I’m cishet and I write queer characters, but not without help.

rainbow bookYeah, so I’m cisgender, which means that a doctor looked at my new-born bits and said, “It’s a girl,” and when I grew up I said, “Good guess, Doc.” I’m also heterosexual, which means I am romantically and sexually attracted to men. Right, so we got those boring details about me out of the way.

What isn’t tedious is that I have a truly amazing circle of friends. *my binary-straight self waves to all my peeps who reside all over the sexual orientation and gender spectrums* For this I am blessed because my perspective of the world is quite vast, and being a lover of diversity, it’s a wee bit o’ heaven for me. I like learning about people and listening to their points of view. It’s fascinating to hear what we have in common and what makes us unique. Unfortunately, it also can be heartbreaking when I witness the prejudice, fear, and hurt my friends go through. That makes me very Hulk-smashy and has led me to my go-to expression: Cishet people suck.

Now, before you go all #NotAllCishetPeople, maybe take a breath and think for a second. Really think. Maybe one’s degree of suckage has not been extreme, but I bet we can find a time in our lives when we’ve said, “That’s so gay,” even if we were talking about a thing and not a person. And we can’t even justify that as “gay meaning lame,” because then we’re insulting people like me who have mobility issues. I often say, “That’s not lame—I am!” We also have used gender as an insult, as in, “You run like a girl,” and decide to misgender people based on their interests, like,  “You like football? You’re one of the guys!” (Yeah, no, I’m not a guy. I just like football.) Worse yet, we justify our solidarity by our genitals, saying, “This group is for everyone with a vagina,” meaning, cisgender women only.

Even when we’re trying to be inclusive of people on other parts of the sexual orientation and gender spectrum, we can muck it up. While it’s okay to politely take someone aside and ask them what pronoun they use, it’s not okay to ask them about genital surgery or any other wholly private and non-of-your-are-you-kidding-me business. That’s super ungood. Bombarding someone with questions doesn’t work. People who identify as queer or with the LGBTQIA2 acronym are not here for the sole purpose of educating us. Sometimes they just want to hang, see a movie, and eat cupcakes with us. You know, just “doing life stuff” as our friends.

I am lucky that my best friend is an educator, though, I won’t lie. She teaches me how not to be so sucky. But still, that’s not what we talk about 24/7. We mostly discuss our lives and act silly. Like BFFs do.

In my circle of friends, I am teased (by my BFF) that I am the token cishet. It’s kinda true! As immersed as I am in my peep’s lives, I still know that there is so much I don’t know about what it’s like to be them on a daily basis. When I hear about how holding a partner’s hand in public can be dangerous, I’m gobsmacked. How does that feel on the inside? Or how other friends cannot walk about peaceably downtown without getting verbally assaulted or having the threat of physical/sexual assault as an immediate possibility. . . all because of their gender. As a cis woman, I know what that feels like for me, so I just multiply that by ten billion and then I imagine that’s what being transgender or non-binary is like. It hurts that this is a reality. Nobody should live in fear like that.

Because there are nuances I probably won’t get no matter how much I try to understand, as a writer I cannot publish even a short story without having it vetted. The beta readers for Life in the ’Cosm were a diverse group of people. Even though I wrote about aliens and not life on Earth, I still wanted to avoid writing something where readers could scream, “BURN IT TO THE GROUND!” Yes, my characters are not perfect, personality-wise, because I have yet to meet a being who is in real life, but as far as queer or gender representation, I knew I needed help. Mind you, I was so panicky about being a douchecanoe, my BFF said over and over, “It’s fine. It’s sci-fi. Just have fun with it!”

Oh yeah, being the anxious cishet person who doesn’t want to insult people can also be oppressive. If you accidentally misgender someone, for example, don’t put on a Shakespearean tragedy-like display about how horrible a person you are. Just use the correct pronoun, maybe pop in a “sorry”, and then slow down your brain to make sure you don’t do that again. Making a scene just creates a really awkward situation. *cough*

Back to writing stuff. I have been told that’s it’s okay for cishet authors to include queer and gender-fabulous characters in their stories. In fact, it’s encouraged! The big thing is just to make the characters part of the story, and maybe just don’t include only one queer person who dies . . . like, in every single story you write. That’s not so great. Having your work read by real-life people who you are trying to represent will improve the quality of your characters. I say this especially about transgender characters, because there is glaring misrepresentation of trans people on TV and in stories. If your work has trans characters in it, then I do recommend hiring my BFF as a sensitivity editor. She’ll read your manuscript and tell you what tropes to avoid and how to write queer and trans characters more realistically. Here’s a link to her website.

