Queer Honi
Pan, dark fantasy, Faun
spiderspun
It's kind of strange, coming back here after so long. Strange to see that nothing's changed. Strange to see how I left things. Strange to think how it must seem to you that I left in a huff after my audition for Putting It Together, as amazing as I touted it as having been, wrapped in a shroud of misery and shame when I didn't get a part.

There was no huff; I just stopped writing for a while. And this is my writing's journal. However...

Near the end of last year I (thought I had) started dating a guy. We gave him the name LipRing, as real names mean little in the world of the online, and things were good and fun. It turned out he was on the editorial team for the queer edition of Honi Soit, and when I mentioned that I occasionally wrote things he asked me to submit something; the theme was Monsters.

I hadn't written anything much in a while - I hadn't even blogged much of the mildly melodramatic goings on around Putting It Together. And I think that might be the reason why, when I was asked to write something monster-shaped, I stumbled somewhat over the process.

I did end up writing something though. It was a poem, and it was ok. It may not be an amazing work of poetic genius, but it has rhythm and structure and some good lines and it's somewhat a follow up to one of my favourite pieces, The One Man Masquerade which was submitted the previous year to the Queer Bull. LipRing told me it was going to be edited slightly (some grammatical things I'd been 50/50 about myself), and I was ok with that; what's a little snipping here and there when I'm going to have another work in another publication with my name on it?

LipRing invited me to the launch party of Queer Honi, and I showed up after work. A lot of the copies of the magazine had already been taken, but there were still a few by the door and I promised myself I'd pick one up on my way out.

I didn't. Surprise.

That night, LipRing and I fell apart. Or rather, at some point between that night when he told his friends that we were just "friends who occasionally sleep together" and the next morning when he told me that, yes, that's how he really felt. His response was that he liked being single; he didn't want to date anyone; he was too much of a slut to settle down. The first two statements I could have pretended to be ok with, but the third raised some questions and posed some level of risk that I wasn't comfortable with. So we stopped not-dating and fell to almost complete radio silence.

Today, after being invited to submit something to this year's Queer Honi, I decided to look up the last edition online and see what final form my poem had taken under their editing. Turns out it wasn't published at all.

Isn't that just a kick in the pants.

?

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