Evernight instituted this very fun thing on Thursdays called the Coffeehouse. It is on Evernight Reader's Group on Facebook, and it's a bit of a game where authors plop one (or more) of their characters in a coffehouse and see what happens. 500 words is the limit.
Last week I really had quite a lot of fun introducing Julia/n, one of the two main characters from Woman as a Foreign Language. Like the book, also this short intro has quite a few autobiographical bits!
"Julia hoisted her skinny butt to the top of
the tall stool at the bar and made eye contact with Pilar, the beautiful
Peruvian waitress, who smiled and promptly came over, polishing a cup as she
went.
“The usual,” said Julia, and Pilar stared.
“You mean the usual-usual?” she asked. Julia
was a regular, but in the evenings. Julia nodded. Sometimes the day just
started like that.
Pilar fetched a tumbler, poured an inch of Lagavulin
(sixteen years, no ice), and passed it over.
“Bad morning?” she asked.
“Beastly,” said Julia. She licked her lips
so the blood-red lipstick would not stick to the glass and took a good-sized swig.
The first sip of whisky traced a path of fire in her empty innards, which she relished
in full, with her eyes closed.
“Well, that’ll clear your airways for the
day ahead, all right,” said a thoroughly impressed male voice beside her.
Julia opened her eyes and turned to take in
the unwelcome sight of a burly fellow, about fifty, in the rumpled suit of the
travelling salesman on a two-day trip, bald as an egg on top, with a thin comb-over
carefully spread over the shiny, spotted baldness. Perched high on her seat
Julia had no choice but to stare in morbid fascination at the hairdo.
Everything else was a blur.
The egg smirked, called for coffee, and gazed
longingly into Pilar’s spectacular cleavage as she poured him a mug. Julia
sniffed.
“Ar, I’d stick my face in there, all
right,” muttered the egg, chuckling, and Julia nearly spit her single malt
across the bar onto the mirrored wall in front of her. ‘Christ, me too,’ she thought, shooting the guy a sideways glance, ‘but jeez, man, be cool, can’t you?’
“And you?” asked the egg turning briskly towards
Julia again and considering her choice of breakfast beverage. “You look like a
lass who knows how to have fun! What’s your name, babe?”
“Julian,” said Julia, in her deepest, grittiest
voice. “Darling,” she added, staring straight into his eyes with her most captivating
smile.
Pity she was just a tenor. There are days
when a rumbling basso profundo would be more satisfying, but even so, it was
quite the treat to watch his eyebrows shoot up and his chin drop down. He
blinked twice, stammered, then he collected his briefcase in one hand, his
coffee in the other (he spilled half of it in his hurry) and scuttled to the farthest
end of the bar.
“Well, that’s sorted,” said Julia
cheerfully, and Pilar grinned and winked at her, wiping the coffee spill from
the bar. The day was looking up already."
*Julia/n is coming soon (ahem) in Woman as
a Foreign Language. S/he doesn’t always swill 16 yo Lagavulin for breakfast.*
Now that the topic of gender variance is being more openly talked about, there is a tendency to stress the more extreme manifestations of it. But "transgender" does not necessarily mean acute dysphoria and full blown sex-reassignment medical procedures. As always the whole truth is a lot more nuanced than that...
I
wrote Julia/n in honour of all those peole, and they are many, who can
be gender-fluid in their everyday life with relative ease, and with the occasional dash of humour.
The visual inspiration for Julia/n was actually several people, all capable of this wonderful gender fluidity... first of all the beautiful Russian model Daniel/Danila Kovalev, and his almost doppelganger, German model, Paul Boche. And last but by far not least, the delightful Eddie Redmayne as Lili Elbe in "The Danish Girl"
"...Julia felt
impossibly and awkwardly tall, as she invariably did, to this day, in the
vicinity of short people. It was rather embarrassing, in fact. In her youth,
she had worn flat shoes and walked in a contrite, hunched way that had made her
look even more gawky. In time, she had come to the conclusion that flat shoes
in her size bore a sinister resemblance to canoe boats, and that however much
she hunched down, she’d still be six feet
tall in her socks.
“So I’m a tall
lass,” she had finally decided, “well, sue me.” And she had thrown all her
flats out, taught herself to walk in heels like a pro, and started strutting
her stuff. Life had improved quite a bit after that. It was not perfect, but it
had improved."
Woman as a Foreign Language
by Katherine Wyvern
Stay tuned for more teasers and all the news about Woman as a Foreign Language.
What do you do, when the woman you want to be is a man?
