callers was a woman and she had much to say, so I tuned in on her pain and gave her my undivided attention, but you see when you’re in that zone, you’re real close to the person on the other line–almost like you can feel them sitting by you. It’s like holding their hand sometimes. In the middle of something, she says, “And I’m a lesbian.” That doesn’t change anything for me. I listen with the same attention. I don’t give gay people or straight people more of an empathic ear. So she adds, “And I’m not one of those fucking Bi Bi people. Those fucking women who can’t fucking chose what they want. Those fucking bitches.”

I knew the sentiment was out there in the real world. Of course I knew. I’ve lived on this earth long enough. But to hear it so close to my ear, damn. I know she was hurt by a woman who didn’t treat her right or lied to her. I know that. But the rage with which she said it made me feel like dirt. I sat there with my ears ringing and my face reddening, but kept my mouth shut.

But it isn’t dirt on me. It’s my identify. It’s my duality. I can’t back away and I can’t stand down. And I only wish we had more healthy role models in movies and books and even in our families. When was the last time an uncle whom everyone thought was gay, admitted he was really bisexual and had simply chosen to live his life with a man instead of a woman?

Oh wait, that’s my book.

I can already hear the tomatoes whizzing by my head with this character. People read the blurb and think: Cheater! Liar! Betrayal!!!

But wait, before you put this guy’s head on the guillotine. Give him a chance to show you what it’s like for him. Nothing is ever black and white.

In his secret life came out this month and I’ll be going back to my lurking, hoping my Davinder survives his coming out as bi.

Whatever happens, I’ll stand by this book and I’ll stand by Davinder.

Peace and love to you, my darlings! Be bold!

Editors are Murderers

By Russ Gregory

 

There’s a sort of push-pull, dance-to-the-death between writers and editors that rarely breaks out in actual physical violence but none-the-less leaves emotional scars. I’m not referring to disagreements over the placement of a comma or the appropriate use of passive voice. I’m talking about flat out murder… the killing of darlings.

 

As my editor Greg Herren explains it…

 

As painful as it is, sometimes a writer will write an extremely beautiful sentence–it just sings and is clever and wonderful and—just doesn’t really fit in the narrative. In fact, it jars the reader out of what they are reading. I call it ‘author intrusion’–”see how beautifully I can write?” 

There’s nothing wrong with using language beautifully, or creating lovely images with words. But it has to fit with the sentences and paragraphs before and after, otherwise it interrupts the flow–and you don’t want that.

 

Oh but Greg you are so wrong – that’s exactly what I want. I want my readers to be jarred out of their complacency by the sheer elegance and beauty of my words. I want them to see my oh-so-heavy hand as I craft another glorious phrase and take flight on another visual bunny trail, with my sentences painting pictures in their minds even when if their focus is pulled away from the story.

I want them to say, “Wow, that’s cool… who is this guy? I wish I could write like that. I’m going to print this saying on a T-shirt. I’m going to tattoo this phrase on my buttocks. I’m going chisel this slogan on my headstone. I’m going to run naked through the streets screaming these words …”

OK, maybe not that run through the streets thing, but you catch my drift. I want to be the one that brings universal truth to light in a series of witty, elegant and thought provoking expressions.

Or at least part of me wants to be that guy. The other part wants a readable and well-designed story.

Still, when I spend three weeks writing and re-writing the same sentence – struggling over word choice and placement and syntax and rhythm, turning over options for hours and hours until late one night, I wake from a fitful sleep and bound from my bed shedding sheets like the skin of a serpent, tripping over my backpack and nearly impaling my face on a bedside lamp, just so I can make it to my computer before the perfect slogan escapes my sleep-addled brain, and then I smile and do a little happy dance and pat myself on the back because the words are too beautiful, and the world is too beautiful, and I’m too beautiful, to hold in all that beauty – it’s a little difficult to see it deleted from the manuscript on the first editing pass.

This probably explains why writers drink heavily.

