Out of the numerous current events that have demanded our attention (and response) lately, I could not have predicted the surge of 490 proposals for anti-trans legislation that was introduced in 47 U.S. states this year. Instead of focusing on the numerous complex challenges that our country continues to face, our leaders have waged a one-sided war against trans people, in the name of “protecting” society from drag shows, among other fictional concerns.

Well, isn’t that just special?

The “discourse” in defense of these bills highlights how willfully ignorant society remains about transgender identity (people who do not identify with the gender they were assigned at birth) and the harmful impact of misrepresenting trans communities in the media. 

In a previous post, It’s Messy in the Middle: Rethinking Transgender Narratives, we reflected on the problematic publishing trend of cisgender (people who identify with the gender they were assigned at birth) authors profiting by writing transgender narratives. Thus, making trans characters so trendy that I wouldn’t be surprised if Marvel hasn’t already optioned a YA or fantasy series with a trans vampire witch zombie that joins the Avengers. I’m joking…I hope.

However, after news anchors started referring to a singular act of tragic gun violence committed by a trans person as “trans terrorism,” followed by the rising panic over a supposed “Trans Day of Vengeance,” I felt a responsibility to refocus on deconstructing trans stereotypes in fiction.

We will do this by examining the specific pitfalls of the young adult (YA) novel Luna. Luna offers an excellent “case study” for understanding the potential impact of misrepresentation of trans identity. To be clear, I do not intend this to be an attack on the author; I am, however, offering a critical reflection on the novel.

Luna was published in 2004 by cisgender author Julia Ann Peters and is considered one of the first YA novels to center on transgender identity. Luna was quickly championed as a groundbreaking insight into trans culture and was eventually nominated for over 15 literary awards and honors. It is still one of the most highly recommended novels for understanding transgender identity, which makes my eye twitch.

However, I would argue that Peters’s portrayals in Luna provide a classic example of misrepresenting trans culture because she ultimately relies on harmful stereotypes that reinforce transphobia and transmisogyny.

Snarky Summary (With Spoilers)

Luna tells the story of a 16-year-old cisgender girl named Regan and her struggle to accept her older trans sister Luna. Unlike Regan, Luna is super popular at school and inexplicably independently wealthy. Luna, who was assigned male at birth and named Liam, presents as Liam during the day to please her family and community. At night, Luna can be herself (hyper-feminine), by hoarding wigs, makeup, purses, nail polish, etc. All in an effort to perfect what can only be described as a 70’s flight attendant chic aesthetic (despite the story seeming to take place in the early aughts).

Yes, Luna checks all the boxes for contemporary standards of YA fiction. Luna is a coming-of-age story that features a teenage protagonist that experiences conflict and complex emotions in her journey of overcoming a crisis. 

Consequently, selecting Regan as the protagonist of the story and Luna as a plot device that Regan must overcome inherently sends the novel down the wrong path before it starts and continues with a collection of missteps made in developing the characters, plotline, and world building.

Entering through the Basement

A commonly recommended approach to inclusive writing and character development is to “enter through the side door” by adding supporting characters with marginalized identities. This can be a particularly useful way to represent marginalized identities, especially if the author does not have a direct experience with the identity that they are writing about. 

However, applying this framework to Luna created multiple problems for the novel. By centering on a cisgender main character in a story that seeks to guide and inform readers about trans identity, Luna felt like muddling through the basement of trans culture.

Following Regan as our only guide for understanding trans identity not only disconnects the readers from Luna but also Luna from her own story. The reader connects, sympathizes, and roots for Regan in a way that is not possible with Luna because Luna seems to be a background character. The story would have been more powerful if the reader was also guided by Luna’s direct experiences, feelings, and opinions. If the aim of the story is to explore trans identity, then the main characters should be trans.  

Additionally, placing Regan as the sole protagonist positioned her as the “expert” on trans culture, which was problematic because she held unchecked transphobic and transmisogynistic views. Regan is also a problematic expert because she is never challenged to explore her own cisgender identity, gender expression, or cis privilege. It ultimately led to the undesired effect of casting Luna as “abnormal” and Regan as “normal.” 

