I’m a Memoirist, But Maybe I Should Write Fic(tion)
One of my favorite viral TikTok sounds is the popular song, quite literally called “I’m nonbinary (but everyone thinks I’m cis)”. As an anthem for the gender queers, this catchy electronic dance song is attributed to the artist Reena and can now be found on every major sound-sharing platform.
And while the song has been stuck in my head for almost a year, it has taken on new meaning in the context of my latest writing project. Sung to the same tune as the “I’m Nonbinary” song, I have started to explore the possibility that while “I’m a Memoirist (Maybe I Should Write Fic)”. Expressing one of the primary concerns of living life as a nonbinary person, the song simply expresses the frustration that comes with the general lack of recognition that can come with being nonbinary, both within and outside of queer community. I also see many of these same concerns and frustrations in writing about my life.
While many nonbinary people would like to be recognized as such within heterosexual community, I have found that the recognition of any non cisheteronormative identity is not really desired from those outside of the queer community. Another popular phrase expresses it best, as the goal of many queer folx is to never be perceived by a straight person.
Referencing the option on dating apps like OKCupid, where users could choose “I don’t want to see or be seen by straight people”, the phrase now speaks to a desire to fly under the radar of heterosexual society, while maintaining visibility within queer community. The statement has gained widespread popularity on social media, and is often quoted within online communities and on many pieces of Pride-themed merchandise.
As many scholars of gender and sexuality have noted there is a certain freedom and power that comes with dissimulation and the lack of perception that most heterosexual people have when it comes to visibly or intuitively recognizing LGBTQIA+ people (or what some might call Gaydar). Due to the general lack of good Gaydar by non-queer people, in my own work I have described the moments when queer people are able to “see” each other both online and offline as a form of “quare shared recognition”. These moments are incredibly important for community building and queer identity. And, as the song would suggest, many queer folx look for these shared moments of knowing as a form of validation and celebration.
Writing in Queer of Color Community
This year I have had the opportunity to explore what this particular type of recognition means in the context of writing. Over the past year, I started following the online community Roots. Wounds.Words. to help me along in the process of completing my memoir project. Described as “A Literary Arts Revolution for Us”:
“Roots. Wounds. Words. is for Us Black. Us Latinx. Us Indigenous. Us Brown. Us POC. Us felons. Us formerly incarcerated. Us currently incarcerated. Us living under Community Supervision and Control. It’s for Us queer. Us trans. Us gender nonconforming. Us LGBTQIA+. Us poverty-born. Us trauma survivors. Us marginalized. Us brazen. Us revolutionaries. Us.”
In taking part in some of the workshops and program offerings, as well as following many of the contributors, I have found the experience of writing in a community of people who understand and articulate identity in many of the same ways that I do to be especially instructive. Within this writing space, I have been able to express a version of myself and my identity that rarely exists out in the wider world. Through its focus on truth-telling, the workshops have not only awakened a greater connection to authenticity but a shift in my understanding of the audience for my writing.
From Memoir to Fiction?
You see, for many years I have always considered myself to be a memoirist and an essayist primarily because I enjoy intellectualizing my experiences, instead of engaging with them on a more visceral level. The work of writing essays allows you to take a critical eye to your problems and I enjoy offering my eagle eye ethnographies of identity and culture. However, this role as “sister-outsider” or participant observer has created a certain level of disconnection from the very communities to which I have always belonged. Instead of telling my truths, the work that I produce has simply become commentary.
Wanting to combat this need to exist both within and without, I began to work on just writing. Writing what I want, when I want, with less concern for the analysis of my experiences and more investment in story. Answering the big questions of What Happened? And, Who am I?
Ironically, I have found that fiction actually allows for more truth-telling when it comes to how I view myself and my experiences. Through imagining worlds and scenarios, I am able to draw on myself without holding all of the weight that comes with actually writing myself. By creating characters, instead of caricatures, of what I know and how I have come to be in the world, there is a sense that the fluidity of fiction makes it much easier for me to be free. With that being said, I don’t plan to stop writing in the memoir genre, but writing fiction is a fascinating process.
I have also realized that writing fiction allows me to engage with an audience of readers that relate to me and my younger self. In particular, I have always enjoyed queer of color young adult fiction, and writing in this genre allows me to engage in community in ways that I wouldn’t expect, especiallye exploring what a nonbinary gender identity felt like as a youth. Moving forward, I hope to share more of these writing exercises and my experimentations in form as I explore what it looks like to meld truth and fiction.
