'Nathan Burgoine's Blog, page 6

Going Back to the Village

I’ve been at a writing retreat all weekend, and I’ll be here for the rest of the week, too. It’s a former nunnery, which may explain the off-and-on skin sizzling—just kidding—but I’ve been working on a new Little Village novella, and on the Saturday, I made a rookie mistake.

I kept writing, and writing, and writing. For those of you who’ve been around during my adventures with tendons and migraines over the years, you’ll likely see what’s coming, and it did: I gave myself a massive headache that bloomed into a migraine overnight. I’m fine, but I’d forgotten how having Max means I’ve got built in “thy shalt not deny a husky his walkies!” breaks in my day, and so on Sunday I built in breaks.

To enforce those breaks as screen-free time, but to also get myself back into the right vibes for the Village, I’ve been listening to “Handmade Holidays,” performed by Giancarlo Herrera on audiobook (and I’ll listen to “Faux Ho Ho” and Upon the Midnight Queer after that). It’s kind of funny—one of the main reasons I wanted to release my books in audiobook format was accessibility, but this is the first time I’ve used accessibility for my own books. Ha!

Now, I’m starting with “Handmade Holidays” because that’s the first Village story on audio, but the Village actually starts in Of Echoes Born, my first collection of short fiction.

Of Echoes Born includes “A Little Village Magic,” which is a novella set in the Village in a New Age store, Third Eye, where a guy named Gabe—who doesn’t believe in much of anything—learns it doesn’t matter if magic decides to believe in you.

Of Echoes Born’s stories all interconnect—in fact, if I toot my own horn here, I’ve had multiple people tell me they don’t like short story collections but really enjoyed Of Echoes Born because of the framing device I used to make it turn into a sum-more-than-its-parts.

(Like this one.)

Anyway, that’s where I’ve been, what I’m doing, and I hope you’re all having as solid a month as you can out there!

Wait, no, but what are you writing?

Oh, right. If you’re curious, the novella I’m working on is intended to kick off a series of six novellas, all holiday themed, but not Christmas this time. The one I’m working on is called “Village Treat,” and takes place during the lead up to Hallowe’en, where a guy named Trent (who was born on Hallowe’en and everyone calls “Treat”) decides he’s going to win a group costume contest with his five friends, because the group that has won for the last four years needs to go down.

That he has a personal rivalry with someone on that team that dates back to university is just happenstance, of course.

If you read “Valentine’s Dave” in the limited-release Candy Hearts Volume 1, he’ll maybe sound familiar, and “Valentine’s Dave” will be one of those six novellas—I used the opportunity with Candy Hearts to proof of concept the friend group—and the more I write, the more I think these guys are going to be fun.

All the Origins in “Upon the Midnight Queer”

Yesterday, I went into the story of how “Not the Marrying Kind” came to be, and then a kismet thing happened, and someone wrote a lovely review of the collection as a whole, which included:

The one thing which I felt the absence of, (and would have delighted in because I’m that type of person), was the inclusion of a list or note, pairing each queer re-telling with its source of origin or inspiration. I’m super intrigued about all the ones I didn’t recognise!

I almost included this in the original, but—more fool me—thought no one would honestly care. Now, some of these are far more obvious than others, but for the sake of completeness, here we go, in order:

“Dolph” is a retelling of Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer, and also me taking on “how does he deliver all the presents in one night?” and deciding to expand on Mrs. Claus, because frankly, she’s got to be amazing, right? This one started it all, came out of a conversation with some queer friends, and also probably had been bubbling in my head from the first time I heard the Jack Johnson version of the song, where he includes the extra stanza: “But Rudolph he didn’t go for that, he said, ‘I see through your silly games. How can you look me in the face when only yesterday you called me names?’” Every time I hear that version, I want to fist-pump like I’m walking away from the high school after Saturday detention.

“Frost” is a retelling of Frosty the Snowman. I had fun sneaking in references to the song into this one, like “down to the village, with a broomstick in his hand” being Frost grabbing an unfinished broom whe he’s furiously trying to make sure Little Jay is okay, and the officer trying to stop him. There’s a second winter legend/story tied into this one, too, but it’d be a spoiler, so I won’t mention it.

“Reflection” is a retelling of the Snow Queen, and a POV shift to Kai, the boy who in my version wasn’t kidnapped at all, but ran away because he knew full well how his family would treat him once they learned he wasn’t what they wanted him to be. The notion of making the Snow Queen a kind of boogeyman-figure who’s actually quite wonderful, actually, just, y’know, not “normal” enough for the majority just struck me as deliciously queer. Also, I just love an ice queen, and thought it would be nice to show her as completely content in her life, but willing to help others who were different like she was. Ah, allegory. Doesn’t have to be subtle, does it?

“The Five Crowns and Colonel’s Sabre” is a retelling of the Nutcracker and a POV shift to Fritz, the brother who damages the Nutcracker in the original version of the tale. In this one, he’s way more aware of everything happening to his sister and the Nutcracker, but he’s a boy of a certain age (and also queer) so the pressure of being “proper” has him believing he can’t give into whimsy the way his sister can. At least, not until years have passed, and he finds himself back home again.

