Yesterday I had the incredible experience of running writing workshops on character creation with sixth graders in New Jersey. I was invited by Tara, one of my closest friends since childhood and the person to whom I dedicated my book. (More about that here).
Examining my surroundings, I couldn’t help but notice how different things were from my school days. Positive and inclusive messages were everywhere. I saw signs for “safe spaces” and “responsible adults.” Security protocols were strictly enforced, and visitors could only enter the building after getting buzzed in and registering. I thought about the swinging school doors from my childhood and how lax everything was. With the horrific threat of school shootings, the protocols were reassuring in one way, though saddening in another.
I ran four sessions during the day. During these, I shared an overview of Deficient and the character creation and design process. I read passages from the book that highlighted themes of belonging, self-acceptance, bullying, and discrimination. I also answered questions that covered everything from my writing process to how I named the characters to the superpower system that enables the discrimination experienced by Alé, the book’s protagonist. After a short break, I presented to each group on creating realistic characters by understanding their goals, motivations, and conflicts, and they had time to craft characters of their own.
The kids were sharp, curious, and engaged throughout. This is the best thing any presenter can ask for, and it made me feel like the content resonated with them. They liked the idea that Alé was an outsider who felt different from everyone else. I asked the groups if they ever experienced bullying in their lives, and around half of the kids were brave enough to raise their hands.
“How does bullying make you feel?” I asked.
“Terrible.”
“Depressed.”
“Alone.”
When I asked if they wanted me to read from the book, they nodded enthusiastically. Tara and her co-teacher told me how students who sometimes struggle to focus were some of the most actively engaged. “It was incredible to watch,” Tara said.
During my last session on character creation, I went around the room to observe the students’ work and answer any questions they had on goals, motivations, and conflicts. Students took it seriously, coming up with unique names, superpowers, backstories, and villains the characters would face.
One student only had one thing written on his paper for his character. “He is gay. He likes men.”
The record kind of stopped for me in that moment as my muddled, jet-lagged mind tried to figure out what was going on. Was he making fun of gay people, the way kids would do when I was growing up? Or was he genuinely trying to create a nuanced character who happened to like men?
As much as I wanted to presume positive intent, my spidey sense told me the situation was leaning toward the former, especially since the boy was giggling. To the other students’ credit, no one entertained the joke. Instead of leveling an accusation, I opted to normalize gayness. I said something about how it’s great to have characters who are gay, but to make them feel multi-layered we need to know more about them. “Does being gay mean that others bully him? Does he want to feel accepted?”
Tara did what Tara does best and pulled the student aside to address the behavior. In addition to calling home, she followed up with him the day after “about the power of words. About how trying to make your friends laugh has such a harmful, forever consequence.” Tara can so clearly recall the aches from when she was bullied, and she has made it her mission to prevent any children under her watch from feeling that kind of pain. Like Yalamba, Tara never shies away from a difficult conversation. Her forthrightness is her superpower.
Tara’s colleagues have rallied around this issue, and they are constantly thinking about how to address things like heteronormativity in educational spaces. The fact that the thinking is there on this is so impressive. Such was not the case when I was younger, but I still remember one teacher who spoke up in my freshman year art class when another student made a comment about how gay people should be killed.
“I never want to hear anyone say anything bad about gay people in my class!” the teacher had said. “That language is hateful and completely unacceptable, and it will get you expelled from this school!”
I remember sinking into my chair, not looking around in case I might be exposed. I had a sneaking suspicion I might be gay (for some reason, the Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Britney Spears posters on my walls were not variables that factored into that suspicion), but I didn’t know for certain since I had never had an intimate experience with someone of the same sex. What I did know was that any kids who were perceived to be gay were bullied mercilessly, and some were beaten up. So I did what Alé does in Deficient—I focused on school, kept a low profile, and counted down the days until I’d be gone.
