word...
Actually more than a word but rather words. from the founder of the Lammys which are now known as the Lambda Literary Award.
Deacon Maccubbin
September 30th, 2009 on 9:43 am
Just to keep the historical record clear, when I founded the Lambda Literary Awards in 1988, they were specifically intended to honor “the writers, editors and publishers of gay and lesbian literature”. There was no litmus test of the sexual or affectional orientation of those writers, editors and publishers. It was only necessary that a nominated book be of interest to gays and lesbians (and, later, to bisexuals and transgenders as additional categories were added). That was true for the first five years of the Lammy Awards. I believe it was true even after we turned the awards program over to the new non-profit Lambda Literary Foundation; I don’t know at what point the criteria might have changed, but I think it would be wise to return to the original vision.
So far, I've not gotten the dreaded heterosexist tag flung at me but I've gotten close to it with a privileged straight writer tag which I'm not so certain how an editor would know that I'm straight unless I've given a smut polaroid alongside my cover letter. And even then, photos just capture the moment, not the person.
This subject is a raw one for me because I've been vocal about equality for all since I was... too young to vote. Hell, too young to drink which is saying a lot since drinking age when I was younger was 18. To be spat upon, in words no less, by those I've given my time to... given my money to... and yes, given my blood to galls me. And gall is the right word here because really, it brings up bile.
There was little GLBT literature out in the open in the 70s. You had the erotica of Tom of Finland but it was just recently liberated from behind the censorship code of the 60s and everyone around me was fighting to find their identity as a gay or lesbian. Stereotypically, people who were homosexual would cleave to a societal archtype, overly feminine male... overly masculine woman, in an attempt to construct something to hold onto. These were the days when "coming out" meant being cast out. I can't tell you how many of my friends lost their parents with those simple words, "I need to tell you... I'm gay."
I probably had an easier time of securing open-minded literature being in Hawai'i, strangely enough. Bishi and yaoi were already established forms of art and literature so quite a few of my friends and I were already familiar with the growing trends in Japan. Europe was fairly more open minded in some areas but for America, the topic was still shrouded with hate, disgust and violence.
And God was there violence.
I can't tell you how often I wiped the blood off of my friends' faces. Sometimes they were broken by their parents. Other times by lovers. Self-loathing and hatred was strong in the gay community because the underlying tone of being gay wasn't a celebration as much as it was: "God, why can't I just fix it?"
There was no happily ever after for a gay couple. I was raised by a gay man, grew up next to a gay couple and had a M/M couple in my immediate family circle but no one said anything or even acknowledged the relationship. Our neighbours were Mrs. Ford, her son Mr. Ford and Alejandro. I was told Alejandro was Mrs. Ford's caretaker when in fact, he was Mr. Ford's lover. It saddens me to think that people spent years treating that very sweet and beautiful man as the family's nurse and servant. He was over our house a lot when my father wasn't home. I won 20 bucks from him and my mom playing hanafuda. I adored him because he was sweet and gentle. And I am horrified to think that he could never say outloud that he was in love.
I based one of my characters, Scarlet, on my Uncle Stephen. It could be spelled Steven but I doubt it. He's from the Phillipines and he'd always been referred to as my Uncle Milton's houseboy. I was 12 when I asked him if I could call him Uncle. I call him Uncle to this day. I will never stop calling him that.
I've watched the exploration of sexuality and orientation grow over the past 30 years. I'm going to say thirty because I think that's when I noticed the hatefulness coming from my relatives, my father and others. One of my friends, Harley (whose leg I accidently broke during a football game), stole my father's Playboys one day. He told me about it and I told him to put them back. He shoved them under my bed where my parents found them. I didn't know they were there and I told them Harley had taken them.
My father beat me for being a lesbian that night. I bled out from my nose and mouth and I couldn't see out of my eyes for a week. My mother told anyone who asked that I'd been in a car accident. She'd been at work and there was no one there to stop him. He literally kept beating me until his arms grew tired. I have bone chips in my jaw from that night. I can feel them with my tongue when I run my tongue on the inside under my teeth.
But mind you, I'm privileged.
I like fucking guys. I'm a girl. That makes me heterosexual. It does not make me a heterosexist [1]. I write yaoi. I write male/male relationships which healthily include sex. This does not mean that I'm fetishizing [2]* gay men and women. Both terms are not only repulsive but also inaccurate. I celebrate the relationship. I celebrate the right for men and women to love whom they want; however they want. I'm pretty firm about that and quite secure in my beliefs.
My opinion regarding the Lambda Literary decision to exclude heterosexual writers from the pool is this: It's a step backwards. Several steps backwards. We gathered not to laud the individual but rather the cause, the love, the freedom to be. If people can't... or don't... remember that, then yes, we are doomed to repeat our past mistakes and divide ourselves once again.
I hope this changes. Or else we've all bled and cried for nothing.
1: Discrimination or prejudice against lesbians or gay men by heterosexual people
2: To make a fetish of. an object regarded with awe as being the embodiment or habitation of a potent spirit or as having magical potency. any object, idea, etc., eliciting unquestioning reverence, respect, or devotion: to make a fetish of high grades.
* Which is actually an awful thing to say because a true fetish is fixation on an inanimate object. I'm not writing about two Ken dolls. I write about people.
