We recently connected with Brandon Mead and have shared our conversation below.
Brandon, so good to have you with us today. We’ve got so much planned, so let’s jump right into it. We live in such a diverse world, and in many ways the world is getting better and more understanding but it’s far from perfect. There are so many times where folks find themselves in rooms or situations where they are the only ones that look like them – that might mean being the only woman of color in the room or the only person who grew up in a certain environment etc. Can you talk to us about how you’ve managed to thrive even in situations where you were the only one in the room?
So when we’re talking about being the only one in the room that looks a certain way, that brings me right back to high school. I was in small-town Florida living near a tropical beach but wearing black hoodies and trace amounts of glitter on my eyelids, probably resting my hand on my hip too much. That’s typically not the sort of behavior that gets rewarded in a town that isn’t on the map. Not when it has more churches than therapists, more anti-abortion billboards than activities for teenagers.
I had my fair share of bullies living there, ones that now often find their way into my short fiction, usually on the other end of some queer person’s revenge plot. It’s sort of a joke in my weekly writing group, the common theme of LGBTQ+ characters who feel isolated and alone, letting their differences ultimately become their strength.
In that way, I think a good portion of my work is some mix of autobiography and pure fiction. But in reality, my version of revenge is just living authentically and unapologetically. It’s using that time where I felt like the only one in the room to my advantage. Learning how to exist as myself is how I discovered my narrative voice and for that reason, I value the rare times even now that I find myself the only visibly queer person in a space. In my experience, safety comes first, but inspiration often blooms from discomfort.
Appreciate the insights and wisdom. Before we dig deeper and ask you about the skills that matter and more, maybe you can tell our readers about yourself?
I’m a Best of the Net nominated bathtub writer, intermittent poet, and cat dad who calls the Pacific Northwest home after living my whole Nomi Malone fantasy in Las Vegas, Nevada. My work has appeared in journals such as Taco Bell Quarterly, Vagabonds, and 86 Logic while my live readings have been featured at a variety of exhibitions and festivals. I’m grateful to have been the recipient of support from the Nevada Arts Council, the Las Vegas Writing Conference, Hugo House, and the Writers of Central Florida.
A reader for Black Mountain Institute’s literary journal Witness, I have been featured on 52 Love, Dime Grinds, Drinking with Authors, and have participated and presented at the Association of Writers and Writing Programs (AWP) Conference.
As a host and facilitator for open mics and workshops in the Seattle area, I also head the book promotion account Queer Bewks, which spotlights LGBTQIA+ stories and creators and am the founder of Wayward Pansy Press, producing the stand-out title The Celebrate Pride Coloring Book.
In addition to writing as myself, I also publish more romantic and steamy queer-centric books under a pen name.
There is so much advice out there about all the different skills and qualities folks need to develop in order to succeed in today’s highly competitive environment and often it can feel overwhelming. So, if we had to break it down to just the three that matter most, which three skills or qualities would you focus on?
1. Self-confidence
I don’t think I developed real confidence, at least in my writing, until I took a chance and started reading my stories at open mics nights. That was in Orlando with just an absolute mixed bag of writers and storytellers. I loved watching someone new step on stage and never knowing what was about to come out of their mouth.
Some of these writers were so fearless, it motivated me to share whatever I was working on every week. To see what sort of reaction I would get from the crowd. Every laugh or gasp, every snap and clap, told me to keep going. Keep writing. I’d originally felt like I’d discovered my voice late in life, but so many of the talented performers I grew to love there were decades older than me. It made me realize, I still had time.
Sharing a stage with them and being asked to take my work to art gallery openings, showcases, and other venues, showed me I really did have something. I was creating work that other people appreciated. It motivated me to take my words to critique groups, to get feedback beyond the support coming from a live audience. To let the words I adored be chopped up and rearranged outside of the Notes app on my phone. To kill my occasional “darling”, as they say.
Critique groups brought me to attending writer’s conferences. And being an attendee turned into being asked to join panels and lead workshops. At AWP this year (Association of Writers and Writing Programs) there were so many young queer writers, it was incredible to see. I saw myself in them. Heard myself in their questions. One of my favorite things is to support other storytellers, especially when they’re starting out and need someone to tell them to keep going.
Being there reminded me that not too long ago I was in a place where I wasn’t sure whether writing was something I wanted to pursue, but I’m glad I did. Stepping on that open mic stage the first time changed the course of my entire life. The sound of applause built-up my self-esteem and propelled me to evolve.
I think what I’ve realized, as I continue to weave my way through the literary world, is that confidence requires just as much acceptance as it does growth.
