My mom would kick your ass, and she’d do it in high heels without breaking a sweat. The butch women she dated would just stand back and not interfere, knowing full well she could take care of herself. That makes it sound like my mom was some kind of bar brawler. She wasn’t, really. She just didn’t take anyone’s shit, and she stood up for anyone she felt deserved better. Even now, she’ll whack someone with her cane if there’s injustice occurring. She taught me to never back down from a fight. When I was being picked on at school by a girl three times my size, and I was leaving campus at lunch to avoid getting beat up, my mom found out. She was…not happy.
Off we went to the principal, who said I should just, “curl up in a ball and wait for help,” should it come down to me getting beat up. I thought my mom was going to crawl over the desk and throttle him. Instead, she stood up and said, “Let me tell you something. If my kid is going down, she’s taking a piece of that girl with her.”
I was given a pass to leave campus at lunch from that point forward.
Weirdly enough, that’s why I write lesbian fiction. I grew up in a lesbian household that was out and proud, and I was surrounded by so many powerful, smart, kick-ass women. It’s easy for me to populate my books with the kinds of heroines that surrounded me all my life. I write for the community I grew up in, for the community I’m part of, and for the community that supports me. I write for the people who don’t have the kind of network I do, who need to see happy endings and groups of friends they just might find themselves one day.
Brey Willows’ story, A Love Letter to My Creations, is in SapphFic Eclectic, volume 5.
Butterworth Books 