We did it! 100% Funded! 400 Copies of "Queer as a Five-Dollar Bill" will be donated to LGBTQ and Allied Teens!

WOW!!!



Thank you so much!

Saturdays with Hitchcock - A Middle Grade Novel Where Maisie is 12, a boy named Gary has a crush on her, and Maisie's best friend Cy (another boy) has a crush on Gary!

Saturdays with Hitchcock by Ellen Wittlinger

"It's... weird to start feeling all that stuff. Don't you think?"

Twelve-year-old movie-loving Maisie is dealing with the realities of a grandparent with dementia, a mom who’s been laid off from her job, finding out that Gary Hackett like likes her, and a best friend who just confessed that, actually, he like likes Gary.

Maisie’s Uncle Walt, a Hollywood actor, provides a welcome diversion from Maisie’s problems when he comes to stay with her family. Uncle Walt has a way of pointing Maisie in the right direction. And heading to the local independent theater on Saturdays with her best friend, Cyrus, to see old films keeps Maisie grounded as she struggles with growing up, family tensions, and a love triangle she never expected.

I'm so excited about this one – Ellen has won both the Printz Honor and the Lambda Literary Award! Add your review of "Saturdays with Hitchcock" in comments!

I'm on "The Children's Book Podcast" with Matthew Winner!

Hi Community,

This is really exciting. Matthew Winner's indispensable "The Children's Book Podcast" has a new episode: #423, and it's an interview with me!

We talk about "Queer as a Five-Dollar Bill," the Kickstarter*, LGBTQ history, and how we each have to honor our own light...

It's a really honest conversation, and I'm proud, and humbled, and very grateful that I got to have my voice heard in this way.

My thanks to Matthew, and enjoy the podcast!

The light in me recognizes and acknowledges the light in you,
Lee

*The Kickstarter was just featured on Kickstarter's Publishing page as one of the four top "new and noteworthy" projects, and three days in the project has reached 60 backers and achieved 55% of its funding!

Thank you for continuing to spread the word so we can make our goal to empower LGBTQ and Allied Teens!

Proud Parent Moment - Teens Really Can Change The World For The Better!

So my teen and I were having dinner recently, these vegetarian chicken-style nuggets that we like, and she's reading the back of the package while I'm trying to come up with some vegetable to go with it, and she suddenly exclaims that she can't believe what she just read... And asks me if I can believe it. I tell her that if she's really upset about it, she should write to the company. So she did.


Here's her letter:

Hi Gardein Team,
My name is [held back for her privacy], and I am 14 years old. I am a big fan of your seven grain crispy tenders. As I was reading the instructions to make "After School Chick'n Parm Bites" on the back of the package, something bothered me about the language. At the very end of the recipe, it says, "Thanks mom!" This assumes that everyone has a mom, which not everyone does. Also, the title, "After School Chick'n Parm Bites," is implying that this mom is a stay-at-home mom who cooks for her kids. There are so many hidden stereotypes in the wording of this recipe. I have two dads, and I don't feel that everyone is represented in the recipe, including me. These assumptions are subtle, but I think they should be addressed. A simple solution could be to change the title to "Afternoon Chick'n Parm Bites" (not everyone goes to school), and to take out the last sentence completely. I hope you notice the problem with your packaging, and make everyone feel included.
Thank you very much.
Sincerely,

About a week later, they responded:

Dear [held back for her privacy],
Thank you for contacting us about our gardein™ products.

We are always grateful when loyal consumers such as you take the time to communicate their experience and feedback with us. We actually recognized the statement at the end of the recipe as well and have removed 'Thanks mom!' from the latest artwork. This will be evident on the packages before the end of the year.

I'd love to send you some coupons in appreciation of being such a great fan...

Thank you again for your feedback and we hope you continue to enjoy gardein products.

Sincerely,

WOW! And that's one way the world changes...

I'm inspired, and very proud.

Thanks for letting me share.

(and if you're commenting, please respect my awesome teen's privacy.)
Lee

Cover Reveal! Kickstarter Launch!

Hi Community,

It's been a roller-coaster, and now things get even more exciting!

Click here to visit the Kickstarter page and see the cover of "Queer as a Five-Dollar Bill"

The "Queer as a Five-Dollar Bill" Kickstarter is live! And you can check out the cover!

*muppet arms flying in excitement*

Hurray!

Please spread the word. Together, we can make this happen. Because, at the end of the day, this isn't about me, or one book. It's about a movement. You and me. Together. It's about how we can empower LGBTQ Teens and their Allies.

And then all of us, empowered, can change this world for the better.

Thank you!

Feeling humble and grateful,
Lee

Queer as a Five-Dollar Bill: Chapter 23

Don't forget the big cover-reveal and kickstarter launch happens
this Saturday February 10, 2018 at 12 Noon Pacific, 3PM Eastern!

**

In Chapter Twenty-Two, Mackenzie reaches out and tells Wyatt she's breaking up with Jonathon because of what he said (and didn't say) on the TV show. Wyatt learns (from Martin) that Abraham Lincoln wanted to deport all black people out of the US - there's no such thing as a perfect person. Martin shows Wyatt the video of Martin Luther King, Jr.'s "I have a dream" speech, and there's a moment when Wyatt is tempted... but then he remembers that he can't come out. Because no one will believe a gay kid saying Lincoln was gay.

Want to start reading from the beginning? Click here for chapters One and Two.