2. Taking Risks
There’s nothing like heartbreak to help you rediscover who you are. Emotional distress is such a catalyst to finding yourself in a new inspiring place, whether that be literal or figurative. The last time a man broke my heart I quit my job and moved to a new city. I arrived in Las Vegas with nothing aside from a bright yellow hatchback packed to the brim with my clothes, full notebooks, and two cat passengers.
Not knowing how I would make money and without any friends or family there, I was completely starting over. But what I found on solo hikes in Red Rock Canyon and my new job on The Strip, was adventure. I met some of the most interesting people I’ve ever encountered in my life and unearthed endless material.
When I left Orlando after living in Florida the majority of my life, people asked what I was hoping to find out west. What kind of safety net did I have in place if everything fell through? Truth was, I didn’t.
And while I lived in a shoebox of an apartment surviving on food from a vegan meal prep side gig, I would not trade that time in my life for anything. It was a struggle but taking that risk proved to me I could do it. That despite world-shattering heartbreak, I could not only survive but discover a stronger version of myself.
I think about those years in the desert a lot when I’m writing. When I hear a voice come through excited to tell offbeat stories about the secret underground bathrooms in Caesar’s Palace or why the Cosmopolitan Hotel smells the way it does.
Making that move and taking that risk inspired me to host my own open mic when I moved to Seattle a few years ago. It also gave me the courage to take a page out of A. N. Roquelaure’s (aka Anne Rice) book and submit my queer erotica (which is entirely inspired by Edgar Allan Poe stories) to a publisher. Because why not?
I don’t think if I’d been told back in 2016–when that bad break-up motivated me to attend my first open mic and eventually head west–that I would end up accomplishing so much, I would have believed it. It’s a challenge to be grateful for pain, but in this instance, I’m glad it happened. Now I’m the kind of person who isn’t afraid to end a chapter when it’s done and move on to the next.
3. Self-care
I call myself a “bathtub writer” and often people ask me what exactly that means. The big reveal is that it isn’t a joke, I mean this sincerely. The majority of my stuff is written from under a layer of bubbles, my phone hovering dangerously above approximately 40 gallons of warm water. To me, no matter what city I’m in, a bathtub is where the world starts to make more sense.
It’s been important for me to learn how to let myself work in a place and at a pace that is comfortable. To not worry about what others are accomplishing and whether or not they’re doing it more quickly. It’s funny to say, but sometimes ignoring other people is the ultimate self-care. Just putting those blinders on and only worrying about your own work. There’s really nothing like comparison to kill creativity.
The other inspiration killer is putting pressure on myself to crank out content for content’s sake. That sort of self-enforcement puts me at an absolute standstill. My love for the written word depletes on a harsh deadline, but in publishing, they are inevitable. So when I am facing one of those dreaded deadlines, my answer is hot water and bubbles. If you can, I highly suggest trying out being a sea creature who answers emails and writes novels from the tub.
Is there a particular challenge you are currently facing?
I think the challenge I’m processing through right now is the perception of what it means to be a creative person. We act like writing books is all sitting behind a computer, but really so much of it is just experiencing the world.
For me, sometimes that means hiking in the sun somewhere with plants I’ve never seen or touched before. Sometimes it’s drinking the best G&T I’ve ever had at a drag show where a queen pretends to snort Parmesan cheese from a shaker because the stage is actually just the hardwood floor between tables at a pizza place (and tipping accordingly, of course). Other times, it’s me sitting on the couch trying to figure out what to have for dinner and connecting to some random memory in my head about the cabbage soup diet. I’m sure that last example sounds absolutely boring, but that’s the point. It’s sometimes boring, but equally important. We construct compelling narratives by living real life.
For a lot of people, being a creator looks like paying bills and going to a day job and trying to maintain some sort of a social life. It’s capturing and recording the little moments that keeps creativity alive. Filtering someone forgetting to turn off the coffee pot in the office into something precious. Words that will make someone laugh or cry when they read them. Every mundane moment is valuable when the time does come to concentrate on the screen and breathe real life into art.
I think it’s also important to sometimes go to uncomfortable places. Take that call. Text back. For the plot, as they say. As an example, I wouldn’t have had a lot of the material for the queer erotica I write under my semi-secret pen name had it not been for saying yes to certain opportunities. I won’t say too much about that, but I will say the best way to learn about what goes on in the darkness of the back rooms is to find out for yourself. (Please feel free to apply that to whatever you are working on. You don’t have to go to the back rooms, unless you want to.)
The same goes for the short fiction, novels, and personal essays I write under my own name. Even when an experience is bad, especially when it’s bad, I always remind myself that–not unlike the terrible heartbreak that was the catalyst to me moving completely across the country and finding my voice–given some time, it’s going to make a fantastic story.
Contact Info:
- Website: www.fiercestorytelling.com
- Instagram: fiercestorytelling
- Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/fiercestorytelling
- Twitter: fiercestories
