My novel Christina’s Portrait will be published by Wordhaven Press in November. I will describe my book in a series of posts. You can read other posts in the Christina’s Portrait category on my website. Also subscribe to my newsletter and follow me on Facebook, Instagram, Threads, and TikTok to learn more about the book.
One of the premonitions I’ve had about Christina’s Portrait is that I can lose 50-year friendships over it. I’ve seen what some of my high-school friends posted on social media. I can guess who they voted for in the last three presidential elections. And I know there are entire chapters that will piss them off. Even those who aren’t similarly politically inclined wouldn’t want their happy Kodachrome memories sullied with the unpleasant aspects of middle-class suburban life in the 1970s.
I’m sure one of their complaints will be, “Why’d you have to make those characters gay? Are you just trying to be ‘woke?’ I didn’t know any gay people at Reseda High School!” Yes, you did. So did I. We didn’t know they were gay until many years later. Many of them died before they had the chance to tell us.
Recently, I had breakfast with my brother Randy when he was visiting Southern California. He talked about his experiences being a gay man during one of the most dangerous times to be one: the late 1970s and early 1980s. Keep in mind that Randy didn’t come out to me until 1992. Before then, I didn’t have a clue. Some people did, though. One of Randy’s high school teachers recently told him that she knew he was gay long before he realized it himself.
My brother Randy (right) and I at breakfast, October 2026
But Randy was fully aware how dangerous it was to be out during his teenage and early adult years. The 1970s were a time of considerable backlash against social progress in general, especially in regard to the LGBTQ+ community. I was at Reseda during the Briggs Initiative and the assassination of Harvey Milk. This was soon followed by the AIDS crisis. Randy told me that if he came out during that time, he would have been a target of violence. He would have to find a place to live that was a safe haven for LGBTQ+ people, like parts of San Francisco. Even so, he said that if he came out earlier than he did, he “wouldn’t have made it out of the 80s.”
Randy did, but some of my friends didn’t. One of my best friends at Reseda didn’t make it to our 10-year reunion. Another good friend struggled with his sexuality. He once declared, “I have sex with men, but I’m not gay.” He died young, too.
These stories would be heartbreaking enough if they were relics of a bygone era. Unfortunately, of all the aspects of the 1970s that are returning in the 2020s, anti-LGBTQ+ bigotry is one of them.
These midterms, campaign speeches have been drenched in homophobic and transphobic rhetoric. Imaginary scenarios of secret transgender surgeries in public schools (where, in reality, teachers can’t even apply a bandage without notifying the parents). Slurs used to attack opponents, even ones who are clearly straight. In several states, including Idaho, librarians face criminal penalties if they allow LGBTQ+ books on their shelves. Once again, it’s dangerous to be an LGBTQ+ person or anyone who supports them.
A lesson we straight cisgender people learned too late is that when LGBTQ+ people are free to be themselves, so are we. When they can talk about their sexuality, we can learn about our own. This knowledge enables us to make healthy choices and offers protection against those who want to take advantage of us. When the LGBTQ+ community talks about gender fluidity, we realize we are not locked into the roles society expects from us. Women can be strong and assertive. Men can be sensitive and nurturing. LGBTQ+ people show us we don’t have to accept the roles orthodoxy imposes on us. That’s why they are the last to get their civil rights and the first to have them taken away. Just by existing, LGBTQ+ people threaten those who want to control society.
Right now, the those who want to control society are making life miserable for all of us. So we all have a vested interest in setting everyone free. Books have always been tools for teaching empathy. We are in desperate need of empathy right now because it is the first step toward our mutual liberation. If Christina’s Portrait gets me unfriended by someone who still proudly wears a “Make America Great Again” cap, so be it.
Still, I won’t be mad at my friends who don’t buy Christina’s Portrait. Not every book is for everybody. But I hope they think about our classmates we’ve lost too soon, how much better it would have been for them if they were free to be themselves, and how much better we would have been if they were still in our lives. All of us have LGBTQ+ family members and friends we don’t know about. Become a person who is safe enough for them to tell you, before it’s too late.
