Post by Dabeagle on Aug 7, 2016 22:11:36 GMT -5
A month or so ago (time is elastic when you age) someone in chat asked me why I write the subjects I do, especially with respect to teen characters. At the time I gave a standard answer which more or less boiled down to when I was in school I didn't get to have those kinds of relationships and now I can experience them.
While that is true, it may not be the whole thing so I've been thinking about that question. My mother asked me that, or something similar once, because I had so many coming out type story lines. And let's face it, the farther away from being a teen you are, the less likely you're going to get that character right. I'm sure some of the things I do must seem as erratic as a kid, but really - why do I wrote what I do? I recall telling her that coming out stories are still relevant, that not all kids are safe and the norm is still 'straight until proven gay'.
The answer is complex and not complete, I don't think. It's a question that makes me defensive, as if there is something wrong with what I write. Writing gay teens may confuse some people or make them think that they shouldn't read my stories because there must be something indecent about their subjects.
When I was in my teens, my father was in the closet even though he was married to my mother. She knew and, of course, didn't have a very good opinion of gay people because of my father's behavior. He was an adult and responsible for his actions, but he was also shaped from the repressive times he grew up in, small town in northern California for those scoring at home. In my home those things weren't discussed and so my latent feelings were kept under wraps. One result of this was that I developed a very overactive imagination to take the place of all the things I wasn't experiencing like the boys around me were. I watched Silver Spoons religiously as a kid just to see Ricky Schroeder every week. As a teen I missed out on dating and breaking up, which forms how kids learn to get out of relationships where their needs aren't being met. It stunted my social growth and when I'd 'fall for a guy' I couldn't admit it to myself, but I did everything I could to be their friend.
As I've grew older, I've always daydreamed away my humdrum life. I spend the time waiting to fall asleep daydreaming, to this day. As a teen I'd think of guys at school and even now I wish I could go back and change things, to have learned the lessons I missed out on. Of course, maybe I would have remained socially inept and continued to hang on for people that didn't really like me.
When I worked mindless jobs stocking shelves or (before we had machines) separating brown, green and clear class as well as cans, providing a receipt and then having to empty those bins into a huge dumpster out back, I'd let my mind wander and not just to salacious things. Dreams you might have had once or twice, too—money, travel, etc. All of this fed into my psyche and culminated in one very short relationship where I had my first sexual experience at about the age of 20. She was a nice enough person, and a friend had gotten me together with her because she was a sure thing. I can still recall her telling me her ex, Mike or something, had a ten inch penis. And I wondered what that looked like.
My imagination also worked to my disadvantage when my unresolved and poorly understood emotions led me to a relationship where I was ended up married because I was trying to be a dad when my emotions were more conflicted.
I was a coward and I lied to myself and I pushed myself to create a happy marriage. This wasn't possible, and not just from my end. My ex-wife suffered from depression and had led a very hard life which her own issues made harder. Her father had been a drug dealer, laundering money through an auto glass shop. Her mother had been a 'prize' to the father, he being black and her lily white. He beat her. She finally left him and fell apart in another town, drank and her kids were taken away. So my ex-wife went into the foster care system. When got pregnant the first time because she thought that her child would love her unconditionally and that was what she sought. In the end, of course, we were incompatible but as people, not simply in the bedroom, which I did try very hard to make work. For 7 years under one roof. A more honest, courageous and, perhaps, self-aware man might have broken things off far earlier or simply not gotten involved—but my imagination filled me with ideas about how life could be.
During that time I discovered Nifty and read stories that, frankly, weren't always very good. However it opened up the path to me where being gay wasn't so far of a stretch and I finally realized who I was and what I needed to do, ironically, when my wife and I had a serious discussion. She told me it would only be a few years until all the kids were gone (3) and then it would just be she and I all the time. The thought, frankly, scared me. The idea I'd spend the rest of my life with someone who I didn't get along with and, though I cared for, knew I wasn't in love with. There were other reasons—my ex-wife could be violent, she was very dramatic and never so happy as when she was managing or causing a crisis. She was the very definition of a person who walks in on a campfire and proceeds to pour napalm on it.
In that phase, I began to write. I went into chat rooms. And I told my wife I wanted a divorce. You might think ill of me, and I won't blame you. When I think back there were many times things could have been different for me if external forces had been different or internal ones, but I wasn't strong enough. As a result I married over a dumb idea and deluded myself into thinking I could make it work. As my marriage broke up and I lost myself in the idea of wishing I'd been a teen who could have fallen in love, the world changed and rapidly. Things became commonplace or got phased out—cell phones spread like a virus, internet chatrooms began to die and, when I moved back to New York, dial up was going the way of the DoDo. I mention this because it became harder and harder to write characters people would recognize as a modern teen, just due to technological advances that virtually all of them take for granted now. Stories I wrote ten years ago lack authenticity for that simple fact.
