Bill Konigsberg's Blog, page 13

Laverne Cox – Possibility Model

I loved Orange is the New Black… the Netflix series. I “binge watched” the show in about four days, and I thought it was brilliant. Indeed, several actresses from the show have stayed with me in the months since I watched the show.

Uzo Aduba, who played “Crazy Eyes,” was my favorite character. I cannot wait to see her in more roles.

And then there was Laverne Cox, who played Sophia Burset, the transgender inmate.

What a beautiful soul. The character, I mean. But then I watched this video of Cox being interviewed on “Totally Biased,” and I realized that Cox the actress is all that and more.

In the interview, she says she’s not comfortable with the term “role model.” She is a “possibility model.” Think about that for a moment. There’s a difference, and it’s very smart.

I connected with her story of being sent to therapy when she was eight, after a teacher called her mother and warned that this little “boy” would be out on the streets of New Orleans wearing a dress if she didn’t go to therapy. It reminded me of going to therapy when I was about the same age. I wasn’t quite right, either. I also had to overcome the feeling that somebody needed to fix me. Because why else would I be sent to a doctor?

Listening to Cox, her belief in herself today shines through. She overcame that. I overcame that. In that way we are connected. I love that.

I was fascinated by Cox’s point that she loves when people recognize her on the street, but that she’s freaked out when people try to touch her. This, she explains, is based on her experience as a trans woman. Her fear of violence. Her need to protect herself.

Wow.

That’s not something I’ve ever thought about. As a cisgender gay man, I haven’t had to worry about people trying to hurt me simply for being who I am walking down the street. Not exactly true; gay people do get beat up. But the difference is, I can pass. For straight. Laverne Cox doesn’t have that experience. For her to be who she is, she must appear opposite of the gender she is expected to be based on her birth.

How did I not get that? I mean, it seems very simple, but I’d never really put that together before. How challenging must that be, to have your struggle for authenticity require you to go against customs in a way that is always visible?

This is why it’s so important for us to try to walk in each other’s shoes. Now that I know that, I’ll have a better understanding of what trans people have to go through.

“For me, it’s been all about self-acceptance,” Cox says in the interview.

Isn’t that what it’s all about for all of us?

Hamsters, Jet Lag, and Viagra

I’m sitting here at the airport with nothing to do, so naturally my thoughts have turned to hamsters, and what happens when they travel.

This is a re-post of an oldie-but-goodie, one of my favorite posts from my old blog, Waldorf to Your Astoria. The original link is here. I’ll cut and paste below, too. Enjoy!

——–


I couldn’t sleep the other night, so I was on the internet doing some aimless searching when I came across a troubling story. According to US News and World Report, hamsters get dumber when they get jet lag.”Dumber than what?” was my first question. Not to put down my avid-reading hamster audience, but I’ve never been one who thought that hamsters were a particularly bright bunch. Find a facebook page where someone has posted an article from the Onion, thinking the satire is real, and it’s almost always a hamster.

Anyhow, I read further. It seems the UC-Berkeley researchers, emboldened by the fact that we have no real medical problems now that AIDS and cancer have been eradicated, subjected the hamsters to jet lag by advancing their day and night schedule by six hours, every three days, for a month.

I suppose this was cheaper than booking flights to Paris, but it raises a few serious questions:

1) What day and night schedule?

2) Are these hamsters on a rigorous work schedule of wheel running and wood gnawing?

3) Can a hamster just call in if they’re seriously lagged?

4) How much do they get paid?

5) Are the benefits good?

Anyhow, when the researchers behave in this cruel and unusual manner, the hamsters begin to behave as though they are — you guessed it — disoriented. Their ability to learn and remember were impacted.

Well this all just floored me. You mean if you fuck with a hamsters’ natural environment and their instinctive expectations, there are consequences? This will make me think twice, the next time I smuggle hamsters in my luggage for a world tour. I’d hate to think they wouldn’t be able to find their wheel when it was time to go a-runnin’.

I googled the subject further, and found another shocking and fascinating fact: apparently, hamsters suffering from jet lag can be soothed with a little Viagra.

