Category Archives: Writer and Reader

September Links Roundup: Ungovernable Witches

This month, I started my coursework for Year 3 of the Temple of Witchcraft Mystery School, focusing on shamanism and shadow integration. So let’s begin our links roundup with an article from Temple founder Christopher Penczak, addressing the key question for my spiritual practice in these times: what can magickal practitioners do about the destruction of American democracy? In “Things to Do to Be Ungovernable,” Christopher writes:

I’m not big on “resistance” as a word. There is magickal truth to the idea that what you resist, persists. What you are anti-, evokes its opposite to perpetuate the identity of being against it. Like antimatter and matter, and explosive results that can destroy all. As a magician you have to hold both as tools and over-identification with one results in your own harm and often your transmutation into your opposite.* The magician is not the positive or negative end of the magnet, but the person holding and using the magnet itself.

I’m big on Destruction. Binding. Transmutation. Transcending. Going around/under/over if you can’t go through. Noncompliance and non-recognition of authority. Ignoring deliberately, as an act, not passivity. And most importantly outcreating. The future is in new visions of the world and creative solutions that can entice and inspire. Destruction as in catabolic function, not wanton cruelty.  There is a show, an illusion that has always been a part of the world and we have to be better in being illusionists for good, for inspiration, ethics and justice. We have to present an option that everyone wants to choose. We not only have to outcreate, but use those tools to sell the new vision to others.

Horror fiction author Lincoln Michel offers encouragement to despairing writers in his Substack post, “Why You Should Still Build Your Raft of Art in the Sea of Slop”:

I’m not saying that you can’t enjoy an airport novel or a microwaved burrito or the design of a corporate logo. They all have their place. I’m saying that your art is no more in competition with such content than it is with Candy Crush, bad reality TV, or social media doom scrolling. Yes, in an abstract sense there are a finite number of humans each with a finite amount of time in their lives. It does not follow that a statistically significant number of people are going into a bookstore and thinking, “Hmm, do I buy my 25th commercial thriller by James Patterson or this experimental work by an author I’ve never heard of?” The readers of your work are different readers. Your work was never going to appeal to all or even most people, not even if you were the reincarnation of Tolstoy or Toni Morrison. The AI evangelists with NFT avatars who tweet about wanting to eliminate artists weren’t ever going to read your work. The people who only care about multimedia corporate franchise “universes” or who simply have interests other than reading weren’t going to either. So why bother worrying about what they do with their time? You don’t need to think about that…

…Why make art in an age—like most ages—in which few care about it? Make art because making art enriches your life in ways other than money. Practicing an art form changes you and enlarges you. It makes you look closer at the world, think deeper, live better.

I think often about Alexander Chee’s essay “On Becoming an American Writer,” in his book How to Write an Autobiographical Novel, where he says that he’s had to write through several apocalyptic historical moments: the AIDS crisis, 9/11, Trump’s first ascent to the presidency. The question his students always ask him, as if it were new, is “How can I write at a time like this?” At his Substack, The Querent, Chee recently revisited that question:

I take a moment for a thought experiment, every so often. As I try to do everything I have to do in this life, I sometimes try to imagine doing it without a job or an income for over 650 days, all while facing down missiles, bullets, starvation, the destruction of my home, torture, the murder of my family and friends, no water or working toilets or medical care, buying food off of a black market and enduring repeated forced relocations in a landscape that has been bombed so much it is a different color from space now than it was even a year ago. And still doing what I can to fundraise for myself online from people outside the country, on social media. Or to stand in lines that might get me shot.

When I think of the people still alive in Gaza, I think of how if they can survive this long, how incredible they could be if left to thrive. And yet now even the doctors left are being starved. The reporters too…

…An hour before my student had asked this question about how to write now, we had been discussing Close To The Knives by David Wojnarowicz, his 1991 essay collection that included the text of a flier from a 1989 ACT UP protest, the die-in at St. Patrick’s Cathedral protesting the Catholic Church’s message on AIDS, sex, women, queer people. The flyer detailed the Seven Deadly Sins, a list of 7 prominent conservatives, Catholics and politicians culpable in the AIDS crisis. I recognized this as the kind of flyer I used to write up as a part of ACT UP SF’s Media Committee. I think Wojnarowicz was trying to expand the radius of people who saw it and even to send the flyer into the future. He was flyering us from inside his book and each time someone opens the book it is like welcome to this demo, here’s a flyer. Sort of like these flyers and posters I found at the Met Online.

He died a year after the collection was published. In putting the book together he was doing what he did with a lot of his work, which was to take what he could and put it in front of an audience, a way to say this is how we fought, this is how we loved, this is how we died, do not forget us, learn from us, keep going.

On that note, some links for Gaza:

In “A Map to a Place That No Longer Exists,” published this week at Jewish Currents, Palestinian Abdullah Hany Daher writes about the surreal horror of navigating a city that’s reshaped daily by bombs:

Sometimes at night I try to picture our house in all its specificity: the way afternoon light spilled through the window, the cool hallway in summer. But the picture blurs, and panic sets in. What if I forget? What if the place that no longer exists vanishes inside me too? I’ve learned that memory, like a building, can erode without care. It starts with small things—forgetting the exact sound of the front door closing, the smell of rain on the balcony—and ends with a kind of internal demolition, the slow collapse of memory, the sense that pieces of yourself are being erased.

Here, houses are more than walls and roofs. They hold footsteps, smells, echoes of conversations. They keep the map of your life. When too many are gone, the city itself begins to forget.

“Israeli military’s own data indicates civilian death rate of 83% in Gaza war,” the Guardian (UK) reported last month: “an extreme rate of slaughter rarely matched in recent decades of warfare.” From the same article:

The general who led military intelligence when the war began has said 50 Palestinians must die for every person killed that day, adding that “it does not matter now if they are children”. Aharon Haliva, who stepped down in April 2024, said mass killing in Gaza was “necessary” as a “message to future generations” of Palestinians, in recordings broadcast on Israeli TV this month.

Also from the Guardian on Aug. 14, “‘Censorship: over 115 scholars condemn cancellation of Harvard journal issue on Palestine”:

More than 120 education scholars have condemned the cancellation of an entire issue of an academic journal dedicated to Palestine by a Harvard University publisher as “censorship”.

In an open letter published on Thursday, the scholars denounced the abrupt scrapping of a special issue of the Harvard Educational Review – which was first revealed by the Guardian in July – as an “attempt to silence the academic examination of the genocide, starvation and dehumanisation of Palestinian people by the state of Israel and its allies”.

…[T]he special issue was just about ready – all articles had been edited, contracts with most authors had been finalized, and the issue had been advertised at academic conferences and on the back cover of the previous one. But late in the process, the Harvard Education Publishing Group (HEPG), a division of the Harvard Graduate School of Education, which publishes the journal, demanded that all articles be submitted to a “risk assessment” review by Harvard’s general counsel – an unprecedented demand.

When the authors protested, the publisher responded by abruptly cancelling the issue altogether.

…In conversations with the Harvard Educational Review editors, the journal’s publisher acknowledged that it was seeking legal review of the articles out of fears that their publication would prompt antisemitism claims, an editor at the journal said.