To read about why I'm serializing my entire YA novel for free on this blog, click here.

Thoughts? Reactions? #queerasafivedollarbill / #qaafdb fan art? Share them as comments here or on social media (facebook, twitter, or instagram.)

Okay community, here's Chapter Twenty-Three!

* *

* *

* *

Chapter 23

Saturday January 24

            Wyatt was still awake at 11 p.m. when there was a light knock on his door.

            A soft voice, “You asleep?”

            Martin.

            Wyatt’s palms got sweaty.

            “One second!” Wyatt whispered and changed fast to jeans. He didn’t want to seem like he’d been about to go to bed. He didn’t even want to think about being with Martin anywhere near a bed.

            Wyatt opened his door just enough to peer out. Martin was wearing jeans, his Super ‘G’ shirt, and carried a lime-green down jacket and work gloves.

            “Hey.” Martin grinned at him, and Wyatt felt temporarily blinded.

            “Going somewhere?” Wyatt asked.

            “Yeah. So are you.”

 Wyatt pointed at Martin’s shirt. “What’s the ‘G’ stand for? Is your middle name ‘Gabriel’ or something?”

            “The ‘G’ is for Gay. Sort of… Super-Hero Gay.” Martin shrugged. “I like it.”

            Wyatt pulled the door all the way open. Martin sure looked the part. By Martin’s feet, Wyatt noticed the plastic bin of painting supplies his dad had used to de-graffiti their B&B sign. “What’s with the paint?”

“Von Lawson gets more than seven-and-a-half million viewers for each show. We’re getting outgunned, with just the blog.” Martin glanced at the paints, and then up at Wyatt with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “I figure it’s time for another front in this war.”

* *

            An hour later they were standing under the street lamp at the corner of Garfield and Route 37, with its banner eight feet up,

Celebrate February 14!

Abe and Mary: A Great Love

Parade 9 a.m. Union Square

            Once Martin had explained the plan, it turned out they didn’t need the paint after all. Instead, Wyatt had used the entire stack of do-it-yourself bumper stickers from their store. Usually they printed a Lincoln quote with his picture, and sold about two a week, but for this they only needed one word, printed big.

            Martin shimmied up the pole, and, holding on with his legs and one arm, reached down. “Ready,” he said.

            It was hard to peel the backing off the bumper stickers with his weeding gloves on, but Martin had insisted: No fingerprints. Wyatt finally got two of them, handed them up, and Martin slapped them onto both sides of the banner. He climbed down and they inspected their work,

Celebrate February 14!

Abe and JOSHUA: A Great Love

Parade 9 a.m. Union Square

            “Awesome.” Martin said, and Wyatt couldn’t have agreed more.

            Hiding the few times a car passed them, they used all forty-six of their bumper stickers on Route 37 and in front of the library on Union Square. While that only ‘fixed’ about a quarter of the ‘Abe and Mary’ banners, it would have to be enough.

            There was hardly any traffic now, and Wyatt and Martin walked through town, tearing off every last yellow and black John Wilkes Booth Appreciation Society flyer and stuffing them in the plastic yard-trash bag Wyatt had brought along. Eighteen blocks in and out, around Union Square. When they finished, the only line of more flyers went East on Route 37. Martin used a flashlight to help them not fall on their faces as they crossed the covered bridge and made the turn onto Polk Street, following the trail and ripping them down as they went.

            The flyers marked every light and utility pole down to the high school. Their bag was stuffed, and it was supposed to hold 13 gallons! 13 gallons of hate. It seemed to Wyatt that it weighed a lot more than that. 

Opposite the School Rock, Martin ripped down the final flyer and stuffed it in the bag. A flashlight check didn’t show any more within view. Wyatt knotted the top, slung the sack over his shoulder and cut across the lawn to the dumpster by the gym.

            Wyatt huffed the words out, “It’s like we’re Santa Claus – only instead of giving presents – ” He paused as, together, they heaved it off his back and into the metal container. “Our gift is taking away the ugly.”

“That’s pretty brilliant.” Martin said.  

The compliment made Wyatt feel suddenly shy.

            They headed back to the street, and Wyatt noticed one of the lights on the corner of the gym lit up the words ‘Paddle, Rattle, Skadaddle’ on the School Rock. Stupid. He walked towards it, staring. And he got this crazy idea. Crazy-awesome. “We’re going to need the paint after all.”

            The light in Martin’s eyes danced. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

            And then Wyatt wasn’t thinking about the rock, or how they needed to go back home to get paint. He just wanted to touch his lips to Martin’s.

            Let him know what it meant, doing this together.

            How he felt.

            Was Martin leaning in?

            Wyatt thought so. He knew he wasn’t breathing. Neither was Martin.

            Martin had gently closed his eyes, and he was so beautiful. Did he look like that when he was asleep?

            Wyatt couldn’t believe this was going to happen. He leaned in, too.

            Headlights raked across the front of the school as a car turned into the main driveway. Wyatt pulled Martin down behind the School Rock a split second before they were caught. Wyatt’s breath came fast and he tried to pant silently. He waited for the lights to pass, then peeked over the top of the boulder. A police car. No – a Parking Enforcement car!

            Mackenzie’s dad, stifling a yawn as he scanned both sides of the driveway. Like he was a patrol officer, or something.

            Wyatt felt like he’d just outrun a speeding train. That was close.

