Imaginative Women - Exploration Blog of Lesbian Fiction & Lesbian Drama: Fiction

Who is the man in your lesbian relationship?

Tue, 12 Feb 2008 23:27:34 GMT

When my straight friends began to feel comfortable quizzing me about my relationship, the same question kept coming up again and again. So, who is the man and who is the woman? Each time it was asked I tried to quash the desire to roll my eyes and shout at the top of my voice, 'What do you mean who is the man? There is no man! We are both women you fool!'

The reason I resisted acting on that urge (other than not wanting to coming across as a rude wench) and continue to resist it, is because it was a question I wondered once myself. The first time I attempted to date a woman I just couldn't deal with the lack of clarity. Who was the seducer? Who was the one that made things happen and led the action? We were both feminine, so there were no physical clues. I only had straight relationships as a reference point, and suddenly I found myself without a set of rules to follow (even though I had been blissfully unaware of the rules whilst inhabiting a straight world.) I panicked!

It took me quite a while to realise that the lack of rules could be liberating rather than confusing - long enough for that tentative relationship to crash and burn :) Not having to adhere to convention is one of the things I have come to love about being gay. You can make your relationship what you want it to be without having to pay tribute to stereotyped roles. You can let the partnership grow organically and let your own dynamics guide how you interact with eachother, how you support one another. Saying that, I have found it can still get a little muddled.

My partner and I were friends before we were lovers, and sometimes that friendship can dominate the relationship to the point where it almost pushes out the romance. Maybe it's because both of us can be the seducer when we want to be, and both the seduced - the roles are fluid and constantly changing - that if we're not careful both can end up wanting to be seduced at the same time!

Thinking about female relationships on screen there is generally one woman who does the chasing. For example Bette chases Tina in the L word (until season 5!); Annabelle seduces Simone in Loving Annabelle. But then you also have the partnerships where the roles aren't quite as clear. Does Luce pursue Rachel in Imagine Me & You or does she simply make her desire transparent? Who finally ends up being the seductress in It's in the Water - is it Grace or Alex or both? Hmmm. I'm confused all over again!

I'd be interested to know what you think, so if you feel like sharing drop me a comment.

ps. Thanks to Jen for inspiring this post with her taking the lead anecdote.

My Coming Out Story

Tue, 29 Jan 2008 20:25:44 GMT

I broke a silence and fell, a child, into a foreign game.

It all began with the offer of a baguette, half eaten and wilting in the stagnant heat. The days had been long. The sun seemed to rise high into the sky, then rest, for hour, after hour, after hour, and I would find myself wishing for the cooling shadows of night to slide across the world and swallow me up in their midnight embrace.
    For five months I had casually crossed the boundaries of the world as only westerners can do. New Zealand, Australia, now Bali, soon Malaysia. I had marvelled at snow topped mountains. I had gaped open mouthed at the vast receding Australian horizon. But it was too much. Too much. My eyes clouded. A professional sightseer, as the days passed I felt myself being squashed tighter and tighter into a branded box, only capable of uttering inane slogans - the set script of a tourist.
    So it all began with the offer of...or was it before then? Was it in fact weeks before, on those long and dusty bus rides that the idea took seed? Was it when thoughts were allowed free reign and the censor within retired and took off his respective hat? A self fulfilling prophecy then, that took shape, faltered, never quite knew how to end.
    It was a night of cooling shadows. Soft breezes rippled through the creases of air. Lights flashed in the streets below and motorcycles whined as the midnight sky dropped her petticoats and shrouded us in stars. I believe it was then that Time grabbed me by the hand and pulled me in a crazy sprint through the light of day, the dark of night.
    Trying to visualise her now is like attempting to draw all the colours of a rainbow to a single point. Shards of emerald green give way to flashing yellows, swinging pinks to an ocean of azure blue: a beacon in a vast audience of people lost at sea. Navigating her way through life, those she touched grew like flowers tasting their first heady mix of morning dew. Least that’s how it seemed.
    She was striking. Quietly striking. Striking, because to know her was to feel winded, knocked down, awoken. Quietly, because it didn’t happen quite at once but covertly while the wind paused for breath and the sheets billowed against her porcelain skin.

Time was a witness as I launched my marble and struck her soundlessly in the chest. A strange absence settled where the obstruction had lodged - tongue loosened, jaw relaxed. Once begun confessions spilled from my lips, bubbling up like a spirited brook. Even then I could feel another confession building…but the music had begun. I had taken the first step and allowed the music to take control. The steps were unknown, the moves unpractice d, yet somehow my patched attempt succeeded and the two of us spun on to the dance floor, laughing, turning, eyes glittering, oblivious to the audience we knew would never see Us (for people see what they want to see).
    As those lips pulled away I fell into a deep consciousness. Though in darkness a bright sunshine burst into my life, and with eyes closed I let the flickering shadows play beautifully across my face…and let the feeling linger on.

© Eshne Knight 2008

Where is the lesbian on the family tree?

Sat, 26 Jan 2008 20:42:32 GMT

Last night I visited my Grandparents and my Grandad talked me through his family tree. He's Irish so it's quite an extensive one...!

It started out with my Great Great Great Grandparents back in the 1800s and snaked all the way down to 2004. What shocked me was the number of my relatives who either immigrated to America, or lived there for several years in their early twenties before returning home. My Great Grandmother sailed to Chicago when she was 18 and only returned to Ireland when she had enough money for her dowry five years later - more on that in a moment. Some of them who settled never came home again because of the poverty they lived in.