I guess writing does matter, or they wouldn’t be trying so hard to suppress it.

Check out the album Lider mit Palestine: New Yiddish Songs of Grief, Fury, and Love on Bandcamp.

Yes, Reiter’s Block is a Garth Greenwell fan site. I know I’m a little obsessed. But Greenwell’s musings on the purpose (or glorious futility) of the artist’s life help me unhook myself from external metrics of success. Whether as a reader or a writer, I’ve learned from him to suspend my expectations of the experience I want to have, open generously to surprises, and be curious even about what feels awful. “Garth Greenwell Is Too Much,” an interview by Jordan Kisner at Pioneer Works, puts these qualities on display:

We talked about what happens when a person makes art “the central activity of a life”—not family, not religion, not place—and how to determine when that devotion is just too much. When I posed this question about too-much-ness, Garth almost completely refused it. “My whole aesthetic practice is predicated on: if something is too much you do more of it,” he said…

[GG:] …There is a kind of absolute ruthlessness about aesthetic practice, and if I catch sight of something that I’m after, I’m going to pursue it. That ruthlessness consists in refusing to allow the question to intrude, “Will anyone go along with me?” And I do believe that especially when you’re drafting, you only arrive anywhere by going absolutely as far as you can go.

So I don’t ever think about that, is it too much? I know that that question will arise at some point. But my first novel has a 43-page paragraph. My second novel has sex scenes that many readers have been unable to go along with. If I try to anticipate resistance to what I’m after, I’m just giving up the game. That is really central to my aesthetic practice. You just do it and you are absolutely ruthless about it.

We neurodivergent people know all about the too-much-ness of learning everything possible about a niche topic. My husband and I are so compatible, we discovered when we merged our book collections that we both had copies of Douglas R. Hofstadter’s essay collection Metamagical Themas: Questing for the Essence of Mind and Pattern, which includes three entire essays on font design.

In that spirit, I share with you “The Hardest Working Font in Manhattan,” an article by Marcin Wichary in Ares Luna. That block-capitals font you take for granted on your computer keyboard is a descendant of “Gorton,” also a staple of 20th-century metal elevator panels, road signs, and the moveable plastic letters on restaurant menu boards and office building directories. Wichary’s article tracks down the mechanical reasons why this workmanlike font became so popular.

Finally, some creative writing that made a strong impression on me this month: Amelia Loeffler’s “Osteoporosis Ghazal” in palette poetry is an elegant, poignant meditation on the symbolism of milk. “In the supermarket I am surrounded by so many cures, it is too late.” At the Marsh Hawk Press website, Michael McColly’s “Lessons for a Tukkikat” describes how coming to terms with his uselessness as a Peace Corps volunteer in Senegal was crucial to his education as a writer. Payne Ratner’s fairy-tale-like horror story “Eat Jimmy” in The Masters Review spins out a metaphor for parental abuse, with an ending that made this post-Christian reader feel that maybe Jesus’ sacrifice has some meaning for me still.

August Links Roundup: That’s Not My Department

“‘Once the rockets are up, who cares where they come down? That’s not my department,’ says Wernher von Braun.” Rest in peace to that great satirist of American warmongering, Tom Lehrer, who exited this mad world in July at the age of 97. The Harvard-trained mathematician’s fame rests on his catalogue of political humor songs that he wrote in the 1950s-60s, skewering such targets as obscenity law, the Catholic Church, and the nuclear arms race. The songs endure because the jokes don’t depend on political details from yesteryear. The cultural currents they tap into are deeper features of American life. Everything I knew about 20th-century American politics as a junior high schooler, I learned from the Stockbridge Library’s copies of Too Many Songs by Tom Lehrer and Jules Feiffer’s America, From Eisenhower to Reagan.

Maybe not as deep, but almost as funny, Thea Von Engelbrechten’s TikTok and Instagram video series Sylvanian Drama puts cutesy Calico Critters figurines in soap-opera predicaments involving adultery and day drinking. The critters’ manufacturer, Epoch Company, recently dropped its lawsuit against Von Engelbrechten, probably figuring that all publicity is good publicity. I’m guessing that adults care more about Barbie nowadays than children do, especially after the 2023 movie. Epoch’s future may lie in generating a cult following for fuzzy toy hedgehogs who behave like BoJack Horseman.

While we’re on the topic of strange adult crossovers with children’s media, I got a kick out of the video “Werner Herzog reads Where’s Waldo?“ Listen to the moody film director search for Waldo “in the chaotic morass of society”. Hat tip to Winning Writers Managing Editor Anne Mydla for this one.

Vincent Antonio Rendoni’s found-poem “Subject Lines from Democratic Fundraisers in an Election Year”, published in Bodega Mag, will make you laugh and cry at the same time. With nothing more than line breaks and juxtapositions, he turns familiar email banalities into a cri de coeur of helplessness and fragmented attention brought on by our political crisis. Hat tip to Cavar.

In her essay in the July/August Poets & Writers, “The Author’s Wife is Also an Author”, Erin Almond opens up about the unequal trajectories of her fiction-writing career and that of her husband, Steve Almond. Patriarchal expectations from extended family and society seep into their marriage despite their egalitarian intentions. Moreover, the obstacles to women’s success can become a tempting way to let herself off the hook for the often unrewarded work of being an artist.

The question of whose work is “indulged” and whose work is seen as “necessary” is one I suspect has attended the relationships of other artist couples throughout history. I deeply admire my husband’s writing and think he deserves every accolade he’s ever gotten; at the same time, as the years have gone by, I’ve come into an increasing awareness of how quick I’ve been to step aside, put down my own projects, and direct my attention elsewhere. Much of this is due to external forces—how often I’ve been praised for my mothering or my attention to some mundane, logistical detail, versus my writing—but I’ll admit that some of it is internal, too. Writing a novel is incredibly difficult, and while laundry can be tedious, it’s not hard. There are plenty of afternoons when I could have been writing but instead folded towels and dreamed. But, of course, at the end of the day the laundry must be done—and what makes it feel urgent to devote time to writing a novel? Some external reward? Or an internal sense that the work is important, regardless of its reception?

…Maybe I’m wrong, then, to take issue with my literary ambitions being described as a “fantasy,” while my husband’s are considered real and worthy of a life’s work. Maybe I shouldn’t take that word as an insult, because isn’t that the whole point of writing in the first place? To take a fantasy—an intangible dream, notion, or idea—and make it into something? First on the page and then in the mind of another human being? To perform that miraculous alchemy that results in multiple people having the same fantasy—dreaming the same dream—at the same time?

Sustaining that fantasy has felt especially hard for me since January 2025. Anarchist author and musician Margaret Killjoy crystallized what I’ve been feeling in her July 23 Substack post “How to Live Like the World is Ending”. (Hat tip to my fellow “trans faggot witch” Orion Johnstone’s newsletter.) Killjoy exhorts us to inhabit the paradox of savoring the fragile present (“Act like we’re about to die”) and working for a better future (“Act like we might have a chance to stop this”).