“Five Shillings and Sixpence” was written for a publisher event, originally, but takes on Christmas Day from “A Christmas Carol” but from Peter Cratchitt’s point of view (and, specifically, as he’s presented in the 1951 “A Christmas Carol” movie starring Alastair Sim). The eldest Cratchitt boy had secured himself a position—and thus, income—but in my version of the tale, Peter is quite aware of the future awaiting his family, and is doing everything he can to avert it, right up until the point that everything changes.

“The Doors of Penlyon” is definitely based on the most obscure original Christmas story, in that I started with Tom Danby, an instigating but side-character from “The Christmas Hirelings,” by Mary Elizabeth Braddon, a tale written in 1894. The original is about a grumpy rich man, his niece, and Tom Danby noting that Christmas is for the young—and that’s how it really comes alive—and the grumpy old man agreeing to allow Tom to hire children to stay with them for the season to bring the holiday to live. Of course, which children, and why is the main thing, and Tom Danby is a clever man to arrange it all—but it almost goes sideways when one of the children gets ill. I took that piece of the story, made Tom Danby a queer “muse” (a teleporter capable of using doorways to get from any door he’s touching to any other door he’s ever been through, in a callback to my YA novel Exit Plans for Teenage Freaks) and then stirred.

“A Day (or Two) Ago” is a queer story based on “Jingle Bells,” via time-looping. This one was a lot of fun, I wrote it in 2020, when I was desperately trying to find something more fun and uplifting to think about. Also, the full, extended version of “Jingle Bells” was just full of lovely little turns of phrases to mine for scenes in a queer retelling, like the part where the singer ends up falling onto his back in the snow and “a gent was riding by” who “laughed as I there sprawling lie” which is where the whole idea coalesced around Miss Fanny Bright (who the extended song is also along for a ride that ends poorly with the narrator) and the main character’s brother—the “gent” in question.

“The Future in Flame” is entirely my husband’s fault. That year, I was fumbling around for a story to retell, and he suggested “The Little Match Girl” and I blanched because, “that’s such a horrible story”—truly, it’s a story I really dislike, because the entire thing is based on the little girl suffering and you’re supposed to learn a lesson from her death and that kind of narrative plays out a lot with queerness, too, and I’m so done with it—but my husband gave me a look and was all, “yeah, that’s why you’re re-writing these, isn’t it?” and um, yeah, he was right. It took me a while to find a way in—but when I was re-reading the story, that “way in” occurred to me through the flames and the visions she had every time she lit a match and… “The Future in Flame” happened.

“Not the Marrying Kind” is, as I mentioned yesterday, another obscure holiday story, based on “The Romance of a Christmas Card” by Kate Douglas Wiggin, written back in 1916, about two wayward sons returning on Christmas thanks to some Christmas cards. I won’t rehash here how I ended up deciding this one needed a queer retelling (you can click that link above) but one thing I didn’t mention yesterday was how much fun I had handling a character who—every single time she’s mentioned—is described as “a childless expert on the bringing up of babies.” Coming up with her little subplot made me giggle, and was a case of “More queer! Queer everything! Sprinkle rainbow glitter everywhere!”

“Most of ’81” came literally from the alignment of two things: one, I love the song “Christmas Wrapping” by the Waitresses (seriously, it’s one of the few songs I can still enjoy after years of holiday retail); and two, realizing how fucking awful 1981 was for queer people in Toronto. So, by shifting the story to a queer dude having that encounter in a ski-shop, and then running him through the year mentioned, I had more than enough to work with for a very queer retelling of one of my favourite songs.

“Folly” was the story I wrote specifically for this collection, and I’ve written about how that one came to be in another blog, too, but the short version was while I was looking for a new holiday song, carol, or story, I found the original version of “Jolly Old Saint Nicholas” and it occurred to me the voice of the poem was truly charming: this caring, compassionate person who is self-described as having “a little brain” and “not very bright” but obviously cares deeply for Johnny, Susy, and Nellie. From there, it wasn’t far for me to come up with a reason why this man was caring for these three children, and the lines about how Susy loves dollies but Nellie thinks they’re folly sparked something, too and then a healthy dose of spite had me adding in a bunch of things to the story: drag king Santa and drag queen elves at the local library, trans kids being treasured and supported and loved (like they damned well should be), a queer community looking out for each other, and a gay dad finding some romance.

So, there you have it! That’s all the origins of the various holiday stories in Upon the Midnight Queer.

Holiday tales, retold queerly…

A silk hat turns snow into life and a chance at love for a man with little hope of either. Two men with a connection sparked in passing attempt to withstand everything the tumultuous Toronto of 1981 throws their way, with their only remaining hope being Christmas Eve itself. A much-maligned queen of the snow teaches a young boy how to use his magic to find others of his kind. And a reindeer shines a light of its own, and with the help of the daughter of Father Time, brings gifts—and hope—to all those usually left behind.

Holiday magic connects these tales and more—tales heard and seen and sung before, familiar and joyous, or tender and bittersweet—all to the last told upon the midnight queer.