“Entering through the side door” can be an effective way to include marginalized or diverse character experiences when characters are given a voice to narrate their own experiences and  characters with majority identities are able to explore privilege and inequality. 

It is also important that marginalized characters are developed beyond their marginalized identity and that their identity is not used as the inciting incident for the story. 

An Unfortunate Inciting Incident

An inciting incident is an important storytelling element that is utilized in all writing genres. Most stories are crafted to build up to a specific incident or the aftermath and impact of that incident. 

In Luna, the novel is structured around the aftermath of the family suffering from an unknown incident and each chapter moves the reader closer to understanding the root of the family’s pain. This is presented through a series of flashbacks until the last third of the book when the reader is given the complete picture, in which Regan dramatically recovers a traumatic memory of Luna’s genital self-harm. Thus, Luna’s transness becomes the bomb that detonates and destroys Regan’s family. 

Again, a book that seeks to offer support to transgender youth and education to cisgender youth should not portray trans identity as an inciting incident that results in the breakdown of a family. This is especially true, considering the unnecessary and punishing ways that the family languishes in the aftermath of the incident.

After the incident, Regan’s mother physically and emotionally abandons the family, by escaping into her work and ignoring her husband’s hatred for Liam. Because the father was not around when the incident happened with little Liam, he decides that his child’s feminine gender expression must mean that Liam is gay. In response, he sets out to try and “fix it” through intimidation, emotional neglect, and abuse. 

Surprisingly, Regan is arguably the biggest victim of Luna’s transness and seems to suffer through life as a hostage of her sister’s secret trans identity. For example, Regan can’t sleep at night because Luna demands that she stay awake to judge her outfits. This causes Regan to be too tired to practice good hygiene or keep up with her homework. Regan has no friends because she excommunicated herself from her social circle after Luna was teased for wearing a dress to a grade school birthday party. In fact, Regan couldn’t even go on a date with her crush because of her fears about having a trans sister. 

All the agony and fear that the family experiences stands in stark contrast to Luna’s life because she mostly enjoys an unburdened and carefree existence. In fact, Luna is portrayed as having a “perfect life.” She is super popular at school, dates the prettiest girl, and is adored by her teachers for her intellect. She also has tons of money to buy whatever she wants, including her own car or airfare because she runs her own computer repair business. 

In isolation, these descriptions may seem like positive representations of Luna’s character. However, since they are narrated through the lens of Regan’s suffering and jealousy, Luna comes off as a self-centered character, which highlights the author’s poor character development of Luna and her tendency to info dump transgender theories throughout the story.

Info Dumping and Character Development 

“Info dumping” refers to an ineffective method of storytelling that involves cramming large amounts of exposition into a story. While the information can be pertinent to the story, “info dumps” are often jarring for readers, as they can remove the reader from the story, by forcing them to listen to what feels like a detailed book report. Info dumping can sometimes be a sign of poor character development or world building, which seems to be the case with Luna.

Surprisingly, we learn about trans identity from Regan in at least three instances of her info-dumping gender terminology. This method greatly interrupts the flow of the story because it is not believable that a teenage girl would suddenly ruminate on the etymology of gender theories. It would seem reasonable to assume that Luna, the only trans character, would be guiding readers in understanding trans identity. Furthermore, Regan’s impressive gender vocabulary did not often translate into how she thought about and treated her sister, as she essentially seemed to be trying to force her sister to stay in the closet.

Ultimately, to get through this book, I decided to view Regan as having intrusive thoughts about gender vocabulary or that she was sometimes possessed by a gender studies professor. Because the majority of these info dumps are delivered in exposition reflections from Regan, the reader could miss the opportunity to connect with the story as they are suddenly flooded with gender terms. 

It would have been more effective to break those terms and concepts into actionable dialogue or experiences that connected with both characters. I would argue that it’s less important for readers to walk away with an exhaustive list of gender vocabulary and more about connecting with the humanity of a character. 

