I have notes for a third book. I haven't been working on it. Or even them, the notes.

I admit I'm thinking about it.

Writing books is somewhat addictive on its own. I like the books I've cranked out so far, and to have a notion for a new one? Yeah, there's a certain lure to it.

The flip side, to be blunt, is that neither of the first two books obtained many readers.

That's been really disapointing. The first book (GenderQueer), in particular, was written with the sense that I was speaking for an entire identity, and I wrote it to achieve recognition for us. I mean, yes, there was some portion of my motivation that had more to do with wanting my own personal story to be told, or with my sense that my story was entertaining and should engross readers. But let's say 90% of my motivation in writing it was that I hadn't had any such book available to me as a resource when I was 14 or 17 or 21, and nobody should have to work all this mess out for themselves and feel all alone with it.

The second book (That Guy in Our Women's Studies Class) also had a socially relevant message or two, although to a larger extent than with the first book, I wrote it for personal reasons, to explain what I'd attempted and how it had gone down. And to have a platform from which to argue about specific types of feminist theory. Let's say 70% of my motivation was feeling that this content needed to be put into writing and the rest was about just telling my story and feeling like it was a a good tale to tell.

So because they both had prominent "mission statement" elements, it's been very discouraging that I didn't get more readers than I did. I don't mean I expected to get listed as a bestseller, but I admit I was hoping for maybe 15,000 copies sold, or 23,000, or 10,000. What I got was more like 100.

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The third book is more of a thriller story. Chronologically it takes place between book 1 and book 2. I had come out as a heterosexual femme sissy male, but had not as of yet chosen to major in women's studies. My parents were worried about me.

I was convinced by my family to give psychiatric treatment a second chance. "That place you went to before was a snake pit... locked up with bars in the windows and locks on the doors and wearing hospital gowns. This place is all modern, and focused on helping clients communicate. They look at your diet, your personal hangups, your relationship with drugs [yes I know you don't think you have a drug problem, but you know your Dad and I do], your plans...please try it? If you decide it isn't for you, they promise you can just leave. You know we're all so sorry about what you went through, that wasn't right".

At that time in my life I was extremely frustrated in my attempts to become a gender activist and speak out about my situation as a social phenomenon. The word "genderqueer" didn't exist yet but I'd essentially formulated the notion and was trying to draw attention to it.

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I want to try doing book 3 as a thriller. To make each day a chapter and give a sense of nonstop passage of time between the time I checked myself in and the time it all came to an end.


I still am not committed to doing it. Probably nobody's going to read it. It won't be as socially relevant as either of the previous two. The writing challenge will be harder for me.


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My first book, GenderQueer: A Story From a Different Closet, is published by Sunstone Press. It is available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble in paperback, hardback, and ebook, and as ebook only from Apple, Kobo, and directly from Sunstone Press themselves.


My second book, That Guy in Our Women's Studies Class, has also now been published by Sunstone Press. It's a sequel to GenderQueer. It is available on Amazon and on Barnes & Noble in paperback and ebook, and as ebook only from Apple, Kobo, and directly from Sunstone Press themselves. Hardback versions to follow, stay tuned for details.



Links to published reviews and comments are listed on my Home Page, for both books.

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My book, The Story of Q: A GenderQueer Tale, is scheduled to be published by NineStar Press on November 27 of this year. This year is, coincidentally, also 40 years since I graduated from high school, and therefore the 40th reunion is imminent, scheduled for September 23. I haven't been to a reunion since the 10th in 1987 but it's too irresistibly tempting to attend this one under the circumstances. With any luck, between me and my publicist John Sherman, we'll manage to get me booked into a space where I can speak to an audience and read some from the book and combine that into the same trip.

The first major chunk of my memoir is set in Los Alamos. (The second and third sections are divided between Los Alamos and Albuquerque NM. I may describe Albuquerque as the second story setting in a later post).

A handful of the specific events described in my book as well as the general social environment portrayed there may be recognizable to other people in my Los Alamos graduating class from their own recollections.



Los Alamos was neither an especially safe venue nor a nightmarishly horrible hellhole in which to grow up as a sissified feminine male person. It is most famously known for being the community where nuclear physicists developed the atomic bomb during World War II, and it is still very much an intellectual science-centric community with the scientific laboratory dominating much of the culture. The population is less than 15,000 people and, as is typical of towns of that size, folks tend to know each other or to know of each other, and that is especially true of students in school. Physically, it's at high elevation (over 7000 feet) and is spread out along the top of several mesas interspersed with deep canyons, and there is a lot of undeveloped land immediately near the schools and houses.

It was (and is) a somewhat old-fashioned town in many ways. The highly educated scientists were disproportionately recruited from small colleges in small communities, so there's an interesting tension between the tendency towards sophistication that comes with being an intellectual with an advanced degree and the conservative outlook that reflects those small-town origins.

It wasn't the conventional central-casting junior high and high school environment reflected in so many books and movies. First of all, it wasn't anywhere near as athlete-centric, although yes we had athletic students and, true to stereotype, I did have a lot of conflict with the male sports-centric boys. But whereas in some towns (at least as described by other authors in their own books) the entire school's social life seems to revolve around male athletic boys and their cheerleader girlfriends, in Los Alamos they were just one clique and not an overwhelmingly dominant one, and there was a lot of overlap with other social clusters that mainstream America doesn't tend to associate with athletes, such as Yearbook Committee or the drama club and so forth.

The most popular kids often belonged to several factions, such as student government and school sports and Olions (the theatrical drama and performing-arts kids) and choir and band and orchestra, and to know and interact with people from more than one social cluster.

I started off as a new kid in town in 8th grade and did not integrate into the society of the junior high school very effectively. I wasn't particularly nice or pleasant to the other kids and held myself aloof, and also had a rather thin skin about being teased and mocked, which wasn't a good recipe for speedy acceptance. Almost overnight I acquired a reputation. In a small town, all new kids get a fair amount of curious attention; in my case I became a source of widespread amusement. Eighth and ninth graders aren't widely known for their tolerant attitudes or their easy acceptance of people who are different, and these small-town dynamics made it worse for me, but I think it is important to point out that I didn't start off being very tolerant of their differences from me either. I was often a hostile and judgmental sissy, glaring at masculine boys and disapproving of their way of being in the world. It's just that I was just severely outnumbered!

The social clusters where I eventually put down roots were the Boy Scouts (which tended to have a high concentration of geeky boys who liked to read science fiction), band and choir, and, finally, the loosely affiliated cluster of kids who attended pot parties. The latter group is a counterintuitive group for a kid like me to have found welcome, but that, too, is heavily shaped by factors that were specific to Los Alamos. Unlike larger communities, or the suburbs of built-up metropolitan areas of the country, the kids in Los Alamos did their partying mostly outdoors on that undeveloped land I was talking about. And one thing that meant was that you did not need an invitation to be at a party, nor was the party taking place at some host's home, a host who might declare some unpopular kid unwelcome.

The general attitude of adults — parents, teachers, policemen, etc — towards teenagers was an interesting combination of permissive and dismissive. Our behaviors were tolerated with very little effort to shut us down; we were not generically regarded as troublemakers nor our inclination to gather as a worrisome precursor to vandalism and other crime. That hands-off attitude also manifested as a disinclination to insert themselves into our affairs and change how we treated each other, and as a consequence of that I was pretty much on my own, interacting with a contingent of kids my own age who had very few constraints on their behavior towards me.

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