✨Big Squeeze✨

Volunteering at a drag queen storytime, I was ready for anything.

“You’re going to be up here on the second floor,” said Bryn, pointing at a map of the building they’d drawn on a chalkboard. “We’ll also have volunteers at the front door, the side door, on the staircase, and then I’ll be moving around to manage any problems. If you see any trouble, if you feel unsafe, text me.” 

It was Friday night and we were talking through our game plan for something that should have felt safe and easy: a family-friendly reading event at the local library. At the Saturday morning storytime, two drag queens would be reading picture books to children and their parents. Drag Story Hours get kids excited about books while also normalizing queer identities. But the simple action of a person in drag reading a picture book to children has been targeted by homophobic and transphobic backlash, with national right-wing religious groups attacking the performers and the venues that host them.

When this Vermont library where my friend Bryn works announced it was holding a drag storytime, it was inundated with calls from people saying the event promoted child abuse. Now, the night before the storytime, we were both anxious. People were definitely going to show up to protest. That was expected. But what if they didn’t just march and shout? As I looked at Bryn’s hand-drawn map of the library, my mind spiraled around one thought: What if they brought guns? 

People think of Vermont as liberal. As a safe haven for queer and trans people. While it’s safer than a lot of places, it’s still not safe enough for a drag queen to read a book aloud without facing the very real threat of violence. 

In January, a drag story hour in White River Junction—where I’ve been living this year—was evacuated after someone called in a bomb threat. Nearby in Lancaster, New Hampshire, a library canceled a drag story hour after “a steady drumbeat of harassing phone calls aimed at library staff.” Last year in Concord, NH, a group of neo-Nazis disrupted a drag story hour at a coffee shop, banging on the cafe windows and shouting homophobic slurs. People who violently target drag story hours use the same language that bigots have used to justify firing LGBTQ people from teaching jobs and denying them the ability to adopt kids: they say that queer people are a threat to children. 

But who are the people calling in bomb threats on an event full of families? Who are the people forcing children to evacuate from a theater, or a library, or a coffee shop, afraid for their lives? 

On Saturday morning, Bryn and I got to the library early, carrying glitter, colorful outfits, and boxes of donuts. I was stressed and sweaty, my hands shaking restlessly and my mind on a high-alert loop of “What if? What if? What if?” But my heart beat with a clear resolve: “We’re doing this.” I thought of the kids who might come to this event and see that there’s a beautiful future for queer and trans adults. I thought of the parents who might attend and see the diversity of ways people can express their gender. I think of everyone who will hear about this and know we’re here. We’re here. We’re here. And we won’t be scared into pretending we don’t exist. 

By the time the library opened, the sidewalk outside was full of protesters. But a crew of counter-protesters also turned up, mostly local teens and their parents holding signs like, “Spread love!” Dozens of families walked through the scrum to make it through the library’s doors and downstairs to the event. In my spot on the calm, quiet second floor, I welcomed families to watch a livestream of the drag queens reading after the first room filled to capacity.

After the event started, one mom walked slowly up the stairs, a baby in her arms and tears streaming down her cheeks. “Welcome,” I said, spreading my arms wide. “Would you like a hug?” She nodded. She shifted her baby to her hip and I gave her a big squeeze. I could feel her body quaking. I tried to calm my own breathing, to pull her close and make her feel safe. She sniffed and said shakily, “I just wish…I wish it didn’t have to be this way.” “I know,” I said quietly. “Me too.” 

The storytime was only an hour long. Two Vermont drag queens in poofy princess dresses read several books aloud, then the kids were invited to make fans out of popsicle sticks and paper. No one called in a bomb threat. No one started shooting. I helped escort families through the protests back to their cars. The event wrapped up safely. Everyone went home. When the library emptied out, the library volunteers shook out our jitters, still on edge, all of us looking around warily for potential threats. The mom was right. It shouldn’t be this way. None of this is right. Queer and trans people shouldn’t be afraid we’ll be threatened or harassed or killed for reading books to children. But here we are. And here we’ll stay. Afraid, but braver because we’re together.