This is my second time conducting my workshop on goal, motivation, and conflict, and it’s somewhat surprising that homophobia has reared its ugly head so soon. But if it shows up in one of my workshops, I hope the young people of today can spot it for what it is and connect it to the book. If someone has ever felt different, bullied, or like an underdog, then I hope they can resonate with Alé’s deeply troubling experience as a Deficient in a world where you are valued by your ability status. If someone has ever been a bully in their relationships, then I hope they will get to see what it’s like to be on the receiving end of such behavior and consider a more empathetic way of engaging with others.
We live in a diverse and beautiful world. One of the challenges for a writer is capturing that diversity and beauty in an authentic way. Growing up, I would have loved to have read a book with a gay protagonist who looked, felt, and acted like me, but that never happened. Heteronormative stories have always dominated our reading lists and book collections. This is changing, with more diverse perspectives being welcomed and embraced, but it would be foolish of us to think that we have somehow dismantled the heteropatriarchy altogether. We are very far from that.
I think one of the most amazing things about being human is how different we all are from one another. Imagine a world where we all thought and acted the same way and did the same things. That would be horrifying! A part of our individual journeys is understanding the uniqueness we bring to the table and using that in a way that benefits others and our environment. Alé, the protagonist of Deficient, has to summon the courage to do this, even though he is being constantly reminded of his flaws and what he lacks. Alé’s internal conflict—the essence of what Deficient is about—is that he has internalized the belief that being a Deficient makes him inferior to accelerated students. Until he can overcome that flawed worldview, he won’t be able to do much of anything, let alone solve a murder mystery and save his best friend’s life.
All humans experience adversity at different points in their lives and to different degrees, whether this is in our homes, schools, communities, religions, or workplaces. I think that is why many of us can relate to the themes of Deficient and Alé’s experience of feeling powerless in a world dominated by the powerful, particularly during our youth. I wanted Alé to represent anyone struggling to make sense of growing up in a world that can be cruel and unfair—someone who looks everywhere but inside for the answers until inside becomes the only place left for discovery.
I’m not sure if I handled that situation the right way, and I’ll pick the brains of experienced teachers like Tara and her colleagues for advice on how to best do this going forward. Her students are in the best of hands, and they’ll learn some important life lessons in the year they have with her. I continue to learn too, and this experience has helped me see how Deficient can be used as a teaching tool to challenge flawed and harmful worldviews. This opens so many new and exciting layers of a project that felt “complete” when it was published a few months ago. There is so much more to be done.
***
This is my last blog entry of 2023. I hope you liked it! Feel free to comment and share your thoughts. I don’t tend to write much poetry, but one came into creation as I was writing this blog, and I thought I’d share it below. See you again in 2024!
***
Dazzle
by Michael Solis
Hello again, homophobia, you familiar bastard you!
After many, many years, we meet again.
You may not recognize me
As I am older now
And our faces must blur with time.
But since childhood, I’ve faced you on more than one occasion.
I spent a lot of time running from you, even though you were everywhere.
At the dinner table.
In the hallways.
In the babbling mouths of priests and politicians.
Even in what you censored, silenced, and took away.
I exited a closet and thought that would kill you.
But you lived.
I wrote a master’s thesis on you. In Spanish, because it felt badass to do it in another language.
But you lived.
I stabbed you with a sword, shot you up with arrows, and cut off your head for good measure.
But you lived.
You kept coming back to life like some green-skinned, gaping-eyed zombie
Leaving behind a trail of toxic slime wherever you went.
Like a venomous slug.
I still know adults—very accomplished adults—who quake in their Air Jordans at the thought of you.
And I know kids—really amazing kids—who feel they need to bow down to you because you are so scary and it’s easier to fear.
But you’re not scary.
You make others feel weak because you are weak.
You make others feel like nothing because you are nothing.
You make others feel like they do not belong because you feed on pain, self-loathing, and insecurity.
But it is you who does not belong.
So I cast you away in the best way I know.
Not with an axe or bow or sword
But with words.
A magic spell.
I will share it with as many people who can read or listen
And chant it before a cauldron
That came to a boil long before I was born
Until, one day, we’ll study your memory in The Book of Ancient Monsters
And laugh as we wonder
How a dull old man in an ugly gray suit
Thought he could possibly outshine us.
A dazzle of unicorns.
[…] Countering homophobia with Deficient […]