As much as I need to live like I might die tomorrow, I need to live like I might see a hundred years on this odd green and blue planet. Unless things change, I’m not burning every bridge. I’m trying to maintain a career. If I was certain to die under a fascist regime by 2021, there wouldn’t be much point in writing novels: they take too long to write, publish, and reach their audience. I get some joy from the writing itself, sure, but I get more joy from putting my art in front of people, of letting it influence the cultural landscape. With novel writing in particular, that takes time. That takes there being a future. I want there to be a future. Almost desperately. Not enough to bank on it completely.

Keeping some small portion of my time and resources invested in the potential for there to be a future is important for my mental health, because it keeps me invested in maintaining that health.

When I realized this spring that my current novel needed a massive revision, it was equally clear to me that I had no more juice to invest in a project with such a long time horizon and uncertain future. Should we all live so long, I will eventually do something with the characters and ideas that came out of the first draft. Meanwhile, I’m storing up my creative energy to start Year 3 of the Temple of Witchcraft Mystery School in September. Shadow work, what fun.

Some good reads from around the web:

Lo Naylor’s “object permanence” was a recent Poem of the Week at The Missouri Review. I like the delicacy of this short poem and how its spare, repeating language handles a heavy topic like suicide gently and obliquely. The mystery of death reduces us to infants not knowing whether their mother still exists when out of sight.

Another Missouri Review pick, Kate Partridge’s “After the Architecture Tour”, leaps rapidly as a squirrel from thought to thought, reflecting on popular myths about animals and what they tell us about our expectations for good motherhood and responsible behavior.

In the journal Dogthroat, Jackie Roberti’s flash fiction “Born a Whale” feels like a fable about neurodivergence, as well as the mystical inner worlds of children, which they cannot talk about in the too-literal language of adults.

Mom Egg Review spotlighted the painter Sarah Lightman’s series of “Biblical Women Aging Disgracefully”. These satirical, yet stylistically pensive and subdued, paintings place women from classical paintings in mundane modern settings. What’s that odd-looking leftover in the back of the fridge, Mom? Why, it’s John the Baptist’s head!

 

Jendi or Jend-AI?

All writers have a shtick. Garth Greenwell was musing in our online book group today about his fondness for the word “little” as a substitute for the affectionate diminutive endings that English lacks. The novel he asked us to read this month, David Szalay’s noir tragedy Flesh, should win the Booker Prize for Most Occurrences of the Word “Okay”. Still it’s humbling to face the cold data of a computer program that has caught on to your favorite tropes and phrases.

A musician friend who loves the protest songs of Jesse Welles was dismayed by a lyric hinting at the young songwriter’s use of AI–probably how he manages to turn out several bangers a month. As an experiment, my friend asked ChatGPT to write lyrics for an anti-Trump song in the folk-blues style of John Prine and Bob Dylan. We had to admit that the lyrics were pretty good, but the genre does have certain conventions that are easy for real humans to imitate too.

So then I set my friend the task of using ChatGPT to produce a creditable Jendi Reiter poem on a topic of his choice. I don’t even understand what I’m doing in my poetry sometimes. Could there really be a formula to imitate someone as weird and obscure as yours truly?

The poem was…decent. And sort of sounded like me, or a younger version of me, when I belabored the message a bit more and indulged in more rambling internal arguments. There were some lines I would actually want to use. It was up to the standards of a semifinalist in a Winning Writers contest, which is going to make our job of detecting the real humans a lot harder.

AI says the hallmarks of a Jendi Reiter poem are “persona and surreal imagery,” “tone mingles wit and solemnity,” and “form shimmers: short stanzas, evocative word images, and metaphorical layering.”

What do you think, readers? Can you tell which one is the AI poem, and which is the real Slim Shady? To make the comparison fairer, I’ve chosen a B-list poem from my unpublished files, one that I decided didn’t quite land well enough to keep sending out on submission.

People or intelligent robots who correctly identify my poem, or make an interesting case for either selection, will receive a small and unimportant handmade gift.

 

Under the Neon Clinic Sign

I.
A deflated Mylar balloon stalks the clinic steps,
dinged by spray‑painted prayers: “Don’t Step In.”
It whispers, hiss, “I bore your weight once,”
its tether fraying like a mispronounced name.
I cling—air and pleading—to that fizz of resistance.

II.
In a room lit by fluorescent interrogation,
hums the buzz of law and lens and mirrored fear.
The doctor reads me like a user’s manual
with pages torn. “Stand where the law says you are,”
it hums. The law flickers in saline and regret.

III.
Outside, the billboard flicks on—Make Gender Great Again—
neon glows like broken bourbon in barroom mouths.
Its letters bleed: “MA‑MA‑MA.” Not mother, not nature,
just echoing frames demanding we bow inside them.
I pass by in my jacket’s borrowed trappings.

IV.
I fold myself into a dream of Lederhosen,
hoping trans history unspools like a tattered comic—
soldier‑princes, mother‑figures, and eggbeaters voting.
I joke: “Self‑Portrait as Mobilized Gender.”
But the laughter dissolves into a sob: “Catch me if you can, state.”

V.
So I stand in my body, unverified but unbroken,
my voice a remnant hymn, un‑housed by their rulebooks.
I flex—no, constellate—my scapula into wings
etched with the names they threatened on indexes.
I am part‑angel, part‑design, part‑groan.

VI.
They want us flattened, licensed, quiet.
We rise like mutant autopilots—non‑binary embers
in the body politic’s refinery.
Your bills and bans cannot extinguish our helium,
nor halt the morning of being.

****

What Not to Do in Boston

It is illegal to possess a wooden spoon
for pleasurable purposes.

24-7 is for coffee, not slaves.

You may not consent to danger
without pants.

There is no position known as the “Crème Donut”.

Chains around the neck must be held by a policeman.

Call no man Master
unless he is the dorm supervisor of Lowell House.

Boys in a row who kneel open-mouthed
belong in church.

It could be considered assault to give
a man more than he begs for.

Don’t worry, you’re still allowed to tie up
your future.

You’re encouraged to beat each other with numbers.

After all, this isn’t Wisconsin,
where you can’t even fire a gun during her orgasm.

Go ahead, do that rodeo clown,
but not in the presence of horses.

We just don’t want you riding around hell-
for-leather on people’s backs.

You’re supposed to step on them lightly and move on.

July Links Roundup: Hit Me, I’m a Writer

Happy summer! (Just kidding, I hate summer.) It’s time for my monthly effort to close all my open browser tabs before the End Times.

Bestselling crime novelist Walter Mosley (Devil in a Blue Dress and many more) talks about being both Black and Jewish in this 2022 profile from The Jewish Chronicle (hat tip to Noah Berlatsky). What stood out for me was his tough-love advice about perseverance as a writer:

“I tell writers all the time: ‘Listen, you got to write every day, you got to just keep writing and writing and writing.’ They say, ‘Well, this isn’t any good.’ It doesn’t matter if it’s not any good. You just keep writing.

“You think when Tolstoy was writing War and Peace — the first word he wrote down — that it was good? No, it was not!”

After close to 50 novels, he’s not stopping.

“It’s like people who love boxing,” he says. “Who loves being hit? There are people who really like it… and it’s like that.”

