Transgender Life

I don’t want this site to be solely about being transgender. From my experiences so far, it’s not even something I could write about every week – being in the closet is far more intense and frustrating and writeable. However, there are moments when things happen, unique to trans people. I’d like to share those moments with you, and let you into the mystery.

Gina's Trans Diary, 18.12.16: entry 18 Horcruxes and Other Things

Gina's Trans Diary, 18.12.16: entry 18 Horcruxes and Other Things

Gina's Trans Diary, 18.12.16: entry 18 Horcruxes and Other Things

The photo accompanying this piece is of last weekend's Trans Remembrance Evening. In the photo you'll see the poetry student Avery, and in the centre, the playwright Jo Clifford, whose talk became increasingly a mesmerizing experience for the thirty people in the room. For this photo she told me to put my clipboard down, joking it seemed so important to me, like it was everything to me. It was everything to me. I held onto it for dear life through my presentations during the evening, like it was my horcrux. If you haven't read the Harry Potter books (or seen the final films), you won't know what I'm talking about. They're possessions that contain a bit of your soul, so you can't be killed. Unless someone destroys your horcrux. Mine would be the clipboard. Actually, I'm not sure where it is right now. I'd be a terrible dark wizard. 'Now where did I . . . Yesenia? Have you seen my . . . Have you seen my horcrux? . . . No, it's not there anymore . . .' That was my attempt at writing Harry Potter fan fiction.

This weekend I finally went to the cinema to watch Paterson, directed by Jim Jarmusch, about a young bus driver who writes poetry for himself. His beautiful, slightly kooky wife wants him to go public with the poetry. I won't tell you what happens, but it's partly about the book where he writes his poetry, his artistic horcrux, the thing that if destroyed, would destroy a part of him. There is nothing more terrifying than the thought of an artist who loses their work in some kind of accident before anyone sees it, especially some novel that took years to write. There's a play by Ibsen about a budding playwright who loses his all-important play, all his talent and emotions and years of inspiration poured into it, but he's lost it and can't find it. I think he kills himself at the end, that's the kind of thing you expect from Ibsen or Chekhov, not to deride their brilliance or anything.

To get to the point, as much as there is one with this post. In the next few days I'll be self-publishing my debut novel. I would be seriously pissed off if I died before it went up on Kindle. It's basically my immortality, my one potential legacy. Of course, it could just be a really dreadful novel, unreadable, or maybe just mediocre, the kind of thing you read, finish, and put away without it affecting you at all. As with so many things in my life, it might become an unexpectedly drawn out affair. I haven't investigated how you upload a novel on Kindle, I've read a bit about it and assume it's easy, people have told me it's easy, but knowing me, there's probably some long drawn out process, or a simple process that I end up turning into a horrible, drawn out process of angst and bitterness. My plan is to self-publish it around 20 December, which is Tuesday. For the next few days, therefore, I'll be taking extra special care crossing the road. Making sure I eat sensibly. I've sometimes wondered if I'd go on the attack if someone tried to mug me; for the next few days, if anyone tries, I'll be very obliging. Accommodating, even. No one must kill me until after my book is uploaded. I wonder if Voldemort (the evil wizard in Harry Potter) felt like I do now, before he created his horcrux. A kind of excitement mixed with procrastination, a sense of: why didn't I do this before? What if someone kills me before I create it? Why didn't I upload it the other day instead of reading that book? How the fuck do I create this horcrux, that bloke told me it was easy, oh God, the spell isn't working, I'm not doing something right, I can't do anything right, I'm such a fuck up . . . Oh . . . Oh yeah, just like the instructions said . . . Yeah, it's easy. I've got a horcrux. Cool. Hey Yesenia, look . . . Yeah, I know, it was actually really easy . . . I know, I shouldn't have got stressed about it . . .

Well, anyway, that's as close as I'm likely to get to being a dark wizard, but on Tuesday I enter a new world, the world of the published artist (okay, self-published). I'm having a new tab created on this website to accommodate the promotion of it. Yes, you're right, Big Time stuff. Still, a novel that took about eight years to write is about to come into existence in the public sphere. And afterwards, well, then I will go on a spree of not crossing the road carefully, of being provocative to muggers, of eating in a way that risks some fatal indigestion. After Tuesday, I become an all-powerful dark lord, with an immortal, eternal soul.

In the meantime, I'd better get back to the PhD essay I was writing, the deadline's tomorrow.

Love,

Gina.

Christmas Message December 2016
Gina's Trans Diary, 05.12.16: In the Blink of an E...
 

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