I tried to write about why I had a terrible wordcount yesterday- just 199. However, it quickly degenerated into an unashamed and unapologetic expression of feeling. This is why.
I am not a political person. When I vote, I vote for the candidate who will do me the most good. I am not altruistic. However, as a direct result of being a “minority”, some things sting. In writing my novel, I hope to express non-binary transgenderism in a way that means something to people with no personal experience of such, so that those little accidental stings go away.
My point is not political. It is a self-serving demand to be recognised. Yes, there is a part of me who hopes that a child might read my blog or my Tumblr and find in it solace, or answers. But mostly it is a response to the injustice I have witnessed and lived.
A few things happened yesterday which bothered me as a person. This made it impossible for me to write my novel coherently. I was not upset, merely disappointed in the world. It made me realise that there is something radical and unpleasant about me which angers people.
It made me question the point of my novel.
Charlie, my main character, is, like me, non-binary transgender. If I am hated, and I am real, then what hope is there for Charlie?
I’ll recover. I technically don’t need to start until Wednesday. But that doesn’t mean I’m not world-weary.
It’ll be better tomorrow. It has to be.