How Do I Write a Blog?

I have no idea how to start a blog.

I imagine most bloggers don’t.

So the first post I’ll make on this website is gonna be me throwing truth at the wall – think of it as a more in depth “about me.”

One thing I know for sure is that I’m a writer, and a hell of a good one. I’m a published freelancer, and I’ve been writing stories since I was ten. Storytelling since I was six, technically.

Since I started casting my writing out into the internet, I’ve learned significantly more than the teachers of my tiny high school were able to provide me. I’ve had some incredible mentors, and as I got older, I wanted to help others with my knowledge. I know exactly how it feels to open a document and stare for two hours (while clicking on YouTube videos about baking or old music videos from 2005 in between). I know about the awful moment when you’re five pages into a story, only to stop and realize it sucks.

I especially know about the laptop suddenly shutting off before I hit save. Those three thousand words never came back quite the same.

This blog is my stepping stone to getting my stories out there. No more lost words. No more keeping these worlds to myself. I wanna share them with you, because I would’ve loved to have them when I was growing up. I still want them, which is precisely why I’m writing (and why I believe anyone should write: to create the content you want to see).

The books in my head all have one thing in common: they’re gonna be hella gay.

Now, I’ve come to understand that I haven’t embraced myself completely as far as my queerness goes. I identify as queer. I’ve never in my life confined myself to the gender binary. I’m attracted to people regardless of genitalia. To keep it simple for people who ask, I tell them I’m gay. That’s the truth, if only an over-simplified version of it.

I came out three years ago, and the announcement received mixed reviews. It took a lot of time to hammer home that I wasn’t going to change my mind, and that I was no longer a teenager that could be dubbed “confused.” I was a twenty-three year old adult, and I left my hometown as soon as I possibly could to live my life the way I wanted. Oddly enough though, I didn’t even begin living until I moved back a few months ago.

Growing up in a tiny retirement town in Texas, my exposure to LGBTQ+ topics was severely limited. On top of that, I was born into a strictly Christian, Mexican family. For the longest time, gay people just didn’t exist in that world. I had an aunt who was friends with a gay man, and my mother had nothing but negative things to say about him. It never made sense to me, because I didn’t know what gay was.

Even when I did learn, I didn’t think it mattered. None of it affected me, so why would I?

Except I knew that was a lie.

There were several moments in my youth where – looking back now – I realize I always sort of knew I was queer. I didn’t feel as though I was either a boy or a girl; I liked parts of both “aesthetic,” and I rejected a majority of the gender roles (or wound up flopping between them). It all depended on how I felt that day. Sometimes I wanted to be a boy, and other times, I liked being a girl.

The saving grace in life was my father. His lessons were always very gender neutral; he didn’t really see anything as gendered. He taught me how to cook, how to clean (to my mother’s standards), and how to fight. He taught me about music, and he taught me how to be a good person. Whatever I expressed interest in, he used free time at work to become an expert and help me reach full potential. He never tried to limit me based on something as trivial as gender – though sadly, he passed long before I was able to confess any of this to him or even to myself.

The person he knew was… still trying very hard to be “correct.” That landed me in an abusive relationship at a young age, which I’m grateful to have escaped and moved on from.

Looking back, in elementary school, I was notorious for having a new crush every month. There were a handful of boys, but in the furthest corners of my mind, I knew I felt the same about a few girls. It wasn’t until I was eight that I finally, fully was able to express it (at least in my childish head). Her name was Haley, and I thought her pigtails were the prettiest I’d ever seen. She shared her colors with me in the mornings, and we talked for an endless half hour about cartoons.

Since we lived in such a small town, we spent most of our formative years together. It wasn’t until high school that I could openly say to myself, with complete understanding, that I was attracted to her. I wanted to take her to prom, and kiss her in the hallway, like all the other couples would. We remained friends until graduation, but we weren’t good enough friends to maintain contact without the excuse of school. I don’t know what became of her, but I remember her fondly. She never knew how I felt; I didn’t want to freak her out or make things weird.

There were a few other girls I remember having small crushes on, but she was the first girl I truly pined over.

Liking girls was only the half of it, however.

On one occasion in junior high, a teacher called me “sir,” and all the kids started laughing. I didn’t think much of it; I wasn’t bothered. I answered to it naturally. I feigned embarrassment when one of the kids asked me, but I truly didn’t care. At the time, I didn’t sense it, but I was thrilled.

People looked at me and thought: “That’s either a butch lesbian, or a very feminine gay.”

I liked both. I liked that no one knew. It’s nobody’s business, after all.

Several years later, I present more masculine than feminine. When I can, I like to grow out facial hair (I must admit I’m a sucker for the soul patch). I keep the rest of my hair buzzed short – although it’s more for convenience than anything.

In the past, I wore baggy, ill-fitting clothes because I wasn’t comfortable with my body. While that was true, I used to think it was low self-esteem. But… I love my body. I’m fine with everything I have. I realize now that I was confused; I didn’t know what was making me uncomfortable. Part of me still isn’t sure. I’m fine with what I have, but in the moments I’m not, I wonder if I’m making the right choice for myself.

Am I really nonbinary? I hate having to validate my feelings to myself, but I want to know the truth – and the truth is, I think it’s gonna be a long and ever-changing journey. There’s a lot of fluidity to all this, and maybe that’s where I am. I like exploring myself; I like learning that I may be this or that.

What I don’t like, is being a mystery to myself.

I’ll be honest: I started this blog on a whim. I wanna know more about myself, and I feel like this is how I’ll find out. We’re definitely more than our opinions, but maybe through learning about LGBT history, pop culture, etc… I’ll figure things out that I couldn’t solve before. Maybe, by writing stories with happy endings, I’ll find one of my own.

I’m starting this blog with… very few goals, but definitely important ones. I’d like to write about LGBT+ news, entertainment, and media as a whole – share my thoughts and opinions, indulge in written commentary instead of starting yet another podcast… but I also just want to write. So a majority of my posts will either be personal entries about my journey, or fictional stories centered around LGBT characters. Or those opinion pieces. Who knows. It’s my blog, and I’ll tackle it how I want.

I wanna tell stories that make people feel something.

I want people to get their happy ending.

That said, I will write. I will be gay. And I will be absolutely unapologetic about it.

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