My, my, what my little post has wrought....

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Edited slightly, to eliminate some rather embarrassing errors your gentle writer has found...

Well, it does seem that I made my debut here with a bang, did I not? The massive response to my debut blog entry, on the supposed dearth of disabled protagonists in TG fiction, was completely unexpected. I thank those of you who responded, and especially those inspired to write (such as Bailey Summers and Raff01). This tells me I've chosen the right corner of the Internet in which to kick back and relax.

Some of you have no doubt wondered why I don't attempt such a story myself.

Well, I have, though I can't say I'm satisfied with the result. I wrote an SRU story (I have a soft spot in my heart for that crusty old wizard) in which the Wizard grants a disabled man's desire to be the little girl he never got to be. That seems to be a recurring theme in the stories I've attempted--my protagonists are children, or adults who regress to that age, because for me it's a vicarious way of experiencing the little-girlhood I was never able to have.

It's a tricky sub-genre, to be sure, as there can be no sex, or even the suggestion of sex, for obvious reasons. (Unless one is writing a child-abuse scene, as Little Katie had done in the concluding novel of her "God Bless The Child" trilogy--and it can be potential minefield if done wrong, to say the least.) Meaning I've already lost the segment of potential readers who like the more erotic TG fiction.

I even wrote TG fiction in high school, which I'm sure caused my English teacher to raise an eyebrow. (I am grateful he chose not to read it to the class, as at that time, only a handful of people knew I had any transgender inclinations at all). My senior year I started to develop a "to hell with them all" attitude--I'd already been put through all manner of hell by bullies, and I would soon be gone anyway. What more could they do?

I became bold enough to show the TG side of myself, if in a highly veiled fashion (I did such things as bring my crocheting to school during a six-week teachers' strike. A timid act of defiance, I admit, but defiance nonetheless.) Hence, my story, which concerned a depressed artist and closet transgendered person who, while attempting to commit suicide, unintentionally rams his car into an oncoming vehicle containing a family with a six-year-old daughter.

He awakens to find himself in the hospital--in that same little girl's body. At first he's overjoyed that his dream has finally come true, but in my attempt at a Twilight Zone-type twist, the accident had paralyzed the little girl's body for life. Further, he would have to live with the guilt of having killed the "real" little girl, and would be unable to tell anyone.

I felt compelled to tack on that little moral to make it more palatable to the mainstream (in this case, my teacher, who was about as "mainstream" as one could get) but I'd always ached to do a story of a child who's allowed to revel in her transgenderedness without such moralistic elements. That story still waits to be written.

I have no shortage of ideas. But ideas are to stories what blueprints are to a house; they're only the first step. It's just in my case, the construction workers are on strike--I don't know how to turn an *idea* into a workable, *plausible* story (even a story with magical elements has to follow rules of logic). I know how to start a story, but not how to end one.

One idea in particular has nagged at me for years, as it takes place in one of my favorite historical eras, the Roaring Twenties (specifically, 1920s Berlin) and includes references to Magnus Hirschfeld and his Institut fá¼r SexualwiáŸenschaft (the Institute for Sexual Science, in English. I could simply have said that, I suppose, but I wanted to show off my meager German a bit).

Let's start with a woman who's something of a rebel, avant-garde for her time. She's a cabaret performer of so-so talent who runs off to Paris just after the First World War. She has a child, a boy, the product of a one-night stand, that she dotes on--and who adamantly insists that he is in fact a girl.

Because the mother *is* unconventional, she's unfazed, treating her child like the girl he insists he is, and dressing him accordingly. But as the child gets older, she grows more agitated, knowing that eventually, puberty will commence, and what her mother told her would happen as a result. Through one of her nightclub contacts, the mother hears of Hirschfeld's clinic in Berlin, meaning that the child would be one of his first transgendered patients, even before Lili Elbe.

We're thrust into the atmosphere of the city in that time period, about the time everything is about to all come crashing down. I thought it might be interesting to have the child be an eyewitness to the destruction of the clinic by the Nazis. but that might be a bit much.

Two things stopped me--the sheer mountain of research the story would require, and as always, the lack of what I considered a suitable ending. I toyed with the idea of making the child's fate uncertain, but realized I couldn't do that to the reader.

I also don't know if it would be historically plausible, given that the character is a child. Sex-reassignment surgery was still highly experimental and primitive, and whether such a procedure would have been done on a child is highly doubtful.

Yet it's still too good an idea to completely throw away. Therein lies my dilemma.

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