Either way, Regan’s info dumping underscores Luna’s lack of character development and dialogue in the novel, which confined Luna to the role of a stereotypical trans girl; an empty two-dimensional puppet used to move the plot along. Instead, readers need to be able to connect with Luna as a whole person, with fears, desires, and motivations beyond being trans.

Luna does not have a lot of dialogue, but, when she does speak, it is often related to her selfish, shallow, and vain obsession with her appearance and passing (being accepted and recognized as a girl in social situations). Luna’s focus on passing often comes at a great cost to Regan and at times places them both in danger. These scenes are particularly cringey because the reader is guided by Regan’s transphobia and discomfort.  

Stereotypes about transgender people, particularly casting trans women as hyper-feminine, vain, and obsessive, have a long-standing and harmful history in the media. These misrepresentations are often the fuel for transphobic legislation and violence against trans women. 

I cannot unpack the entire history of transgender stereotypes here, but I highly recommend watching the 2020 Netflix documentary Disclosure by Sam Feder, Amy Scholder, and Laverne Cox to better understand the history and impact of transgender stereotypes used in the media.

We Can Do Better

Hopefully, examining the specific pitfalls in Luna has provided a better understanding of what is at stake when we misrepresent a marginalized community. I hope this critical analysis did not scare you away from inclusive writing. It is possible to provide equitable and nuanced representations of marginalized communities when we are intentional with character development, world building, and plot. 

There are also limitless resources available to guide our understanding of transgender identity. I am hesitant to provide an official list of these resources for understanding transgender identity for many reasons. For one thing, understanding marginalized communities’ experiences with systematic inequality and misrepresentation is less about memorizing terms and historical facts and more about understanding the humanity and resilience of each group. 

We can gain that by surrounding ourselves with the stories and experiences of transgender people. Depending on how you prefer to learn and connect with others, I would start by reading trans memoirs and following trans people on social media and, because I am an academic to my core, I would also recommend reading more about theories on the social construction of gender.

Most importantly, we must elevate and support the work of trans authors and creators. Lastly, we need to hold each other accountable for appropriation and poor representation of marginalized communities, especially when the work is exploitative, inaccurate, or full of harmful stereotypes.  

Please see my recommended list of memoirs and authors below.  

Recommended Resources 

Memoirs

• She’s Not There: A Life In Two Genders by Jennifer Finney Boylan
• Nina Here Nor There: My Journey Beyond Gender by Nick Kriege
• Becoming Nicole: The Transformation of an American Family by Amy Ellis Nutt
• Redefining Realness: My Path to Womanhood, Identity, Love & So Much More by Janet Mock
• Unprotected by Billy Porter 

Academic and Social Science

• Gender Outlaw: On Men, Women and the Rest of Us by Kate Bornstein
• Undoing Gender by Judith Butler
• Beyond The Binary: Thinking About Sex and Gender by Shannon Dea
• Trans* In College Z. Nicolazzo
• Whipping Girl by Julia Serano
• Transgender History by Susan Stryker
• Beyond The Gender Binary Alok Vaid-Menon

Colice Sanders is a blogger and diversity, equity, and inclusion facilitator. Colice writes nonfiction, poetry, and memoir. Her blog, A Reason to Rise, chronicles her journey of radical self-acceptance through the lens of childhood trauma. 

You can also reach her on LinkedIn and Instagram.

The post The Messy Middle: Luna & the Rise of Trans Narratives appeared first on DIY MFA.

As a cisgender person who has only truly known and loved a handful of gender non-conforming people, I have been reluctant to center my voice on how to write about gender identity. It is not a topic I feel I should be taking up space to talk about, however, after learning that over the last five years, cis authors have somehow cornered the market on writing trans narratives in fiction, I realized that it was time for me to speak up.

Put me in, coach!

For most cis authors, our initial understanding of trans identity has been fueled by cisgender privilege, Christian upbringings, and decades of media misrepresentation. Therefore, it’s reasonable to assume that there are remnants of transphobia, trans misogyny, and cis sexism still coursing through our veins. These biases have the potential to reveal themselves in unintended ways when attempting to write about gender identity, which can lead to real-world consequences for gender non-conforming communities. 

