There’s this Dorothy Allison line I love, about why she writes fiction. “The world I love is not on the page.” (From “Notes to a Young Feminist.”) The second I read that, my writing life came into sharper focus.
I write to see my world on the page. I don’t see cisgender men I can relate to, or feminists who struggle with privilege. I don’t see happily ever afters that include that sweet young man who occasionally plays third, even though he has a girlfriend (and sometimes she watches). I don’t see enough BDSM that includes laughter and I don’t see enough romance or erotica that includes folks pushing the boundaries of binary gender. I don’t see delightful cisgender people who have sex with people whose tabs and slots fit in just where James Dobson wants them–and are queer all the same.
So that’s what I write. I write characters who love lousy take-away and football. I write characters who love ropes, or whips, or kneeling at the feet of someone they trust. I write smut, and romance, and erotica with barely any touching. I write poly kinky committed non-monogamous queer people. And everyone else. Because that’s the world I know, that’s the world I live in, and it’s fecking fantastic.