Deacon Maccubbin
September 30th, 2009 on 9:43 am
Just to keep the historical record clear, when I founded the Lambda Literary Awards in 1988, they were specifically intended to honor “the writers, editors and publishers of gay and lesbian literature”. There was no litmus test of the sexual or affectional orientation of those writers, editors and publishers. It was only necessary that a nominated book be of interest to gays and lesbians (and, later, to bisexuals and transgenders as additional categories were added). That was true for the first five years of the Lammy Awards. I believe it was true even after we turned the awards program over to the new non-profit Lambda Literary Foundation; I don’t know at what point the criteria might have changed, but I think it would be wise to return to the original vision.
So far, I've not gotten the dreaded heterosexist tag flung at me but I've gotten close to it with a privileged straight writer tag which I'm not so certain how an editor would know that I'm straight unless I've given a smut polaroid alongside my cover letter. And even then, photos just capture the moment, not the person.
This subject is a raw one for me because I've been vocal about equality for all since I was... too young to vote. Hell, too young to drink which is saying a lot since drinking age when I was younger was 18. To be spat upon, in words no less, by those I've given my time to... given my money to... and yes, given my blood to galls me. And gall is the right word here because really, it brings up bile.
There was little GLBT literature out in the open in the 70s. You had the erotica of Tom of Finland but it was just recently liberated from behind the censorship code of the 60s and everyone around me was fighting to find their identity as a gay or lesbian. Stereotypically, people who were homosexual would cleave to a societal archtype, overly feminine male... overly masculine woman, in an attempt to construct something to hold onto. These were the days when "coming out" meant being cast out. I can't tell you how many of my friends lost their parents with those simple words, "I need to tell you... I'm gay."
I probably had an easier time of securing open-minded literature being in Hawai'i, strangely enough. Bishi and yaoi were already established forms of art and literature so quite a few of my friends and I were already familiar with the growing trends in Japan. Europe was fairly more open minded in some areas but for America, the topic was still shrouded with hate, disgust and violence.
And God was there violence.
I can't tell you how often I wiped the blood off of my friends' faces. Sometimes they were broken by their parents. Other times by lovers. Self-loathing and hatred was strong in the gay community because the underlying tone of being gay wasn't a celebration as much as it was: "God, why can't I just fix it?"
There was no happily ever after for a gay couple. I was raised by a gay man, grew up next to a gay couple and had a M/M couple in my immediate family circle but no one said anything or even acknowledged the relationship. Our neighbours were Mrs. Ford, her son Mr. Ford and Alejandro. I was told Alejandro was Mrs. Ford's caretaker when in fact, he was Mr. Ford's lover. It saddens me to think that people spent years treating that very sweet and beautiful man as the family's nurse and servant. He was over our house a lot when my father wasn't home. I won 20 bucks from him and my mom playing hanafuda. I adored him because he was sweet and gentle. And I am horrified to think that he could never say outloud that he was in love.
I based one of my characters, Scarlet, on my Uncle Stephen. It could be spelled Steven but I doubt it. He's from the Phillipines and he'd always been referred to as my Uncle Milton's houseboy. I was 12 when I asked him if I could call him Uncle. I call him Uncle to this day. I will never stop calling him that.
I've watched the exploration of sexuality and orientation grow over the past 30 years. I'm going to say thirty because I think that's when I noticed the hatefulness coming from my relatives, my father and others. One of my friends, Harley (whose leg I accidently broke during a football game), stole my father's Playboys one day. He told me about it and I told him to put them back. He shoved them under my bed where my parents found them. I didn't know they were there and I told them Harley had taken them.
My father beat me for being a lesbian that night. I bled out from my nose and mouth and I couldn't see out of my eyes for a week. My mother told anyone who asked that I'd been in a car accident. She'd been at work and there was no one there to stop him. He literally kept beating me until his arms grew tired. I have bone chips in my jaw from that night. I can feel them with my tongue when I run my tongue on the inside under my teeth.
But mind you, I'm privileged.
I like fucking guys. I'm a girl. That makes me heterosexual. It does not make me a heterosexist [1]. I write yaoi. I write male/male relationships which healthily include sex. This does not mean that I'm fetishizing [2]* gay men and women. Both terms are not only repulsive but also inaccurate. I celebrate the relationship. I celebrate the right for men and women to love whom they want; however they want. I'm pretty firm about that and quite secure in my beliefs.
My opinion regarding the Lambda Literary decision to exclude heterosexual writers from the pool is this: It's a step backwards. Several steps backwards. We gathered not to laud the individual but rather the cause, the love, the freedom to be. If people can't... or don't... remember that, then yes, we are doomed to repeat our past mistakes and divide ourselves once again.
I hope this changes. Or else we've all bled and cried for nothing.
1: Discrimination or prejudice against lesbians or gay men by heterosexual people
2: To make a fetish of. an object regarded with awe as being the embodiment or habitation of a potent spirit or as having magical potency. any object, idea, etc., eliciting unquestioning reverence, respect, or devotion: to make a fetish of high grades.
* Which is actually an awful thing to say because a true fetish is fixation on an inanimate object. I'm not writing about two Ken dolls. I write about people.