Too close.

* *

            Sneaking back into the B&B for the paint, Wyatt expected everyone to be asleep – it was nearly two a.m. But when he and Martin tiptoed to the cleaning supply closet opposite Wyatt’s parents’ room, he could hear they were still up. Talking.

            “Gosh, you’re tense.” His mom’s voice. “You need to go bowling again.”

            “We can’t afford it.” His dad’s.

“You should go anyway.”

“One tour, Liz. That’s it. And only eight room-night reservations left, unless more cancel tomorrow.”

            “I was on the phone all day – no one wants any part of the parade.” His mom said. “I can’t believe Kelly already told the bank I was going to be fired! And how dare they send us a letter warning us they’re going to foreclose when we haven’t even missed the payment yet!”

            “I did promise Benny we wouldn’t miss another, and they won’t let us do a third mortgage. We don’t have the equity. But it’s just a warning. We have ‘till February sixteenth.”

            “Did you find anything we can sell to help make it?” His mom asked.

            “Not much – most of the good stuff’s on display, and if we sell any of that, then what’s the point? We’ll be just like the Morris Lodge Express, except they have that pool!” He sighed. “I did pull some of the older books that were tucked here and there. I’ll have Wyatt check auction prices. Maybe there’s a first edition that will surprise us…” He didn’t sound convinced. “We could sell the pickup, but that’s no solution. How are you going to get around? And what am I going to do, bicycle to Costco?”

            “It’s hard enough with just one car,” his mom agreed. “Maybe we should sell this place. Move, and start over somewhere else…”

            They were silent a long moment. Then Wyatt’s dad said, “I don’t know how to fix this.”

            “How could you?” His mom’s voice was tender. “You didn’t break it.”

            Wyatt swallowed hard. Was he making things worse? But being silent didn’t solve anything. It just made you a punching bag. It made you Mr. Clifton.

            Martin leaned into Wyatt, his breath tickling Wyatt’s ear. “That Churchill line? It’s also a country song,” He sung the line real low, “Don't stop goin' when you're goin' through Hell!”

            Wyatt knew Martin was right. The blog was north of three-million eight-hundred thousand hits. And earlier, Martin had showed Wyatt all these cloned blogs. People from all over the country, and the world, who had copied everything on Wyatt’s blog and put it up on websites they controlled. At first Wyatt was kind of pissed off. I mean, plagiarize much? But then Martin explained it was kind of like insurance – this way, if Wyatt’s blog went offline again, the truth would still be out there.

            …Which meant that even if they took down their own blog, there was no way to stop this anymore.

            All Wyatt could do was keep on going. And if he was straight, then no one could say he was just saying Lincoln was gay because he was gay. That meant no more thinking about Martin like that. No more almost-kisses.

            Wyatt handed the brushes to Martin and silently grabbed the quick-dry white primer and the can of green left over from re-doing the fence in back.

            They had a rock to paint.

* *

   

 * *

Want to know why I'm serializing my entire YA novel for free right here on this blog? Click here.

Ready for Chapter Twenty-Four? Click here. 

Thoughts? Reactions? #queerasafivedollarbill / #qaafdb fan art? Share them in comments here, or on facebook, twitter, or instagram. 

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Thanks for being part of my community, and for being one of my READERS!

The Palace Blues - 1920s Cross-Dressing, Jazz, and a young woman's star-struck journey away from home, following a Blues Singer

The Palace Blues by Brandy T. Wilson

It is the age of bathtub gin, jazz--and lines. Lines not to be crossed, and certainly not by women.
Ladies sing the blues at The Palace and the rebellious, resourceful Frankie admires the cross-dressing Jean Bailey from afar. Running from her family's oppressive pressure to marry, Frankie abandons her safe, white life in Chicago and follows the blues singer instead. At first it is merely an adventure of her star struck heart.
But the railroad yards, good times, riverboats and bum times lead Frankie on a remarkable journey between the sterile choices of her family and a reckless, daring life that at least offers a kind of freedom for a girl like her. Or is there another choice, one beyond the blues?

Add your review of "The Palace Blues" in comments!

Seven Inspiration Highs from #NY18SCBWI

Me (left) at the blogging table with Jolie Stekly, Martha Brockenbrough, and Jaime Temairik (photo by Paul O. Zelinsky - thanks, Paul!)

So I'm back from the SCBWI Winter Conference, and I want to share a few moments that are still resonating for me:

7.
Angie Thomas making the distinction about writing "not issue books, but great books with issues." ...And her awesome rant about how "diversity is not a trend." YES!

6.
Learning the Latin word Anima from Cheryl Klein's masterclass. It means animating principle, breath, vital force, soul, spirit—and thinking about how to best have that Anima come through in my creative work.

5.
Figuring out, with help from Tiffany Liao in her masterclass, what wasn't working in my current YA work-in-progress: the gap in time between the internal climax and the external climax.

4.
After having let it rest for seven months, finally solving the puzzle of a picture book manuscript during Jane Yolen and Heidi Stemple's masterclass—it cracked open, and I could see how to reduce it down to its essential moments, and the rest just fell away. (For those of you who write picture books, you'll get the level of hugeness of this when I tell you it went from 903 words down to 543.)

