In doing this Laurin McKinnon and Gary Dunne are continuing their great work in publishing under the BlackWattle Press imprint.
Introduction
Coming out stories
need not apply.
No-one can bear
them any more; we’re over them. Even though ‘coming out’ is still the necessary
rite de passage into adulthood,
sanity, health, maturity, independence, fun and fulfilment for the overwhelming
majority of homosexual people in our type of country.
One still wouldn’t
dare, as events in Malawi have shown, in the vast majority of countries.
But we’re over
‘coming out’ stories even though ‘coming out’ is a life long test of character
even in our type of country – ask the elderly entering nursing homes.
So I asked for
100 – 3000 word accounts of your first awareness of a
gay man.
It could be, in any tone, a dawning awareness that
this person could represent your present and future in some way.
We are not asking for coming out stories per se but
accounts of burgeoning consciousness.
‘Yes but what exactly is it that you want?’
was the response of many of those solicited.
I wanted them to
tell me.
I wanted them to
tell us in lively ways how they came to know they were gay.
This confrontation
with ourselves must surely give us insights into human nature denied those who
get to waltz at their own weddings, no matter how many frogs they had to kiss
before they slipped the ring on.
This confrontation
must inevitably involve coming to terms with another who represented for good
or horrifyingly bad ourselves – our mirror, often (usually?) in which we did
not want to see ourselves.
The stories that
follow capture this burgeoning awareness
in often very different ways. Directly autobiographical or not, they are
rendered with various forms of abstraction and imaginative positing.
We have past
worlds evoked for us which are tanged with salty breezes, dappled by willows
trailing their fronds in slow rivers, blazing under the flailing arms of hills
hoists reaching across prickly backyards, by the whiff of incense recently
smouldered or of dusty files bound in pink ribbon. Last night’s Chardonnay
might linger in more ways than one. We might wake to yesterday’s matinee still
playing behind our eyes.
I would like to
thank the contributors for their work and courage; many informed me that it was
a worthwhile exercise.
I hope their
readers are inspired and/or provoked into considering their own progress through
the looking glass.
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