I want to assume that most cis authors who attempt to write trans characters do so in the spirit of inclusion and a desire to affirm trans people, but it’s alarming to realize that the majority of published and acclaimed novels about trans identity have been written by cisgender authors. These novels are then consumed by cisgender readers who accept them as gospel instead of recognizing that they are clumsily written transition fantasies that have been shoehorned into the Cinderella story.

Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Stop It!

Cinderella is the perfect analogy for understanding trans narrative tropes. It starts with Cinderella, or better yet, Transition-ella, who finds themselves struggling to be accepted by their family and community. Since Transition-ella is a trans person, they are put through gratuitous violence, shame, and suffering, without addressing the systems in place that fuel anti-trans violence. Transition-ella’s suffering ends when their cisgender fairy godmother shows up to teach them how to be a “real” woman or man. Cue the voyeuristic montage of gender bootcamp that culminates in the achievement of hyper-femininity or hyper-masculinity (you can only choose one). This enables Transition-ella to achieve the ultimate goal of hetero romantic love, and they live happily (hidden) ever after in an unchanged anti-trans world. I feel my eye twitching.

Life Beyond Gender Transitions

By solely focusing on the “before” and “after” of transgender identity, this type of narrative can border on fetishism. I certainly do not mean to suggest that family and community acceptance, violence, trauma, and transitioning are not realistic themes, because they are. However, I am frustrated that they have become so formulaic that they have begun to reinforce the very transgender stereotypes those same authors set out to work against. 

I believe that when cisgender authors incorporate trans and gender non-binary perspectives in their work purely for personal gain, without credible research, or compensating, and acknowledging members of the community, they are engaging in cultural appropriation. We don’t have to look far to find several members from gender non-conforming communities begging cisgender authors to stop engaging in these tactics. To read about my views on cultural appropriation, read my last column It’s Messy In the Middle: Unpacking Cultural Appropriation.

The Messy Middle of Gender Identity

While I still believe there should not be limits placed on art, expression, creativity, or imagination, I also believe that there are stories that we have to recognize are not ours to tell, especially when the stakes are so high. Within the US, trans women continue to be murdered and assaulted at alarming rates. Trans people continue to struggle in their fight for civil rights, access to healthcare, and basic survival. Do you believe that you can craft a character in the messy middle of gender identity? Can you make visible all the invisible ways that gender identity functions as a system of power and privilege in our lives? Can you craft worlds that include trans joy, resilience, and courage while facing insurmountable odds? If you have answered a resounding yes to each of these questions, I look forward to reading your work, and please be prepared to be held accountable.

Colice Sanders is a blogger and motivational speaker. Colice writes YA, poetry, and memoir. Her blog areasontorise.com chronicles her journey of radical self-acceptance through the lens of childhood trauma. You can reach her on Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram!

The post It’s Messy in the Middle: Rethinking Transgender Narratives appeared first on DIY MFA.

Defining LGBTQ+ Literature

LGBTQ+ literature, especially young adult fiction, has boomed in popularity. But what is LGBTQ+ literature? How can we define something that spans all genres, modes, styles, and ages?

In 2019, I published a book titled From A Whisper to A Riot: The Gay Writers Who Crafted an American Literature Tradition. After years of research, reading dozens upon dozens of LGBTQ+ works by LGBTQ+ writers, I came up with four common traits that help us truly understand how to read—and write—LGBTQ+ stories. Those traits are: Setting; Engaging with Stereotypes; Coded Communication; and Issues of Gender & Sexuality.  

It’s a good idea for writers to know their history and for columnists to be transparent about the way they approach their topics. Since my future columns might address one or more of these four concerns, and because I believe an interest in LGBTQ+ literature should be grounded in textual and cultural awareness, I want to take this opportunity to outline these four concepts.