As I looked down the different tracks, calculating how old the sons and daughters were when they got married, when they had their first child, I began to wonder if any of my ancestors had been gay. And it made me sad to realise there was no way I could find out. All I could do was wonder about the sons who never married or the women who became nuns. Did they remain unmarried because they loved another of their own sex? Were they really dedicated to God or in need for the company of all men/all women? Were any of the married women RSGs?

Now that marriage is legal for same-sex couples I wonder if any of us will feature on the family trees of the future. Finally our relationships can be recognised by a marriage date; Children can be born into the world with two female parents. Have you been able to identify any gay men or women in your ancestry?

Back on to the point about saving money for a dowry, in the Irish farming community a woman could only marry into another farming family if she had a sufficient amount of money to trade for her place as a wife - you either had to earn the money yourself, or if you had a brother and he married, his wife's dowry would become yours. So in some cases, a woman could only marry once her brother found himself a suitable wife. How scary is that! We really have come a long way since then......

I'll leave you with that thought.

x

Fictionalise lesbian women - why?

Wed, 16 Jan 2008 23:12:32 GMT

What makes us want to fictionalise gay characters? Why is it so important that lesbians are given space to be real people and not just two-dimensional personalities that are defined by their sexual preference?

To me it's really important that people I relate to in real life are represented in the films I watch and the books that I read. I want to feel like I'm not the only one. Other people are struggling with the same kind of decisions that I am. Do I say I'm gay and therefore condemn myself to a relationship where children are not a given? Do I out myself at work and risk people only seeing my sexuality, rather than the person that I am as a whole? These are just some of the questions I ask myself, and I find comfort knowing there are other women wrestling with the same kinds of conflicts.

I don't know if I'm unusual but I do not have a large gay circle. I've been out to my core group of friends for about five years and I have one good lesbian friend. All my other friends are straight. I went to a Catholic school where being gay was a sin, my university was a very main-stream place, and it wasn't until I went travelling in my early twenties that I managed to meet some gay women - outside of my limiting social circles. Since that time I've struggled to broaden out my friendships. I don't want to collect gay friends simply because they are gay. I want to form a connection with people that goes beyond and yet includes their sexuality. And that can be hard, especially when you're living in surburbia.

Writing, films, tv or whatever the medium may be that translates a life into a story that resonates with my own is endlessly satisfying. Maybe it is a symptom of my isolation. I'm looking for something I cannot have in real life. I want to submerge myself in a life I'd love to lead, live vicariously without having to deal with the fall out. Fiction allows that. It enables a leap from the mundane into the dream world.

Sometimes I think we need fiction as a way of imaging how lives could be before anyone finds the courage to live that actual life. The fiction is a bit like a prototype or a test that you play around with in your mind before making it into something real. So before you commit yourself to a life with a woman you sketch out that life in your mind's eye. Or if you're feeling weak you picture yourself as a heroic warrior, and suddenly that's it, you become the thing you imagine. But it's the imagination part that has to come first.

I'll leave you with a quote that inspires me endlessly, though I still seek to live it.

"Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it!" Goethe

Do you feel the same way I do? I'd love to hear from you.
x

A glimpse of Suffragette courage

Fri, 28 Dec 2007 00:18:47 GMT

An imagined scene from the British Suffragette movement

The wire handle bit into her hand, the stink of paraffin filled her nostrils. She was glad of the times she had ferried the milk urns at home, aware her strength had made her a chosen one. The night had shrowded them in her charcoal petticoats, keeping the damp autumn air close. Party to their secret cause, the moon had remained hidden behind a blanket of cloud as they scurried from field to field, making their way from Otley into Sevenoaks.
    Suddenly all was alight and Eshne picked out a scattered line of dresses snaking across the countryside. Caelan flattened her arms out parallel to the horizon and the dresses sunk to the ground, disappearing instantly into the gloom.
    A motor car screeched up the lane, abruptly slowed, then crawled deliberately along the track. Eshne lay close to the earth, attempting to blend seamlessly into the rugged contours, shielding the heavy case of paraffin by her side. As the car passed she let her breathing deepen but kept her eye trained on its course. It stopped 50 yards ahead dangerously near to Irene. She heard a door slam, hard shoes slapping against the road, then a tall figure in a hat appeared silhouetted against the car beams.
    Irene was poised to run her face turned toward a thick rash of scrubland her feet spread, limbs taut. If she ran now they’d all be exposed. Pressing her body into the wet ground Eshne dragged herself forward, inching desperately slowly towards Irene. A male voice called out “Who’s there?” Irene twitched. She pulled hard through the rugged grass ignoring the sharp flints that bit at her legs. “Irene!” she hissed as she grew nearer “Don’t move. He’ll see you. Don‘t move.” Even in the dark she could see the furrow of fear rutted across Irene’s forehead. The voice boomed out again across the plane, “I said who‘s there? Show yourself now or I‘ll release the dogs!” Irene bolted. “Irene!” Eshne scrambled forward and caught her round the ankles. “You’ll get us all killed. Be still you fool” she whispered urgently as Irene struggled to free herself. “Be still!” She threw herself on top of her, using the weight of her body to keep her pinned. “Shh. It’s okay. It’s okay” she murmered.

© Eshne Knight 2007

A moment of longing

Fri, 28 Dec 2007 00:14:06 GMT

All she wanted was to hold the hand that lay by her side. The hand that fluttered briefly into the air but always landed back by the crest of her right knee. She imagined what it would feel like to cradle that delicate dove in her fingers. Wondered whether the pricklings of her life would rush to the hand as it began its soft crawl forwards; felt herself to be just a hand. A hand about to join with that other perfect hand, (and make love with the touches of smooth fingertips, the sliding cup of palm, the fragile twisting wrist...)