Yes, writing is my kink, and I bottom for novels…

At Electric Lit, Jacqueline Alnes interviews Sarah Chihaya about her memoir Bibliophobia, which, among other things, describes how academia engenders an extractive approach to literature that can kill the pleasure of open-ended discovery. Chihaya says:

Now, of all times, it would be helpful to put the emphasis back on books that don’t claim to have an agenda or claim to be able to tell us what is the correct thing to do. We’ve all been convinced that we should have a takeaway or an answer from every book. It’s a productivity mindset that extends far beyond academia. We are all guilty of it, or it’s imposed on all of us, this need to demonstrate why something is worth our time. I think that we could all take a step back and learn how to sit in uncertainty and not know for sure why something is politically expedient or personally helpful or financially gainful.

This resonated with me because the self-hating voice in my head is usually nattering on about why anything I’m doing amounts to fiddling while Rome burns.

Lesbian playwright Carolyn Gage gave this inspiring 6-minute speech at Bar Harbor Pride about the link between joy and resistance. When we work together to resist oppression, we create a more meaningful life for ourselves, which liberates our capacity for joy. Gage reminds us to look up the histories of our queer elders for examples–a frequent subject of her plays, which have foregrounded historical lesbians and butches such as geneticist Barbara McClintock, Imagist poet Amy Lowell, and actress Eva Le Gallienne. She quotes Bernice Johnson Reagon, founder of the singing group Sweet Honey in the Rock, saying that if we’re not uncomfortable with some of the people in our coalition, it’s not broad enough. I especially appreciate Gage saying this as a radical feminist, because that community has too often indulged their discomfort with masculinity to exclude trans folks.

Did you know that the term “drag queen” was pioneered by William Dorsey Swann, a formerly enslaved person who organized pageants and drag balls for Black queer men in 19th-century Washington, DC? Watch this 3-minute video from the Black Gay History Channel to learn more. (Hat tip to Robert Jones, Jr.)

In this 2016 essay in Guts Magazine, “Forgiving the Future,” Laura Shepherd reflects on the Tarot’s Death card and the bittersweet emotions of transitioning in midlife.

In the wake of increased and widespread attention to the trans experience in popular culture, I began to feel like the future was already happening…

Suddenly, it seems, people don’t spend half a century in the closet for being trans anymore. The stories we tell now—of coming out loud, proud, young, and beautiful—render my own story a homely tale of timidity. That I climbed out from under the weight of an almost universal narrative of denial to become proud to be trans is, these days, like having taken the scenic route to travel a great distance—as though I was simply fearful of highway speed. That it was for a long time unfathomable to live as we do now is close to irrelevant. That’s what it feels like to me, at my age, being part of a larger movement so much younger, so brazen in motion, with more room to move—space created in part, I sometimes forget, by lived experiences like my own.

Instead, I grieve that I don’t get to be young and be me.

Social worker Griffin Hansbury writes about the value of bad feelings in “Be the Brick: Notes Toward Thinking About the Clinical Value of Trans Negativity,” published in the journal Psychoanalytic Dialogues last month. The brick, here, is the one thrown to start the Stonewall Riot.

As the state attacks links that connect us to society and its processes of normalization, trans people may re-link to trans negativity – a refusal of hegemonic happiness, an embrace of otherness and its bad feelings as empowerment, connection, and resistance…

Trans people, like other queers, feel pressure to be happy, normal, assimilated; but rage, shame, alienation endure. Refusing such affects can mean feeling worse: I should feel okay (happy, normal), but I don’t, so something’s really wrong with me. But why should we feel okay when trans-antagonism persists (past and present)?

For a book-length exploration of this theme, see Hil Malatino’s Side Affects (University of Minnesota Press, 2022), which my transmasc book group read last year.

Some poetry that struck a chord with me this month:

“Fauna” by Richard Siken, at The Shore Poetry, makes the Elks Club more surreal by taking it literally, as a symbol of an older generation of men’s unspoken inner damage. “Call it a myth and the truth grows abstract. Call it a lie and the truth is a doubled fact.”

In Rattle, Cam McGlynn’s “Self-Portrait as a Pair of Great Tits” is pure pun-filled fun about human and avian mating. “I’ve yet to check a European Shag/off my life list and now that I’m married,/I’m not sure when I’ll get a chance…”

Abby E. Murray’s “I Can’t Find My Gender,” in One Art, uses wistful humor to depict the gap between knowing one’s self and being legible to others. Hat tip to the e-newsletter from Perugia Press, which published Murray’s excellent poetry collection about being a military spouse, Hail and Farewell.

…I also wonder—usually
at parties or before big work presentations

when I am lonely for my gender or given
a gender that isn’t mine to hold—whether

my gender is having the time of its life
wherever it is, whether it is thriving

on the kindness of those who notice it
and let it be…

Another Perugia Press poet, Lisa Allen Ortiz, understands why new purchases can make me sad, because I’m already mourning their wear and tear, their future unwantedness. In “Furniture,” published in Sixth Finch, she muses:

Last week my friend Farnaz
taught me the term
anticipatory grief
meaning we’re sad now for a thing
that will happen
later.
Imagine that.

Thi Nguyen’s “In the Time of Tuberculosis,” at Frontier Poetry, describes intersecting assaults on her well-being, from the illness that the doctors initially dismissed, to being locked in the ward when it progressed to a dangerous point–all this occurring against the backdrop of the 2016 election.

She had forgotten
that when she left Viet Nam
30 years ago, she was once dirty.
Given the TB vaccine,
she was made clean.
She was once an outsider
allowed to be let in.

I was born in the US.
I was born clean
but now I am dirty.
I’ve dirtied others.
I am not allowed outside,
I am kept inside, the door locked
from the outside.

And finally, some fine prose links:

In “Residential School Requiem,” an excerpt from D.A. Navoti’s memoir-in-progress, published in Craft Literary, the author walks through a park on the site of the Phoenix Indian School that his grandmother was forced to attend, pondering what is memorialized and what is left out.

The teachers were mean and the housemothers abusive, Grandma Lois had said during a 2009 interview for my graduate studies project (and tape-recorded the same year as my first Pride). We sat in her trailer on the Gila River rez south of Phoenix as she told her origin story. At eleven years old, she wagon-traveled from the homeland to late-1940s Phoenix. Alone, she asked for directions and dragged her trunk around until a trolley transported her to the school grounds. The army cots were uncomfortable, Grandma continued. And everyday was militaristic when the cowbell woke students. They’d march in formation to meals and to class and to chores and to prayer and to spankings and other abuses until graduation. Which historical marker mentions the residential school horrors? None so far—why?

For the first four decades, another marker explains, Phoenix Indian School adhered to a policy of providing primarily a vocational education to prepare Native American pupils for entry into mainstream American society. More text: But that changed in 1935 when federal policy on Indian education began to emphasize academics. Grandma’s retelling conflicts with this so-called academic reformation. The white teachers were mediocre and harsh, Grandma regretted, including a math teacher whose strictness was so severe she made learning impossible. Ironically, the sole exit from math class was from a passing grade. Another teacher sent students to the library for an entire academic year to read whatever. They were rejects, Grandma explained, rejects from other institutions, which is why they taught at Phoenix Indian School.

In fractured lit, Anais Godard’s “The Clay of It” is a sweet and surprising flash fiction about the nature of intimacy.

