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Queer Men In Speculative Fiction–Where are they?

Queer Men In Speculative Fiction–Where are they?

It’s weird that I have to ask this question. It’s the year 2018, and I can’t give you a list that is strictly male and doesn’t involve a romance as a focal plot point.

However, the why is answered fairly quickly the moment you walk into a SFF convention. If you haven’t, have no fear, there’s a scene from Brooklyn 99 that illustrates it perfectly: a panel on Diversity in SFF and its all straight middle-aged white guys in various states of dress. As always, one of them is wearing a leather bomber jacket. Cause he’s not like those other SFF authors, he’s a cool SFF author.

Spare me.

Do I have a personal problem with romance in SFF? Gods no, read what you want, write what you want. But it shouldn’t be the only place I can read about queer men. And it is the only place I can read about queer men. Every book I’ve come across involving a queer male character in a leading role–not a supplementary character–is romance. And what that translates into is, unless they’re falling in love with someone, queer male characters don’t have stories to tell.

Which is, ya know, bullshit. Obviously.

But this is what happens in a genre dominated by straight white men; they’re going to write either straight men or queer women. Because that is both what they know and what they view as attractive.

So how do we go about writing queer men in SFF? And why is it so hard for so many writers to wrap their minds around?

First, you take every trope you remember from the 90’s and you set them on fire. Never approach them again. Don’t even look at them. They don’t exist. Then you build that character, just as you would any other character, and add in but they’re gay as an afterthought. How minor you want it to be and how you present that will depend on the level of acceptance in your world setting, and the character’s age. Are they younger and naive, or are they older and have seen various laws and politics surrounding the LGBT community rise and fall? And how does that affect their worldview?

But if I don’t use tropes or make the effeminate, how will people know they’re gay?

Oh buddy ol’ pal, that’s the beauty of it–you can reveal that little tidbit whenever you want. You can add it into a conversation, slip it in casually, or make it a big statement. For example, I came out to my DnD group last week when someone asked if my character had a crush on a party member and I said “No its not like that, Malachi’s like me. He’s demisexual. He doesn’t feel sexual attraction to others without very intense romantic feelings and a deep level of trust.”

Or you can flashback to it. Have it brought up in a memory. That’s how I introduced Yulian as being gay in the Silver Bullet Affair. It’s barely one sentence. And for me, that’s all I needed. I wanted my readers to know that Yulian is gay, has always known he was gay, and is living in a country where being gay was accepted and legal for quite some time before rulers changed hands (he’s Russian, by the way).

But who’s allowed to write about queer male MCs?

Anyone whose willing to give it due diligence, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. For example, if you’re doing an SFF in a previous known time and place in history, or even a current one, you need to do your research on how the LGBT culture functions. If it’s made up, you have to make a backstory for that culture. How has it stood the test of time? Have different regimes of rulers made it illegal or otherwise legal? Did it start out as being acceptable but became worse as the power to rule changed hands, or is it the opposite? A writer should always write what they know, and the the beauty of the modern world we live in today is that what you know can easily be remedied. We have at our fingertips access to first hand accounts and primary resources with which to utilize to write anything accurately, so long as you put the hours in.

Queer men can kick ass, and save the world, and not have a romance define their entire place in a story. They can be effeminate or masculine, have great taste or a terrible fashion sense, because a person’s sexuality isn’t a clothing style or a series of mannerisms that dictates how you present yourself. Queer men, like all human beings, are individuals first, sexuality second.

For a fine example of queer men kicking ass, check out the Silver Bullet Affair, book one in the Bulletproof Spy series, available now on Amazon.

Five Things I Learned from, Mistborn: The Final Empire, about Writing Fantasy

Five Things I Learned from, Mistborn: The Final Empire, about Writing Fantasy

Warning, this is going to contain major spoilers along with gushing praise.
If you haven’t read Brandon Sanderson’s, Mistborn, stop here, go read it, and come back later.

1. You can make old tropes new again

At this point it’s impossible to write something that’s completely trope-free. Even this blog entry you are reading at this very second is a trope-tastic masterpiece. How many people have written list posts? At least 2,546,000, probably more, because listing out your ideas in numerical order just works. It’s as common as the trope of the mean, blonde cheerleader.

The same goes for Mistborn. The tyrannical ruler oppressing the masses isn’t new. We’ve seen it more times than we’ve seen list posts. But gosh darn it, isn’t it great to have a villain we can universally hate? This is why the tyrannical ruler is a most beloved trope of fantasy writers. It’s a cause we can all rally behind. It makes us an immediate cheering squad for the protagonist, and it’s something we can recognize. Um…Hitler, Kim Jong Un, the evil Empire, and Sauron, anyone?

The Lord Ruler is definitely a card-carrying member of this club. He’s enslaved an entire race of people and makes a big party out of public hangings. But he’s more than just your standard, genocidal villain. He’s immortal, indestructible, and he’s got a backstory.

Throughout the novel, we get to see little snippets of his journal, from before he inherited his immortality and became the infamous Lord Ruler everyone loves to hate. Way back when, he was kind, thoughtful, and hopeful. He wanted to save humanity…or at least that’s what we think.