3.
Connecting with so many dear friends...

2.
Hosting the LGBTQ + Allies Social (which feels as important as ever!)

1.
And then, walking out of the conference's Autograph Party, the last person I met stopped me to share something so cool... I don't know her, but Sanne Dufft is an author/illustrator who lives in Germany, and she's been reading the serialization of Queer as a Five-Dollar Bill on this blog—and she's really enjoying it! I asked Sanne if she would let me record her saying it again on video, so I could capture the moment of someone I don't know coming up to me as an author, and thanking me for writing this story...

The light in me recognizes and acknowledges the light in you,
Lee

Queer as a Five-Dollar Bill: Chapter 22

In Chapter Twenty-One, Wyatt's tipped off (by Mackenzie) that Jonathon's a guest on the Von Lawson Report again. As he, Martin, and their folks watch, Von Lawson rallies his viewers (and Jonathon) to fight the gay "radiation poisoning of history," comparing minorities like gay people to a cancer that needs to be wiped out, cell by cell.

Want to start reading from the beginning? Click here for chapters One and Two.

To read about why I'm serializing my entire YA novel for free on this blog, click here.

Thoughts? Reactions? #queerasafivedollarbill / #qaafdb fan art? Share them as comments here or on social media (facebook, twitter, or instagram.)

Okay community, here's Chapter Twenty-Two!

* *

* *

Chapter 22

Saturday January 24

            With no guests coming, Wyatt was heading out to their B&B sign before dinner to take down the two flags for the night. When he opened the door he found a giant shopping bag of his Mom’s shoes right outside. Each of the ten or so pairs was packed neatly in its own clear plastic bag, but there was no note or anything. He picked up the oversized shopping bag and carried it to his parents’ room, leaning it against his mom’s shoe wardrobe.

He sighed, not wanting to have to explain to her about Mackenzie and her laser beam eyes. Grabbing a sticky note from the mail desk, he wrote:

                        Left by the front door

            “Wyatt?” His dad’s voice called out. “We’re starting!”

            He stuck the note to the bag with the butterfly-wing color shoes inside, and hustled back outside to get the flags.

Five minutes later, as Wyatt jiggled the cheesy broccoli off the serving spoon and onto his plate, his cell vibrated once in his pocket. An incoming text. He passed the dish to Martin, and then, pretending to adjust the napkin in his lap, got his phone out.

                        Mackenzie                  8:32 p.m.

                        Can we talk?

                        Wyatt                          8:33 p.m.

                        text

            Things felt tense around the table. No guests meant no money. Which meant Wyatt and his parents were fast on their way to being homeless.

Martin broke the silence. “I just wish Lincoln wasn’t such a racist – then this whole his-being-a-gay-hero thing would sit better.”

            “What are you talking about?” Wyatt remembered the quote pretty well. “Lincoln was the guy who said, Whenever I hear anyone arguing over slavery, I feel a strong impulse to see it tried on him personally. He wasn’t a racist.”

            The phone under Wyatt’s napkin vibrated again.

            Martin speared a piece of chicken. “Lincoln wanted to deport all us Blacks out of the U.S. He even said he didn’t see us as equals.”

            “He said all men are created equal should apply to everyone!” But even as Wyatt defended Abe, his thoughts dashed ahead. Was Lincoln really a racist? He’d never heard that, about Lincoln wanting to deport Black people… But he knew Martin wouldn’t lie about it.

            “It’s a bigger issue,” Rhonda cut in. “Should a hero’s flaws overshadow the tremendous good they brought about?”

            Wyatt snuck a glance at his phone.

                        Mackenzie                  8:35 p.m.

                        I’m so sorry. What they said

                        was terrible.

                        Wyatt                          8:38 p.m.

                        but ur still going out with him

           

            Wyatt hit send and took a huge bite of broccoli. He chewed, nodding at Rhonda like he’d been listening the whole time.

            She was saying, “…Frederick Douglass wrote that Lincoln treated him with great respect. That’s pretty high praise for the 1800s.”

            Martin asked his mom, “But don’t you wish Lincoln had been an abolitionist? A fierce opponent of slavery?”

            Rhonda took a sip of wine, and then said, “Perfect people don’t exist.”

Wyatt’s mom snorted a laugh, “No matter what their online profile says.”

Rhonda put her hand on Martin’s arm. “It’s something I had to come to terms with years ago, when I named you.”

            Wyatt’s mom was curious. “What did Martin’s father want to name him? Gregory and I had quite a time coming up with Wyatt.”

            Rhonda’s face was carefully neutral. “Martin doesn’t have a father.”

            “But, everyone–” Wyatt’s mom started, but Martin cut her off.

            “Sperm donor.” he said.

            Wyatt looked at him. He hadn’t expected that. But maybe that explained why Rhonda wore multiple silver and stone rings on every finger, except the ring finger of her left hand. Kind of like the opposite of being married.

            “I prefer the term, genetic contributor.” Rhonda said sternly.

            “But no one knows what that is.” Martin said, like they’d had the argument before. “Sperm donor is really clear. You didn’t need a guy, you just needed the sperm.”

            “I’d rather we didn’t use that kind of language.”

            Martin rolled his eyes. “It’s just a word! Sperm!”

            Rhonda gave him a you-are-pushing-it glare. “We are guests in this home, and we should respect other people’s comfort zones.”

            “It’s okay,” Wyatt spoke up. “We say sperm, too.” But then he got the giggles. Martin did as well, and soon the two of them were laughing so hard they could barely catch their breaths.

