Gina

A lover of mine broke up with me last night. That’d be hard enough on its own. But, in addition to that, my work was up for workshopping in my short fiction class tonight… and guess who a character in one of my stories was based on? Yep. For the record: Real life is officially 100 times weirder and more ironic than anything I could ever dream up.

I went into class tonight figuring that it would be, to understate, really fucking painful to workshop a story about the sweet and sexy beginning of a relationship not even 24 hours after that same relationship ended.

But. I surprised myself. I thought I couldn’t handle it, but the workshop was okay. I tried to think of the story in as detached a way as I could. To just focus on it as art, and not as memories. The workshop wasn’t painful; it was fun. I didn’t cry (I’d been worried I might, considering how fucking weepy I’ve been today). I actually laughed a lot.

The best part, by far:
The two main characters in the story are a cis woman and a trans guy, and in one of the sex scenes, both of them are using detachable cocks. The girl is wearing a strap-on; the boy is not. There was a moment where this guy in my class — who is sweet, and a good writer/classmate, and also cis and straight and not super familiar with queer culture — said that he was confused about the cocks that I mentioned in the story. My classmate, while explaining his confusion about whose cock was whose, proceeded to do this hilarious and amazing hand gesture that I think was supposed to be the two characters, like… Juggling their respective dicks?

I dunno — maybe you had to be there? But I found it HIGH-LARE-EEE-USS. “So, like, they’re switching their cocks around, who’s using which cock, I got confused, Gina, I kinda think you need the clarify the cocks question…” and all the while he’s doing this dramatic cock-juggling hand gesture.

I totally started giggling when he started in with the juggling moves. Which I think gave everyone else permission to laugh. The whole class just lost it for a minute. And I have to say, considering how my last 24 hours have been? I really needed that belly-laugh.

(Also, for the record? I’ll be okay, and me and the person in question are absolutely staying friends. I’m just a little tender right now. Such is life.)

A chapter of my novel is due next week.

I’m having the same freak-out I have every time I show new work to people. The one where I start to panic about my abilities, and think of myself as (as Lynda Barry so eloquently puts it in her comic “Lost and Found”) a “jive-ass faker who can’t spell and doesn’t even know what ‘story structure’ is.”

I can’t find a link to “Lost and Found” to put here, but it’s in the book One! Hundred! Demons!, which you should read. Now. It’s okay, I’ll wait while you go get it from the library.

To summarize: Barry talks about growing up in a household with three books. She talks about reading them over and over as a kid, and getting other reading material and inspiration from weird, unexpected places: Lost & Found ads, Wanted ads, “Hints from Heloise,” “I Am Joe’s Lung” from Reader’s Digest, etc. She talks about having no “formal training” as a writer, and how that sometimes trips her up around her writing and her own sense of her abilities. There’s a wonderful flashback scene to high school, where she has an encounter with a creative writing teacher named Mrs. Snobaroo.

In short, the comic takes a perfect and very precise jab at literary and academic elitism. I read it at least fives times as I was preparing for Our First Teachers. It kept me grounded and reminded me to not pull that shit with my students, ever.

“Lost and Found” is a piece I identity with very deeply, even though there’s a lot in it that I can’t identify with because my experiences growing up were so different. I can’t identify with the lack of books, for example. Both my parents’ had Masters’ Degrees in Literature (though, weirdly, neither of them ended up being academics). My parents are old-school hippies, bohemians who love to read, and who read pretty strange stuff. I grew up in a household with hundreds of books, a household with an entire shelf devoted to beat poetry. (An interesting side note: The first sexually-explicit writing I ever read wasn’t a dirty magazine somebody found on the playground — it was from my parents’ poetry shelf. My first porn was Allen Ginsberg… Which probably explains a lot about me, now that I think about it.)

At this point, I also can’t identify with the lack of “formal training.” I took creative writing classes in high school. I went to college, and to a snooty expensive elitist liberal arts college at that, and I studied writing there. The whole reason I even have this novel chapter due is that I’m getting an MFA! Not that I think that an MFA or majoring in creative writing as a undergrad teaches someone to be a writer. But I’m ostensibly learning about things like “story structure” in this program.

And yet. When I have new work due, I lay awake at night with a voice going around and around in my head. The voice usually says something like this: “Where do I get off calling myself ‘a writer’? I just write like how my friends talk! Sometimes I confuse ‘its’ and ‘it’s’! Fiction my foot, my work is like 7% fiction the way my foot is 7% of my body*! I write about my life! Who even wants to read about my grandma? Or my mom? Or me? I’m a jive-ass faker who doesn’t even know what the hell story structure is, where do I get off even being in graduate school?!?”

Of course, after I’ve worked myself into a nice, anxious lather and calmed myself down, I remember that my favorite writers write how they talk. (Like Lynda Barry, for one.) I remember that I don’t need to be “formal” to be elegant or eloquent. And I remember that a lot people have told me that they actually do want to read about my grandmother. And my mom. And me.

