Tobias has seen lots of bad writing of trans characters. Here, he gives a guide to writing strong, dynamic ones.
I’ve had a few inquiries recently into how to write trans characters, so in the interest of not retyping the same spiel another half dozen times, I’m consolidating and publishing my thoughts, using examples from my own writing.
Different media will provide different restrictions on how much subtext can be employed: one-page character descriptions in RPGs require more bluntness due to space constraints than a novel which has room for the character to be introduced in ways that more smoothly integrate their trans status than, “Josephine always knew she was a woman and ran away so she could start a new life,” or any other one-sentence summary. Keep the idiosyncrasies of your format in mind when reading the rest of this guide.
Most of the angst writers feel in creating minority characters is focused on how to handle stereotypes, and the related question of how important their minority status should be to the character’s backstory. We can look at the reveal of the character’s trans status on a scale from only-in-the-author’s-mind, to Hi-I’m-a-trans-person-nice-to-meet-you; Dumbledore would fall close to the former on the (related) homosexuality scale, while Queer Eye for the Straight Guy‘s title, which leaves no room for ambiguity, would put it well on the latter side. Most trans characters fall somewhere in the middle, where the big reveal is used as a plot point. While coming out can be one of the deepest emotional moments in our lives and can have consequences that are ripe for the conflict that drives stories, it’s become a cliche, and I would like to see more writers explore other points on that line. Why not have a character who takes so much pride in – or is so self-conscious about – being trans that they loudly announce it to all and sundry? Or a character for whom their trans status is an incidental part of their lives, and so it’s only mentioned in passing in the POV chapter without anyone else learning about it?
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To look at stereotypes more generally, I am a firm believer that almost any sin can be forgiven with solid characterization, because when your stereotype becomes a well-written person then they are no longer a stereotype. Calls to avoid stereotyping can be counterproductive in themselves when they push against the idea that any of us are “like that,” especially when “that” is a stigmatized subgroup. Not all trans women are drug users, sex workers, and/or HIV positive, but many are, including friends of mine, and there is nothing wrong with the women who are those things. “They” work in the public health department helping run studies for trans women; staff community centers that offer, among other things, support groups and a clothing exchange so homeless trans people can borrow a nice outfit for job interviews; and win lawsuits against the police department for brutality. In San Francisco survival sex is the default for trans women in the Tenderloin, and pretending “those people” don’t exist is terrible. (That said, if you’re writing about “t***** hookers” like a Bay Area tourist attraction, you’re also being terrible and I would really appreciate it if you would stop.)
Writing complex trans characters isn’t any different from writing complex cis characters in most respects. We all have interests and idiosyncrasies, backstories and dreams, that distinguish us from one another and form the backbone for stories. That said, getting into the head of a trans person can be legitimately difficult. For example, the dysphoria we experience doesn’t translate easily. When I explain it I use the metaphor of phantom limb syndrome: the shape your mind expects your body to be doesn’t match what it actually is. While we don’t experience the pain of nonexistent nails cutting into nonexistent palms, my audiences have been able to make the connection, and grok some of the desperation behind transition. In the interest of helping bridge other psychological gaps, I’m going to devote the rest of this post to examples of characters I’ve written whose trans status played into their story arcs in ways I haven’t seen cis writers explore, but that are all based on ways I’ve coped with being trans at different points in my life.
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The first character comes from a game of Changeling: The Lost, part of the World of Darkness line of roleplaying settings. He’s a trans man who was kidnapped by Lovecraftian horrors (the True Fae, if you’re familiar with Changeling) when he tried to commit suicide after a decade and a half of being closeted. During his abduction his kidnapper wooed him into cooperating by promising him the body and peace of mind he’d always craved, which naturally came with a few ugly twists, such as being tricked into killing and cooking other people. When he escaped, he went stealth – living full-time as male without telling anyone but his girlfriend he was trans – and basically started life over again. The doppelgänger his kidnapper left behind to fill in for him is a cis woman because she’s supposed to represent the him that his family always thought they wanted, and he’s happy – at least for a while – to let her have his old life. Part of his character arc has been reconciling the choices he’s made to run from his problems with the courage he’s learning from battling the eldritch horrors he’s coming up against. The fact that he’s trans plays into his story in a big way, but he’s other things, too, and his trans status is integrated into those larger themes.
The final two examples are from a series of erotic short stories I’ve been co-writing with two friends. One of the characters is the somewhat immature daughter of a wealthy businessman who, up until the story she’s in, refused to do anything sexual below her waist, even with her fiancé. It turns out that her family had supported her in transitioning, but had tried to push her into bottom surgery she didn’t want, and the constant arguing and shaming had left her afraid of exposing herself to anyone else. I wrote her as a play on the “deception” narrative that was told from the trans person’s point of view, because we do sometimes keep our status a secret in ways that aren’t kind to the partners in our lives, and the motivations behind that decision are worth exploring. I haven’t tried going stealth, but I definitely have a mentality where I would feel more comfortable unilaterally pleasuring a stranger than giving them the chance to reciprocate.
On the other end of the self-consciousness spectrum, the same erotica series also features a trans male drug lord who is perfectly happy to let the rumors around his trans status fly. He enforces shamelessness onto himself and turns it into a weapon that he uses to catch others off guard. Being trans has become just another power play for him.
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Just like any population, we have as many variations as we have individuals. Most of us do fit at least one stereotype, and including that is fine as long as you wrap it in context and throw it under the tree with a pile of other narrative presents. Don’t make us into model minorities out of a sense of guilt, or refrain from writing about us altogether because you’re afraid you’ll offend someone. Stereotypes lose their offensive potency when they’re surrounded by alternate narratives. Fight lousy quality with both good quality and quantity, and I’ll try to do my part in recommending your work.
You can find more of Tobias’s work at his daily blog, The Queer-A-Day Project, in which he writes a short profile of a different member of the queer community every day.
—Photo Nana B. Agyel/Flickr