At that time, some people liked my characters and stories and I sure liked that, as well. But I began to grow uneasy with the content I was sharing space with at Nifty and I began to post there less and less. I recall speaking to someone who I won't name and he laughed at the thought that he'd had to post to Nifty before, just to get readers. At that time he had his own very successful site, but I recall remembering that he was able to do that and still have a big readership while I couldn't. I tried, had big names for a while and posted weekly. My imagination became my refuge as I went to a job where I had to be just to get a paycheck, but where I was really living was in my head and on the page. I began to go to gay bars, which were still relevant—or more so than they are today (another sad change) and finally to date. With more engagement with life, there was less writing time. Jobs changed, more social outlets and less writing.
I did miss the time with people, the attention of discussing my ideas and characters, but found it hard to create. After we got our son, we were too busy dealing with him and his demanding needs for me to have time, and then our experiences in the foster care system brought yet more pressure and heartache and impotent anger. But eventually I did—I retreated into my worlds where it's okay for gay kids to fall in love. Yeah, sometimes they have sex because, well, teens do that. Even Texas keeps track of that stat. Most of the time I don't talk too much about that—we probably remember that feeling of simply being a ball of hormones and it's sort of private, anyway. But, sometimes if it fits the emotion, then yeah.
So, why do I write what I do and who I do? Yes, because I wish things had been different for me. I desperately hope it means something to a gay teen, somewhere. But it's a place I can go to escape everyday demands—because while every life has it's demands, one also needs escapes from it. Some people travel or watch TV/movies, read books or listen to recordings. Some are darker, involved with drugs of some kind. I create and visit kids who I wish I'd known. Because, let's be frank, teens are kind of dickheads. Oh, it's not entirely their fault, not really—they aren't done yet and our expectations should probably be set accordingly. But it's one of the few things I miss about working retail is the kids and their nonsense. Even now if I see a nice looking kid out and about, they may do something that shows up as a character—an outfit, a look or a laugh. I like to imagine the best of who they might be. So, I write. I imagine. I escape. I work to exorcise crap from my own childhood.
I guess most of all, I daydream. And that's why I write what I write.
While that is true, it may not be the whole thing so I've been thinking about that question. My mother asked me that, or something similar once, because I had so many coming out type story lines. And let's face it, the farther away from being a teen you are, the less likely you're going to get that character right. I'm sure some of the things I do must seem as erratic as a kid, but really - why do I wrote what I do? I recall telling her that coming out stories are still relevant, that not all kids are safe and the norm is still 'straight until proven gay'.
The answer is complex and not complete, I don't think. It's a question that makes me defensive, as if there is something wrong with what I write. Writing gay teens may confuse some people or make them think that they shouldn't read my stories because there must be something indecent about their subjects.
When I was in my teens, my father was in the closet even though he was married to my mother. She knew and, of course, didn't have a very good opinion of gay people because of my father's behavior. He was an adult and responsible for his actions, but he was also shaped from the repressive times he grew up in, small town in northern California for those scoring at home. In my home those things weren't discussed and so my latent feelings were kept under wraps. One result of this was that I developed a very overactive imagination to take the place of all the things I wasn't experiencing like the boys around me were. I watched Silver Spoons religiously as a kid just to see Ricky Schroeder every week. As a teen I missed out on dating and breaking up, which forms how kids learn to get out of relationships where their needs aren't being met. It stunted my social growth and when I'd 'fall for a guy' I couldn't admit it to myself, but I did everything I could to be their friend.
As I've grew older, I've always daydreamed away my humdrum life. I spend the time waiting to fall asleep daydreaming, to this day. As a teen I'd think of guys at school and even now I wish I could go back and change things, to have learned the lessons I missed out on. Of course, maybe I would have remained socially inept and continued to hang on for people that didn't really like me.
When I worked mindless jobs stocking shelves or (before we had machines) separating brown, green and clear class as well as cans, providing a receipt and then having to empty those bins into a huge dumpster out back, I'd let my mind wander and not just to salacious things. Dreams you might have had once or twice, too—money, travel, etc. All of this fed into my psyche and culminated in one very short relationship where I had my first sexual experience at about the age of 20. She was a nice enough person, and a friend had gotten me together with her because she was a sure thing. I can still recall her telling me her ex, Mike or something, had a ten inch penis. And I wondered what that looked like.
