There’s something of a shadow history of trans writing in the darker corners of the internet, in places where literary scouts and hip tastemakers fear to tread. I’m thinking of places like Itch.io, Archive Of Our Own, and Scribblehub: places where non-professionals write stories for audiences of obscure fandoms, for groups of friends, maybe even just for themselves.

I admittedly spend a lot of my time poking around these spaces; I’ve found not only some gems in here, but a spark that re-ignited my interest in writing fiction. It’s been good for me to get away from the Literary Magazine Scene. And especially so when I stumble across a story like Trapped in Amber, by a pseudoanonymous Fakeminsk.

Trapped in Amber is a story about identity. In some ways it reminds me of Casey Plett’s stories, especially “Not Bleak” in the way it follows someone who reinvents themselves far away from home. But it’s not exactly like that, and it’s not exactly like too much I’ve read in trans lit in the past few years. It’s good: it made me smile at times and it was hot at times. And it made me cry, too. To misquote Jim Valvano: if a story makes you do all three, that’s a good story.

The story follows Daniel, a guy who is reeling from personal blows: his girlfriend cheated on him and left, and then he blew up at work and was placed on leave. He doesn’t think he has a job waiting for him when he gets back. With a surfeit of time, and a lodge that he and his wife rented way up in remote Northern Ontario, Daniel drives up from his condo in Vaughn, through Orillia and Gravenhurst, and up into the boonies. He gets overwhelmed by snow, by emotions, by where his life has led him, and crashes his car. When he awakes, he’s in someone else's bed, wearing a nightgown, and with a splitting headache that only gets worse when he takes off the women’s clothes he’s wearing. Writes Fakeminsk:

“After recovering from the pain upstairs, Daniel tried removing the nightie again. He got as far as rolling it up to his neck before the anticipation of what must follow stopped him. His bruised temple pulsed hotly, a premonition of pain shuddered down his spine, and his neck broke out in sweat. Instead, he let the shirt fall once more and after a long moment, struggled to his feet. The memory of the earlier agony left him pale and trembling. What the hell was wrong with him? He walked the length of the room slowly, back and forth, prodding very gently at his injured temple. He stood at the window and stared out across the growing darkness. The snow shone and icicles in the window sparkled as lights at the front of the house came on.”

Fakeminsk could’ve gone in a different direction with this: an iseki story where Daniel is dropped into a world where they exist as Amber; a dream state to explore a latent fantasy. Instead he goes with realism, of a sort: Daniel’s being taken care of by a large, burly man named Galen who’s dropped him off in a room belonging to his now-gone wife, Amber.

I don’t want to spoil too much here; half the fun of this story is letting the snow move and drift and uncover what lies beneath. Who is Amber? What happened to her? Does Daniel fit into this somehow? And what’s with the headaches?

I know a little about Fakeminsk from moving in similar circles, but you don’t really need to know too much about them to enjoy the story. They’re Canadian, but living overseas; uses he/him pronouns; and has several other series in the pipeline, including a re-write of this for a standalone release.

But for now, you should get in on this at the ground floor. Readers who enjoy stuff by Zoe Storm, Alyson Greaves, and Casey Plett will find something with meat here and if you’re like me, you’re pound through this novella in an evening or two.

(Image of Rainy River via Wikipedia)