Yes! The little blue pill finally has a purpose!

A small dose of Viagra helped reduce the reaction to a simulated six-hour time change in hamsters. Which means that Viagra is doubly effective for sex-tourist hamsters with erectile dysfunction, visiting Bangkok.

Still, this raises questions for me:

1) Was Viagra the first pill they tried? Did they also try Paxil, Lipitor, Allopurinol?

2) Who had the idea to give a hamster Viagra? Fill in the Richard Gere joke here.

3) Do the hamsters report side effects such as headaches and blue vision after taking Viagra?

4) Who should the hamster call if they have a four-hour erection?

5) Why are these hamsters traveling so much? Shouldn’t they travel less, if the traveling is so jarring to them?

So the next time you see a hamster with that telltale bulge, please be kind. He’s probably just gotten off a plane. It might be a little jarring to see these randy rodents, but at least we won’t lose so many hamster-hours to jet lag. Those wheels don’t turn themselves, after all!

Coming to a city near you…

I’ve updated my “tour” page with several more dates this fall, winter and spring. I’m also negotiating a few more possibilities in other cities, so keep checking back!

If you want me to visit your high school, university, GSA, book club, library, local bookstore, civic group, you name it, please feel free to visit my “contact” page to see who is in charge of what. And you can always email me to discuss a possible event!

The upcoming schedule at this point:

Sept. 15 — Changing Hands Bookstore (with David Levithan, Aaron Hartzler) — Tempe, AZ
Sept. 20-22 – Colorado Gold Conference, Denver, CO
Sept. 28-29 – Texas Book Festival, Austin, TX
Oct. 12 – Los Angeles Teen Book Fest, Los Angeles, CA
Nov. 2 – Vegas Valley Book Fest, Las Vegas, NV
Nov. 8-9 – YALLFest, Charleston, SC
Nov. 21-26 – NCTE/ALAN, Boston, MA
Jan. 24-26 — San Diego State University Writers Conference, San Diego, CA
March 14-17 — Tucson Festival of Books, Tucson, AZ
April 8-11 — Texas Library Association, San Antonio, TX

If I’m going to be in your town, or nearby, and you want to see if I am available for a separate event, let me know!

 

Gay Panic, and Other Stuff That is So 1995

I just got finished not watching the Comedy Central roast of James Franco.

I didn’t watch it, because I’ve seen other roasts, and I know that they are sometimes funny, always mean, and littered with jokes about men having sex with other men. I have also seen “This Is The End,” a Seth Rogen movie that is so self-involved and so focused on the possibility of James Franco having sex with men that I had to leave early. Not because I was offended, but because I was bored.

And I have generally liked Seth Rogen. He’s very likeable. He’s a good writer and a good actor. But this whole “Gay Panic” thing that is at the center of so much of his comedy (and sometimes drama) feels so … old, doesn’t it?

You see, there was a time, not long ago, when it was a thrill for us gay people to be named at all. When straight guys pretended that they might have sex with another man, and half of the joke was about how gross that is, we watched and thought, “Hey! You know I exist! Thank you!”

But this is 2013. The world is quickly learning that some people are gay and some people are straight, and so what? I am guessing that of the comedians that took part in the roast of James Franco, there’s probably not a homophobe among them. They probably have tons of gay friends. So they’ve evolved and we’ve evolved. So why hasn’t the material?

This roast of the roasters by Totally Biased comedian Guy Branum took the words right out of my mouth, and said them funnier than I could have dreamed of saying them. And I can be kinda funny. 

I love what Branum says because it’s a pathway to where we need to go next. We need to evolve, and we need our allies to evolve along with us.

And we have evolved, and I know that. Compare Rogen and Sarah Silverman, for instance, to Eddie Murphy back when I was growing up. Murphy had so much clout. I remember my classmates walking around saying “Faggot ass faggot,” because Murphy said it on his famous comedy album “Delirious.” He influenced a generation of young people to think that gay men were sissies, and gay sex was disgusting and funny. 

