B.L. Dayhoff's Blog
June 25, 2020
Updates and Thoughts
There’s been a lot happening since I last popped on here. Part of why I’ve been quiet is because of that (well, the anxiety that goes with it!).
So Covid-19. With the pandemic, I’m mostly living off unemployment right now and looking for work. I’ve been keeping home and safe, doing some writing, ignoring the feedback from a beta reader on my last project, but overall progress has been slow. My anxiety has been through the roof, but in a way that just makes doing hard (but isn’t full-on panic attacks). I just kind of plod along, watch a lot of TV, and participate in #SmoreWords on Twitter (check it out)!
Black Lives Matter. BLACK LIVES MATTER. Not really a point up for discussion, and millions have said it better than I have.
However, that does bring me to a personal thought, that has come up on Twitter (mainly): white people shouldn’t write POC POVs (without a shit-ton of research).
I’ll admit, my initial reaction was a quiet hiss at my phone, because this has come on the tail of years of being told to diversify books! And, okay, my current WIP has a black POV as one of the POVs. So was I supposed to just stop writing? Make that POV a white guy? To me it felt weird to make the black POV a white POV, like some sort of white-washing.
But I sat on it, thought about it, and while it still weirds me out, I can understand and respect where the push is coming from.
To me it’s strange, and it’s come up before with other topics, because this is fiction. I can doubly get behind the “don’t tell a story focused on race if you’re not that race,” because it’s not your story to tell, in the way you cannot truly understand the struggle and if you’re specifically writing about that struggle, you’re toeing a line.
But how real does fiction have to be? (This is something I want to make a whole blog post about, so not getting too deep here.)
Writers know we have to avoid “things that will throw the reader from the story” because it’s wrong/false, but in life experience, there’s a lot more wiggle room. Because my experience with XYZ might not be the same as someone else with the exact same background and identity. The fact that there are black and gay republicans, when that seems mind-blowing to others of those identity, seems to illustrate that. So, saying in fiction that “this ignores the X experience”…feels like it’s only allowing for one experience. Is it likely that X identity has experienced Y? Yes. But can there be a person who hasn’t? Also yes.
That said, I think the larger point to “white people shouldn’t write POC POV” isn’t necessarily that white people are telling the stories, but that white people are telling the stories that black people should be (and are). Because in publishing, white authors are chosen over black authors to tell the stories of black people. Much like “own voices” stories (an idea which is good in theory and generally awful in every other way), white folk need to not focus on gate-keeping who can do what (which mostly makes people ornery, IMO, and distracts), but LIFT UP the people who should be heard first.
All of this is still bumbling around in my head, and I still have to decide what to do with my story. See, in the first write, it was all from one POV, the white guy, with a black LI. But as I explored the issues the betas had and I developed the plot and fleshed it out, the story felt cheated by not having the second POV to fill in the gaps and explain the LI’s problems better. Which means I’m writing a black POV that I hadn’t initially intended.
My hope is to finish the draft, get a sensitivity reader to review it, even if it’s to have them tell me “Yeah, you just wrote a white dude that happens to be described as black, just make the dude white.” If that’s what I have to do, that’s what I have to do, I guess, though it will still feel super weird, and he’ll always probably be black in my head. Or maybe with revisions he won’t. Who knows. It’s going to be a learning experience.
January 25, 2020
The Right Move – out now!
Buy NOW: JMS Books – Amazon – Barnes & Noble – Kobo
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Trevor can never leave good enough alone. So when he meets model-gorgeous Chase who has an aversion to being touched, he spots a challenge. After all, no one wants to go through life not being touched by anyone, right? Despite a friend’s plea not to, Trevor sets his sight on fixing Chase.
After being forced to transfer his senior year of college, Chase just wants to avoid drama, pass his classes, get his degree, and move on (and back to his friends). He’s not looking for new friends, and his attitude gives him a reputation that makes it easy to accomplish. At least until he meets Trevor.
Despite an awkward beginning, common interests — and Trevor’s persistence — draw Chase and Trevor together. It’s almost inevitable that their friendship develops into something else. But when secrets come out, it might end the game early.