Upon the Midnight Queer is the second short story collection from Lambda Literary Award finalist ’Nathan Burgoine, and includes the brand new Little Village Holiday Novella, “Folly.”

On the Origins of “Not The Marrying Kind”

I thought I’d tell the story of how I ended up choosing some of the stories for Upon the Midnight Queer, and a discussion I had recently at Can*Con about how “said is invisible” (common writing advice) reminded me of this story, and how “Not The Marrying Kind” happened.

So, one thing about doing holiday retellings for the last decade is how it sent me on a hunt for public domain and classic holiday stories, and one of those stories I encountered was “The Romance of a Christmas Card,” by Kate Douglas Wiggin. I found it on audiobook, which meant I could listen to it while I walked the dog, and so I nabbed my copy and leashed up Max, and off I went.

Now, first off, I should note the original is sweet, but it’s also relentlessly religious and has this—shall we call it “specific”?—notion of what happiness for everyone will look like.

*cough-heteronormative-mother-father-babies-cough*

Anyway, I was listening to it as an audiobook while walking my dog, and this book, which is of its time, 1916. And then…

Actually, no wait. Context first. In “The Romance of a Christmas Card” there are two wayward sons from two different families (one’s the pastor’s son, even). They both basically did a youthful shirking of all family responsibilities and left in a huff. In the story, they both encounter Christmas Cards idealizing their home town, which brings them back to said small hometown where they basically realize they made mistakes and decide to make it all right (and of course forgive everyone and are forgiven by everyone) but both men end up taking the same train home and when they see each other…

Okay please understand I’m an adult. Truly. I have, like, house keys and I pay taxes.

But the actual lines in the book are that David (one of the two men) spots Dick (the other) and, well, then he stretched out a hand and ejaculated in the same breath: ‘Dick Larrabee, upon my word!’

Reader, I lost it.

Like, nearly dropped my dog’s leash, made everyone stare, had to stop and just guffaw. Of course I was in front of the school as I heard this part, and of course someone else I “know” because they also walk the dog a lot was nearby and was all, “What’s so funny?” and I was not capable of explaining. I just said I was listening to something, and moved on.

Anyway. That, uh, turn of phrase cemented “The Romance of a Christmas Card” as the story I’d be retelling as a queer romance that year. Only in my version, David was going to get Dick.

(Ahem. Sorry-not-sorry.)

That novella-length piece, “Not the Marrying Kind,” is included in Upon the Midnight Queer.

And now you know why. (Again, sorry-not-sorry.)

On the Origins of “The Marrying Kind”

I thought I’d tell the story of how I ended up choosing some of the stories for Upon the Midnight Queer, and a discussion I had recently at Can*Con about how “said is invisible” (common writing advice) reminded me of this story, and how “The Marrying Kind” happened.

So, one thing about doing holiday retellings for the last decade is how it sent me on a hunt for public domain and classic holiday stories, and one of those stories I encountered was “The Romance of a Christmas Card,” by Kate Douglas Wiggin. I found it on audiobook, which meant I could listen to it while I walked the dog, and so I nabbed my copy and leashed up Max, and off I went.

Now, first off, I should note the original is sweet, but it’s also relentlessly religious and has this—shall we call it “specific”?—notion of what happiness for everyone will look like.

*cough-heteronormative-mother-father-babies-cough*

Anyway, I was listening to it as an audiobook while walking my dog, and this book, which is of its time, 1916. And then…

Actually, no wait. Context first. In “The Romance of a Christmas Card” there are two wayward sons from two different families (one’s the pastor’s son, even). They both basically did a youthful shirking of all family responsibilities and left in a huff. In the story, they both encounter Christmas Cards idealizing their home town, which brings them back to said small hometown where they basically realize they made mistakes and decide to make it all right (and of course forgive everyone and are forgiven by everyone) but both men end up taking the same train home and when they see each other…

Okay please understand I’m an adult. Truly. I have, like, house keys and I pay taxes.

But the actual lines in the book are that David (one of the two men) spots Dick (the other) and, well, then he stretched out a hand and ejaculated in the same breath: ‘Dick Larrabee, upon my word!’

Reader, I lost it.

Like, nearly dropped my dog’s leash, made everyone stare, had to stop and just guffaw. Of course I was in front of the school as I heard this part, and of course someone else I “know” because they also walk the dog a lot was nearby and was all, “What’s so funny?” and I was not capable of explaining. I just said I was listening to something, and moved on.

Anyway. That, uh, turn of phrase cemented “The Romance of a Christmas Card” as the story I’d be retelling as a queer romance that year. Only in my version, David was going to get Dick.

(Ahem. Sorry-not-sorry.)

That novella-length piece, “Not the Marrying Kind,” is included in Upon the Midnight Queer.

And now you know why. (Again, sorry-not-sorry.)

Ornamental 2024

Today I donned my jingle-socks, and my husband, my husky, and I put up the tree. Max the husky wasn’t much help, if I’m being honest (I can hear your gasps of surprise), but this is always one of the few parts of the holiday season I look forward to—in fact, it’s my favourite part. For those of you who’ve been around a while, or have read Handmade Holidays, this is also no surprise, because it’s the time of the year where I’m most reminded of so many wonderful things as we pull each tree decoration out of the box of ornaments.