            Tucked under his leg, Wyatt’s phone vibrated.

            “As I was saying…” Rhonda exaggerated a turn away from the teenage boys, and spoke to Wyatt’s dad and mom. “The lack of perfect people is something I had to accept, when I named my son who has no manners!”

            “I’m sorry…” Martin dissolved into giggles again.

            “Well, it’s an incredibly important decision.” Wyatt’s mom nodded like she understood, “It’s a given that everyone’s a little fake…”

At that Wyatt had a surge of hope. Would she understand about him, when it finally came out? When he finally came out?

His mom finished her thought, “But, what if someone did something really terrible? You don’t want to build a whole life on the crumbling foundation of a lie!”   

Wyatt’s emotions plunged like the drop on a roller-coaster, and he could feel his face heat up. He was saved from being noticed by his dad coughing, like some food had gone down the wrong way. While his dad waved away everyone’s concern, saying he was fine, Wyatt snuck a glance at his phone.

                        Mackenzie                  8:40 p.m.

                        No. I can’t believe he didn’t speak

up for Becca. Or anyone else. I’m

going to break up with him.

                        Wyatt                          8:42 p.m.

                        when?

                        Mackenzie                  8:42 p.m.

                        Tomorrow. And then we’ll talk.

                        Okay?

                        Wyatt                          8:43 p.m.

                        k.

Wyatt hit send and his chest felt a little less tight about things. Mackenzie still owed him some major apologies – like how could she date that jerk in the first place? – but at least they were communicating, and it wasn’t all laser-beam hate-stares.

Rhonda was on the third flawed person she had considered. “…But then even Malcolm X had that drug and larceny background–”

Martin cut in, “So you named me after an adulterer.”

“Martin!” Rhonda put down her fork. “What is with you tonight?”

“Kidding. Sort of.” Martin acknowledged. He glanced over at Wyatt, who was slipping his cell back in his pocket. The muscles that had been so tight in Martin’s face relaxed.

“Martin Luther King?” Wyatt asked.

“Junior.” Martin nodded.

 “That’s why you knew the speech by heart!” Wyatt said, taking his last bite of ketchup-drenched chicken.

“Have you seen it?” Rhonda asked Wyatt. “The I Have A Dream Speech?”

Wyatt shook his head no.

Rhonda inclined her head to Martin. “You could recite the whole thing…”

“I don’t want to be the trained seal.” Martin protested. “Anyway, he should watch the original.” He checked Wyatt’s plate and saw he was pretty much done, too. “Come on, I’ve got it on my laptop, from when she made me learn it by heart.”

            They left the adults downstairs. Up in Martin’s room, Martin slid his computer onto the foot of the bed and hopped on the mattress with his guitar. Wyatt hesitated. He didn’t want to be weird about it, so he took a spot by the pillow, as far away as he could get. Leaning back against the headboard, he didn’t recognize the flannel comforter they were sitting on, and realized Martin must have brought that with him, too. Weird.

Martin found the video file, and Wyatt wondered if he was going to play along. But Martin just held the guitar, and they watched.

            After images of marchers, a chorus of people singing “We shall overcome,” the mall in Washingon, D.C. packed with people, and an introduction calling him “The Moral Leader Of Our Nation,” Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was there, in black and white, starting his speech.

“I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.”

After the words painted on their wall downstairs, and the line about Black people still not being free, he said:

“When the architects of our Republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the ‘unalienable right’ of ‘Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness.”

           

Yes.

“…Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God’s children.”

Martin turned back to Wyatt. Their eyes caught, and Wyatt felt something stir inside, a connection, but he couldn’t think about it. Instead, he moved his eyes back to the screen.

“But there is something that I must say to my people, who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the Palace of Justice: In the process of gaining our rightful place, we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. …Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force.”

The words were so powerful Wyatt had to say them out loud. “Soul Force.”

            Martin moved the pillow aside and scooched back to lean against the headboard next to Wyatt. Wyatt told himself it was no big deal. Martin probably just wanted to get more comfortable.

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was saying that not all White people were bad. That many of them were there that day listening to him, because they had

“…come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.”

            Out of the corner of his eye, Wyatt glanced at Martin – his mouth was moving along to the words. And Wyatt saw him. It was a gift, his mom naming him after this amazing man. Even if Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. hadn’t been perfect.        

            Martin was pretty awesome, but he wasn’t perfect, either – that whole weird dust mite thing.

            And I’m sure not perfect.

            And Lincoln? Closeted gay man… Racist? …But, maybe it was okay that Abe wasn’t perfect, too.

            Dr. King was telling them about his dream of everyone being equal, and was saying that they should

“Let Freedom ring!”

from all over the country.

“And when this happens, when we allow Freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city…”

The side of Martin’s hand brushed against the side of Wyatt’s hand and stayed there. Nerves fired from where their skin touched all the way through Wyatt like the fireflies he’d seen dancing in the air in Pennsylvania last summer.

“…we will be able to speed up that day when all of God’s children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual: Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!”

Thunderous applause.

Wow. Wyatt was so glad to have seen it. “That was amazing.”

“He had his good points.” Martin admitted. His face was so close Wyatt could feel Martin’s breath against his own cheek.

Wyatt got up, breaking the skin contact and the moment. “We just need to add gays to his list.”

             “Yeah,” Martin closed his laptop. “Travel back in time, add it in the speech.”