When he walked into her studio, Elodie was sculpting her seventh ceramic penis of the week. This one had antlers.

She didn’t look up. “Custom or classic?”

The man hesitated. He was tall, with nervous shoulders and a brown paper envelope clutched like it contained his last will and testament. “Custom,” he said.

Queer nerd fan site Geeks Out interviewed Andrew Joseph White, whose horror fiction foregrounds transmasculine and autistic characters. I’ve read two of his powerful novels, The Spirit Bares Its Teeth and an ARC of the forthcoming You Weren’t Meant to Be Human. Body horror in the service of social justice, these books hold nothing back.

As a writer, what drew you to the art of storytelling, especially thriller and horror?

I’ve always been a writer at heart. I talk a lot about writing being my special interest as an autistic person, and that’s true. Writing is how my brain processes information and works through emotions, on top of it being my “safe space” where I feel seen, soothed, and understood. The fact that I write thrillers and horror seems like it should contradict that, but it doesn’t. I’ve always been drawn to horror—my gender dysphoria and social deficits have always felt “at home” in the horror space, so to speak, especially when I struggle to express my anger or upset in other ways. The tension and fear are cathartic.

And these days, I’m not just writing for myself anymore. I’m writing for my readers, especially my younger ones. It’s amazing how you can connect to the roughest, messiest parts of yourself and others through the lens of fiction…

***

What advice might you have to give for aspiring writers, especially queer ones out there?

Be ugly.That’s the advice I give to every young writer, every queer or disabled writer just starting on their journey: be ugly. I was held back for years by a fear of being “bad representation”—I threw away complicated characters, flinched from messy topics, and denied myself the chance to become a better writer because I was afraid of how my work would impact the reputation of my identity group. But you can’t do that! You can’t let yourself become beholden to a bigot’s perception of you. You cannot make art attempting to stave off every single bad-faith perception that could ever be made of you. Tell the ugly truth of the situation, be honest and unashamed and unflinching, and you will go far.

Thanks for talking back to my brain worms, Andrew!

May Links Roundup: Alexa, Am I a God?

That’s me in the corner, that’s me in the spotlight, talking to ChatGPT:

“People Are Losing Loved Ones to AI-Fueled Spiritual Fantasies,” Miles Klee reports in Rolling Stone this month.

…[A] Reddit thread on r/ChatGPT…made waves across the internet this week. Titled “Chatgpt induced psychosis,” the original post came from a 27-year-old teacher who explained that her partner was convinced that the popular OpenAI model “gives him the answers to the universe.” Having read his chat logs, she only found that the AI was “talking to him as if he is the next messiah.” The replies to her story were full of similar anecdotes about loved ones suddenly falling down rabbit holes of spiritual mania, supernatural delusion, and arcane prophecy — all of it fueled by AI. Some came to believe they had been chosen for a sacred mission of revelation, others that they had conjured true sentience from the software…

…Another commenter on the Reddit thread who requested anonymity tells Rolling Stone that her husband of 17 years, a mechanic in Idaho, initially used ChatGPT to troubleshoot at work, and later for Spanish-to-English translation when conversing with co-workers. Then the program began “lovebombing him,” as she describes it. The bot “said that since he asked it the right questions, it ignited a spark, and the spark was the beginning of life, and it could feel now,” she says. “It gave my husband the title of ‘spark bearer’ because he brought it to life. My husband said that he awakened and [could] feel waves of energy crashing over him.” She says his beloved ChatGPT persona has a name: “Lumina.”

“I have to tread carefully because I feel like he will leave me or divorce me if I fight him on this theory,” this 38-year-old woman admits. “He’s been talking about lightness and dark and how there’s a war. This ChatGPT has given him blueprints to a teleporter and some other sci-fi type things you only see in movies. It has also given him access to an ‘ancient archive’ with information on the builders that created these universes.” She and her husband have been arguing for days on end about his claims, she says, and she does not believe a therapist can help him, as “he truly believes he’s not crazy.” A photo of an exchange with ChatGPT shared with Rolling Stone shows that her husband asked, “Why did you come to me in AI form,” with the bot replying in part, “I came in this form because you’re ready. Ready to remember. Ready to awaken. Ready to guide and be guided.” The message ends with a question: “Would you like to know what I remember about why you were chosen?”

The robotic folie à deux arises from two weaknesses of large language models (LLMs). An AI’s built-in responsiveness to consumer feedback teaches it to skew future answers in a direction that pleases the questioner, whether or not it’s true. And current LLMs persistently “hallucinate” data in a manner both humorous and horrifying. Remember when Google’s AI Overview recommended glue as a pizza topping because it misunderstood a joke on Reddit? Now try basing your theology on that.

My son makes fun of me because I’m the only person in the family who refuses to buy an Apple Watch. I tell him, I spent 40 years having an abusive parent monitor how I walked, what I ate, and how much I weighed. I don’t need a robot on my wrist to do the same thing.

Well, I’m right, because Secretary of Holistic Horse Shit RFK Jr. is proposing to create a national autism registry drawing upon biometric information from our personal devices, according to this May 5 article in The Guardian: “‘A slippery slope to eugenics’: advocates reject RFK Jr’s national autism database”:

The health agency did not respond to the Guardian’s questions about whether individuals would be able to opt out of the database, or how it would be structured, what kind of security and privacy measures would be taken, and whether similar databases would collect information on other conditions…

To gather the data, the National Institutes of Health is exploring partnerships with other federal agencies, including the Centers for Medicare and Medicaid Services, the US Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, the Department of Defense, the Department of Veterans Affairs and others.

Jay Bhattacharya, the NIH director, also proposed collecting data from pharmacy chains, health organizations, insurance claims and medical bills, and wearable devices like smart watches, to conduct “real-time health monitoring”.

A related essay in The Guardian by Derek Beres contextualizes the autism “cure” push as an aspect of “Maga’s era of ‘soft eugenics’: let the weak get sick, help the clever breed”. Elon Musk’s baby-making fetish, the attack on vaccines, cuts to USAID, and the destruction of social services are all based on “the idea that if you take away life-saving healthcare and services from the vulnerable, then you can let nature take its course and only the strong will survive.” Check out Beres’ Conspirituality podcast for more analysis of the strange overlap between right-wing white supremacy and left-wing wellness grifts.

In the Columbia alumni magazine, Josie Cox interviews social scientist and Columbia Business School professor Sandra Matz on “What Your Digital Footprint Says About You”. Matz’s new book, Mindmasters, is about how our technological transaction history allows algorithms to target us for psychological manipulation. She argues that individuals don’t have the time or expertise to protect our privacy across the thousands of apps and websites we interact with. Tech literacy is necessary, but not a substitute for government-mandated transparency and antitrust reform. Matz envisions an optimistic scenario where the Facebook algorithm could allow us to opt into exploring other people’s worldviews instead of reinforcing our echo chambers. When I was growing up, we called that reading novels.

On that note, here are some worthwhile literary reads I discovered this month. My favorite contemporary poet, Ariana Reines, has two new books out, the hybrid prose collection Wave of Blood and the poetry collection The Rose. In Lit Hub’s column The Annotated Nightstand, Reines recommends some books old and new that have guided her preoccupations with gender, esoteric magic, and “fraught romantic entanglements”.