With the Rogen clan, it’s clear they know better. They aren’t rabidly homophobic, as one might assume Murphy was from his act 30 years ago. There are bromances throughout Rogen’s work, and often there’s a sense of sexual longing and confusion for the characters. But then comes the panic. There’s always the panic. Silverman only plays a character who is vacuous and racist and homophobic. That’s different than Murphy, who was playing himself.

I just hope that the comedians of our day recognize the power that they have. And maybe come to the conclusion that this gay panic thing is over. Because it should be. Gay sex is basically a lot like straight sex. And as Branum says, “If you think gay sex is funny, you’re doing it wrong.”

Is Ben Bisexual?

Here’s a very cool interview from the examiner.com’s national bisexual writer, Sheela Lambert.

When she sent it to me, I had an interesting reaction. The reason she wrote about the book is Ben’s “Bisexuality.” I thought: Wait. Is he bisexual? And who gets to decide?

This isn’t a criticism. It’s simply a question about labels and how they work. And what constitutes bisexuality, I guess.

To me, I suppose Ben falls on that continuum. But you could also say he’s straight except for when he starts to have strong feelings for his best friend, Rafe. Or you could decide he’s on the road to gayville and he’s currently in denial.

What do you think? Would you label Ben? What would that label be? And should he need to be labeled at all? 

Not Normal, or, The Broken Rib

Writing is not a normal job.

In most normal jobs, you don’t find yourself writhing around in bed at 2:00 in the morning because a phrase came to you that began to illuminate a character that’s been in your head, on and off, for a year. Similarly, you don’t get out of bed and write for 90 minutes, pleading with your fingers to keep up with your brain.

This is not a new thought. I’ve known for a long time that I’m not suited for normal work, and I’ve known just as long that the thing inside me that possesses me to write isn’t, like, what you want to instill in your children, necessarily. An obsession to express? A need to find the right combination of words so that at 3:15 you can start crying at your keyboard?

No, this is not normal.

I tend to know I’m onto something when I surprise myself. When something I write steals my own breath. I don’t know if this is a brand of narcissism; it may well be, but when I say ‘surprise myself’ I am not referring to how “good” the writing is. More how raw it is. It connects to something deep within, and It’s a level deeper than what propelled me out of bed an hour earlier. That’s what tells me I have traction.

Let me explain:

For two years now, I’ve been contemplating an upsetting scene where a teen boy is molested by an older man. I’ve avoided it because it’s upsetting. When I contemplate such a scene, what typically comes to me are phrases that stick around. In my own brain, this has been the “I’m not here” scene.

I finally wrote it last night, after something told me, at 2 in the morning, that I needed to. But it was what happened in the lines after the ones with which I was familiar that got me.

Here is the last paragraph of the “I’m not here” scene I’d known about but avoided writing for so long, followed by the line that made me gasp:

During, Doug floated to the top of the room and watched from above. He was keenly aware of the bald patch the cowboy had in the center of his head, the one that had been hidden by the hat. He saw the tired, glassy eyes of the cowboy for what they were, and he wanted to hug him and tell him it didn’t have to be like this, that there was a better way, which was a hilarious thought for Doug to have and he knew it but he still had it anyway. And time stretched like bubble gum, and lost its taste, like bubble gum, and Doug found a litany that he repeated as he watched the thing happen, from above, as he watched and felt nothing that he should have felt, not even pain. I’m not here, I’m not here, I’m not here.

            After, he walked home and an emptiness settled in his chest and broke one of his ribs, pushing out toward his heart. 

Ah! I’ve had emptiness before in my writing. I’ve had pushing sensations in the chest. I like to put sensations in the body rather than naming feelings, because it makes it more real for the reader (and the writer). But in all my years of writing, an emptiness had never broken a bone before. And I had to think: is this literal? Metaphorical?

It doesn’t matter. It’s true. It’s a true line, and it brought Doug to life for me. He is the most tragic character I’ve ever written, and I feel him today. I felt him last night. And I know: it’s not normal.

It’s not normal to go back to bed and feel the tears slide down your cheeks and onto the sheets, and know that you’re crying because of the emptiness inside Doug that made him feel his ribs break.