Now, if you haven’t been around here before, I’ll give you the short(ish) version: way back when I first got myself a Christmas tree, I made a rather obvious mistake. It was the first year I was in a little bachelor pad of my own, and I was working holiday retail, and I was so very tired, so I forgive myself this mistake these days, even if back then I was really annoyed at myself. What was the mistake?

I didn’t own any ornaments.

Happy Holidays? Handmade Holidays is available in audiobook, performed by the wonderful Giancarlo Herrera.

If you’ve read Handmade Holidays, this will all sound familiar, and it was absolutely the inspiration for the novella itself. Things happened on a different time scale for Nick than for me, but the tree, the lack of ornaments, and some of the ornaments Nick receives in Handmade Holidays are all cribbed from my own life.

Back then, I set up this big ol’ Christmas tree (clearance, bought quite literally Christmas Eve, and dragged home on the bus) and… couldn’t decorate it. Or, rather, I could, but all I had at hand was candy canes—and one ornament. A friend had cross-stitched ornaments and put them in their Christmas cards, and so I had that. Together, it did not make for an impressive tree.

The next year, I was wise enough to have bought some basic (like, dollar-store) white ornaments and a spool of white ribbon and lights and so that year it looked better, but I also was gifted another ornament by a friend, and a tradition started. Every year I found an ornament for the tree. Some years, it was more than one—as my friends learned about this tradition quite a few of them started buying me ornaments as gifts—but year after year, when it comes time to decorate the tree, I get to relive all these wonderful (or sometimes sniff-inducing) memories.

When I met my husband, for a couple of years we had two trees—he liked themed trees—but then we got a dog, and there wasn’t room for two trees, but also by that point we’d been collecting ornaments together for a few years, and so it wasn’t just my memories going on the tree, but our memories. In fact, we’re at the point now where most of the ornaments are an “us” thing now, since we have both picked up the habit of looking for ornaments when we travel or have big life moments.

Ornamental

So, what were this year’s ornaments? Oddly enough, they were all about travel this year (or at least, that’s the case so far—there’s likely to be a stocking revelation or two on Christmas Day we can add to our tree). Way back at the start of the year, my husband went to Scotland with my sister-in-law and her wife on a scotch tasting tour, and since I (a) don’t drink and (b) could stay behind and look after the dog, I did just that. He had a great time, and although I’m not entirely sure what jellyfish have to do with distilleries, he picked up an adorable little fella to commemorate the trip.

I mean, he also got a bunch of whisky, obviously.

The next ornament was the flip-side: I got to go to Nottingham, UK for a literary festival, and while I was there, myself and fellow author Matt Bright (who is the genius artist Inkspiral Design behind the cover of Handmade Holidays up there, as well as the cover of Upon the Midnight Queer down below) went to this awesome gothic-themed craft fair that happened at the same time, and I found a little heart ornament (I know, not exactly gothic, but I did also pick up some kickass bookmarks with skulls and dragons and stuff). Given how much of the event weekend had been discussing romance, queer history, and community, that little “love” ornament seemed just about perfect to me.

I didn’t bring home any whisky though. I did bring home a bunch of great books from queer authors, though, which is way better unless you’re really into whisky.

Finally, my husband and I did actually go somewhere together this year, and we even brought the dog. We drove to the east coast of Canada and toured the Cabot Trail and at one point we stopped at this wonderful store specializing in Tartan where you could find your family lineage, and get incredibly well-designed and handmade kilts as well as other gorgeous and beautiful things for your home and while I could have purchased something gorgeous… instead I bought this Santa-in-a-rowboat ornament because it was the most joyfully awful ornament ever, and I know how much my husband loves these painfully awkward ornaments.

In fact, when I brought it into the car (where he was waiting for me with the aforementioned Max the husky) his gasp of joy made it perfectly clear I’d made the correct choice.

It’s the little things, truly. It wouldn’t be our tree if it didn’t have the tacky pride rainbows and queer fuchsia boot or winky the one-eyed fox or any of the other things that make this season our own.

Speaking of Making This Season Queer… Upon the Midnight Queer is available in ebook, paperback, and also in audiobook, performed by the brilliant Giancarlo Herrera and Hannah Schooner. I cannot tell you how much I love what they did with these stories.

Holiday tales, retold queerly…

A silk hat turns snow into life and a chance at love for a man with little hope of either. Two men with a connection sparked in passing attempt to withstand everything the tumultuous Toronto of 1981 throws their way, with their only remaining hope being Christmas Eve itself. A much-maligned queen of the snow teaches a young boy how to use his magic to find others of his kind. And a reindeer shines a light of its own, and with the help of the daughter of Father Time, brings gifts—and hope—to all those usually left behind.

Holiday magic connects these tales and more—tales heard and seen and sung before, familiar and joyous, or tender and bittersweet—all to the last told upon the midnight queer.

Upon the Midnight Queer is the second short story collection from Lambda Literary Award finalist ’Nathan Burgoine, and includes the brand new Little Village Holiday Novella, “Folly.”