The trouble is, anxiety is not rational or reasonable. Of course I still freak out. Of course, some days, I’m still not convinced my writing matters. So I’ve decided that if I can’t make the voice go away — if, no matter how hard I try to shut it up, my brain is still gonna yell “NYAH NYAH NYAH, JIVE-ASS FAKER!” at me on occasion — I’m gonna do my best to embrace jive-ass fakery as a good thing.

To that end:
Jive-Ass Fakers are creative. Jive-Ass Fakers break the rules. Jive-Ass Fakers are brave. Jive-Ass Fakers are vulnerable, and recognize vulnerability as a strength, especially in art. Jive-Ass Fakers are resilient. Jive-Ass are smart. Jive-Ass Fakers are resourceful. Jive-Ass Fakers take risks.

What else do Jive-Ass Fakers do?

*Thanks, NCN. ;)

Tonight, after a wonderful workshop, Toni took me out for sushi in Davis Square. Walking back to his house, a warm rainstorm started. We walked in it till we got soaked, catching whiffs of woodsmoke along the way and laughing. My glasses got too fogged up and full of water, and T had to guide me through the street because I couldn’t see that well.

I’ve really missed the warm New England rains. That and the way the leaves here are bright, brilliant colors. San Francisco just doesn’t get autumn like New England autumn. I miss it this time of year; I always get nostalgic for the East Coast in October.

It’s been a whirlwind trip, and I’m at a whirlwind point in my semester, and in a whirlwind place with freelance work. All good whirlwinds. But. Tonight after workshop was literally the first downtime I’ve had in a solid week. I’ll be glad to go back home on Monday, but right now? I am very content to be curled up on Toni’s fold-out couch, with blankets and internet tv and ice cream and Dykes To Watch Out For. I’m glad I made myself a No Homework rule for today. And I’m glad that I’ll fall asleep to the sound of the rain coming down outside.

Boston’s charming me. I’ve been here enough times now — at least in T’s neighborhood — that I’m starting to know my way around a little. I love that.

The last of my freelance work is done-baby-done before I leave for Massachusetts. Where, I just found out, it is in the 30s. Right. I lived there for four freakin’ years, I should know these things. And my jeans bit the dust about a month ago, and I haven’t had time to replace them.

So. I’m choosing which tights go with which dresses. And figuring out how many layers I can fit under my leather jacket. And re-discovering Young Americans as I do so. It’s good packing music.

Bye-bye, San Francisco. See you again Monday. Be good.

Hi folks!

+ Sex Workers’ Writing Workshop is today *Tuesday, October 20th, from 4pm-6pm*, at the Center for Sex & Culture. (Sorry for the time change — I’ll be travelling on Wednesday.) The SWWW schedule for November & December is as usual (first & third Weds of the month, 6-8pm), though.

+ *Very* exciting — Massachusetts, ho!
1. I’ll be at the New Leadership Networking Initiative (rad reproductive justice activist network) meeting in Amherst, MA from 10/21-10/23. Will you be at NLNI too? I’m psyched to see you if so! Also, Pioneer Valley friends, let’s hang out!
2. I’ll be teaching with the wonderful Write Here Write Now queer and trans writer’s group in Somerville, MA on Saturday October 24th, hosted by the illustrious Toni Amato. If you are in or near Somerville/Boston, you should come write with us. And if you have friends in the area, you should tell them to come write with us. Really. It’s gonna be awesome, folks.

xox, happy fall,
Gina

———

Sex Workers’ Writing Workshop

Sex Workers’ Writing Workshop
Tuesday, October 20th, 4pm-6pm
Center for Sex & Culture, 1519 Mission Street, San Francisco (cross
street 11th — it’s the building with the pink awning)
Sliding scale $10-$20 *more if you can, less if you can’t, nobody turned away*
Workshop facilitated by Gina de Vries

Blurb:
This is a writing workshop for current and former sex workers to share
their writing and get honest, non-judgmental feedback. Workshop
participants are not obligated to write exclusively about sex work,
but writing about work in the sex industry (as well as writing about
other topics) will be welcomed. This is a place where people can write
and share about their sex work experiences without having to censor
themselves or explain every detail. Beginning writers are encouraged
to attend along with more seasoned wordsmiths.

And, in case you neeed it, here is Sex Workers’ Writing Workshop Fall
& Winter 2009 Schedule:
Tuesday, October 20th, 4pm-6pm, CSC
Wednesday, November 4th, 6pm-8pm, CSC
Wednesday, November 18th, 6pm-8pm, CSC
Wednesday, November 18th, 6pm-8pm, CSC
Wednesday, December 2nd, 6pm-8pm, CSC
Wednesday, December 16th, 6pm-8pm, CSC

***

Gina in Boston in October! Yay!:

Our First Teachers: Writing About Gender, Family, & Identity

(For the purposes of this workshop, the words “family” and “gender”
have broad definitions.)

