When I first started writing, I was in it for the romance more than anything. I'd always include some aspect of genre fiction, but even so, I wrote story after story after story illustrating cishet love. While I've always had a tendency to hyperfixate, these stories didn't capture my soul the way the tales I write now do, as evidenced by them all being unfinished.
I genuinely believe telling queer tales is the difference.
It's not just that I'd been dying to find a story that reflected the experiences of me and people I care about. It's not just that I was waiting to create a character or two that I fell in love with myself. It's the flavor and texture of queer romance that I love so damn much.
The thing is, every version of the queer narrative ends up, at its core, having this forbidden fruit aspect. Even two people finding they like each other and hopping into bed (or romance) about it complicates once queerness is injected into the situation. There's a danger that haunts our love that I wish didn't have to be there... but it is. And damn, does it help weave a fascinating story.
Cuz you're not just worried about these kids when they're in the woods. You're worried about them at school too. At home. In fact, their only true safety is their little island of queer friends, and everyone else is suspect.
Shit, sometimes even their own minds aren't safe.
Which is exactly where suspense lives.
Devil On My Shoulder
—queer tales from the garden state—
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