Make the Yuletide Gay…

Hey folks! Just a quick note today to aim you in the direction of Shepherd.com, where I was graciously invited to curate a list of five titles and gathered up five joyful books to make the yuletide gay! Please go check it out (and, as you can see below, one of said books Hank Edwards’ wonderful “Snowflakes and Song Lyrics,” so you know it’s going to be awesome, no?

Also, while I’ve got you, a brief update on the audiobook of Upon the Midnight Queer

Yeah, Audible still hasn’t approved it. I wish I could tell you why, but it’s in the review cycle and this is literally the sum total of information you get from Audible, so… I can tell you they think the cover is solid and that I’m two days over the “expected” timeline now. That’s it. But I can also note that Libro.fm has Upon the Midnight Queer in audiobook, and if you buy from them you can also pick a brick-and-mortar store to support, so that’s a win-win.

Release Day for Upon the Midnight Queer!

Holiday tales, retold queerly…

A silk hat turns snow into life and a chance at love for a man with little hope of either. Two men with a connection sparked in passing attempt to withstand everything the tumultuous Toronto of 1981 throws their way, with their only remaining hope being Christmas Eve itself. A much-maligned queen of the snow teaches a young boy how to use his magic to find others of his kind. And a reindeer shines a light of its own, and with the help of the daughter of Father Time, brings gifts—and hope—to all those usually left behind.

Holiday magic connects these tales and more—tales heard and seen and sung before, familiar and joyous, or tender and bittersweet—all to the last told upon the midnight queer.

Upon the Midnight Queer is the second short story collection from Lambda Literary Award finalist ’Nathan Burgoine, and includes the brand new Little Village Holiday Novella, “Folly.”

Cover art by the always brilliant Inkspiral Design.

And… exhale! Yep. Today is the day, the official release day of Upon the Midnight Queer (that link will take you to all the places that currently have it listed as available, and I’ll keep adjusting said links as links go live). I’m so very chuffed this one launched pretty much without a hitch, including the brilliantly performed audiobook version* read by Giancarlo Herrera and Hannah Schooner—I cannot tell you how freaking much I love this, so I’ll just say it once more: I freaking love the magic they did.

Upon the Midnight Queer isn’t just a collection of holiday tales with queer characters, it’s my latest stubborn refusal to allow the “where did all these queer people come from?” lie to take root. We’ve always been here. We’re always going to be here. Cope.

Er, I mean, “Merry Christmas!” (Or “Bah, humbug!”)

*(For those waiting on the audiobook from Audible, I wish I could say they’ve surprised me by being ahead of schedule, but… it’s still at step 1 of 4 for review. Have I mentioned it’s available through libro.fm?)

“Upon the Midnight Queer” audiobook now available!

So. As of this morning, the audiobook for Upon the Midnight Queer is on sale at many audiobook sites! I cannot tell you how excited I am to share this with you, because Giancarlo Herrera and Hannah Schooner did freaking magic with this collection.

Giancarlo Herrera and Hannah Schooner did magic, and it’s here!

Holiday tales, retold queerly…

A silk hat turns snow into life and a chance at love for a man with little hope of either. Two men with a connection sparked in passing attempt to withstand everything the tumultuous Toronto of 1981 throws their way, with their only remaining hope being Christmas Eve itself. A much-maligned queen of the snow teaches a young boy how to use his magic to find others of his kind. And a reindeer shines a light of its own, and with the help of the daughter of Father Time, brings gifts—and hope—to all those usually left behind.

Holiday magic connects these tales and more—tales heard and seen and sung before, familiar and joyous, or tender and bittersweet—all to the last told upon the midnight queer.

Upon the Midnight Queer is the second short story collection from Lambda Literary Award finalist ’Nathan Burgoine, and includes the brand new Little Village Holiday Novella, “Folly.”

I thought the release date was November 12th!

Okay, first, I have to say this with my whole chest: it never happens this way, but the audiobook version of Upon the Midnight Queer has started releasing in audiobook ahead of the official November 12th release date. How? Well, here’s the thing. Usually, you send in the files to the various audiobook platforms and you say, “here’s everything you need!” and they say “okay, we’re going to do our quality assessment now!” and then you sit there with two words on your screen: pending review.

And you sit there.

And you sit there.

My personal best—meaning the shortest turnaround—has been ten days, so when I clicked “go” on the fifth, I rather assumed the audiobook would be available somewhere around the fifteenth (at the earliest) to maybe as late as the end of November.

Instead… it’s popping up all over the place, and most wonderfully, libro.fm was the first out of the gate.

Why is it so wonderful libro.fm is first?

I freaking love libro.fm, and that mostly comes down to it being a way to buy audiobooks while supporting your local brick-and-mortar, but also because I struggle with how much of a chokehold the big-A has on ebooks and audiobooks in general. And—because I need to say this—this is not something I’m upset with authors about. Folks, creative-types need to pay their bills, and often the big-A going exclusive is the only way they can pay their bills, so to be 100% clear: this is me frustrated with the system in place, not the people stuck within it.