Setting: Time and Place

An important feature for LGBTQ+ texts that were written and published in the U.S. before the Stonewall Riots of 1969—and related legal judgements surrounding “obscene” publications—was that the stories were often set in locations that allowed the reader to “distance” herself from it. This physical distance between the reader and the story provided some psychological comfort in that it invited the reader to witness a kind of story that “couldn’t happen here,” and so it was unthreatening.

Similarly, LGBTQ+ writers created that same sense of distance by writing stories that took place in earlier time periods. This includes mid-century novels that took place before World War I, for example, or those that were set in the Renaissance or in Ancient Greece. Just as physical distance created a kind of spatial buffer between the reader and the provocative plot, so too did temporal distance. A reader could enjoy the story, even discuss it with friends, because its contents took place in a time long gone.

Today, writers of LGBTQ+ fiction often use the same devices, distancing their story by time or place. They manifest in new ways, however, such as writers who look back on the times of shock “therapy” to “cure” homosexuality, or who revisit the AIDS crisis, or who write about what it was like for a queer kid growing up in the rural south to finally move to a big city up north. In effect, LGBTQ+ writers are still very much interested in where and when their stories take place and continue to make these an important part of the genre.

Engaging with LGBTQ+ Stereotypes

An unfortunate and harmful aspect of LGBTQ+ literature is its penchant for enabling and creating stereotypes. These range from what it means to be gay, what homosexuals look or act like, and even what is likely to happen to a gay person—a shared fate. In a disturbing number of LGBTQ+ texts, for example, the gay male character, whether he is the main character or a supporting one, ends up dead, usually by committing suicide or, post-AIDS crisis, of disease. When we think of literature as a socio-cultural conversation, this repeated imagery has seriously painful consequences. 

Fortunately, some of the historical texts, those written before Stonewall, offer alternative perspectives, many of them even falling into that “happily ever after” trope. It’s refreshing to see texts written as early as the 1920s offering their gay characters opportunities at a good life, fulfilling relationships, and health and longevity. But for those who, like me, grew up in the wake of the AIDS crisis and the stories that came out of it, it might be a surprise to know they exist.

Contemporary readers and writers are treated to a much wider range of complex stories that deal with the roundness of human experience. Today, a “good” LGBTQ+ novel treats its characters as fully human and their sexuality as one element of that life experience. We continue to note some trends, though, in stereotypes surrounding gender expression, mental health, and family issues. A writer of LGBTQ+ stories, whether identifying as LGBTQ+ themselves or not, should read widely and take note of common stereotypes, employ sensitivity readers liberally, and be certain that s/he is treating their characters as human first.

LGBTQ+ Coded Communication

One of the more entertaining elements of LGBTQ+ reading and writing is engaging with the many codes and subtle hints that writers use to share the LGBTQ+ experience and to create community. In early texts, and to some extent the contemporary ones, these codes include such language as characters who are seeking “sisterhood,” “brotherhood” or “camaraderie,” or describing gay characters as “sensitive,” “artistic,” or even “womanly.” Many characters are described as being “in sympathy” and there are often historical or cultural references, to Ancient Greece, for example, or to (in)famously queer figures like Oscar Wilde.

Codes can quickly become tired tropes and stereotypes if the writer is not careful. Certainly, in the original conversations happening in the early 1900s, writers did not have much choice; to speak openly about homosexuality was not just to ensure your work wouldn’t be published, but it was to invite criminal prosecution and social ostracization. Today, in most places, the likelihood of the latter situations occurring is much reduced. Still, codes can be helpful as literary devices.

In popular LGBTQ+ literature today, many of the ancient references have been replaced by those in pop culture. Characters who are sexually or gender diverse might express interest in figures like David Bowie, Prince, Madonna, or Dolly Parton. Similarly, there are often references to sub-cultures, particular kinds of films and music scenes, which help to create that same atmosphere of community that the earliest LGBTQ+ writers were designing well before anyone could have the gay conversation out loud.