When I send off a manuscript and get back the edited copy, the first thing I do, after pouring myself a stiff drink of course, is hunt out my darlings. I hold my breath until I locate the sweeties and if they’re gone, after pouring myself another drink, I pout, and curse, and stomp around the room threatening to call my publisher, or my agent, or my mother (because no one wants to hear from my mother). After another drink, I realize that maybe the world will not end at this affront to the literary cannon and, after another drink, I don’t seem to care as much because now I’m passed-out on the sofa, or yelling “Ralph” into the thunder-mug, or trying to pick up the mailman. (“Hey big boy, you sure look good in blue…”)

That’s how I handle it; other authors may have different methods.

The thing is, it hurts. It hurts like a good whack in the testicles or giving birth to a bigheaded baby.

I want my darlings left alone. The thought of them disappearing into the universal editorial maw is agonizing. My pretty words obliterated, after all that fretting and lost sleep, and, well, dancing. Seriously, I’d rather donate a kidney to a to a gun lobbyist.

Once I struggled over a single word for nearly a month and a half. I just couldn’t get it right. One early option was ‘surreal’, but that didn’t sing to me. Later, it morphed into ‘cubist’, but again not quite the right sentiment. I finally landed on ‘Picassoesque’. Even writing it now gives me goose bumps. Lovely sound isn’t it? It was lovely in context too. I fell for that word. I sang songs to that word. If I could, I would have dated that word all through high school and taken it to the senior prom.

So you can imagine my horror when the manuscript came back sans my darling ‘Picassoesque’. I sunk into a funk so deep even copious amounts of self-flagellation couldn’t pull me out of my doldrums. I was devastated.

Now some of you may be asking yourself what’s all the fuss over one little word. But ponder this if you will. What if Edward Bulwer-Lytton had written, “The pen is mightier than the butter-knife”, or John Donne had coined the phrase, “No ham is a island.” or Dorothy had muttered, ‘There’s no place like Akron” – see, one little word does make a difference.

So for all the killer editors out there, and you know who you are, this rant is for you. Authors can be spiteful and petty and as a class we are not above peeing on the petunias. So please tread lightly when you murder our darlings (or someone might just make a late night run through your garden.)

Notes from the Pageant Circuit:Palm Springs 2013

BY KEN O’NEILL

Being a first time author, I wasn’t sure what to expect when I arrived at Bold Strokes Books 2013 LGBTQ book festival in Palm Springs. I thought perhaps it would be a pageant-like atmosphere, with one of us being crowned at the end. Because of the glorious desert climate I worried that the writers would be subjected to participation in a swimsuit competition. Wanting to have the best possible shot of winning, I texted my friend Shawn to schedule an appointment for some long overdue pre-trip manscaping. Immediately he texted back:

“Ken, have fun in Palm Springs. Sorry I’m in Mexico, Can’t help U get your smooth on. Better make peace with your inner Bear.”

I almost cancelled my flight.

Thankfully, I did not. Forced to forgo the Boyzilian, I boarded the plane in a far more natural state than was my want.  To my great relief there was no swimsuit completion. We didn’t even compete in evening gowns, which I wish someone had told me in advance because it would have saved me so much room in my carry on bag. There were however four days worth of talent competitions.

Well, no, not talent competitions. It was more like four days worth of talent celebrations.

My chief objective in attending the event (aside from winning Miss Congeniality) was to meet, and spend time, with my fellow writers. I’d been feeling like I needed a reminder that I love to write, and hearing author after author share their dazzling work I absolutely was reminded. I left each day inspired to work—committed to completing another novel.

But something even more wonderful happened. I wasn’t just reminded that I love to write. I was reminded that I love to read.

More specifically, I was reminded why I love to read. Reading takes me places I’ve never been.  It takes me into the lives of people different from myself. Even with every one of my body hairs intact, I will never really be one of Radclyffe’s wolves. But with a book in hand I can howl. Nor will I ever be a lesbian—or a woman of any orientation—but while reading I can pretend to be one.

