Larry Benjamin's Blog: Larry Benjamin's blog - This Writer's Life - Posts Tagged "queer"
Catching Up with… Mark William Lindberg
This week I’m chatting with the remarkable Mark William Lindberg, a queer author, artist, performer, and educator. We're talking about everything from his writing process to his new release, Queer on a Bench, to the use of gender neutral pronouns.
Check out the conversation here.
Check out the conversation here.
Published on June 10, 2015 18:49
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Tags:
gay-fiction, larry-benjamin, lgbt, mark-william-lindberg, queer
Why Queer Romance Matters…It’s Personal
I was asked to be a write a guest post for Queer Romance Month, which I gladly did. It was originally posted on Day 2, Friday Oct 2, on the Queer Romance Month blog.
The feedback and comments the post received encouraged me to share it here.
I read. A lot. And I collect books. I have nearly 3,000. Many are classics—Fitzgerald, Wells, Dickens, the Brontés. Virginia Wolfe. But many more are contemporary gay fiction ranging from newer, lesser known writers to the literary lions of gay literature: Felice Picano, Mark Merlis, E.M. Forster, Baldwin, Burroughs (William, not Augusten), Alan Hollinghurst, William J. Mann, David Leavitt.
The first queer novel I read was Patricia Nell Warren’s "The Front Runner." I remember finding it at the book store at Penn freshman year. My roommates, who were on the track team, were at an away meet that weekend. I read the entire book before they returned, barely stopping to sleep and eat. I read "The Fancy Dancer," too. But it was "The Front Runner" that started me on the pursuit of queer fiction. From then on I read queer romance and queer fiction almost exclusively.
I was hungry for stories about people like me. In retrospect some of my choices make me blush in embarrassment—Gordon Merrick comes to mind—but back then queer books weren’t so easy to find. And I needed queer stories. Even if the stories weren’t really about me. They seldom had any people of color or anyone who wasn’t spectacularly good looking or outrageously “hung.” Reading, I would superimpose myself, my experiences, over each of those author’s texts—much like I’d done when the only GI Joe dolls available were white.
In discovering queer fiction, I had discovered I was not alone; I could finally visualize a life lived with a beloved man at my side. I was truly grateful to the gay authors who had the courage to tell queer stories. But I was increasingly frustrated with the white homo-normative narrative. Where my stories, the stories of our brothers and sisters who were other, who were outside, should have been, there was only silence.
But those queer stories also needed to be told. They were a part of our larger queer stories. We need stories that reflect the spectrum of our lives and loves. We need stories of queer men who find love and romance even if they aren’t handsome or hung or white. That said I don’t believe there are black stories and white stories, there are just stories but I do believe that no one in the queer community should be marginalized or invisible—in life or in literature.
There are no black stories. There are no white stories. There are just stories. Queer stories matter because they allow us to share our lives, to show the world we varied, we are different but not so different, not really. The value is in allowing us—each of us—to see queer selves, our differences, celebrated and reflected.
You can read the original post, or leave a comment to enter to win a copy of Unbroken, or Vampire Rising here
The feedback and comments the post received encouraged me to share it here.
I read. A lot. And I collect books. I have nearly 3,000. Many are classics—Fitzgerald, Wells, Dickens, the Brontés. Virginia Wolfe. But many more are contemporary gay fiction ranging from newer, lesser known writers to the literary lions of gay literature: Felice Picano, Mark Merlis, E.M. Forster, Baldwin, Burroughs (William, not Augusten), Alan Hollinghurst, William J. Mann, David Leavitt.
The first queer novel I read was Patricia Nell Warren’s "The Front Runner." I remember finding it at the book store at Penn freshman year. My roommates, who were on the track team, were at an away meet that weekend. I read the entire book before they returned, barely stopping to sleep and eat. I read "The Fancy Dancer," too. But it was "The Front Runner" that started me on the pursuit of queer fiction. From then on I read queer romance and queer fiction almost exclusively.
I was hungry for stories about people like me. In retrospect some of my choices make me blush in embarrassment—Gordon Merrick comes to mind—but back then queer books weren’t so easy to find. And I needed queer stories. Even if the stories weren’t really about me. They seldom had any people of color or anyone who wasn’t spectacularly good looking or outrageously “hung.” Reading, I would superimpose myself, my experiences, over each of those author’s texts—much like I’d done when the only GI Joe dolls available were white.
In discovering queer fiction, I had discovered I was not alone; I could finally visualize a life lived with a beloved man at my side. I was truly grateful to the gay authors who had the courage to tell queer stories. But I was increasingly frustrated with the white homo-normative narrative. Where my stories, the stories of our brothers and sisters who were other, who were outside, should have been, there was only silence.
But those queer stories also needed to be told. They were a part of our larger queer stories. We need stories that reflect the spectrum of our lives and loves. We need stories of queer men who find love and romance even if they aren’t handsome or hung or white. That said I don’t believe there are black stories and white stories, there are just stories but I do believe that no one in the queer community should be marginalized or invisible—in life or in literature.
There are no black stories. There are no white stories. There are just stories. Queer stories matter because they allow us to share our lives, to show the world we varied, we are different but not so different, not really. The value is in allowing us—each of us—to see queer selves, our differences, celebrated and reflected.
You can read the original post, or leave a comment to enter to win a copy of Unbroken, or Vampire Rising here
Published on October 09, 2015 12:55
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Tags:
larry-benjamin, lgbt, queer, romance, unbroken, vampire-rising
Larry Benjamin's blog - This Writer's Life
The writer's life is as individual and strange as each writer. I'll document my journey as a writer here.
The writer's life is as individual and strange as each writer. I'll document my journey as a writer here.
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