Is it OK to invent stories? Novelists, journalists, and historians will answer that question differently. As with so many things in life, context is all.
My first book, which, inshallah, will be out just about a year from now, is a work of cultural history—all factual and footnoted. But I have always felt that the border between fact and fiction is especially porous when it comes to queer history. Maybe this isn’t as true for people growing up and coming out today—or in some glorious moment five or ten years ago—but like most queer people my age, I spent a lot of time indulging in obfuscation. Where was I going? Who was I going with? What would we do there? The accuracy of my answer depended on who was asking.
To tell a lie is to betray a trust. But stretching the truth for reasons of safety? Passing off a porkie to keep a job or protect a friendship or maintain a relationship with a family member? Perfectly understandable in the circumstances.
I wrote a paragraph on this topic in one of the strangest (certainly most revealing) Slate articles I ever wrote:
For homosexuals of my generation, certain phrases held very specific but not exactly standard meanings. Every ’80s lesbian could answer the question, “Do you live with your roommate?” without pausing for a double take; in those days, many closeted lesbians referred to their lovers as their roommates, whether or not they even lived together. And it made perfect sense to ask another member of our cohort, “Have you ever been to Michigan?” knowing full well that she grew up in Ypsilanti.
So, while I’d really rather everyone told the truth at all times, I understand that queer history is particularly prone to prevarication.
This is a slightly pretentious way to introduce a new series of zines that I’ve been making. (Because the international mails can be slow, I’m afraid this will be a spoiler for some of my regular correspondents.) They combine my youthful interest in stamps with my love of making shit up. Here’s an example (sorry, I don't have a scanner!):
And here are the stamp stories from another:
The covers and the first two pages are copies, but the stamps and their stories are all real/hand-written. That means they take much longer to make than the usual “draw one, make copies” model. Still, if you’d like one, please send me your address. It might take a minute—sincere thanks to the Stonewall pioneers for increasing queer freelancers’ income in June, but it does make for a busy couple of months—but I will send you one eventually.
RECOMMENDATIONS: The official pub date isn’t until June 6, but I bet copies of Krista Burton’s fabulous Moby Dyke: An Obsessive Quest to Track Down the Last Remaining Lesbian Bars in America are already showing up in bookstores. It’s such a great book: loving, VERY funny, and honest. (I spoke to her for the Washington Post book section, but that won’t be out for a few weeks.)
LISTEN TO ME: For Working, I spoke with Hippolyta, queen of the Amazons, aka Connie Nielsen, about what it was like to transform into the frail and fragile Karen Blixen for the six-part bio-series The Dreamer (and what it was like to act in Danish—only three of her 60 IMDB credits are in her native tongue); and on Working Overtime, Karen Han and I talked about the benefits of showing your work, or as the tech nerds put it, working with the garage door open.