She lived alone, and drove a Subaru, and tended to wear Carhartt pants and turtlenecks. My house was across the street from my grandmother’s, and the woman who lived next door to her was short and stocky, with short gray hair. I’m sure my town wasn’t the most homophobic one in America, but it wasn’t the most aware or accepting, either. My childhood house was heated by a wood stove, and if you took a walk during deer hunting season, you had to don a neon orange hat and vest to not get shot. When I tell people about the idea behind my debut novel-a fictional town in Kansas is named the most homophobic town in the nation, and a queer task force is sent in to try to teach them acceptance-they usually say something like, “Wow! How on earth did you come up with that?” The simplest answer is that I, too, could have used a queer task force in the small Maine town where I grew up.īy “small,” I mean small. Sign up for our newsletter to get submission announcements and stay on top of our best work.