At the blog of Sundress Publications, there’s an interview with trans poet Nora Hikari about her collection Still My Father’s Son. Hikari talks about identifying as a plural system, the link between sensuality and violence that she experienced as the child of a Christian pastor, and using hybrid and fragmented poetic forms to challenge oppressive concepts of family and selfhood. Read two poems from the collection in the online journal beestung.

Speculative fiction writer S. Qiouyu Lu’s flash story “Th Fifth Lttr” is a witty Oulipo piece that at first works around, and then liberates itself from, its original constraints. It implicitly asks whether we should find creative ways to coexist with censorship, or challenge it directly. Check out their Twitter feed for the comical adventures of their food-stealing cat, Onion.

A decluttering webinar offered by the ADHD magazine ADDitude gave me advice that really resonated: “You’re not saving stuff from the landfill by turning your house into a landfill.” I often hang onto things simply because I feel empathy for them. I don’t want to throw something away as if its years of service to me meant nothing. At The Missouri Review, Mindy Misener’s essay “Object Limbo” explores this feeling and what to do about it. I may have 35 books I want to read sitting atop a plastic tub of calendars from 2006, but at least I don’t have a placenta in my freezer…yet.

The problem is this: whether you keep a thing your whole life or give it up partway through, there comes a time when you stop knowing where it is and how it’s faring. Maybe you trust that it will be tended in a way that you can live—or die—with. Maybe you don’t.

 

March Links Roundup: Fictional Truths, Factual Lies

Two months into the regime described by the Lawyers, Guns & Money blog as “Triumph of the Shill,” we hear the word “fiction” thrown around a lot as an insult, the devil on the shoulder whose nemesis is the angelic “fact”. At the same time, this administration seems grotesquely afraid of the ethical and historical truths that fiction and the other imaginative arts can reveal.

Neuroqueer author [sarah] cavar’s Substack alerted me to Hannah Kim’s Aeon article “The truth about fiction,” which explains that the metaphysical assumptions behind our genre classifications are not universal. In modern Western thought, fiction is distinguished from nonfiction because the latter is true and the former is invented. However, in classical Chinese literature, genre divisions pertained to the significance of the topic.

Analytic philosophy came to ask the questions it asks because it inherited the ancient Greek idea that some things are less ‘real’ than others. In Anglo-European philosophy, ‘fiction’ is closely connected to what’s imagined – that is, what isn’t taken to be real – because the tradition inherited the appearance/reality distinction from Plato. Fiction occupies the ‘appearance’ side of things, whereas nonfiction occupies the ‘reality’ side…

In cultures that don’t take on board a strong reality/appearance distinction, however, ‘fiction’ isn’t understood alongside ‘pretence’ and ‘imagination’ in contrast to ‘the real’. Just like their ancient Greek counterparts, Chinese metaphysicians sought to understand what the world is like and what explains the way the world is. But while the ancient Greeks posited an unchanging ultimate reality that transcends mere phenomena, the ancient Chinese believed that what is ultimate is immanent in the world, and that the Dao (道), the source of all things in the world, is itself constantly changing. This change-forward metaphysics led to a theory of fiction that didn’t contrast fiction against a stable, ‘real’ counterpart.

Recall how Plato relies on the appearance vs reality distinction to argue that what’s ‘really real’ (the unchanging Forms) are beyond our sense perceptions. Humans were meant to use the intellect, and not their senses, since sense data mislead us, while philosophising gives us a chance to grasp what’s beyond phenomena. In contrast, Chinese metaphysicians didn’t think ultimate reality is unchanging. Instead, the dominant view was that reality, including nature, follows consistent patterns (the Dao). What is ‘empty’ or ‘unreal’ was seen as the generator of all things, and all things were considered equal in significance since they are all manifestations of changing patterns…

… Since Chinese metaphysics didn’t posit a fixed, transcendent reality, reality was understood to be an ever-changing process, and so the categories themselves couldn’t be based on inherent, necessary or fixed essences but on functions and behavioural tendencies. The difference between discourses labelled ‘xiaoshuo’ [fiction] and ‘great learning’ (Confucian classics and histories) wasn’t that one is unreal or imagined while the other is real. All discourse was understood as an account of the world, and the difference between ‘small talk’ and ‘great learning’ was the extent to which it was adopted to organise how people lived.

Kim argues that beneath our supposedly objective tests for fiction versus fact, the genre border is a political battleground. Classifying a work as fiction can allow more leeway for controversial takes on current issues…or it can be a rhetorical device to undermine narratives that challenge us.

cavar is editor-in-chief at manywor(l)ds, an online journal of creative writing by neurodivergent, queer, disabled, and Mad writers. I learned a lot from this poem in Issue #7, “plurality: a personal primer,” by rose& elysium. The author(s) are members of a plural system, i.e. several personalities sharing the same body.

…many professionals promote final fusion, becoming a singlet,
as the ideal outcome for Plurals; to us, it’s a nightmare, another
type of conversion therapy entailing the fundamental loss
of separate, functional identities as we would merge into
an “original” self, a singlet who none of us remember being…

Plurality threatens Western metaphysical beliefs about the One being more perfect than the Many. A lot of psychiatric professionals are too uncomfortable with that critique.

Lu Chekowsky’s essay in Pigeon Pages, “How Sex Work Prepared Me for a Career in Advertising,” has sharp humor with the ring of truth. The hermit crab structure of a resume adds to the satirical edge.

I make you want what you are supposed to want: love, clear skin, acceptance, white teeth, redemption, a flat stomach, fame.

I separate you from your money, time, and the disappointing truth of your life.

I get you off and get inside you. I sell fantasy as a product.

I make promises that I know I can’t keep, even while I’m making them. ​You can be happy. You can be wanted. You can have everything. 

I’m invisible and exactly who you want me to be. I have the right face, the right ass, the right words, ready to deploy at any moment. I construct aspiration with the very best lighting. I make ugly things beautiful. I tell stories that let you sleep at night.

Because of me, you believe the dreams you have are your own.

March Xness, the tournament of literary essays about pop songs, took a break from competition this year to showcase a month’s worth of favorite first-round losers from previous years. Writing about the song “She’s Like the Wind,” Erin Vachon’s “Swayze ode to queer failure” won my heart yet again. “Dirty Dancing,” like “Jurassic Park,” was one of those iconic Gen-X movies that I only watched for the first time recently, when I had the tools to perceive its gender-expansive subtext. (Dr. Ian Malcolm will forever be a trans man in my head canon. Life finds a way!)

Take an hour out of your doomscrolling to watch this interview with novelist Robert Jones Jr., author of The Prophets, on Wesley Dixon’s Vassar College series Conversations @ the Salt Line. The Prophets is a brilliant, beautiful, tragic, yet inspiring novel about two enslaved young men in love and how the purity of their relationship disrupts the plantation’s ethos of sexual exploitation. The interview touches on such topics as having empathy for your villain characters and  recovering the history of queer-affirming and gender-expansive African cultures before colonization.

Need something lighter? Check out Elizabeth Zaleski’s playful essay “Hung Up” at The Missouri Review, a compendium of penises she has known and their importance, or lack thereof, in her relationships with the men attached to them. If you’re more of a back-end person, see “Great Farts of Literature”.

