I want to write a story for myself. I want a book that has in it all the things I want to see in a book. I might be selfish, but then again maybe I’m not. It’s just that, there are only a few stories and characters I could relate to.
If I were to write my own story there would be film cameras in it. Vintage things. Badasses. Music. Poems. Riddles. Skateboards. Eccentricity. Mental illnesses that are accurately portrayed. And mostly, characters that are membersof the LGBTQAI+ community. I might even write a romance between these characters while I’m at it.
I realized that maybe the reason why I’m not that much into romance novels (and cringe internally when I think about them) even though I’m a sap at times is because most of the novels (even the ones that doesn’t focus on romance) available at my disposal portray just heterosexual romance.
I’m not saying we should all burn those straight romance novels. Read them. Read them Aloud. But I wouldn’t care. Because it’s not my type of story.
I’m not complaining because there are many heterosexual romance novels that are published. I’m complaining because there are so little romance novels that involve gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, queer, intersex, or asexual characters. This is true, at least where I’m living. There are so many reasons behind this, but I wouldn’t dare write them down; just thinking about them gives me headache and makes me angry.
I can’t tell other people to write my kind of story. That much is obvious.
I can’t write a good story, I know that now, but it wouldn’t stop me from writing what I want to read myself.