And with each reveal of his humanity, we lower our pitchforks, douse the torches, and go, “I wonder what happened to make such a nice man turn into such a monster?” And just like Luke Skywalker, we’re wondering if that former good guy is hiding behind Darth Vader’s mask. That’s the twist to the trope.

 2. Give Information through Dialogue

World-building is the bane of every fantasy writer, more so than writing a synopsis…no wait, I take that back. They might be on par, holding hands, sitting at the bar together, devising new ways to make writers miserable. But without a doubt, when I sit at a round table and give seven people my first ten pages to read, one half of the table will accuse me of info-dumping (telling them too much about the fantasy world up front,) and the other half of the table will have a list of questions of things they want to know–immediately.

You can’t win.

I think, for the most part, diehard fantasy readers will give the author a little leeway in either direction. Some stories can unload a lot of information quickly, and others string you along with little bits here and there. You might get lost along the way, but eventually, you’ll get your answer.

A common favorite is to use the novice and the expert to explain your world, or the student and the teacher, á la Harry Potter.

In Mistborn, Vin is our novice. She knows very little about Elemancy until she’s found by Kelsier who becomes her teacher. Through Kelsier and the other Mistings, we learn the rules for burning metals, the limitations, the history, the source, which metals do what, and the inner nuances of getting the most out of each one.

Every time Vin asks a question, we become the student, and the world-building is broken into depictions of the scene, snide remarks, and quippy comebacks. It’s a far superior way to share information versus listing it out like a Wikipedia entry.

3. Destroy Everything

This is a widely touted solution for writer’s block. If you get stuck, throw your character into some trouble and see what happens. We reveal our best (or worst) selves when we’re in danger. What does your character do in the middle of a bank robbery? Does she cower under the table? Or crawl toward the robber in an attempt to subdue him? Maybe she stands up and does the chicken dance in an attempt to distract him.

But our dear, Brandon Sanderson did much more than rattle the cages. He burned the entire city down–in the middle of the book. Imagine if the Empire blew up the rebel base before the rebels even got the Death Star plans.

Yeah, it was kind of like that.

There we were, on this jaunty little ride to find out if our lovable crew of thieves and miscreants would actually topple the Final Empire. They have their secret army in the caves. They’re spreading dissent through the wealthy. Everything is going to plan.

Then the army goes on a rogue hunt and ninety percent of them are killed. Whaaaat??? How can they possibly overthrow the evil regime without an army?

That’s a great question, and why I continued to tear through page after page to find the answer. It’s not uncommon for a book’s middle to be referred to as, “the muddle.” Because, frankly, that’s where a lot of authors run out of ideas and lose their readers. You want to make sure your readers keep going? Blow up the whole damn city. Put your heroes at their lowest. Destroy everything they’ve built and make them choose to give up or start from scratch. Now, not only are they righteously fighting evil, they are doing it with sticks and stones. And as much as we love to hate on the evil tyrants, we love even more to root for the underdog.

4. Really Fool your Readers

Do you hear that? It’s the sound of M. Night Shyamalan, at this very moment, cashing a stack of residual checks from the Sixth Sense, based entirely off of this very classic technique—the plot twist. If you say you didn’t audibly gasp when you found out Bruce Willis was a ghost, you are lying.

There are two reasons why Mr. Shyamalan is able to fill theatres with goosebump-covered patrons: conviction and plausibility.

There was never a doubt in our minds that Bruce was a living psychiatrist, trying to make-up for his failed patient by helping a little boy with the same affliction. But as soon as we learned the truth and went back through the scenes…well, it all made perfect sense.

The problem is, the more we get fooled, the less likely we are to get fooled again. Especially fantasy readers. We’re always ready for an intelligent AI to come crawling out of the floor or for someone to sprout wings in their sleep. It’s really, really hard to trick us.

So I take notice when someone does. Like our friend, Brandon. Through those journal entries I mentioned before, we had committed to the Lord Ruler once being a decent guy, and Kelsier had us convinced that the only way to kill him was with the eleventh metal.

Wrong, and again, wrong.

Our hopeful, all-around-good-guy and journal writer was murdered…by the current Lord Ruler, and it was that secret, not the eleventh metal that helped Vin vanquish the foe. The pieces fit, just not in any order that I expected, and that’s exactly what we all have to strive for in our work.

5. Close the Loop, but Leave a Few Fraying Ends

After spending six hundred pages with a novel, I need some closure. Don’t you dare lead me on an epic, month-long journey and literally leave me hanging at the edge of the cliff. If that’s the case, then let’s all just admit that your novel is nothing more than backstory.

The boiled-down plot for Mistborn: the Final Empire is, a ragtag gang of thieves with heart is in a battle to topple a centuries’ long tyrannical government. You better believe I expected by the end of the book to either see the Lord Ruler crush them, or for Vin and Kelsier to have the Lord Ruler’s head on a post, parading him through the city.

I won’t say which one happened, but I will say that one of them did.

Had it not, I probably would have thrown the book across the room, muttered curses under my breath, and I definitely would not be here, writing yet another list post in praise of Sanderson’s work.

But there’s more. Sanderson left questions, secondary plotlines still moving forward, the potential for more drama in the now changed world. There are reasons for me to keep reading, and because there was no cliffhanger, I’m not reading because I feel like I have to. I’m reading because I want to.