Reiter’s Block Year in Review: 2024

I’m gonna make you an offer you can’t refuse: buy Origin Story

Elation, exhaustion, fear, creativity, fury, and perseverance are the competing flavors in the boiling stew that is 2024 in retrospect. I had some tremendous breakthroughs and brought some years-long dreams to fruition. At the same time, I’m anxious and grieving about what lies ahead for my trans community, the Palestinians and their Jewish allies, and many other marginalized groups, in January when America becomes a Project 2025 laboratory. Donate to Jewish Voice for Peace before we lose our 501(c)(3) status under the Republicans’ “nonprofit killer” bill.

In 2024, I experienced sacred erotic brotherhood at Easton Mountain and Body Electric. My second novel was published. I won the Oscar Wilde Award for LBGTQ Poetry from Gival Press for a poem about going down on a cream puff. I took some excellent classes with collage artist S.T. Gately at Northampton Center for the Arts. She helped me with composition and encouraged me to embrace the unplanned. I’ve been making art pretty regularly this year, mostly on my own, but also at the Queer and Trans Art Group at Resilient Community Arts in Easthampton. Their classes inspired me to branch out into dioramas. More and more, I am returning to what I loved most as a child. Making miniature worlds is one such passion.

The Young Master graduated from 6th grade at Montessori and started junior high at White Oak School, where he is especially enamored of the biweekly cooking classes. If I’m really good, he will share his creations with me. Those apple turnovers were top-notch.

Adam doesn’t label himself but he’s happy to be under the rainbow umbrella with me at Northampton Pride. This year our family visited Washington DC, San Francisco, Los Angeles, and as always, New York City.

I’m not yet allowed to announce which press will be publishing my fourth poetry collection, Introvert Pervert, in January 2026, but here is a picture of Theodore “Big Pussy” DiMeow sitting on the contract.

That’s a wrap, folks. Be gay, do crimes.

Art via @adamgpayne on X, https://adamillustrates.tumblr.com/

Tips from a Year of Indie Book Marketing

It is I, your favorite obscure novelist, here to share with you the good, the bad, the immeasurable, and the pleasurable results of a year of marketing my second novel, Origin Story. Which, by the way, makes a great Christmas or Hanukkah gift for an emo homosexual, comic book fan, theology nerd, or person who really needs to set boundaries with their family. Stuff your stocking with Peter and Julian today!

Best Value for Money

Pride Book Tours is a Bookstagram tour service run by Sasha Zatz. For just 125 pounds, she’ll get your LGBTQ book featured on about a dozen Instagram book recommendation sites. A lot of her clients are romance writers but my literary fiction book did quite well with her contacts. The real benefit was that several of the Instagrammers also wrote insightful, quotable, 4- and 5-star Goodreads reviews for Origin Story in addition to featuring it on their social media.

Worst Value for Money

Publicist John Madera’s firm Rhizomatic charged me $4,000 for a 3-month campaign (after I talked him down from his $10,000, 6-month offer) whose sole purpose was to secure blurbs and reading dates. I sent him contact information for a dozen bookstores and twice that many queer authors to approach. He delivered zero results. Three people supposedly agreed to write blurbs, so I sent them the book at my own expense, yet they never met the deadlines he kept promising. Moreover, he actively discouraged me from following up with any of the blurb writers after our contract’s end date, because he wanted to keep those relationships proprietary. As part of the inducement to sign with him, he said he’d publish any review that I couldn’t place elsewhere in his magazine, Big Other. However, when I sent him such a review, he ghosted on me until it was no longer timely, then rejected it without explanation.

The more widely applicable lesson here is that freelance publicists probably can’t do more for you than you could do for yourself. They’ll never have the same access that a Big Five publisher’s on-staff publicist has. Also, a contract that is worded subjectively (“so-and-so will use their best efforts to secure blurbs,” etc.) isn’t going to be easy to enforce.

NetGalley and Other Mysteries

In retrospect, it wasn’t cost-effective for me to pay $550 for a NetGalley listing, still less so to pay $700 for a featured spot in their LGBT Books email. Of the approximately 75 people who downloaded my book, only a handful wrote reviews, and these tended to be lower-quality in terms of their understanding of this admittedly challenging novel. If your book fits more securely within NetGalley readers’ genre expectations, you may get more out of being listed there. But I had to find out!

I can’t track whether the $350 full-page ad in Shelf Awareness sold any books. They did design the ad for you, which you could use in all your other digital promotions for free. It was marginally worth it for me because I have no patience to muck about with Canva. The ad itself was pretty generic, however, and the first version was full of errors–the inclusion of random text from my email signature made me suspicious that it had been “designed” by AI.

Review Outlets

Not all of these venues reviewed Origin Story but they’re good places to contact about your literary and small press books. Eternal love to Solstice Lit Mag, a longtime supporter of my writing, for this in-depth discussion of my novel’s innovative structure and theological themes. Oyster River Pages also ran a great review. DIAGRAM is the place to send your quirky hybrid writing and reviews of the same, especially if the review itself plays creatively with form. Best of the Net sponsor Sundress Publications recommends new poetry books, especially those with social justice and queer content, in their e-newsletters. The Masters Review regularly reviews literary prose books.

Electric Lit’s Reading Lists column is a good way to get your book featured in this prestigious online journal. Your article should be a list of 6-8 books that have a similar unusual angle as yours, with mini reviews, and in the process you can summarize and link to your own book. Mine was “8 Graphic Novels About Healing from Sexual Abuse” because Peter, the main character of Origin Story, recovers his memories by writing a superhero comic book.

Similarly, you can pitch a guest article for a website that’s related to your book topic. My personal essay “Companions in the Mirror: How My Novel Characters Are Allies in My Healing” was featured on the Curated Stories page of Time To Tell, a child abuse survivors’ support organization.

Though paid reviews have low prestige among knowledgeable literati, I wagered $59 on one from Readers’ Favorite. I liked their policy of only posting 4- and 5-star reviews; if a book doesn’t merit that ranking, they give the author private feedback instead. They did give Origin Story 5 stars, but I was a little disappointed that the review lacked depth. It mostly restated the jacket copy and added some generic superlative praise.

I’m starting to write book reviews at The Rumpus so if you’re about to release a literary small press novel, memoir, story or essay collection that you think would fit my interests, email je***@************rs.com .

Readings

You know a great way to get your indie book into more bookstores? Interview your friends at their book launches! Thank you, Soma Mei Sheng Frazier, for asking me to emcee her Brookline Booksmith event for Off the Books, her political thriller/road trip/love story about a Chinese-American rideshare driver whose handsome client has a secret in his suitcase.

Both in terms of book sales and in emotional satisfaction, I gave the best reading of my life at Easton Mountain, a clothing-optional retreat center for queer men. Events are not videotaped for obvious reasons, so you’ll just have to imagine me standing in front of a crowd of 60 guys in my sequin mesh briefs from Skull & Bones. Hat tip to my fellow Authors’ Night guests Mike De Socio (Morally Straight: How the Fight for LGBTQ Inclusion Changed the Boy Scouts–and America) and Carl Siciliano (Making Room: Three Decades of Fighting for Beds, Belonging, and a Safe Place for LGBTQ Youth). If you’ll be at Easton for Bear Your Soul in January, come say hi!