A New Comic 

Why Did I Think I Was Straight? I wrote and drew this comic as my final project for the Center for Cartoon Studies and I think it helped me unlock a new, more fluid style. I wanted to draw a comic that felt unconstrained by panel borders and that could tie together several complex conversations I’ve been having with friends over the past year. I feel really good about it! I printed 600 copies of this comic as a zine—I’ll send it out to my zine-of-the-month club in June and also start selling copies starting in mid-June.

Upcoming Events 

Cartoonists on Palestine reading in New York - I’m part of the volunteer team that has gotten Cartoonists for Palestine up and running. This online archive collects and shares comics about the ongoing genocide in Palestine. We’re putting together a comics reading and fundraiser with Jewish Currents magazine in New York on May 29th. So many amazing cartoonists will be a part of this, I’m wildly honored to be part of organizing it. Come through! May 29th, 7pm, LGBT Community Center in Manhattan, free but taking donations for the Gaza Scholarship Fund for Displaced Students 

Drawing the Invisible - I’m running an hour-long workshop at Mt. Hood Community College in Gresham, Oregon on drawing comics about invisible parts of yourself. I believe this is free and open to the public, you just need to email the organizer at the link above to RSVP! Thursday, June 6, 12-1pm at Mt. Hood Community College

Life Update

Hiiii!

I finished my time at cartoon school! I was the fellow at the Center for Cartoon Studies this year and at graduation this May, the school gave me this fancy honorary diploma drawn by none other than Nate Powell. I’ll be here in Vermont until early July, and then I’m driving back to Portland to be reunited there with my lovely life there.

What’s next? My collaborator Audra McNamee and I are launching a nonfiction comics press. Crucial Comix will publish short nonfiction comics online and as printed zines, plus offer a bunch of affordable online comics classes and workshops. I’ll be reaching out to cartoonists and friends to see how they want to be involved, but if you want to stay in the loop, join our email list here. We’ve been doing a lot of behind-the-scenes business work on this and will be officially launching in September! 

What I’m Reading

• The Art of Crying by Pepita Sandwich - I’m a big-time cryer. Name a public place (bus, grocery store, town dump) and I’ve probably cried there. So I deeply appreciate cartoonist Pepita Sandwich’s debut book, which weaves stories about her frequent crying in with reflections on the science and historical perceptions of tears. 
• 300,000 Kisses: Tales of Queer Love from the Ancient World by Seán Hewitt and Luke Edward Hall - This beautiful book is filled with short excerpts depicting queer relationships in Greek and Roman writings, with sweet reflections by a modern scholar and lots of gorgeous art.  
• Hell Followed With Us by Andrew Joseph White - I’m always down for a post-apocalyptic young adult novel, especially one grappling with a world torn apart by an extreme religious group. This spooky, juicy book hinges on its relationships, as the narrator tries to figure out how to be their best self in a truly horrifying landscape. 
• The Sentence by Louise Erdrich - After devouring The Night Watchman, I’m now reading everything by Louise Erdrich. This thoughtful, funny, incisive book is told from the perspective of an indigenous woman who served 10 years in prison and now works at a bookstore in Minneapolis. When the narrator starts to be haunted by some inconvenient and annoying ghosts, she has to reflect on what feelings and memories she holds locked up inside. 
• The Women by Kristin Hannah - I’ve been driving so much recently as I criss-cross Vermont for events and zine workshops, so I’ve loved listening to Kristin Hannah’s deeply researched and gripping historical fiction novels. The Women is about a woman serving as a nurse in the Vietnam War and dealing with PTSD when she returns home, as she questions the rules of her upbringing and finds power in herself. 
• This American Ex-Wife by Lyz Lenz - I’ve long appreciated Lyz Lenz’s astute perspective as a Midwestern feminist mom and I appreciated this essay collection about the emotional labor women perform in our society and what keeps people trapped in unhappy marriages. 

Something to Do 

Watch an entire sunset. I’m serious! I’ve been slacking on writing this newsletter because I’ve been way too busy recently—teaching a comics class at Portland State, working on a book about making nonfiction comics, finishing up school, working on a coloring book about voting (!!), and driving around Vermont to camp on scenic rivers and admire various trees—and the best thing I’ve done for myself recently is sit down and watch the entire sky turn pink, then gold, then purple, then black. It’s a good way to feel small. No matter how big my personal chaos and anxiety feels, the sun still somehow rises and sets every day. Wherever you are, take a breath and admire the beauty of the sky.