On Thursday I attended a panel called Kiss and Tell: Scenes of Lesbian Desire. I was present for the session because I wanted to be supportive of my fellow Bold Strokes authors, not because I was particularly interested in the topic. But then something simultaneously wonderful and embarrassing happened. Ashley Bartlett began reading a sex scene from one of her “Dirty” series of novels. And my interest perked up—considerably. It’s been years since I was in High School, still I found myself reaching for my books and placing them in my lap for camouflage.

What was happening to me?

The answer was Obvi: I was being moved (or in this case turned on) by the power of a well-written story. And over the course of four days my colleagues stories moved me again and again—though only Ash’s words caused that particular type of movement.

Really this shouldn’t be news to someone who loves books, and yet it did come as a revelation to me. Sure, I like to read stories about gay men. But I also want to read books about the lives of lesbians and bisexual people and straight women and straight men. Bring me your transsexuals and your questioning. (Or is it queer? Does anyone really know what the Q stands for?) Honestly, I am totally game for a great asexual hero, too.

All I want—aside from Nell Stark’s tiara—is a great story and an interesting world and smart and pithy dialogue.

Oh, and apparently some hot, dirty lesbian sex.

Shaken & Stirred

Bold Strokes Books author Eric Andrews-Katz tells all about his latest novel, The Jesus Injection – a Bond parody. And I get a massage. Good times.

Put Your Best Sock Forward

Meet fabulous Bold Strokes Book author Ken O’Neill, author of The Marrying Kind.

Behind the Wheeler

Here’s a chance to meet Bold Strokes editor and author, Jerry Wheeler:

Are books of sex and horror (like mine) at the root of society’s ills?

BY DANIEL W. KELLY

In the 1940s and 1950s, two of my favorite subjects came under attack when comics like Tales from the Crypt were accused of creating evil children (the only kind I like), promoting lustful thoughts (a most welcome headache), and even leading to illiteracy (damn reading material!). In the decades that followed, violence and sex only escalated in popular entertainment. So today, with the death toll rising, finger pointing continues. Too many guns. Violent video games are to blame. The responsibility lies solely on the shoulders of Quentin Tarantino. What shocks me most about all this is that many people hoping to shift the focus off their guns are throwing their favorite video games like Grand Theft Auto and television shows like The Sopranos under the bus!

Then we have panic about the sexual threats of Jersey Shore, Glee, and Lady Gaga turning our youth into horny monsters, causing those who are perfectly straight to bend and go gay. So how do soccer moms explain the copy of 50 Shades of Grey on the nightstand to their children? Justify it as positive reinforcement to ensure the raising of horny heterosexual monsters, perhaps? Hey concerned moms. If you want to get off on the fear of actual horny homo monsters, check out my books. Very satisfying.

The bastardizing of media makes me wonder what effect erotic horror novels such as my book Combustion could have on society. Of course, Combustion is not being marketed to teenagers. If it were, it would probably sell a lot more copies. Let’s face it. Kids are into that stuff. I was. And look at the horrible effect it had on my young, impressionable mind; it made me…a writer.

What went wrong with me? Why aren’t I a menace to society? I spent my youth reading Stephen King and watching pretty young things get hacked, slashed, and disemboweled. All it managed to do was make me very careful to avoid masked men with machetes (masked men with paddles are a different story). Despite watching Steve Austin get shot in his bionic arm and merely blow a fuse and witnessing Michael Myers take six bullets at close range and walk away unscathed, I feared guns could kill. That worry was cemented in 1984 when my young gay crush, model/actor Jon-Erik Hexum, accidentally killed himself with a gun loaded with blanks.

I didn’t even comprehend the depths of my aversion to guns until a friend brought his BB gun to my house for a Halloween horror movie marathon—because, you know, it was a crucial part of his costume. I was assured that it wasn’t loaded. But during one of my obsessive rounds of cleaning up after everyone, I saw the gun sitting unattended on the armrest of my easy chair, pointing directly at one of my oblivious dogs, who believed he was curled up on his safe spot. I nearly pissed myself. Mom always said, don’t point guns in the house. I demanded the BB gun be removed from the vicinity. I don’t care if people own them, I just don’t want them near my beloved babies Sheffield and Miss Fine!

