We are incredibly happy to be reposting this blog from Rainbow Weekend attendee, Alex Abraham, whose awesome blog, litwitsociety, provides all the hilarious ranting on classic literature our little literary hearts could ever desire. Be sure to check out her original blog post here !
You may not know me—hi, I’m Alex! I’m queer. Like, really heckin’ queer. And also, a writer. So when I heard about the second annual Rainbow Weekend Intensive program (with amazing faculty members Amy Rose Capetta, Cory McCarthy, and Jim McCarthy!) I was definitely interested.
It was at this moment that the tricky and familiar bastard, Doubt, decided to rear his ugly head.
“You aren’t queer enough,” he told me.
“You aren’t even that talented.”
“There are people less fortunate than you who deserve a seat at that table.” *This one, I’ll admit, I’m still struggling with.
But then Doubt was faced with my other good friend: Poor Impulse Control. It was one a.m. the night before scholarship applications closed, I had had a large glass of wine, so I said, “screw it!” and submitted the five polished pages of my current work in progress I had been tossing back and forth between myself and Doubt all week.
A few months passed. Then, something incredible happened.
I was headed back from my lunch break at work and popped into the bathroom. I had a text from one of my very best friends, Rhiannon, absolutely losing their shit because the Rainbow Weekend acceptance emails went out and they got in! I clicked furiously over to my email to discover . . .
Yep, that happened. You can see the whole blog post here which will introduce you to my fellow scholarship recipients. And go ahead and follow them all on social media because they are wonderful.
I would also like to take the time to emphasize how incredibly grateful I am to Roseanne Wells, Kurestin Armada, Bibi Lewis, Erin Casey, Lauren Bieker, and Caitlen Rubino-Bradway. I would not have been able to have this incredible experience without their support.
Okay, picking up the story where we left off: it’s Feburary-ish, I’m at work, and I just found out some of the most exciting news in my young life. And I couldn’t tell anyone yet!
I mean, I told Rhiannon. Obviously.
Basically the next few weeks were one big: AHHHHH which eventually settled into a softer ahhhhh until submissions were due and I was back up to AAAAHHHHHH. Anyway, this is boring, let’s fast-forward to April.
I flew into Dallas where Rhi picked me up, and we sang show-tunes the whole 4-hour drive. I experienced a Buc’ee’s for the first time, and purchased trail mix which I still have yet to finish, and a 17% alcohol-by-volume bright green orb of . . . something for $2.50. Ah, Texas.
Anyway, eventually we rolled up to the Barn. All my childhood memories of renting out cabins in New Hampshire with my family over the summers came flooding back when I stepped into the Book House. I mean, it smelled the same. And when Rhiannon and I found our room, I actually squealed with excitement. And I do not squeal, as a personal rule.
That night, we had an introductory lecture and got to know our fellow attendees. Right away we all got along, and were laughing and shouting like old friends. It felt like coming home after a long, long time away.
The next morning we hit the ground running: 17 writers meant 17 workshop sessions, and 17 mini-lectures on craft from Cory McCarthy. Now, when I say this was the most educational and valuable workshop I have ever attended, I know that doesn’t mean much. I’m a 21-year-old undergrad, what the hell do I know? But know that I am earnest in saying I learned more just listening to my group discuss each other’s pieces than I ever could have scrolling through a “craft” discourse thread on reddit, and I definitely got more out of this workshop than I have in any other writing group or WR121 class before.
I was at the Writing Barn for four days, but I made 18 new friends and left feeling more confident in my ability to fix my novel than I have ever felt about any of my creative projects. We dubbed our little group the “Dragon Muppets” based on an inside joke from the very first night, and it’s stuck. Since returning home, we’ve started a community slack page and making plans for co-writing sessions, CP work, and beta-reading each other’s full manuscripts. Rainbow Weekend was truly the gift that keeps giving.
THE RAINBOW WEEKEND
I’m gonna get mushy for a sec.
Cory McCarthy and Amy Rose Capetta are a beacon of light in a cold, dark world. Their desire to support and life up other marginalized creators is inspiring and motivating and absolutely intoxicating to be around. The one thought that kept coming into my mind all weekend was: how can I help you? How can I make this keep happening?
Jim McCarthy is an agent who represents some real bangers in the YA world. He’s also very passionate about getting LGBTQ+ narratives into the hands of readers and at the time of this first Rainbow Weekend, no conference of own voices queer writers for the advancement of representation in kidlit had ever happened before.
