This summer, there is an opportunity for me to participate in a writing workshop that I never thought would happen during my lifetime. The week-long session takes place in New York City, that epicenter of publishing, glitz, good coffee, efficiency, and brainwaves.
Two storied writing instructors with exemplary publishing credentials will help develop the writing skills and emerging voices of transwomen writers. Here is an an opportunity for over two-dozen of us to write, offer feedback, learn, and network.
And here’s the really cool part: you can help make this happen. The fundraiser is active and gaining ground, and Zoey the workshop organizer has composed a detailed breakdown of how raised funds will be put to good use. This is a great and easy way to become involved in a marvelous, forward-thinking, educational initiative.
As far as I am aware, this is the very first workshop of its kind, designed to help develop the writing skills of a heretofore underrepresented population. And this is SO important, especially today, because even in 2016, transwomen are discriminated against and excluded from too many creative spaces and opportunities, and/or the trans-centric narrative is largely regarded as illegitimate.*
* = memoir is a notable exception, but believe you me–prejudice is a huge problem even in otherwise queer spaces, and the utterly cynical and exasperating public restroom non-issue is only the tip of the iceberg.
Why is this inaugural workshop so important to me? Well–shall I start with fear?
I am no stranger to writing workshops, groups, and I am certainly not new to transition (I’m 19 years in). But the fact remains that whenever I wanted to address my experiences, ambitions, or even just my SF-affinity, I’ve held my tongue out of fear of being judged, or that again I’ll be told I need to audition for my Trans101 right to exist. But now I’m frankly a little weary of squashing my narratives out of fear–it only makes life worse.
Okay so fear is nailed shut, next let’s consider the very real–PUSHBACK.
Whether it’s TERFs, religious mania, the far right, or even Ms. Jenner herself (right), as visibility and voices do find their way into the sunlight, we will be told to be silent, we have no place at the table and/or microphone. Attempts will be made to legislate us out of existence, as precedents have shown in certain other nations. My upbringing during the Reagan/Bush era offered plenty of that pushback, or if not that, utter misrepresentation. Those iniquities are utterly familiar to me (and unfortunately pretty hardwired in my psyche–that was their intention.) Our voices and stories can change that signal, and stand fast against that resistance (it’s all just ignorance, anyway). Pervasive human rights and honest stories told tend to produce wonderful results on a universal scale–and besides who do you think helped design the very technology that we’re cat-paw-typing on?
Finally let’s consider this primary motivation of mine–to learn.
I’m am going to write, but really also to listen and learn from my peers. Over the past few years, I’ve found story and publishing opportunities are optimized through tactile human contact. Meeting SF/Horror practitioners and especially fans at cons optimizes my writing workflow exponentially, but I will always need improvement. We never stop learning–it’s what makes human existence so grand (albeit, frustrating also, but worth the effort). Again, this summer workshop is singular in that it places over two dozen trans writers together, writing and discussing from different standpoints of experience, but all with many similar goals. I’ve never been in that place, and it should be a great place to work.
Still writing from the wound, still writing from the dreams,
PS–One way I dealt with fear of not belonging was/is to read other trans narratives. Apart from memoir, most of these narratives were penned by cisgender authors, but when their central spotlight focused on living trans and actually becoming the heroine? Believe you me, during the 1990s there wasn’t much available, so I lapped up everything I could find: Sick Burn Cut by Deran Ludd, Breakfast on Pluto by Patrick McCabe, Sarah by J.T. Leroy. Leroy turned out to prove a vastly problematic author for a number of reasons I’d rather not go into at the moment, but keep in mind that when I first transitioned, trans narratives written from honest, died-in-the-wool firsthand experiences of living transfeminism were hardly what one would call pervasive, much less daylighted by mainstream society or its media. Over the past decade, however, our own voices got pretty hot, our signal pretty strong. We have some amazing stories, as it turns out. It’s awesome.
PPS–and if my Trans101 viewpoint is really wanted that badly, we can start with a discussion of Clark Ashton Smith, the hidden dangers of lanyards, or what constitutes a legitimate Venom lineup.