The ABSOLUTE genesis of Openly Straight

I found it! The first-ever words written for the book that became Openly Straight. They were written in February of 2009, when I was living in New York. I was working on a manuscript that I was going to call “Yam Boy,” and apparently I took a side-step into something else. The document is called “Straight Notes” and it’s about two pages.

The below is copied verbatim:

–

Why I want to be a straight kid for a year
By XXXX

             Straights can occasionally use the words “fabulous” or “drama queen” and it’s quirky. When gay guys do it, they’re one step away from a woman.

            Straights can pat each other on the butt after a football game, no questions asked.

            Straights can grab their genitalia and wag it at other guys in the shower without being maced.

            All I want is to fit in. For once. Is that too much to ask?

—-

I had not seen this scratch document in four years! I’ve actually been lying without knowing it, saying that the first words of Openly Straight had to do with the tofu pig on a spit. This turns out NOT to be the case. Sorry about the unwitting lie.

It sounds a little Rafe-ish, no? Not a ton, but a little. It’s in essay form, which is a lot like the essays he wound up writing in the book. Otherwise, it’s just… whatever it is. Thought I’d share it with you.

Among the other things in this initial document, copied word-for-word:

—-

Wizard of Oz structure – there’s no place like home 

First friend he meets is stupid. Second is heartless. Third is a coward. He helps them all out and is well loved. He arrives and without meaning to fells a bully. His parents run over the bullies’ prized track trophy. All that is left under the car is a shoe sticking out. Wizard is the headmaster? Wicked witch is a bully. Who has minions. 

He thinks he’s going for the dating possibilities. Finds out that it’s deeper than that. He’s going because he’s still a little homophobic. He has a strong desire to have a “normal” life and do “typical” things. Finds out he can still do those things at home. If he wants to.

—

Aren’t we glad I stepped away from the Wizard of Oz theme? Oy. 

So there it is, kids. How a book gets started. With bad ideas, most of the time. And a few interesting ones thrown in.

Faith and Writing

I’m starting a new novel. I’m at the point where my mind is hard at work, figuring out who is who and what is what. There’s been a bit of freewriting and outlining, but nothing substantial on the page yet. It’s only been about a week.

It can feel overwhelming to start a new project. The sky is the limit. In a moment of weakness, I can decide that my idea about writing about foster kids is bad, and that maybe I should scrap that and start again and write something futuristic and dystopian. I mean, why limit myself to reality when fantasy could mean fewer limits?

But then again, I’ve always written contemporary novels. I’m in that John Green group of authors who write realistic novels for teens. Why rock that boat, just as it’s gaining steam? Yes, in this case, it’s a steam boat apparently.

All of these thoughts are paralyzing for a writer. We cannot live/work like this, worrying that a split-second decision could derail us and our writing careers. 

So what we must do is have a little faith.

Faith? In what?

Well: 

1. Faith in ourselves. As a writer, one simply has to believe in one’s choices. If I questioned every idea that came into my head and wondered if it was the right thing, I’d never finish a book, ever. We must believe in our latent ability to make the right choice, so long as we’re following our gut instincts.

This means going for it. When I get an idea, I explore it. I may write a few pages. It may lead me somewhere, and I’ll know if it does based on how it “feels.” If I suddenly think, “Aha! That’s interesting.” It may not lead anywhere. As a writer, I must be willing to throw out a lot of pages. It’s just part of the job. By the way, I never throw anything out. I save it all on my computer in case I want to find it and use it later.

2. Faith in something bigger? A lot of writers definitely don’t want to go here. And that’s fine. Whatever works. For me, I have to have faith that the right answer will come, and I guess what I’m saying is I don’t know how it comes, and where from. Is it from my brain? Is it an interior process? Or is it from outside of me? I simply don’t know. I just know that it happens. If I pay attention, I get information that I need.

When I took a research trip for my last novel, The Porcupine of Truth, I was strongly in that “faith” zone. I simply believed that the right things would present themselves. That if I looked closely, I’d find clues. That the universe was creating for me a mystery, and I was a kind of detective. 

It worked. I found so many clues on my trip, and the book really wrote itself after that. That’s not exactly true; it’s always a struggle to synthesize ideas. But things came together nicely. 

