Trying something new this month, as a way of building up to
the March 24th release of Gypsy’s Rogue. Today’s topic is motivation
and in this case, what inspired Gypsy’s Rogue. Gypsy first popped into my head
almost four years ago, on a road trip along the back roads of rural Iowa and up
into rural Minnesota. In fact, in the opening scene of Gypsy’s Rogue as Gypsy
and Fester, their dog, were bouncing along the gravel road with the radio
turned up on their way back to the farm Gypsy grew up in, the songs that are referenced in that scene
are the same songs that were playing on the radio in my truck when Gypsy first
spoke up, and through the breed of dog is different, Fester was inspired by one
of my own beloved pets.
So many times, when I’m out there on the back roads, I have a notebook, pens, a camera, even some old comforters and pillows for laying out in the bed of the truck when I want to cloud watch. Those are the kind of lazy days I love and usually the kind that have inspired stories, characters, poetry and even drawings.
So much of my life in rural Iowa is reflected in Gypsy’s
Rogue, from the cat tails beside the pond where I fish, to the swap meets where
Gypsy and Rogue go to stock up their farms, to the overall feel and description
of farm country, the people, Main Street of the nearest town, and the way
people come together to help one another when they’re in need.
There were moments though, when writing the story got
extremely difficult. Their views on religion, for one, and the things they had experienced
in their dealings with pastors or preachers or even over zealous church folks
were a direct reflection on my own experiences growing up and into adulthood.
Gyspy identifies as gender fluid, as I myself do, though I have not adapted the
They/Them pronouns that Gypsy prefers. Instead, to many people, I am ‘Blue’ and
‘Blue’ doesn’t identify as he or she, just ‘Blue,’ and yes, some days like
Gypsy I prefer to dress masculine and my view of myself in my mind’s eye is
very different from looking in the mirror, which can be startling at times.
Sometimes, when I see the female body I live in, I have this jarring moment of ‘oh,’
and a feeling of disappointment because my mind and the mirror don’t match. Of
course, there are other days when I enjoy pulling on the dresses and the heels,
dolling up my hair, putting on a little makeup and wanting to feel pretty and
confident in my own skin. When I was younger, I shunned that half, buried it
under thick layers and baggy tops, thinking I had to be one or the other, but
the one great thing about getting older is learning that I don’t have to answer
to anyone but myself. Writing Gypsy’s Rogue
has allowed me to verbalize some of those feelings for the first time in my
life and more freely express that part of myself.
In addition, Rogue’s pansexuality is also another reflection
of me and not being hung up on gender when it comes to love and relationships.
Like Rogue says in the book ‘I like who I like,’ bottom line, and as he spills
out on the page, it is very clear to see that he refuses to conform or change
to fit anyone else, loves passionately, and is as loyal as the day is long to
people who have earned his love, trust and loyalty, much like me.
The downtown Chattanooga scene, meeting the band and their
dog, Ultra Plague Dog 2000, wandering the city with them that first night in
town, that was my experience of my first night in Chatt, exploring downtown and
meeting those three and their dog who’d just hopped off a train from New
Mexico. I’d just hopped off a bus from Massachusetts, and wandering around,
sharing experiences and stories of our adventures, made the whole experience a
lot less terrifying.
I have to admit, there were moments when I was afraid I wouldn’t
finish their story. For about nine months they silently sat in the three
seasons porch scene, content to enjoy each other’s presence and completely
ignore me. My own fault, really, for trying to storyboard out the ending to something
that was already flowing naturally. Once the storyboard went in the fire pit,
they broke out the fudge stripped cookies and marshmallows (my favorite way to
make S’mores, by the way) and came alive again.
It’s my hope that when Gypsy’s Rogue is released, their
struggle, their pain, their laughter, their triumphs, and their belief and
understanding of who and what family is, all come through as clearly for the
ones who read it as it did for me. For now, I’ll say happy Monday, and please
enjoy the little taste of the story below.
Once the introductions
had been made, they stood around awkwardly silent for just a moment, before
Gypsy asked, “What kind of music do you play?”
“A little bit of
everything.” Kiowa said. “Folk, rock, blues, you name it. We’ve played in
Texas, Arizona, anywhere the train tracks go. We just hop on and see where it
takes us.”
They couldn’t help but
smile at that, a reminder of the carnival and the anticipation of each new
town. “That sounds divine, and kind of terrifying. Aren’t you afraid of
slipping and getting sucked under the wheels or something?”
“Naaa,” Kiowa replied. “We only hop
on when it’s just getting started. That way we can boost Plague dog on first
and scramble up beside him. We don’t jump off unless it’s real slow either, can’t
risk bustin’ a leg when you’re out in the middle of nowhere.”
“Yeah, that happened
once and it wasn’t pleasant,” Pete said. “Most times, we just stare out the car
and watch the scenery go past. If a town looks big enough, or interesting
enough, we’ll climb off and check it out. Food sucks though.”
Even as he was saying
that, he was settling down at a nearby table, rummaging through his bag to pull
out a can of sardines and some Popeye spinach. Gypsy fought to suppress the
shudder that went through them as they watched him eat them cold, finally
having to turn away and pet Plague Dog and Fester who’d been nudging at their
leg.
“So is Ziggy’s where
you’re going to play?” They asked as they lavished attention on the dogs.
“We hope. A friend
hooked us up with the name of the owner and said we should check it out, that
he’s always looking for new bands. If it doesn’t work out we’ll play downtown
as long as the cops are cool about not running people off.”
“Why would they run
people off?”
“They don’t like
panhandling,” Lydia supplied. “Well, some don’t, others are cool about it and a
few have even tipped us after listening to us play. It just depends on the city
really. In some
cities there are musicians every other block and no one cares because they love
the music and they see the art in what we do.”
“Wow,” Gypsy said, eying
them. “I’d love to hear you play.”
“Hear that Plague Dog,
looks like we’re gonna do a mini show,” Kiowa said, and in a flash he had his
guitar out and Lydia pulled out her fiddle. Gypsy sat, enraptured as they
played and Pete sung, keeping time with drumsticks he used to tap out a beat on
the table. A few people wandered by, lingered, listened, tossed some money in
the guitar case and swayed along to the beat. Gypsy found themselves swaying
too, eyes closed; letting the music wash their troubles away.
By the time they were
done playing they’d made twenty-three bucks and a bunch of compliments. At one
point, Gypsy’s thoughts flashed to Rogue and they found wondered if he ever did
this when he took his guitar into the city or if he just stuck to playing at the
occasional club.
Pete’s voice was good,
strong and consistent, but they couldn’t help comparing it to the smoky
richness of Rogue’s singing and the way he had of peering into your soul in the
middle of a song. They’d found that out the hard way, one night when he’d put
the Tequila away and was downing whiskeys in between songs, all dark, broody
melodies about the world going away and everything being broken. They recalled
the lone tear that had slid from his eye as he finished the final cord, the
aching plea in his voice to find the thing he’d never had before. They’d wondered
what it was and if he’d tell them if they asked. In the end, they hadn’t. That
would have been getting too personal and there always seemed to be a wall he
tried to keep between them; an invisible barrier he put up whenever Gypsy
inched too close.
“You guys are really
good,” Gypsy praised as they put their instruments away.
Pete licked his lips. “Sure
hope Ziggy thinks so. Guess we’d better keep trying to find the place.”