January 7, 2020
Coming Soon: The Right Move
[image error]
Trevor can never leave good enough alone. So when he meets model-gorgeous Chase who has an aversion to being touched, he spots a challenge. After all, no one wants to go through life not being touched by anyone, right? Despite a friend’s plea not to, Trevor sets his sight on fixing Chase.
After being forced to transfer his senior year of college, Chase just wants to avoid drama, pass his classes, get his degree, and move on (and back to his friends). He’s not looking for new friends, and his attitude gives him a reputation that makes it easy to accomplish. At least until he meets Trevor.
Despite an awkward beginning, common interests — and Trevor’s persistence — draw Chase and Trevor together. It’s almost inevitable that their friendship develops into something else. But when secrets come out, it might end the game early.
November 24, 2019
Nano 24 – Bones
The desert sun bleaches everything white, sapping the color from it like it saps life from everything. The endless wasteland (not quite true) is a place for things to die, and the poor sap laid out in the sand was one of them.
The end probably came slowly, although the worst of it might have been spent lost in delusions as the body dried up before it inevitably succumbed. The strangest thing about the bones carefully unburied in the sand is that there are no clothes, no artifacts, nothing. As if it’s been robbed of those along with its life.
Nano 23 – Risk
There’s always a danger that the rope will break. It’s not likely, but it’s also not likely for your plane to crash or to get one of those rare cancers. But you never know if you’ll be the one. It’s a calculated risk, and so far you’ve been very good at math. You’ve gotten this far, after all.
It doesn’t stop the flutter of panicked butterflies in your stomach or the need to double-check the harness and the rope. All secure. And so you jump. The wind flies by and your heart pounds and…you bounce. Still good at math.
November 22, 2019
Nano 22 – Collide
BAM. The doors slam shut as Ester storms from the church, her white veil flapping behind her. Her high heels have been abandoned by the altar, and the concrete bites into her feet. No matter. She grabs two handfuls of the long, fluffy dress and starts running.
Behind her is the sound of cursing, alarm, and pounding feet. The chase is on, but she doesn’t stop to question it now, she just runs around the corner.
BAM. She collides with another woman and they both fly to the ground. Ester looks up, startled, and sees the most beautiful woman imaginable.
Nano 21 – Sleep
She can’t sleep on her back, she never could. It reminds her too much of being in a grave with her arms crossed over her chest, eyes closed. It’s silly, really, to be bothered by such a thing after all this time. But it doesn’t stop her from cranking her neck to the side, shoving pillows under her shoulder, and doing everything necessary to get comfortable sleeping on her stomach. She’ll wake with a crick in her neck and drool on the pillow, but it is what it is. It’s better than the memories that sleeping on her back brings.
Nano 20 – Ink
The needle hums with satisfaction as it stabs the skin repeatedly, so fast the eye can’t follow. The pain is more of a burning, a scratching, than a stabbing, and rather than make him squirm, he falls still, heart slowing. The heat is soothing as it scrapes through his skin, leaving an inky trail in its wake.
The room smells of cleaner and cologne. Pleasant but forgettable. Just like the chair he sits on, the room itself, hell, even the artist. No, he’ll remember this trip by the business card in his pocket and the phoenix rising on his back.
November 21, 2019
Nano 19 – Rescue
“Help.” The cry is soft, weak, and whispers its echo along the stone tomb. Nothing responds; nothing stirs. Barely even the air from that forced word. Somewhere in the distance water is flowing—the drip, drip, drip is louder than that single word was.
Beneath a pile of rubble, a body lies covered in black dirt, the only other color the white of the eyes, and the white of the teeth as another pathetic “help” escapes.
In the distance—closer than the drip, drip, drip—the crunch of boots on gravel announces the arrival of more people. Perhaps they’ll get there in time.
Nano 18 – Disaster
Rocks crumbled beneath their feet as they scrabbled across the ruins of what had once been a hospital. It was barely recognizable anymore. The towering steel structure had been reduced to dust, back into the base elements from which it had come.
As had everyone inside.
No one survived. But this wasn’t a rescue mission. Instead, the people dug through the rubble, scavenging for anything that had survived—not that there was anything—or any pure metals that could be put to use fixing the devices back at their camp. It was a long shot, but it was always a long shot.