Gender & Sexuality

Lastly, there have been and continue to be issues for writers of LGBTQ+ stories in distinguishing between gender and sexuality. In early works, and today, writers often default(ed) to writing lesbian characters as explicitly and exclusively “butch,” and gay men as explicitly and exclusively “feminine.” In romance, the “masculine” partner is usually the “dominant” partner, and the “feminine” partner is usually the “submissive” one. Although most of us now know that sexuality and gender expression are not one and the same, and that everyone on the LGBTQ+ spectrum exists also along the non-parallel spectrum of gender identity, writers often continue to perpetuate the idea of a common denominator. We don’t need these boxes; they reinforce something that isn’t true, and our LGBTQ+ stories will continue to grow in depth, reality, and diversity if we commit to writing characters who are uniquely individual, rather than defaulting to narrow assumptions.

Thinking About It

If you are an LGBTQ+ reader or writer, can you think about a favorite LGBTQ+ character from literature (whether a novel, a play, or a short story) who was effective because they didn’t seem to fit the mold? Why did that character stand out? How did the author do it? 

Adam W. Burgess is an English Professor at College of Southern Nevada. He has a Ph.D. from Northern Illinois University and is pursuing a post-doc writing certificate at the University of California, Berkeley. He loves engaging in all topics related to LGBTQ literature and craft. 

The post What Is LGBTQ+ Literature? appeared first on DIY MFA.

Today I have the pleasure of talking with Dharma Kelleher on the show!

Dharma Kelleher is the author of several gritty crime fiction novels from a transgender/queer perspective. She has worked as a radio news director and is a current member of Sisters in Crime, the International Thriller Writers, and the Alliance of Independent Authors.

Dharma traditionally published her first series, the Shea Stevens biker series, before deciding to go the indie route for her latest thriller.

Her new book, Chaser, is the first book in her Jinx Ballou Bounty Hunter series and is available now.

Listen in as we chat about this awesome book, and giving accurate voice to transgender communities in literature.

In this episode Dharma and I discuss:

• Crafting a multifaceted and realistic transgender character.
• The need for accuracy not sensitivity when portraying a marginalized community.
• Dharma’s two-pronged attack for avoiding the echo chamber of niche marketing.
• Marketing challenges in indie publishing vs. traditional publishing.
• How to build your following with an email newsletter.

Plus, Dharma’s #1 tip for writers.

About Dharma Kelleher

Dharma Kelleher writes gritty crime fiction from a transgender/queer perspective. She is the author of three thrillers including Iron Goddess and Snitch in her Shea Stevens biker series, and her latest novel Chaser, the first book in her Jinx Ballou bounty hunter series.

She is a former radio news director and a current member of Sisters in Crime, the International Thriller Writers, and the Alliance of Independent Authors. She lives in Arizona with her wife and three feline overlords.

Dharma’s latest thriller, Chaser, is now available.

To connect with Dharma check out her website at dharmakelleher.com.

Chaser

When Arizona bounty hunter Jinx Ballou is outed as transgender, she’s thrown into a tailspin. The bail bond company she works for axes her, and she’s desperate to find a new job.

Boyfriend and fellow bounty hunter Conor gives her a tip about another agency that might be hiring, and soon Jinx lands the job and is on the hunt for Holly Schwartz, an infamous handicapped girl who’s accused of killing her mother and fleeing town.

Jinx chases conflicting leads that point in different directions. The police suspect someone is helping the disabled fugitive escape justice. Holly’s family believes she’s the latest victim in a string of kidnappings by a sadistic human trafficker.

The teenager proves to be slippery, and Jinx’s job becomes even more dangerous when a Chechen crime boss gets involved and threatens her and the lives of the people she loves.

Fans of crime fiction will enjoy this fast-paced novel brimming with fresh characters, witty dialogue, and twists and turns galore.

If you decide to check out the book, we hope you’ll do so via this Amazon affiliate link, where if you choose to purchase via the link DIY MFA gets a referral fee at no cost to you. As always, thank you for supporting DIY MFA!

Link to Episode 199

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Until next week, keep writing and keep being awesome!

The post Episode 199: Transgender Characters in Literature — Interview with Dharma Kelleher appeared first on DIY MFA.