For now, with this book, no trip is planned. I do have plans to volunteer at a foster home, and that should be helpful. I guess I need to have faith that the volunteering will present to me some interesting stuff. And until then, I need to have faith in whatever — myself, God, the universe, my brain? All of the above? — that my thoughts will lead me in a useful direction.

 

Sniff

In the novel I just completed, The Porcupine of Truth, my characters come up with what I like to call the “theory of the dog park.”

They take a friend’s dog to the dog park, and they see the way the dogs interact, how they’re excited to see who is coming in to the park, and how they rush over and sniff them.

Because dogs do that, you know. They sniff each other. I won’t get more graphic than that. Because we humans, we tend to frown on the idea of humans displaying such behavior. It’s… I don’t know. Gross?

But it makes my characters think, just as it made me think, the first time I took Mabel to the dog park.

Look at the dogs, and how they are so interested in each other!

Look at the people, and how they stand around talking, displaying various levels of comfort in their body language. Some with arms crossed, some facing each other and really communicating. None down sniffing, though.

What are we afraid of?

Do we have the same impulse, to get to know who other people are? Or has it been snuffed out of us somehow?

I’m kind of kidding. And I’m kind of not. I do think dogs are better than people, and that their ability to show their keen interest in other dogs is one thing that sets them apart.

I feel very curious about people all the time. Perhaps that’s why I’m a writer. I want to know what makes them tick. I want to understand what they’ve gone through, and I want to know what they’d do in various situations. Sometimes when I’m driving, I get lost in my own fantasies about what people do in their private time, or what thoughts they are thinking when they’re driving.

I have the impulse to sniff. Metaphorically, I mean. And yet it scares me. Because people often don’t like to be sniffed. And there’s that awkward moment when you start to get to know someone, where you make eye contact and the unverbalized question is, “Is it okay for me to try to get to know you? How much is too much?”

Am I alone in this?

Am I alone in thinking that the world would be a better place if we sniffed each other more, at least metaphorically?

Texting while

Chandler Gerber texted his wife “I love you” while driving along a rural road near his hometown of Bluffton, Indiana. She texted him back, and he lowered his head to quickly read her message.

The next thing he knew, there was a body smashing off the roof of his van. It was one of three that had been in the buggy he’d hit. Three Amish people. Dead. Chandler’s life as he knew it: over.

I know. You are not like Chandler. You’re a really good driver. I know. I know because I have had that thought many times. I am against texting and driving. I know it’s dangerous. But once in a while, while speeding down a lonely highway to Palm Springs, or while driving down Camelback Avenue in Phoenix, I’ll glance down at my phone because an email has just come in, or a text, or I’m not exactly sure whether the store I’m going to is on the east or west side of 7th Street.

This is not okay. None of it is okay, and I want to make it clear today that we are the problem, and we are the solution. If you want to lose your freedom, if you want to possibly end a life – yours or perhaps the person in the car next to you or maybe a bicyclist’s – continue to think that you are special. That you can occasionally text and drive because you’re talented enough to do two things at once, even if one is operating a deadly weapon, because that is exactly what a car is.

Take the time and watch Werner Herzog’s amazing documentary about the repercussions of texting and driving on several individuals. These are not actors; these are people like you and me. Their lives will never be the same. Some of them are victims, some are perpetrators. All of them wish they could go back in time before someone decided they were special and different.

Here is some more information sent to me from the fine folks at carinsurance.org about the dangers of texting and driving, specifically teens texting while driving.

It’s not only teens, though. It’s all of us. The last time I posted something about this issue, an issue that feels very close to my heart even though I have not been personally toughed by any such tragedy, I heard a lot of silence. Please. Don’t be silent about this. Change happens when we make it happen. I do not want to hear another story about someone losing their life because someone had to send a text. I don’t want to hear another story of an otherwise good kid spending years in prison because he had to see what his friend wrote to him about that girl.

I titled this “Texting while” in the hope that you would remember in reading this how quickly your life can change. In a split second. Before you even get to the third word. Don’t do it.

Thanks.