As for the sexual influences that messed up my young life, truth is, I had cable TV in my bedroom! The sex and nudity in teen comedies and slashers focused on women. Wasn’t feeling it. But I did figure out the exact amount of minutes into The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas when the hunky guys sing naked in the shower. So I would set my clock for that scene every time it played on HBO. And boy, was I feeling it. By the time I was 18, I was working at a video store and had free porn at my disposal, much like lucky little bastards do on the internet today. You don’t know what that filth did to my sexual development. I lost my virginity six yeas later and have been with the same dick ever since.

And of course, I now write books about vicious monsters and sex-hungry men. As I continue developing the stories following Combustion, I’ve noticed that guns are rarely if ever used by the characters. Even main man Deck Waxer, detective turned paranormal investigator, wishes he still had his gun when in danger, but knows it wouldn’t be of much use. If I learned one good lesson from all that horror at a young age, it’s that guns only kill people, not monsters. So some of my men are equipped with psychic powers to take on the evil. Others have dicks so big they don’t need guns to prove prowess. And the men with small dicks and no psychic powers? They just go play with the guys with the big dicks and hide behind the guys with psychic powers. Yeah, that’s what they’re doing back there.

Maybe there’s a fine line between being exposed and being predisposed that determines if we turn out human or inhumane. I’m naturally attracted to men and dislike acts of violence, and learned to get an adrenaline rush from both through fantasy and imagination. I’ve always read horror. I watch hardcore porn. I play violent video games, as long as the only things I’m shooting are zombies and demons that ooze green blood. And I write sex and horror. However, like most people who enjoy the same crazy books, movies, and video games I do, I fear the consequences of extreme fictional situations in reality. Do we as a society really believe that those responsible for the too-frequent tragedies we’re facing didn’t have it in them before playing, say, a game of Silent Hill? If media influence is at fault, why do we read Catcher in the Rye in high school? The guy who shot John Lennon was obsessed with it!

Whatever the solution for minimizing life-stealing violence and risky sexual behavior, I hope we begin to realize that each of us just wants the same protections as everyone else, both physical and emotional. We shouldn’t waste so much energy on attacking civil liberties, emphasis on the civil. A few months ago, many of the very people who are now outraged and ready to revolt because they feel their 2^nd Amendment right is being threatened were fighting to rewrite constitutions to define marriage and defending initiatives to block the ability for lifelong American citizens to vote. Call them on it, and they will give you a list of justifications for their beliefs and argue that the issues are not the same. And they’re actually correct. Marriage and voting never killed anyone. But what is the same is that no matter who you are, it’s a terrifying feeling to think that your freedom is going to be taken away from you. I get it. Believe me, I get it. And I can top it. I’ve known what it feels like to not even have the same rights and protections as most. So if you ever try to confiscate my horror novels and porn DVDs, I’ll whip out my semi-automatic neighbor with a registered gun and he’ll shoot your ass.

Marriage: 4th Time the Charm

By

Eric Andrews-Katz

 

December 06^th, 2012 was a monumental day in history for Washington State. It was the first day that GLBT couples could legally apply (and obtain) a marriage license. The lines at Seattle’s courthouse formed early and by Noon had reached several hours’ wait. But no one minded. Not the media recording the event, nor the well-wishers that came to witness their friends’ nuptials. A river of beaming faces waited in line for their licenses to commit within the next 60 days, holy (or unholy) matrimony. Or so that’s how the pictures looked. I wasn’t there. While we were thrilled about the law changing (by an incredibly close margin!) my partner of almost 13 years and I decided to sleep in.