I’m in a privileged position to be able to turn down what would likely be more sales income if I’d locked myself in, but I’m also in Canada, and being available wide means my audiobooks might be picked up by libraries (Hoopla already has me listed, too, and things are underway for Overdrive, too!), and at that point, the Public Lending Right program kicks in and there’s a good chance if I can get into libraries, the PLR will maybe make up for not being exclusive to the big-A.

Um. I use Audible.

That’s totally fine—and given the exclusivity thing means that’s often the only place you can get a certain audiobook—so do I! I just like being available everywhere to give people choice. Also, pricing is a thing, and audiobooks get priced by the platforms that sell them (seriously, I almost never get to choose what the book actually sells for, though I do set a “suggested” price).

Right now, Audible still has those two words for me: pending review. If that’s your go-to and you want to get a copy there, that’s great! I thank you! It’ll be possible. It just might take a week or so longer…

From “Jolly” to “Folly”

Like I imagine most of you did (given this is my blog and if you’re here, I can make a few assumptions about you with some certainty), I woke up this morning and just… stopped. It took me a while to find the right words, and some back-and-forth with my husband, before I really landed on it: every time I think I’ve reached an understanding of how much people hate us, I’m given proof I underestimated.

That’s not uplifting, and it’s only inspiring in a certain kind of way—a call to endure, to fight back, to refuse to be quiet—but I also had work to do this morning, and that helped in a different way. See, despite my attempts to keep deadlines from ever piling up by only working on one deadline at a time, copy edits from Dogs Don’t Break Hearts landed at the same time as the final audio proofs for Upon the Midnight Queer’s audiobook release.

It probably says something about my state of mind that I kept working on both until they were done, and did… pretty much nothing else.

When I did come up for air, I found a review had dropped of Upon the Midnight Queer, and I want to quote a small part of it:

I am so grateful to have had ‘Nathan Burgoine’s Upon the Midnight Queer on my kindle the past two days. Burgoine is sharing his holiday tradition with us, Christmas stories that center queer folks. In each of the 11 stories, he reminds us that queer people have always existed and found community with each other. In a world that is often not safe for the different, we find each other and share our light. I need this reminder now and if you need it too, I highly recommend getting a copy on November 12, when it is released. — Emmalita, Goodreads Review

That one phrase: queer people have always existed and found community with each other is pretty much everything I intended to do with this collection. Taking classic Christmas or other winter stories and making them queer was my way of doing that with a particular structure and intent. We get erased or untold or have our voices removed from so many places and so many discussions that putting them back—yes, even in fiction—is my way of shouting it to the sky: we were here, we are here, you can’t stop that.

When it came time to write a new story for this collection, I ended up choosing the original “Jolly Old Saint Nicholas” as my inspiration. It’s not a poem I expect a lot of people to know, but if you’re interested, here’s the 1881 original, by Emily Huntington Miller:

Jolly old Saint Nicholas
Lean your ear this way;
Don’t you tell a single soul
What I’m going to say,
Christmas Eve is coming soon;
Now you dear old man,
Whisper what you’ll bring to me;
Tell me if you can.
When the clock is striking twelve,
When I’m fast asleep,
Down the chimney broad and black
With your pack you’ll creep;
All the stockings you will find
Hanging in a row;
Mine will be the shortest one;
You’ll be sure to know.
Johnny wants a pair of skates;
Susy wants a dolly
Nellie wants a story book,
She thinks dolls are folly
As for me, my little brain
Isn’t very bright;
Choose for me, dear Santa Claus,
What you think is right.

There’s nothing overtly queer there, right? Susy wants a dolly, Nellie wants a story book, Johnny wants some skates, and whoever is telling the story, they don’t know what they want because they’ve got a “little brain” and are going to trust Santa to get it right.

So how did that poem turn into “Folly,” my queer holiday romance novella for the collection?

By not assuming everyone in the story wasn’t queer. In fact, doing quite the opposite. I made the voice of the story a gay man named Huntington (in honour of Emily Huntington Miller), who is raising three kids: his late brother’s three children, Johnny, Susy, and Nellie. Huntington, like the voice in the poem, isn’t necessarily the brightest guy. He knows it, and he’s got a great heart, and he’s going to do whatever he can to make things as good as possible for his three this year, their third Christmas without their parents. And that involves the gifts they were asking for in the poem: skates, books, and dollies.

There’s more to it than that, of course, and given it’s a romance, there’s also more at play, but with “Folly,” what I hoped might happen is anytime someone who’s read the story hears “Jolly Old Saint Nicholas” they might stop and think: Oh. Oh, hey. Huntington. Johnny. And Susy. And Nellie!

Oh, and the Santa they visit is totally a drag king. At a library. Because queer people belong everywhere and that includes our libraries, where our stories should be available for anyone who wants them, but especially the queerlings.

Can*Con 2024, or “How I learned Gilthanas cheated on me.”

As will likely surprise no one, I came home from Can*Con and pretty much collapsed into introvert recharge mode—though I also listened to audio proofs for about ten hours the next day, and that’s a whole other post but the TL;DR is “the audiobook for Upon the Midnight Queer is SO GOOD”—but now that I’ve had a day to “rest” I want to cheer on the Con, the Con organizers, the Con volunteers, and all my fellow panelists and moderators, all of whom were great.