So, yeah, I don’t want to be a cishet person who sucks. I think there are others like me, too. Many folks my age just didn’t grow up with enough exposure, so we’re sorta ignorant. However, there is a cure for ignorance. Just learn a thing! Then learn another thing! Keep going like that, and you’ll be a better, more understanding person. Even still, don’t fly that ship alone. When you write something, get yourself a sensitivity editor or at least sensitivity beta readers. Writing takes a lot of time and effort, and if you cover all bases with having your manuscript vetted, the more people will enjoy your stories.

I will continue to include diversity in my stories because if it exists on Earth, it would be silly not to include it in other galaxies. Just like cake. It would be silly not to include cake in other galaxies. All sorts of people and all sorts of cake make a galaxy a cool place to live.



cgauthorCait Gordon is the author of Life in the ’Cosm, a comedic space opera where boy meets girl, but girl doesn’t notice boy because she’s sharing a body with another boy. She is also the creator and editor of the Spoonie Authors Network. You can read more about Cait on her Website and follow her on Facebook and Twitter.

Using ‘they’ as a singular pronoun


When I was in school and even early on in my career as a technical writer, using they as a singular pronoun meant being tied to the rack or put in the stocks until you chose he or she instead. As a result, my brain was conditioned to think in a horribly binary way. Many cisgender people around my age or older were taught these things. (Cisgender means you identify as the gender some random doctor assigned you at birth.)

Fast forward to today. Today is better. That’s why I’ve fast-forwarded here. Now I understand the world is filled with all sorts of people made in all sorts of wonderful ways. There is no strict binary in the human race; gender is actually a spectrum. Our planet also has people who are gender-fluid, non-binary, or agender. These folks can use some super cool pronouns, too,  like xie/xir/xem or zie/zir/zirs/zirself (there are even more than these!). Many people also use they/them in the singular form.

How hard is it for cis folks to get used to a singular they?

In my book, Life in the ‘Cosm, there is a race of people who generally celebrate the vast spectrum of gender, without focusing on it to the point of discrimination. (It’s a dream of mine to live in a world where we appreciate each other for who we are, sans prejudice based on gender.) The name if this race is the Oanyee, which is based on the Polish word, oni, meaning, they. In ‘Cosm we meet a spaceship captain named Ash Hearth, who is an Oanyee. Whenever I write a pronoun for Ash, it’s they or them or their.

So, how hard is it to get used to using they for a single person? Well, my 70something mother said to me, “At first I had difficulty with the they pronoun but in no time I knew it meant Ash!”

In no time. That’s pretty much how long it takes to get used to calling people by the correct pronoun, according to Ma. 😀

My personal experience

While I was writing the first draft of ‘Cosm, a dear friend came out as gender-fluid. Which kinda irked me because I thought I’d invented gender-fluidity. (Oh, Cait, you’re cute, but so stoopid at times.) My friend changed their pronouns to they/them/their. Since then, I’ve had the pleasure of knowing several other lovely peeps in my life who are also non-binary. They/them/their happen to be their pronouns, too.

So, I use those pronouns when addressing or referring to them. Do I ever slip? Yes, yes, I do. And not out of malice, but from being overly-conditioned to think in a binary fashion. The key is that I don’t freak out when I do make a mistake, because creating a scene of hysterical apologies is even worse for the other person. I just continue on using the correct pronoun and do my best to treat people with dignity and kindness.

The trick to getting the pronouns correct?

My BFF The Brain taught me, “Practice, practice, practice.” And that’s what I do. I slow down my thought process to remember use the correct pronoun. To me, using the right pronoun is like wanting to pronounce someone’s name properly. It’s a respect thing.

Let’s give people the R-E-S-P-E-C-T they deserve. And if you didn’t sing those letters out in your head, I don’t want to know you. (Just kidding, you’re lovely.)



Cait Gordon is the author of Life in the ’Cosm, published by Renaissance PressAvailable now