GETTING COZY IN A QUEER BOOKSHOP

I like quirk. It’s why I love the Fremont neighborhood in Seattle and why I’ve made it the primary setting for a gay romance novel I’m writing. 

 

Fremont has always been a bigger draw for me than the traditionally gay area of the city, Capitol Hill. While that district may have the gay bars and a larger proportion of gay pedestrians for people watching, the truth is I was done with gay bars by the close of the last century and you can spot queer folks anywhere you go in the Seattle. We really are everywhere. Fremont has a troll under a bridge, a neon Rapunzel peering from a tower at the foot of a drawbridge, huge dinosaur hedges, a rocket ship, a paint-splattered statue of Josef Stalin and, as I discovered just this morning, a piece of the Berlin Wall. It’s also the site of a Google campus and a Solstice Parade which last year featured a fire-breathing dragon, sun gods, a ladybug float and, as always, naked painted cyclists. (Look it up.)

 

Diverse Santas on a 
shopkeeper's roof.

Fremont does everything with a wink, but I like to believe it also ascribes to a higher consciousness. People who weaponize the word woke might risk an aneurysm walking 36^th Street, peeking in store windows and seeing signs that say, “Black Lives Matter,” “Chefs and Restaurants Against Sexual Harassment,” “A Queer + Trans-Owned Workers Coop!” and “We Invite All Humans, Races, Religions, Countries of Origin, Genders, Sexual Orientations into Our Community. Our Doors and Hearts Are Open.” My kind of place.

 

Even more so as of yesterday. Walking with Evan to brunch, I noticed a small white bungalow with bright purple, pink and orange signage on the front: Charlie’s Books and Gifts. When did that spring up? My eyes are always wide open in Fremont and this was an exciting newbie in the hood. I love a bookstore. An independent one is all the better. (I have no desire to give a dime to Amazon.) I stopped and took a pic. “Let’s go in after we eat,” I said. And then my heart skipped a beat. (Much better than suffering an aneurysm.) The stenciled lettering in the front window said: QUEER BOOKS.

 

What?!

 

Gay book boutiques are a rare find these days. When I moved to Los Angeles three decades ago, I’d often pop into A Different Light Bookstore, an LGBT business in West Hollywood. At one point, the store also had locations in The Castro in San Francisco and New York City’s Greenwich Village. By 2011, they were all gone. NYC’s Oscar Wilde Bookshop shuttered in 2009 while Washington, D.C.’s Lambda Rising closed in 2010. The gay bookstore in Vancouver, Little Sister’s, is a sad remnant of what it once was, now relying on sex toys and skimpy gay apparel to stay in business. To open a new bookstore now only seems like a possibility in some fairytale land at the end of a rainbow. Or in Fremont.

 

What started as a sparkly silver “magical disco book cart” that wheeled its way to Seattle markets and Pride events is now a walled haven for queer bibliophiles, going strong after six weeks. It’s a bright space, a swath of pink paint wrapped around the bottom third of the interior walls, the remainder a clean, crisp white. A butcher block topped cart at the entry showcases current queer and queer-friendly reads such as new books by Dolly Parton, Barbra Streisand and The Old Gays. A children’s nook includes stuffed animals, plants on the windowsill and picture books like Big Wig, Perfectly Norman and Bodies are Cool. I browsed general fiction shelves and romance titles while Evan’s eyes were drawn to horror. (I keep telling myself opposites attract.) Near the checkout counter is a bright little banner that says, “YOU BELONG HERE”. Upstairs is a quiet area for reading and writing. What fun it will be to return and write a few scenes of my gay romance on site! 

 

As is the case for most bookstores these days, Charlie’s sells other merchandise, including canvas shopping bags, stickers, cards and t-shirts emblazoned with messages like “Protect Trans Folks” and “Read Banned Queer Books.” 

 

Books and other wares may be ordered online. I tested things out to determine shipping costs, a $20 book costing $6 to ship to Peoria, Illinois to arrive in five business days. It’s a way to back a queer-owned business rather than feeding the ever-ravenous Amazon. I have no ownership in Charlie’s, but sometimes it feels better to spend a little more when it goes to a better place.

 

While browsing, I overheard one of the owners, Charlie Hunts, identified on the store’s website as “a man of trans experience,” telling a queer author that readings and other events are planned for the new year. As part of its own social consciousness, the store is currently decorating a little Christmas tree, each ornament representing a patron’s donation to GenPride Center which seeks to provide housing and services for older LGBTQIA+ residents of Seattle and King County. It’s worth repeating: I love indie bookstores! 

 

I made off with a modest first purchase, First Time for Everything, a gay romance by first-time novelist, Henry Fry. Lots of firsts in that sentence. Here’s hoping Charlie’s lasts.

 

  

DANGLING DELIGHTFULLY

There's a temptation to Google everything. Why let a question go unanswered? Used to be that a random wondering could die in the middle of a conversation.  No lingering harm in not knowing what Karen Valentine is doing these days...or if she's even still alive. And the day could proceed just fine without confirmation about whether Phil and Marlo got divorced. In fact, I'm happy not knowing. Let the talk move on. Googling takes time. It interrupts the flow. Sometimes knowledge is overrated.

I cringe when a date pulls out his iPhone. It breaks the intimacy and serves as a reminder of waiting text messages, tweets to read, Facebook posts to "Like". Pressing personal business.

But I may have actually been turned on when he fished in his pocket and pulled out his device. (Yes, I’m still talking about a cellphone.) With his eyes focused on the teeny screen, I snuck a better look at his arms, his hair and, yes, his body as he typed, "What is a dangling participle?"

This was not your average first date conversation. I’d repressed my odder conversational openers like “I’ve noticed a commendable absence of gum on Seattle sidewalks” and “Don’t you feel sorry for that troll sculpture under the bridge? Doesn’t he deserve a companion?”

It was Evan who brought up annoying spelling errors. He sought a refresher on its versus it’s. I provided a succinct explanation. He then he asked the question du Google. I answered but blanked on an example. And so he searched: What is a dangling participle?

And right then and there, I was his.

If he wanted me, that is.

And maybe he did. We moved beyond grammar—right after I provided a mini-lesson on prepositions. (Yes, he asked. I swear.)

Our first coffee date lasted three hours. Eventually, we spilled out of the café and strolled through parts of Seattle’s peculiar Fremont neighborhood. By the water, he pointed out the house he thought Tom Hanks’ character lived in “Sleepless in Seattle”.

Seriously?! Just the day before, I’d snapped pics of a Seattle beach that I’d thought might have been the place where Meg’s character spied Tom’s character playing with his son. And, yes, elsewhere I’d photographed a couple of seaside homes I surmised could have been where Tom’s character lived. For someone else to bring up a Meg Ryan romantic comedy, well, maybe there is such a thing as fate. And maybe I don’t have to lurk atop the Empire State Building.

He described the peaks of a nearby mountain range as looking like they’d been created by Dr. Seuss. Again, I’d had Seuss on my mind the day before as I snapped shots of colorful churnwazzits and crankbangoozles at Gas Works Park. Elsewhere, I’d spotted a part of a train trestle that had to be the cousin of the infamous Snort from Are You My Mother?

Nobody—NOBODY!—connects with me on these terms.

Smitten, indeed!

What will come of this? Who knows? He’s in Seattle, I’m kinda sorta Vancouver-adjacent. But then Meg’s Annie pined for more in Baltimore and Tom’s Sam suffered insomnia in Seattle. I’d like to believe they found lasting love. Maybe this could turn into something. We’ve got a quirky beginning. Oh, the places we might go!