I also learned I am absolute garbage at remembering to take photographs, but I’m putting that down to another point in Can*Con’s favour: I was too busy enjoying myself to remember to pull out my phone.

My Panels

Can*Con isn’t huge, but it packs in a solid mix of content, and over the decade I’ve been going (oh gods, how has it already been a decade?) I’ve watched the programming team work fresh takes on editing, writing, the science of SF, the smaller sub-genres of SF, TTRPG and Video Game writing, pop culture and SF culture, romance, thrillers, and more into the scope of the event, and it just keeps growing and shifting with the times and I appreciate that beyond the telling.

To drive that point home, I got to be on a brilliantly enjoyable panel about polyamory and how it’s handled in writing (which, of course, also shifted into some discussions of polyamory and how it’s handled in life)—all credit there to Steve Kenson and Avi Silver, and our moderator Rebecca Bennett—where I honestly had multiple a-ha! moments about writing, life, and facets of queerness I’m not sure I’d really focused on before. Steve Kenson was the aforementioned “I got to meet this person in real-life finally!” person, and it was a genuine delight to have the opportunity to share in his insights, and Avi Silver’s absolute candour brought clarity to so many facets of the assumptions of what a relationship even is—and what it definitely shouldn’t be assumed to be.

At another panel on how the “fun” stuff in writing—fight scenes, intimacy and sex scenes, humour—shouldn’t be dismissed as not important despite being fun, I have to highlight my fellow panelists James Downe and Aysha U. Farah, who so brilliantly made the connections for the audience between fun and functional, and I could seriously watch and listen to Aysha U. Farah discussing process for years and not get tired she’s so entertaining and captivating (and has this brilliant delivery of the honest realities of writing I cannot oversell).

Finally, I got to moderate some brilliant people through a discussion of the ways in which community are handled in fiction—and then also how community in the real world affects writers and writing: believe me when I say if you ever get the chance to moderate Charlotte Ashley, André Geleynse, and Terese Mason Pierre, you are in for the easiest moderation time of your life. They’re brilliant, knowledgeable, and listening to them discuss community was a freaking joy. Charlotte Ashley’s discussion of “third spaces” has burrowed its way into my thoughts, and André Geleynse’s “yeah, but if you’re an introvert…” vs. Terese Mason Pierre’s “and if you’re an extrovert…” one-two punch conjured real understanding, and I loved both insights, especially from the point of view of Geleynse’s “find a job” notion of entering a new community: not a job-job, but a role, or a volunteer position, or something that gives you a reason to be there, and suddenly structure exists. Introverts unite (only y’know, separately, and with clearly defined rules)! Terese Mason Pierre’s discussions of the responsibilities of community were both timely and thoughtful, and she’s another person I could just sit and listen to for hours at a time, were the circumstances to align.

And that was just three hours of where I was. At the same time, three or four other panels or events were usually in motion, or workshops were underway, or someone was telling everyone the purple dragons in the Vendor Room had been refreshed so if you saw someone carrying one around yesterday, you should hurry before they ran out again.

(I didn’t manage to get a dragon, but I did get a business card so I can get a dragon later.)

The People

Really, Can*Con comes down to those panelists/guests-of-honour/moderators, the con-goers, the volunteers, and the organizers, and as always, it was impossible to meet and speak to everyone, and of course, one of the realities of these events is how if there’s a panel you absolutely, one-hundred-percent want to attend, it’ll be when you’re supposed to speak on another panel.

I scored some great books from the Vendor Room, including the latest Maverick Heart Cycle book from Stephen Graham King, and an autographed copy of the fifth Crone Wars book from Lydia M. Hawke.

I got to meet people in-person I’ve only really spoken with online prior, and—this is the weirdest moment of the convention—I randomly bumped into someone I last saw in a gaming club thirty years ago and their voice hadn’t changed at all, so I recognized them and we played a quick game of “Okay, I remember you had a dog named X, so… that’s when I knew you… uh…” and we eventually got there. I also got to hear some amazing people I hadn’t encountered before for the first time.

Highlights definitely included Lydia M Hawke moderating the panel on “Living a More Relaxed Creative Life” with E.L. Chen, Vanessa Ricci-Thode, and Madona Skaff-Koren, where avoiding burnout—and the cost of not doing so—was handled with grace and humour and honesty, and that honesty was a theme I noticed throughout the Con: writing is hard, it’s worth it, but your health and wellbeing aren’t worth sacrificing in the process.

