The first step is realizing that you just can. Do you look at the other trendy queer people in your life, consider that they possess something so freeing and joyful and good, wish that perhaps you were as lucky…
I came out to myself on the cusp of thirty. My story is not the same as the main character’s in this piece, but the dynamic explored here is one I’ve been haunted by for several years. The “you” character of this story is an amalgamation of many people’s experiences and represents a coming-out narrative that I continue to puzzle through.
The writing of this particular story came out in a rush, one of those rare and fortunate drafts that seems to know exactly what it wants to say from the first. It was born in a SmokeLong Quarterly workshop, where it received much kind and helpful feedback from my group mates.
A few craft elements bring this piece together: playing with sentence lengths for emphasis, the shift from general address into a close personal narrative, and the pacing generally. I’m particularly proud of the way it comes together in the ending, and I hope it drives the reader to feel the main character’s adrenaline and desperation. In contrast, the opening is much starker, which I hope feels so obvious as to be ridiculous. If you want to love a woman: go ahead. Nothing’s stopping you—except, of course, all the challenges detailed in the rest of the story.
I’ve always enjoyed reading effective second person. This perspective can do wonders for bringing the reader intimately close to a subject, and often works very well in flash. I don’t believe I’d have been able to sustain this voice in a much longer piece, but it serves its purpose here. There’s also the “joke” of the title, which holds the heart of the story. You can’t, most would agree, choose your orientation to “become” anything different than you always have been, at any age. Rather, the story argues that you must instead choose how to live your life once you’ve gathered all of the necessary information. That information has come to me largely through hearing the stories of people who have taken those courageous steps, and I hope to do them some justice here.
CATHERINE BUCK lives in Jersey City, New Jersey, with her partner, pets, and plants. She holds an MFA from Rutgers University–Camden and was a member of the Tin House YA Workshop. Her work has appeared in Cotton Xenomorph, Bending Genres, Vestal Review, and elsewhere, and has been nominated for Best Microfiction 2024. In her free time, she attempts to bake bread and explore new places. Find her on Twitter @buckwriting.
