
I can’t wait for Queer the Shelves, and honestly it mostly comes down to queer joy.
There’s this thing that happens when you’re the only out and visible queer person in the room, where suddenly all the Queer 101 gets added to your role, regardless of what your role in the moment really should be.
For example, when it comes to pitching a book to a queer press, there’s a shorthand already in place for the vast majority of realities that come with “existing while queer.” There’s every likelihood I won’t have to explain any given piece of queer culture terminology. No one is going to blink in confusion if I mention a character’s “chosen family.”
When I wrote “Stuck With You,” the publisher and I had a video call to go over plot points, answer questions about my pitch, and put faces-to-names, and because the line I was writing for is specifically a contemporary, issue-driven line, naturally the discussion turned to what issues I’d be weaving into the narrative. In passing, I said, “and of course, queer joy.”
“What do you mean?” came the question. “How is queer joy an issue?”
It’s possible I spent the next ten minutes without taking much of a breath as I spoke from the heart about the sheer importance of queer joy, and how writing and showing characters whose queerness is not a source of pain but rather a source of pride, pleasure, and joy is—in and of itself—a radical act in a world that consistently tries to punish us just for existing.
It’s more than possible this was the first time anyone on that call had come into contact with that notion to begin with.
I don’t mind being the person to bring that message forward. I’m in a relative position of privilege among queer people—I’m still a cis white dude, after all—but when I think of events like Queer the Shelves, where we queer people gather, where we get to be creatives without having to wear that “Let me explain Queer 101” hat?
There’s very little like it. It’s treasure, and it’s invaluable. Space to exist, to create, to share the trials and quirks found in a life of writing—all while being unapologetically queer and simply existing?
Well. Like I said. Joy.
It’s a radical act.
Brief Bio: ’Nathan Burgoine is a tall queer writer of (mostly) shorter queer fictions, though novels do happen. He lives in Ottawa, Canada, with his husband Dan and their rescued husky. You can find him online at apostrophen.wordpress.com.
Link to “Stuck With You”—
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