The people who bring us up through our childhood, and the people who
bring us out into various communities (queer, trans, people of color,
kink, disability, activist, artist, spiritual, etc.) pass beliefs and
standards on to us, whether through explicit or implicit instruction.
Family members – both of origin and chosen – are often the people who
teach us the most about our gender. In this workshop, we will write
about lessons we’ve learned from influential individuals – be they our
great-grandmother, fourth grade teacher, first boss, or first
submissive. These pivotal people inevitably taught us about what
gender means in the world. Whether they encouraged us to follow
gendered stereotypes or to defy them, and whether we ended up
cherishing or despising them as individuals, we are left with choices:
Which of the qualities they encouraged in us do we want to embody?
What is fine for them, but not for us? What is not fine at all? What
is precious?

Some Notes:
The focus of the prompts will be about gender, but “gender” can cover
a lot of ground when it comes to identity. No topic is off-limits.

No prior writing experience is necessary. Bring something to write
with and an open mind.

Instructor Bio:
Gina de Vries is a widely-published queer femme writer, activist, and
writing instructor. Her work has appeared dozens of places, including
Revolutionary Voices, Dirty Girls, TransForming Community, That’s
Revolting!, Bound to Struggle, Visible: A Femmethology, The Revolution
Starts at Home, Curve magazine, make/shift magazine, Go magazine, and
$pread magazine. Gina has performed, taught, and lectured everywhere
from chapels to leatherbar backrooms to the halls of the Ivy League
(recent appearances include Perverts Put Out! and Yale University).
She’s currently pursuing her MFA in Fiction Writing at San Francisco
State University, and is the founder and instructor of Sex Workers’
Writing Workshop. She believes in the transformative spiritual power
of writing, and enjoys political discussion as foreplay. Find out more
at ginadevries.com.

Details:  Saturday, October 24th, from 10am-3pm, with vegan lunch
included. Location, Davis Square, Somerville, MA.   Suggested
donation, $30, no one turned away for lack of funds.  Contact Toni
Amato at toniamato@gmail.com for more information and to register.

I am writing what is easily the most experimental and weirdest piece of erotica I’ve ever written. Blame the influence of The Letters of Mina Harker, I guess?

It includes, thus far: Cut-ups from Bowie’s Diamond Dogs album; letters, diary entries, text messages, & general inter-textuality-a-go-go; glam rock in general; Mama/boy; & silent before-blowjob prayers by a pink Virgin Mary nitelite.

It could either be awesome or terrible — I have no bloody idea. I’m a little delirious & am just writing it till it’s done. We’ll see.

There’s a song we sing at the queer interfaith church I go to sometimes that is just gorgeous when sung by the choir — “The universe declares your majesty, you are holy, holy.” It’s simple and beautiful, and is by far my favorite church song. I always feel good when I sing it.

Alas, at the moment, I can’t find a copy online that isn’t the Schmaltziest Xtian Lite Rock Evar. Um. Guys, don’t you know that praise bands annoy God?

Success! I just spent my evening tweaking code & making things pretty, and readers can comment to this blog now!

Since comments were the only reason I was keeping my blogspot blog around, and now I’ve got them over here, I’m pretty much abandoning Ye Olde Queershoulder Blogspot. I’m leaving the blog up for posterity because I think some of the posts I made over there were valuable, but I’ll be blogging with tumblr for the forseeable future.

Blogspot was nice for public blogging for awhile, but the intensive formatting/coding I had to do on every single post I made was hella annoying. (I’ve been spoiled by LiveJournal, I guess.)

Also, honestly? Tumblr is just so much prettier. I’m a femme, honey — these things matter.

Okay, I am perhaps admittedly (and flirtatiously) biased — but you should really go see the uber-adorable NCN perform from his epic story “Tigerlad” at Queer Open Mic. “Tigerlad” is sexy, brilliant, & fantastical — just like its author.;)

Alas, I will be in Boston, so I won’t actually be in the audience. But go in my stead. You’ll be glad you did.


* * *


OMG! I saw Autumn! There was a leaf! On a tree! And it was half yellow, half orange, and it was LAUGHING at me because it knew the rain was on its way.

I’m voting for thermoses of hot chocolate, big fuzzy blankets, and sitting really really close to the hot glittery new kid next to you at our next Queer Open Mic. And pumpkins. Pie-style.

We’ll be bringing another super-delicious treat… the yummy storyteller NCN, creator of the breath-catching “Tigerlad” (whom the lucky ones among us have already met and greedily eaten up and taken home to color happy sexy dreams). I can’t explain. You just have to come. It will make sense when you get here. There will be tigers. And sex.

About NCN
NCN is the stage name of a believer in collective liberation, hater of capitalism, and conductor of storytelling experiments for children and adults. Tigerlad, the baby donkey, and all NCN’s other characters (NCN personifies everything he sees) inhabit worlds where Newtonian physics and cause and effect logic have been replaced by desire, emotion, and SM fantasy.

Bring your notebook. The one you scribble in when your thinking hat is off. Tell us what you want in the dark.

Queer Open Mic featuring NCN
Friday, October 23, 2009
7pm sign-ups, show at 7:30
Modern Times Bookstore
888 Valencia Street (at 20th) in San Francisco

p.s. We’re the fourth friday of the month, not “the last friday.” There are five fridays this month. Take heed! It’s the TWENTY-THIRD!

http://www.queeropenmic.com