The bombardment came the next day. “When are you guys getting married?” This question came as quite a surprise to us. We’ve been married. We’ve been married three times over. Among our circle of friends it would be hard pressed to find another couple that is as married as we are, for as long as we’ve been together. Our relationship has outlasted all heterosexual marriages of our generation in either family; in most cases, several of them combined. Our surnames have been legally changed. We have a mortgage together. Our living testaments are secured, and we’ve adopted two cats that we’ve made previsions for in case of our untimely deaths. We have our conjoined bank accounts, and a set TV schedule for the DVR. Really, what else is left to do? I guess now we have the obligation to make them legally legitimate cats instead of being furry bastards of shame.

Our first wedding was called a “Commitment Ceremony” because of the tightly held heterosexual possession of the word marriage. After three years of being together Alan got down on one knee and proposed, making us officially ‘enGAYed’. Since gay weddings were a relatively new concept in 2003 (to most of our friends and definitely to our families) we were spared the stereotypical deluge of advice on how to do everything, and we were able to have our day the way we wanted. It was catered, a DJ was present, and in front of over 95 of our closest family and friends, we said our vows pledging love and devotion. It’s the day we consider to be our official anniversary and thus far, is the best day of my life. While we were semi-traditional in almost every part of the ceremony, privately my partner Alan and I agreed on the rules: I don’t believe in divorce – I believe in widowhood. After all, traditional marriage values should always be upheld even in an illegal commitment ceremony.

Our next wedding was exciting for us. It was a real marriage in the sense that it was legally recognized; at least by the Canadian government and any other country recognizing Canadian laws; except of course for our own. On the 4^th anniversary of our meeting, which happens to be six months to the day after our Commitment Ceremony, we got in the car with our two ‘best men’ and drove to Vancouver, BC. We stood before a Marriage Broker, said the updated vows we wrote, and were pronounced Husband and Husband by the great country of Canada.

They say that a piece of paper doesn’t make a difference in relationships. They are wrong. There is something about it that creates a new feeling, a new way of looking at your relationship, and a new definition of commitment. Seeing that tiny set of red numbers listing my marriage certificate among the millions of others; the bold letter-heading that undeniably states Certificate of Marriage, and the signature of the Chief Executive Officer of the Vital Statistic Agency, somehow gives me a completely different sense of pride every time I see it framed on our wall. It’s the kind of pride that only 67,348,152 previous heterosexual/homosexual couples in Vancouver can say they’ve experienced. And if you’re not among the list, then you just don’t get it.

They say the third time is the charm, but for me it was the least significant. In 2007 Washington State passed the “Everything But Marriage” law that gave GLBT couples the title (without using the word marriage) and with (most of) the same rights as our heterosexual counterparts. I couldn’t help but think of Ben Franklin’s saying: Giving the title without all the rights is “like calling an ox a bull. He’s thankful for the honor, but he’d much rather have restored what’s rightfully his”. I had visions of segregated bathroom signs with “Married” written on one, and “Everything But” written on the other. I don’t relish being counted among a group titled, “Everything But”. It just doesn’t sound right for a gay male relationship.

I came home from work that night expecting to have dinner with my partner (now of seven years) and two of our friends. When I walked through the door they turned as one – like children of the corn – with wide eyes and grinning smiles. “Hey Honey,” Alan enthusiastically said. “Let’s go get Domestic Partnered! Right now! They’ll do the paperwork, register it with the county, and waive all fees if we do it before the week-end.” And within minutes we were driving down to City Hall. We sat before an official. He checked our identification and presented the paper for us to sign. That was it. No bells. No whistles. No stepping on a wine glass. I’ve now married Alan three times. Three times to the same person! That should attest to something! Remember, Liz only married Dick twice (insert obvious joke here).

“You’ll get your official Domestic Partner registration cards in the mail within a month.”

