Today, Jessica Null Nealitzek takes a look at a similar question. Can she convincingly write a gay character? Take a look at her thought process as she worked on her novel The Rooms Are Filled.....
Can a Straight Person
Write a Gay Character?
I’ll admit, I was uneasy from the start. My novel, The Rooms Are Filled, is loosely based
on a true story centered on the friendship of a nine-year-old boy and his
closeted teacher. The fact that the teacher, Julia, is a lesbian is central to
the story. But I worried—could I treat her sensitively enough? Could I
accurately portray what it might feel like to be gay and in the closet? Might
gay audiences brush me off as a straight person trying too hard or not hard
enough?
The discomfort continued through the writing of my first
solid draft. And my second. Beta readers kept responding, “I want to see more
of Julia. What drives her? What’s her deal?”
I was avoiding her—so worried was I about somehow offending
anyone. I was too worried to write Julia well.
Then one day, I had a simple
realization: I’m not a nine-year-old boy, either. I’m not a single mother, or a
father, or a cop, all of whom make appearances in the book.
Julia, like several characters, is a person struggling to
accept herself. “Well, ok,” I thought. “I can relate to that.” And then, for
me, the writing took off.
The response from readers, both gay and straight, has been
wonderful. Some in the industry, though, are having a harder time placing my
book. It doesn’t fit neatly on either side of LGBT or Otherwise. One industry
person told my publicist, skeptically: “It’s a gay book written by a straight
person.”
I don’t know, and I don’t care, whether the person who said
that is gay or straight.
The implication, though, is clear: I don’t know what I’m
talking about. I wonder, though, how J.K. Rowling knew how to write about
wizards? And do you think James Patterson has actually murdered people?
My dad always told me to imagine what it might be like in
someone else’s shoes. Growing up, I
often actually did this: I’d close my eyes and imagine a scenario and try my
hardest to see it, smell it, feel it.
I think very often this is the first step toward becoming a writer.
Isn’t that what we writers do? We observe, we stand in
someone else’s—or our own—shoes, and we feel. We learn what we think is worth
learning, and then we write it and try to help others know, too. At our best,
we create understanding. So that you can say, “I’ve been there, too,” and she
can say, “You’re not alone,” and he can say, “I see. Now I get it.”
We entertain, yes. But in the greatest sense, we writers
create understanding—for our readers and for ourselves. We don’t write only
what we already know, we write what we want to know. We close our eyes and find
the parts that unify us, and extend a hand. Even a sliver of understanding is
better than nothing, and worth the try.
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