Wyatt knew Martin was being sarcastic, but after he said it, the idea hung in the air for a long moment.

            “They were pretty similar.” Wyatt said.

            Martin fingered chords on his guitar’s frets. “Who?”

            “King and Lincoln. Both minorities; Black and Gay. Both assassinated.”

            “Both left our world a better place.” Martin added.

            “I’d like to do that, too. Just…” Wyatt grimaced, “not the getting-killed part.”

            “You are! With the blog.”

            Wyatt paced the small room. “Am I? Is it making any difference? There’s all this hate out there…”

            Martin strummed his guitar. “There’s this great song, about how the best place to start making a difference is inside yourself. Man in the Mirror.” He launched into the chorus,

“If you want to make the world, a better place,

 take a look at yourself, and then make a… change!”

            But as Martin sang, Wyatt knew he needed the world to change first. If he came out now, it would all be for nothing. Nobody would believe his story about Lincoln loving another guy anymore – they’d think the whole thing had been a lie. And it had gone so far, all those millions of people who watched the Von Lawson Report and went to the blog would hate Wyatt even more than they already did.

            Wyatt backed up to the doorway. Martin stopped playing as soon as he noticed.

             “We should get back for dessert.” Wyatt said, and turned to hustle down the stairs. It wasn’t going to do him any good to hang out in Martin’s room. It didn’t matter if he was a little weird – the guy was way too cute.

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Endnotes for Chapter Twenty-Two

Wyatt quotes Lincoln saying “Whenever I hear anyone arguing over slavery, I feel a strong impulse to see it tried on him personally.” That’s from Lincoln’s speech to the 14^th Indiana regiment on March 17, 1865. You can find it cited at the National Park Service’s Lincoln Boyhood: Thoughts on Slavery webpage here: http://www.nps.gov/libo/historyculture/thoughts-on-slavery.htm In their dinnertime discussion, Martin tells Wyatt that Lincoln had a plan to deport Black people from the U.S.A., and that’s true as well.

“The colonization of freed slaves, to either Africa or the tropics of Central America and the Caribbean, featured prominently in Abraham Lincoln’s formative beliefs on race and slavery. Enabled by a $600,000 appropriation from Congress, Lincoln aggressively pursued the policy in the early part of his presidency.”

That’s from pg. 1 of Colonization After Emancipation: Lincoln and the Movement for Black Resettlement by Phillip W. Magness and Sebastian N. Page, University of Missouri, Feb 2011, where you can read more about it. As far as the seeming contradiction between Lincoln, on the one hand, saying Black and White people are not equal, and on the other hand saying Black people have the right to equality, here are his own words – spoken on more than one occasion (This is from his Quincy debate with Judge Douglas on October 13, 1858, as found both online here http://www.nps.gov/liho/historyculture/debate6.htm and on pg. 217 of The Lincoln-Douglas Debates):

            Now gentlemen, I don’t want to read at any greater length, but this is the true complexion of all I have ever said in regard to the institution of slavery and the black race. This is the whole of it, and anything that argues me into his idea of perfect social and political equality with the negro, is but a specious and fantastic arrangement of words, by which a man can prove a horse chestnut to be a chestnut horse. I will say here, while upon this subject, that I have no purpose directly or indirectly to interfere with the institution of slavery in the states where it exists. I believe I have no lawful right to do so, and I have no inclination to do so. I have no purpose to introduce political and social equality between the white and the black races. There is a physical difference between the two, which in my judgment will probably forever forbid their living together upon the footing of perfect equality, and inasmuch as it becomes a necessity that there must be a difference, I, as well as Judge Douglas, am in favor of the race to which I belong, having the superior position. [Cheers] I have never said anything to the contrary, but I hold that notwithstanding all this, there is no reason in the world why the negro is not entitled to all the natural rights enumerated in the Declaration of Independence, the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. I hold that he is as much entitled to these as the white man. I agree with Judge Douglas he is not my equal in many respects – certainly not in color, perhaps not in moral or intellectual endowment. But in the right to eat the bread, without leave of anybody else, which his own hand earns, he is my equal and the equal of Judge Douglas, and the equal of every living man.” [Cheers]

Rhonda references Frederick Douglass speaking kindly of how Abraham Lincoln treated him, and you can read, starting on page 350, about the meeting between these two men in Douglass’ autobiography, The Life and Times of Frederick Douglass In His Own Words: A Complete History of an American Freedom Fighter, Citadel Press, Kensington Publishing, New York, 2002. The song Martin sings the chorus of after he and Wyatt watch the Martin Luther King, Jr. “I Have A Dream” speech is “Man In The Mirror,” by Glen Ballard and Siedah Garrett.

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Want to know why I'm serializing my entire YA novel for free right here on this blog? Click here.

Ready for Chapter Twenty-Three? It will be posted on February 9, 2018. 

Thoughts? Reactions? #queerasafivedollarbill / #qaafdb fan art? Share them in comments here, or on facebook, twitter, or instagram. 

Don't miss a chapter - you can sign up to follow this blog and get emailed every post! Just enter your email at the top of the left column. 

Thanks for being part of my community, and for being one of my READERS!

Kickstarter and Cover Reveal Countdown: We're 10 Days Away!

Hey community,

I'm nervous, and excited, and so pumped about this: On February 10, 2018, we'll be revealing the cover of Queer as a Five-Dollar Bill, and kicking off the kickstarter to cover the cost of professionally publishing the book and donating hundreds of copies of the novel to LGBTQ and Allied teens. It's an empowerment project. It's a movement. It's a mission...