An official registration card? This must be one of the non-equal rights covered under “Everything But”. I’ve never heard of a Heterosexual marriage registration card. Would they have to show it to gain access to their partner’s hospital room, as I am allegedly required to do? And of course those rights can be denied depending on in which state any given situation may happen. Does the bar code tattoo on my neck come next, or a simple chip inserted so that a governmental GPS can keep track of my relationship? Oh my God! This means I’m an official card-carrying homosexual! But at least now I’m one in a semi-legally recognized, committed relationship – but only in a few other states outside Washington. I look forward to using all of the membership privileges the cards entitle me, but only in the assigned states that uphold its validity. With all the limits and restrictions, it’s beginning to remind me of the Discover card; it’s nice to have but in all honesty, what good is it?

One thing did change after this wedding. It was a subtle change and I can’t say that I was really aware of it happening for several weeks. The word “husband” was creeping into my vocabulary more frequently as a title for Alan. I found myself saying it more frequently with ease than to just make a political point of reference. It’s comforting. While I alternate between ‘husband’ and ‘partner’, they have become interchangeable for me to say. More surprising is the reaction I get when I say it; most don’t blink an eye, not even the straight people.

Then came the results of election night 2012. Obama was reelected President, and both gay marriage and marijuana became legal in Washington state. Maybe they’re not related. I’m just saying maybe it’s not a coincidence either. My cousin called to say, “Congratulations! Now you gay guys can suffer through marriage with the rest of us! Heh Heh!” My reply was simple: “Doesn’t that say a lot about you and your wife!” Not so surprising they’re now divorced.

All registered Domestic Partnerships will convert to marriage in 2014 unless another marriage is performed by the state. After viewing the weeklong lines at the courthouse, my heart was full of joy and I finally succumbed. This time it was different; I proposed to Alan. I sent him an electronic proposal on Facebook. He ‘liked’ it, so I guess it was a yes.

Neither of us could say when the third marriage, our Domestic Partnership happened without checking our cards, or putting the barcode reader to our necks. We decided that we didn’t need a fourth date to remember; and so planned to consolidate as many events on one date. We will be celebrating 13 years of being together, 9.5 years of our American Ceremony, 9 Years of our Canadian Marriage, and the beginning of our Washington State recognized Marriage – all on the same day. Priceless.

Since the demand for marriage licenses increased so much, the Seattle courthouse moved the registration to a lower office. One has to move through a maze of descending hallways in order to get there. After the third one, I turned to Alan and whispered, “If I see shower heads at the end of this, I’m outta here!” My fears were ill founded and we entered the office. Once proven that we hadn’t married before (the previous ceremonies didn’t count? Does that mean I can get my money back?), we paid the registration fee and were told we had 60 days until the certificate expired. “Good luck,” and we were on our way.

Instead of sending our announcements, we put up a notice on Facebook. “To our friends/family. We are getting married again. It’s going to be on Monday afternoon at 5 PM, at the Shoreline courthouse. All wanting to attend are welcome. We’re going out for Thai food after.”

The comments began to appear almost immediately. The first one said: “That’s funny. I already think of you guys as being married.” The next was, “Does this mean we have to get you another gift?” The third said, “Congratulations…Again!” And so they alternated until one comment appeared further down the feed: “Thank God! Now we can stop referring to you as the Slutty Man Whores around the dinner table to the kids!” I sent a note saying that although not expected, nightshirts that actually say “Slutty Man Whore” would make for another reason to smile when climbing into bed at night.

How do you write vows for a relationship that you’ve been involved in for over 13 years? Do we really need to vocalize yet again our love and devotion for one another? Hasn’t three separate ceremonies shown that already? Not that I want to tempt fate, but I can’t foresee either of us packing up and leaving for any reasons. Our vows should reflect on the importance of our relationship now, the true and realistic devotional pledges.

“I promise to let you watch The Walking Dead in quiet.”

“I promise to pretend I’m listening with a smile when you repeat the same story for the 30^th time.”

“I promise not to mock you when you play Angry Birds on your iPhone while we’re talking.”

“I promise to pretend to believe you when you blame the cat for that mysterious smell.”

