Jules Robin

In my last entry, I wished I could at least start one of my ideas. Well, I'm 10,000 words into a surprise story in another genre, but I got pleasantly surprised by the spontaneous appearance of approximately 800 words on Promiscuous, my polyamorous YA novel. I'm nervous about it; I know YA actually takes on edgier subjects than mainstream a lot of the time, but I grew up in a very strict religious household, and you know what the conservative's mantra always is: "Think of the children!"

So even while my personal beliefs include acknowledging teenage sexuality and providing space for it to grow in healthy ways instead of seeking unhealthy outlets, I look at the beginning of this novel about two boys and a girl who all fall in love with each other, and I hear the impending disapproval of thousands of people who refuse to acknowledge polyamory and/or same-sex love as acceptable.

But this isn't the last time I'm going to have a controversial idea, and it probably won't be the last time I'm compelled to explore the story. After all, half my reason for doing this is so that teenagers who are "different" will be able to find stories about them.

The other half of my reason is because the stories won't let me sleep until I write them.

At least my friend the librarian gives it a thumbs up. God bless libraries.

"Two or three things I know for sure, and one is that I'd rather go naked than wear the coat the world has made for me." -- Dorothy Allison


The stories I write stick pretty much to a common theme. (You'll realize this after I finish a few of them. I promise.) I don't mean that they're all in one genre, like fantasy or contemporary or whatever -- they're actually pretty varied there -- but that they're about people like me.

Well, not exactly like me. That would be a pretty narrow subgroup, and there's only so many stories I could tell there, and not all of them would be particularly interesting. But more... my people. Gender and sexual and romantic minorities.

There are situations out there where people who have told our stories are offered deals for more fame, more money, more respect if they drop us from the narrative and tell stories about "normal" people. I've thought about it, you know, and I think if someone made me that offer, I'd be very, very sad that they even said it to me.

It's not that I think people who choose to tell stories about not-us are bad people. Like the wind, the muse goes where it will and you follow. And I'm not trying to set up a separation between "us" and "them," 'cause we all have plenty of things in common, but the moment that request is made, the "us" and "them" thing has already been created.

I thought about it, though. Would I take the opportunity? I'm notoriously mercenary. When you grow up on the lower end of the income bracket, money can be a powerful motivation. I mean sure, money isn't everything, but I'm not gonna lie -- it makes some things easier to deal with. (Some, not all.) But even if I was offered a lot of money, I don't think I could. Not that I don't think I would -- although I kinda doubt that too -- but... if I weren't telling stories about my people, I don't think I would have any stories left to tell.

Everybody has the things they can't get away from, and my thing is Queer kids. (I like the capital Q. What do you think? And we could just abbreviate it. "I'm Q.") Maybe part of it is because I'm still untangling what it means to me to be Q. After all, fiction is the vehicle by which we explore our reality. (I'm sure I'm not the first person to say that, but I'm the first person I've heard say it.)

But whatever the reason, I don't think I have any stories in me that aren't about Q people, and I think it just wouldn't work if I tried to write about anyone else. I love my people. My people are my muse and my motivation. And I really, really hope that never changes for me.