I'm so glad you're with me on the adventure.

Stay tuned...

The light in me recognizes and acknowledges the light in you,
Lee

Attending #NY18SCBWI, The SCBWI Winter Conference? Join me for the LGBTQ Q&A social, Saturday Feb 3 from 7:30pm-9pm

Once again, I'm honored to be hosting the discussion, circle, Q&A, and community.

Please check your conference schedule for the exact location

Here's the report from last year's gathering:

The LGBTQ + Allies Q&A Social at #NY17SCBWI

With an expanding circle as more and more people arrived, and with special guests that included Ellen Hopkins, Heidi Stemple, Laurent Linn, Ellen Wittlinger, Matthew Winner, and Arthur Levine, the social opened with a conversation about the responsibilities and challenges of speaking up about diversity, equality, human rights, and politics as people who create content for children.

Then each person around the circle introduced themselves, sharing what they're working on.

And then, for another hour +, people mingled and chatted and exchanged cards with their new tribe-within-a-tribe friends.

Two moments that are still resonating for me:

On an Ally author's reluctance to make a fantasy character queer:
"I want to give you permission that you know as much about a two-headed dragon as anyone." - Arthur A. Levine.

"Don't let anyone shut you up. You have a story to tell. Tell it. ...Somewhere along the way, children will hear it and they will be saved." - Jane Yolen

The evening was brave and beautiful.


Hope to see you there!
Lee

Queer as a Five-Doillar Bill: Chapter 21

In Chapter Twenty, the blows come fast and furious - lost business for Wyatt's family's B&B, and their town, a radio program mocking Lincolnville, Mackenize bragging about her date with Jonathon in front of Wyatt, Wyatt shouting that he's not gay, and then Sandee's unexpected kindness... only then to discover their whole town covered with John Wilkes Booth Appreciation Society flyers. But then Wyatt gives a private tour of their B&B exhibits to Martin, including a moment where they lie down on Lincoln's old bed to see how close Lincoln and Speed would have been... VERY close. So close that Wyatt bolts from the bed.

Want to start reading from the beginning? Click here for chapters One and Two.

To read about why I'm serializing my entire YA novel for free on this blog, click here.

Thoughts? Reactions? #queerasafivedollarbill / #qaafdb fan art? Share them as comments here or on social media (facebook, twitter, or instagram.)

Okay community, here's Chapter Twenty-One!

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Chapter 21

Saturday January 24

                        Mackenzie                  8:14 p.m.

Jonathon’s on the Von Lawson

Report. You might want to watch.

            Wyatt was so furious with her and Jonathon, he didn’t want to see it. But Martin said they had to, and yelled for his mom. Wyatt’s parents came, too. Moments later they were all crowded into Rhonda’s room, watching the live broadcast on one of the three computer screens on the antique roll-top desk.

Jonathon was there on T.V., wearing his yellow John Wilkes Booth Appreciation Society T-shirt, sitting across from Von Lawson. They were laughing about something. Words under them read:

                        Lincoln. Under. Attack!

            “It’s hard to shove that gay genie back in the bottle!” Von Lawson said, then faced the camera. “It’s been just about a week since our last national survey, so we did another, asking, Do you think Abraham Lincoln and Joshua Speed might have been more than just ‘friends?’ This time, eight percent of people believed it. What scares me here – and there’s not much that scares me, Real America – is the growth. Last week, two percent. This week, eight. Following that same line, next week we’ll be at thirty-two percent of people believing it... And the week after that? Everybody! Except you…” He pointed at Jonathon, and then at himself. “And me. In a bunker. Hiding from this radiation poisoning of history. That’s what they want, drive us underground, into their old closets – where they should be! And it’s starting now, right this minute, with this poor, stupid eight percent.”

            Jonathon and the audience booed the eight percent.

“It’s their First Amendment right to be asses!” Rhonda commented from the edge of the bed, her left hand working a silver ring with a jade stone around in circles.

“We’re very glad you’re here.” Wyatt’s mom said to Rhonda. She and Wyatt’s dad were watching from the room’s Victorian couch. Tensed up in a ball in the armchair, Wyatt caught eyes with Martin, who was sitting on the wood desk chair next to his mom. Count me glad, too.

Martin winked at him.

Wyatt felt the flush rising in his face and tried to focus on the T.V. show. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Mackenzie tipping him off that her boyfriend was on The Von Lawson Report again. Was that her being kind, or just rubbing his face in it?

            Von Lawson continued, “Now, I’ve been getting some flak, people saying that I shouldn’t even be talking about this on my show, that we’re giving them a platform for these obscene lies, but I ask you, Real America – if someone’s burning down your house, should you just walk away and not say anything?”

            The studio audience yelled, “No!”

            “That’s right. If someone’s trying to burn down my house, I’m going stop them, with a fire hose on full blast!”

            Jonathon chimed in, “An air tanker, dropping a BEEP-load of water to put it out!”

            Von Lawson drummed the air at Jonathon, building on what Jonathon was saying, “Not water – fire retardant!”

            Jonathon laughed. “Retard! They’re retards!”