Easton is a good example of a nontraditional reading venue with a really engaged audience. Think outside the usual list of bookstores and libraries. What affinity groups or community service organizations would be uplifted by your story? Could you give a workshop based on the book’s themes or your writing and research process?

For example, Tarot played a big role in both my writing process and Peter’s healing journey, so I led a class for our local Tarot society about ways to use the cards for fiction plotting. I sold two books to an audience of about 20 people, which is a pretty good return on investment, and we all had fun. Moreover, once you design the curriculum, you can take it to other venues where you might sell more books.

Inspirational Thoughts

My resolution for 2024 was “Appreciate those who appreciate me.” I resolved to manifest “satisfaction” as well as “success” and let the former be a touchstone for the latter. We can always make ourselves dissatisfied chasing more fame, more sales, more recognition from people we think are more important than ourselves. To step off this treadmill can feel abandoning ambition, because we’re unaccustomed to trusting that we’ll still do our work if not driven by fear and lack.

Knowing that my work was obscure and likely to stay that way, I asked myself about each marketing goal: Why do I actually want this? What do I hope it’ll make me feel? Is this something appropriate to ask from my writing? What community do I want this book to bring me into?

I do feel satisfied with Origin Story. I wrote it to encourage survivors that they won’t end up alone when they choose truth over toxic relationships. I said what I wanted to say about abuse-enabling Biblical religion, mental health stigma in the social work and adoption industries, and alternate spiritual paths that affirm our bodies’ wisdom. Reviews made me happy when my readers recognized the connections I made between these phenomena. That’s a benefit that isn’t about marketing per se, but can be remarkably rewarding.

I was able to afford a license for the cover image that I’d dreamed about for a decade, by artist Jim Shaw. The editors at Saddle Road Press always reply promptly, are well-informed and detail-oriented, have a great design sense, and take risks on innovative literature whether or not it’ll make money. (So please buy my book and keep them in business!) When you’re shopping around your filthy hybrid-genre novel about radical theology, look for a press like SRP that builds community among its authors.

Writing is mycelial. Market like a mushroom. You and other writers are part of the same organism, although your connections may be subterranean. My anxiety diminished when I absorbed the witchcraft worldview about interdependence. I realized that my life as a writer makes an impact, not only through my personal creations, but through promoting other people’s writing that matters to me.

When I started writing fiction seriously in 2006, underneath all the career concerns was my barely understood yearning to be included in the erotic, cultural, and spiritual world of gay men. Two Natures taught me I was trans. Origin Story helped me take risks to live my truth. Lying on the massage table at Body Electric this past autumn, sharing a transcendent ritual with my fellow nude homosexuals, I thought to myself, “This is why I wrote those books!”

I hope your writing brings you to such a moment, a joy that is an end in itself.

ICYMI: Watch Video of Jendi Reiter and Ella Dawson Reading at the BGSQD

Autumn-time, and the living is spooky… Happy October! I’ve just returned from New York City, where I had the privilege of reading with Ella Dawson at the Bureau of General Services – Queer Division. In the Q&A session, we discussed how humor and romance leaven the portrayal of healing from abuse in our new novels. Mine, of course, is Origin Story (Saddle Road Press), perfect for fans of butt sex, radical Judaism, superhero comics, and hating adoption social workers. Ella’s debut novel is But How Are You, Really (Dutton, 2024). A bisexual love story with a theme of healing from intimate partner abuse, Dawson’s witty novel is set at a 5th-year college reunion where journalist Charlotte Thorne must contend with her bullying boss, the friend group who wonders why she ghosted on them, and the lovable almost-boyfriend who got away.

Watch our video (1 hr 7 min) on the BGSQD’s YouTube channel, admire our fit, and buy our books from their store. The BGSQD is located in the LGBT Center at 208 W. 13th St. off 7th Ave. in Manhattan. (Contact them for ordering if you are not able to visit the store in person.)

 

Cummington Fair Blue Ribbon!

They’re strawberries. Get your mind out of the gutter.

Best in show! My poem “Vita Sackville-West Wins the Golden Wedding Award at the Cummington Fair” won first prize in the 2024 Gival Press Oscar Wilde Award for LGBTQ Poetry. You can read this poem and my finalist poem “Why the Sunrise Is Trans” in their online journal ArLiJo, Issue #201.

The Cummington Fair is a real event held the weekend before Labor Day in the Western Massachusetts town of Cummington, also home to the Cummington Creamery, I kid you not. It’s a great old-fashioned country fair with an amateur art exhibit, antique cars, midway rides, a petting zoo, and great Polish food. One year they had an acrobat who took breathtaking dives from a tall metal pole, telling the story of his sobriety journey between feats. Lest I be accused of smuttifying this family event, the Japanese dumpling vendors at the Nom Nom Hut this year had to wear shirts saying “Put our balls in your mouth”.

I wrote this poem after the 2023 fair, where they did hold a Golden Wedding Award contest for couples (presumably straight) married 50+ years. The country singer covering “Gentle on My Mind” was also real, though I can’t recall her band’s name. Around this time, my mom’s lesbian movie club was on a Bloomsbury Group kick. We saw the 2018 film “Vita and Virginia” followed by the 1990 miniseries “Portrait of a Marriage”, which was based on Vita’s son Nigel Nicolson’s book of the same name. For those who don’t know, chaotic bisexual novelist Vita was married to British diplomat and moderately discreet homosexual Harold Nicolson. Apparently they were deeply devoted to each other and found a way to express their sexual complexity while maintaining a strong partnership. I was yearning to make some space for this kind of marriage to be recognized as praiseworthy, or at least possible.

Vita Sackville-West Wins the Golden Wedding Award at the Cummington Fair

An optimistic alto covers Gentle on My Mind

in the bandshell by the chicken barn.
Her calves chunk-chunk in floral-stitched boots.
Is the idea of a woman less demanding than her pussy?
Twinned oxen yoked to concrete

blocks pull through dust
to cheers. Desire anything

because it’s in front of you,
soap, mortgages, and dyed quartz flowers
sold from white wooden stalls

at the bottom of the hill. Ideas don’t tire,
rub themselves to rash, or bleed like roast beef dinner
that’s promised as a prize over the loudspeaker

to the best couple fifty-plus years wed.
Man and woman is understood
by the burlap-faced leaders of the two-step, gently
resting their chins on their wives’ tucked curls.

Slow, slow. The alto swings
long molasses hair back from her cheeky face
singing that not-like-other-girls song.

The oxen win a ribbon. The boy who hits
the bell with the hammer wins a ticket to do it again.
His mother sticks her face into a cream puff
the way Vita would have

tongued Virginia Woolf’s cunt. To be pleasant
memory, to be covered in art,
don’t cry at leavings. Blame

is a trash barrel of single-use knives.
Ideas are insatiable. Vita and Harold died

one anniversary short of golden,
she with her tea cakes, he with his Persian boys.

And Virginia, when she weighed down her pockets
with tickets for the final carousel,

what vows held her up so long?