Another fun highlight for me was the Dragonlance panel, where not only did I find a new to way to explain to people what it was like for a while in the 80s when Dragonlance seemed to explode into not-just-geek-and-nerd spheres, but also Erin Rockfort moderated Kaitlin Caul, Steve Kenson and Evan May through a really fun discussion that didn’t shy away from the more problematic portions of the story and world-building. I really appreciated Kaitlin Caul’s thoughts on that front, including being just as mad as she was about the whole Sturm thing, and Evan May perfectly encapsulating how Tas was great but ohmigods Kender were the worst if you were a DM in a real-world Dragonlance game. More, it was fascinating to get Steve Kenson’s insight on the various shifts in the narrative that came from the realities of Dragonlance being a game-based world, and an IP that quite literally shifted hands and rules systems multiple times over. Of course, he also dropped the bomb that Gilthanas was also a problematic fictional boyfriend, which isn’t a great way to find out that your own problematic fictional boyfriend was cheating on you.

The final panel I attended on Sunday before my battery ran out was another one I’ll add to my list of favourite panels ever: Jesse Scoble moderated Steve Kenson, Felice Kuan, and Aysha U. Farah through “Managing a Big Games Project, from Step 1 to Step 1000” and remember how I said Aysha U. Farah has this amazing style of honesty that I adored? Well, it was back, and holy crap I think this panel made me laugh the most of any I attended. Aysha U. Farah and Felice Kuan were fresh off releasing the latest Life is Strange game—literally, it launched something like five days earlier—and so they drew on this incredible amount of real-world, recently-experienced examples to talk about how there’s never really a “done” so much as there’s a deadline, and how the realities of business, budget—and that other B word, again, burnout—need to find a balance. Also, hearing the balance against Steve Kenson’s experiences in the TTRPG world here was once again fascinating; there are so many pieces of writing that cross over from fiction to video games to TTRPGs, but there are also a lot that don’t, or shift in perspective, or have to be seen in a completely different way: for example how, at the core of it, TTRPG writing is facing the reality that you’re writing without knowing who the main protagonists of the story even are, because the players bring those.

Heckin’ Queer

I also feel like I need to point out how queer Can*Con is, despite it not being a queer-specific event. Normally, when I go to not-specifically-queer literary events, I’ve got my shields up, so to speak, but so many panels and discussions and even just group chats in passing flitted seamlessly with queer inclusion and discourse and language. I’m used to this now from Can*Con, but honestly this year I felt like I saw more queer attendees than ever, and with panels on community, polyamory, platonic tension, and more, the reality was the queerness was just sort of baked in, but not in that Diversity 101 way I’ve often encountered at other not-specifically-queer events.

It felt simple and welcoming, everything from the super-basic (pronouns on our name-badges) to the way topics included queerness in such a matter-of-fact way. I love that.

Quest for Lunch

Conventions are also about the non-scheduled time, and Can*Con was no different. Breakfasts in the hotel restaurant meant wonderful conversations with Lydia M. Hawke, Marie Bilodeau, Steve Kenson, and Stephen Graham King for me—did I mention Stephen Graham King dedicated “The Infinite Heist” to me? Because I maybe cried in the vendor room over that one—but also chatting with people between panels, finding a table after the day’s events are done in the hotel bar and sharing publishing war stories—“Wait? That happened to you, too?!”—and squeezing in meals between panels is as much a part of the experience as the event itself.

We found lunch!

Of course, this being Ottawa, and the event taking place downtown on a weekend, the hunt for some way to get lunch was… interesting. Can*Con is moving next year, and I think the thing I heard most in response to that was, ‘Oh! Will there be open restaurants nearby?’ Which… fair. Plus side, there was a good Indian buffet place within walking distance we found on Saturday, which allowed for a wonderful hour with Brandon Crilly (co-Chair of the event, and thus super-scheduled and nearly always in motion), Steve Kenson, and Evan May, all of whom play in my Star Trek Adventures game online on the USS Curzon, so it was sort of like an Away Mission, really. After that, it was mostly about walking far enough down Elgin to find a diner open that still offered food.

So much diner food. When I came home on Sunday night, I had a glass of milk for dinner.

But seriously, even the coffee shops were closed. Luckily, I’m a tea-drinker and I brought my own supplies.

Anyone want a death prediction?

Circling back to the panel on community and being an introvert, I brought my little tin of Death Predictions from way back when I was accepted into This is How You Die, the second Machine of Death anthology, and I have to say, it made for a fun way to chat with people. Who knew handing out death predictions could be such an effective icebreaker?

Their “Death Prediction Cards” read “Beak,” “Fed Up Barista,” “Revenge,” and “Trying Too Hard.”

Seriously, it was funny how often people came up to me and said, “Are you the death guy?” which is sort of the best moniker ever. I handed out more than half of the cards in the tin, and watching a group of writers and readers react to their predictions was really enjoyable. “Skin Falls Off.” “Cabin Pressure.” “Underwater.” In the hands of SF convention attendees, these all became immediate prompts for discussions of how to interpret the various results, often with comedic results.

But my favourite had to be the young boy who was so very excited to get “Serial Killer.” He was showing it to people at random and saying, “This is how I die!” and I’m sure that wasn’t at all awkward for his parents.

Honestly, I had a blast. Can*Con is a wonderful event, I got to see some of my favourite local people, talk to others I don’t get to see very often from out-of-town, meet people who included some I’d not be overstating to label as my creative heroes, and heard so many voices I wouldn’t normally have access to speak to topics with grace and intelligence.

I look forward to next year.