            “I know! I’m with you.” Von Lawson leaned back and put his cowboy boots up on his desk. “I want to get us back to a simpler America. Where we don’t have all these minorities shouting about wanting what we have, when we earned it… In the good old days, you didn’t see freaks, and ‘disabled’ people, and retards, and people practicing beastiality, and necrophilia, and homosexuality running around, making all this noise: Gimme, Gimme, Gimme! And it’s the professional homosexualists, they’re the ones who want to make our thoughts a crime. They’re the ones perverting not just today, but history! Nothing’s safe from them! We need to just clean our country out!”

            “Holy crap.” Wyatt whispered.

            Martin met his gaze and nodded.

            “Um…” Jonathon hesitated on screen. “I’m not really talking about getting rid of anyone–”

            Von Lawson cut him off. “But when it’s an enemy from within, you have to control the outbreak! If someone you love has cancer, you get doctors to cut it out, and then use drugs to kill it, cell by cell. Should we do any less for the country we love?”

            Jonathon looked lost. “I guess it’s important to, uhh, stick together? I wanted to say that not everybody in Lincolnville thinks Lincoln was a queer. I mean… most of us don’t, and if–”

            Von Lawson cut him off again by slapping his desk. “But the numbers are rising! What’s it going to take before this country wakes up?” A new camera angle let him speak directly to the viewers. “What’s it going to take before YOU wake up?”

Maybe Mackenzie had been warning him?

Von Lawson was on his feet, shouting, “Make no mistake about it, Real America! This is a war. A war for the very soul of our country. They are trying to weaponize history against us. We have to save Lincoln, and save the nation!”

            Huge applause and fist pumping as the image pulled back to show the studio audience. Von Lawson shouted over the going-to-commercial music, “We’ll be right back, with our Prayer For America!” Wyatt watched Von Lawson heartily shake Jonathon’s hand. For a second, he thought Jonathon looked dazed. And then Von Lawson said something in Jonathon’s ear and the two of them were laughing again, waving at the camera.

            Martin hit mute. No one said anything.

            How did Martin do it? Being gay – with everyone knowing – seemed like walking around with this giant target painted on your chest. Did Martin need to be afraid? Do I?

Wyatt’s dad was the first to speak, but he didn’t say anything about gay genocide or a war for the soul of the country. All he said was, “Dinner’s getting cold.”

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Want to know why I'm serializing my entire YA novel for free right here on this blog? Click here. Ready for Chapter Twenty-Two? It will be posted on February 2, 2018. Thoughts? Reactions? #queerasafivedollarbill / #qaafdb fan art? Share them in comments here, or on facebook, twitter, or instagram. Don't miss a chapter - you can sign up to follow this blog and get emailed every post! Just enter your email at the top of the left column. Thanks for being part of my community, and for being one of my READERS!

"The Hurt Patrol", "Beau, Lee, The Bomb & Me," and "Rusty Summer" - a trio of books about a trio of teen friends, including a gay teen boy and a fat-shamed girl

The Hurt Patrol by Mary McKinley

"Give me your nerds, your freaks, your huddled weirdos yearning to breathe free. Stick them in Boy Scout uniforms and you'll have ...a sorry bunch of rejects who will never make Eagle."

Welcome to the club... Beau has been scouting since first grade. Not because he loves it, but because his dad does. It’s the only thing they’ve ever bonded over, what with Beau’s dad being into sports, beer, and brawling. So when they move to yet another Midwest town, Beau expects the usual Boy Scout experience, filled with horribleness and insults. Instead he finds something else entirely. Kicked out of every other patrol, their little band of brothers is equal parts nuts and awesome.

For the first time, people are watching Beau’s back instead of throwing things at it. Nice. Novel. And also necessary, when you’re dealing with parents splitting up, crushes, first love, and coming out...

The first—and only—rule of Hurt Patrol:

We are never going to win—but if you’re outcast elsewhere,
...you’ll do just fine here."

"Beau, Lee, The Bomb, & Me" by Mary McKinley

"When Beau transferred to our school. I thought: Good; fresh meat. Because I knew he would be tormented the entire time he was at Baboon High. Like I am. All day…every day."

Meet Rusty, a junior at Baboon High, school year 2012-13. She's questioning everything and sure of nothing- except the fact you're doing it wrong.

In high school, there are few worse crimes than being smart or fat. So of course, Rusty's both. But when Beau blows into town, it takes the tools at their lame-ass Seattle school about two minutes to figure out he’s gay, and of course that makes him an even larger target. Have you ever heard the saying: ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend’?

There’s something to that.

Rusty Summer by Mary McKinley

"With graduation a month away, I'm hitting the road with my best friends Beau, Leonie, and Leonie's awesome rescue dog, The Bomb. We've all got something on our minds. Beau is schooling our school for ignoring brutal bullying. Beautiful, crazy Leonie is striving to become a model. And I m drilling to join a local roller derby team The Rat City Roller Girls where my bulk is actually a benefit. But first, somewhere between finals and graduation, I need some answers. I need to see my dad. Face to face.
Unless he's moved without telling me, my dad is out in the wilds of Alaska somewhere remote, beautiful, and amazing, where there will be wild animals, and hot guys, and adventures and lies and heartbreaks. It's further from home than any of us have ever been. Sometimes that's how far you need to go to figure out exactly where you want to be."

Add your review of "The Hurt Patrol," "Beau, Lee, The Bomb, & Me" and/or "Rusty Summer" in comments! 

And check out this beautiful note from the author on the true-life inspiration for Beau.