Those are the realities of life. Those are the promises worth keeping, and they are all bound to bite me in the ass sometime in the future. But if anyone can overlook them for such an extended period of time, that’s the definition of a soul mate. And if it finally takes a piece of paper signed by the glorious state of Washington to provide an undisclosed sense of security or legitimacy, then so be it. The paper carries power. It does make the difference. It was worth the wait and all three previous ceremonies to finally get my state’s legal recognition.

I look forward to renewing my vows and committing for at least another 13 years, hopefully many more. Maybe then it’ll be recognized on a federal level and we’ll have to plan wedding number five.

I wonder if I’ll cry.

Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang

By Joel Gomez-Dossi

 

 

My thirteen-year-old nephew is a mystery and action/adventure fanatic. He never passes up an opportunity to read an Arthur Conan Doyle story. (He says he likes Sherlock Holmes because the guy’s really smart.) My nephew devoured The Hunger Games Trilogy in a couple of weeks. (His only complaint is that the heroine, Katniss, thinks too much for someone about to be killed.) And he believes Neil Gaiman is the best author. Ever. (His stuff is really cool.)

At a recent family get-together, he pulled me aside. He was pissed because his mom and dad wouldn’t let him to read my first novel, Pursued. It wasn’t the book’s gay content that bothered his parents. They felt the adult themes weren’t appropriate for a boy his age. And I agree. Pursued is about an openly gay college junior who wants a boyfriend more than anything else in the world. But when he finds the man of his dreams, the guy turns into the man of his nightmares and tracks our hero through the Catskill Mountains and New York City. He has only one goal— to kill his young lover. When writing Pursued, I didn’t shy away from the story’s sex, nor gloss over its violence.

“Then is your book dirty?” my nephew asked.

Conscious of the fine line I was walking, I said, “No. But it does have mature themes.”

“You mean it has sex and violence.”

“Well, yes, but the book is about more than that.”

He nodded, but his next question threw me for a loop. “Then why couldn’t you write the book without the sex and violence?”

I didn’t know how to answer him. While developing Pursued, the main character’s need for love and the violence he encounters was always an intricate part of the story. It’s what made the story interesting. In fact, I believe sex and violence are two of the reasons we like most stories. Shakespeare probably thought that, and I’d wager that most of today’s best-selling authors believe that too. But sex and violence are just two aspects of a successful story.

In Europe, James Bond is known as “Mr. Kiss Kiss Bang Bang” because that phrase described every James Bond plot. Sex and Violence. The audience knows what to expect with Bond. In every story 007 gets involved with a lot of women and engages in a lot of fights where he gets to use a bunch of fancy weapons and gadgets. But at the heart of every story is a diabolical villain who is wrecking havoc with the world. Bond must apprehend the villain and save civilization.

Pauline Keal, The New Yorker’s film critic during the 1970s and 80s, even titled one or her criticism books Kiss Kiss Bang Bang. She said those words were “perhaps the briefest statement imaginable of the basic appeal of movies. This appeal is what attracts us, and ultimately what makes us despair when we begin to understand how seldom movies are more than this.”

I believe that same sentiment holds true for our literature. Yes, we love to read about sex and violence. It entertains us. Satisfies our urges, excites our libido and lets us live vicariously through our heroes. Often, it’s the entire basis of how we judge a novel. But deep inside, we also want our stories to enlighten us and to broaden our outlook of the world. We want to believe in our hero’s admirable cause, and to cheer his successes, and mourn his losses.

When the conversation with my nephew ended, we decided one thing. I’d sign a copy of Pursued for him, wrap it up, and keep the book until he becomes old enough to read it. When he reads the novel, I hope he’ll say he has a new favorite author, his uncle Joel, because his books are really cool.

 

Joel Gomez-Dossi lives with his husband in upstate New York. At last count they have twenty-five nieces and nephews of varying ages, so this particular bookworm’s identity is safe. To know more about Joel, visit www.JoelGomez-Dossi.com. You can watch Pursued’s book trailer on Youtube, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dcb2-fixq6M.