In the 2018 post announcing the retreat, Cory said:
“As far as we know, this is the first time this kind of retreat has ever happened! We will get to talk openly about the pros and cons of publishing with predominantly straight, cisgendered gatekeepers, and we will get to build our community and support our unique and powerful #ownvoices identity stories. This retreat is largely about uplifting LGBTQ+ writers, through crafting our strongest stories and helping each other navigate the steps toward becoming authors.”
Emphasis mine, but I imagine when they delivered this line a powerful rainbow erupted in the distance and there was like, some slamming background instrumental.
Because here is the thing about publishing: it is so, so straight. And even more cisgendered.
In the wake of awesome collaborative industry events like #DVpit, it’s easy to feel like things are really getting better. And they are, but it’s important to remember that Twitter isn’t the world, and not all industry professionals are the good industry professionals (like Jim! Not every agent is a Jim. It’s just the sad truth). But when the fog clears and the list settles, it’s still white, cis, heterosexual men dominating the field. No matter how much the readers seem to care, the same old dinos stay on top. Why?
Change is slow, it’s gradual, and it’s frustrating. But we have come farther today than we could have ever hoped just a few decades ago. Probably the most emotionally intense lecture of the whole weekend was when Jim McCarthy delivered a history of LGBT+ stories in children’s literature. Just in Jim’s own career, the amount of change he has seen, was at once devastating and exhilarating. We are here, we are loud, and we’re done waiting.
In the same article I cited above, Amy Rose said:
“Being marginalized means that your stories, your work, your concerns, your educational needs, your wild hopes and dreams, can often be pushed to the side, made harder to realize or even to give voice to . . . There’s also the opportunity for connection—for meeting people and exploring ideas that will lead to the next step in a writer’s work. Even though writing appears solitary, writing craft is collaborative. We learn from others! This chance to learn from writers within the LGBTQIAP+ community is unique, and I can’t wait to see what kinds of change-fueled discussions and brilliant stories come out of it.”
Likewise, I want you to envision this with hearts and rainbows soaring out of her hands. Imagine sunshine as a person.
And Amy Rose is absolutely right: writing is collaborative. No one does it alone. Especially when you consider the amount of people it takes just to publish one book; the writer, the agent, the editor, the cover designer, the publishing rep, etc, etc, etc. And that’s not including all the early readers, the writer’s friends and support system, and the network of librarians, booksellers, and other non-publishing positions that get books into the hands of readers. It takes a village—and what if there was a village entirely for queer folk?
I’m just saying, this weekend was freakin’ inspiring. The Writing Barn is a magical place, and they offer so many other intensives and workshops and retreats. Even if you are not on the LGBTQ+ spectrum I strongly recommend browsing through their website for any programs that might interest you. It’s absolutely worth the trip.
The Barn is tranquil, serene, and unbelievably separate from the outside world. I still had wifi the whole time I was there, but I don’t think I checked Twitter more than two or three times a day (if you follow me on Twitter, you know exactly how momentous that is).
Trees! Cacti! Flowers! Snails! Stumps! Rhiannon reading under a tree! It was beautiful. It felt like taking a deep breath, and it lasted the whole time I was there. I would stand barefoot on the porch and just be. Also, there are deer! And other critters.
The Writing Barn is a magical place. I want every writer I know to spend some time there, because quite frankly, we deserve it. It reminds me of the sentiment behind A Room of One’s Own, without all the messy class nonsense. I met other writers interested in the same sort of writing that I am, from all over the country. The atmosphere was encouraging and constructive and downright fun. It was simultaneously like I was on vacation and busting my ass at the same time.
Creative work is hard. It can be emotionally draining and sometimes physically exhausting and leave you hollowed out and completely run-dry. But there is nothing more rejuvenating than a trip to a safe, quiet space where you will be welcomed and understood and celebrated for all your funny little eccentricities. No one can do this alone—but once you find your people, work that before felt daunting can become an inspired challenge. Obstacles that were unbeatable can be talked through and smoothed over.
I am so grateful for this opportunity and towards all the people involved in making it happen for me and my new friends.
More about Alex Abraham:
Alexandra Abraham is English major by day, your friendly neighborhood bookseller by night (and most weekends). She grew up just outside Providence, Rhode Island. Naturally indecisive and curious, she’s studied creative writing, literature, environmental science, and classical civilizations between Emerson College, Boston University, and the American College of Greece. In addition to reading and writing diverse stories about magical, complicated kids, she loves playing with dogs and hanging out with her equally-curious seven-year-old sister. Though her dream is to one day live on an enchanted apple orchard which can only be found by those who need it, she currently calls Massachusetts home. You can find her online as @allyabe where she frequently shouts in her Twitter series, “Queer Books for Cool Kids.”