My imagination also worked to my disadvantage when my unresolved and poorly understood emotions led me to a relationship where I was ended up married because I was trying to be a dad when my emotions were more conflicted.
I was a coward and I lied to myself and I pushed myself to create a happy marriage. This wasn't possible, and not just from my end. My ex-wife suffered from depression and had led a very hard life which her own issues made harder. Her father had been a drug dealer, laundering money through an auto glass shop. Her mother had been a 'prize' to the father, he being black and her lily white. He beat her. She finally left him and fell apart in another town, drank and her kids were taken away. So my ex-wife went into the foster care system. When got pregnant the first time because she thought that her child would love her unconditionally and that was what she sought. In the end, of course, we were incompatible but as people, not simply in the bedroom, which I did try very hard to make work. For 7 years under one roof. A more honest, courageous and, perhaps, self-aware man might have broken things off far earlier or simply not gotten involved—but my imagination filled me with ideas about how life could be.
During that time I discovered Nifty and read stories that, frankly, weren't always very good. However it opened up the path to me where being gay wasn't so far of a stretch and I finally realized who I was and what I needed to do, ironically, when my wife and I had a serious discussion. She told me it would only be a few years until all the kids were gone (3) and then it would just be she and I all the time. The thought, frankly, scared me. The idea I'd spend the rest of my life with someone who I didn't get along with and, though I cared for, knew I wasn't in love with. There were other reasons—my ex-wife could be violent, she was very dramatic and never so happy as when she was managing or causing a crisis. She was the very definition of a person who walks in on a campfire and proceeds to pour napalm on it.
In that phase, I began to write. I went into chat rooms. And I told my wife I wanted a divorce. You might think ill of me, and I won't blame you. When I think back there were many times things could have been different for me if external forces had been different or internal ones, but I wasn't strong enough. As a result I married over a dumb idea and deluded myself into thinking I could make it work. As my marriage broke up and I lost myself in the idea of wishing I'd been a teen who could have fallen in love, the world changed and rapidly. Things became commonplace or got phased out—cell phones spread like a virus, internet chatrooms began to die and, when I moved back to New York, dial up was going the way of the DoDo. I mention this because it became harder and harder to write characters people would recognize as a modern teen, just due to technological advances that virtually all of them take for granted now. Stories I wrote ten years ago lack authenticity for that simple fact.
At that time, some people liked my characters and stories and I sure liked that, as well. But I began to grow uneasy with the content I was sharing space with at Nifty and I began to post there less and less. I recall speaking to someone who I won't name and he laughed at the thought that he'd had to post to Nifty before, just to get readers. At that time he had his own very successful site, but I recall remembering that he was able to do that and still have a big readership while I couldn't. I tried, had big names for a while and posted weekly. My imagination became my refuge as I went to a job where I had to be just to get a paycheck, but where I was really living was in my head and on the page. I began to go to gay bars, which were still relevant—or more so than they are today (another sad change) and finally to date. With more engagement with life, there was less writing time. Jobs changed, more social outlets and less writing.
I did miss the time with people, the attention of discussing my ideas and characters, but found it hard to create. After we got our son, we were too busy dealing with him and his demanding needs for me to have time, and then our experiences in the foster care system brought yet more pressure and heartache and impotent anger. But eventually I did—I retreated into my worlds where it's okay for gay kids to fall in love. Yeah, sometimes they have sex because, well, teens do that. Even Texas keeps track of that stat. Most of the time I don't talk too much about that—we probably remember that feeling of simply being a ball of hormones and it's sort of private, anyway. But, sometimes if it fits the emotion, then yeah.
So, why do I write what I do and who I do? Yes, because I wish things had been different for me. I desperately hope it means something to a gay teen, somewhere. But it's a place I can go to escape everyday demands—because while every life has it's demands, one also needs escapes from it. Some people travel or watch TV/movies, read books or listen to recordings. Some are darker, involved with drugs of some kind. I create and visit kids who I wish I'd known. Because, let's be frank, teens are kind of dickheads. Oh, it's not entirely their fault, not really—they aren't done yet and our expectations should probably be set accordingly. But it's one of the few things I miss about working retail is the kids and their nonsense. Even now if I see a nice looking kid out and about, they may do something that shows up as a character—an outfit, a look or a laugh. I like to imagine the best of who they might be. So, I write. I imagine. I escape. I work to exorcise crap from my own childhood.
I guess most of all, I daydream. And that's why I write what I write.
