I recently read Ask the Passengers by A.S. King. Before I’d even finished, I knew it was that book for me ― the book I wished I’d had as a teen. The book that would have validated what I was feeling at that time in my life. It would’ve shown me that it was okay to spend time figuring out my sexuality, that I didn’t have to define myself by someone else’s rules. That it was acceptable, even good, to think outside the lines when it comes to identity and where you fit within a community.

YA books with gay characters did exist when I was a teen ― in small numbers ― but I didn’t know that at the time. I cannot even begin to express how happy it makes me that today’s 14-year-olds will get to read Ask the Passengers, and The Miseducation of Cameron Post, and The Difference Between You and Me, and Adaptation, and ― you get the idea.

When I think back to the books I did read in my MG and YA years, there are many that were amazing and that made a huge impression on me. And I can’t help thinking ― what if those books had been about gay characters? I already related strongly to these protagonists, but if they’d been queer I’d have identified with them on an entirely separate level.

So I made a list of some books I’d love to have seen LGBTQ versions of. It’s not that I wish these books themselves had had gay protagonists ― it’s that I wish I could’ve had the experience I had reading these books, and the experience of reading about a queer lead character.

Most of these are books I read growing up, but some of them are newer releases that I’m sure I’d have read as a teen if they’d come out back before I got all old and stuff. And with one or two exceptions, I adore all of these books.

What are the kids’ books you want a gay version of?

I’d love to know which books would make your list. Please let me know in the comments or via Twitter (you can tweet me at @robin_talley)

Here’s my list:

Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret by Judy Blume. Arguably the most iconic teen/preteen book of all. In between shopping for Teenage Softies and being treated like a religious science experiment by the adults in her life, Margaret somehow finds time to develop a crush on a 14-year-old named Moose who cuts her lawn and long for kisses from the big man on her elementary school campus, Philip Leroy. (“It’s not so much that I like Philip as a person, God, but as a boy he’s very handsome.”) Margaret is also captivated by a girl in her class, Laura, who had the misfortune to develop early. A book where Margaret longed for kisses from Laura instead of Philip would’ve been an entirely different book ― and one I’d have worshipped.

Harry Potter (entire series) by J.K. Rowling. What if the close three-way friendship at the center of this series had been that much more complex? What if The Chosen One, the 11-year-old kid anointed to save the world, had another secret to wrestle with? I know, I know ― there’s fanfic for that. But what if it weren’t just on the Internet? What if it right there on the pages of a set of books read by millions of kids around the world? What could that have done for an entire generation?

Twilight by Stephenie Meyer. I didn’t personally relate to the romance in this book (and not just because it was heterosexual), but clearly a lot of people did. In fact, it seems to have defined romantic ideals for a substantial chunk of the reading population, teens and adults alike. What if there were an equally popular book with a gay romance at its center that tapped into readers’ emotions in the same way? How cool would that be?

Anastasia Krupnik by Lois Lowry. Oh, Anastasia, the great love of my childhood. You were such a lovable, bespectacled, intellectual, poetry-writing daughter of hippies. You had crush after crush on such a seemingly random collection of boys (and a lone female P.E. teacher) that I wonder if perhaps you would indeed have grown up to like the ladies. The only thing that would’ve made you better would’ve been if I’d gotten to read a book about you in which that actually happened.

The Westing Game by Ellen Raskin. You know who kicked ass? Turtle Wexler kicked ass. She kicked ass all over Sunset Towers and then some, swinging her braids around, making thousands on the stock market and soaking her toothache in bourbon because she’s just that awesome a chick. And then she grew up to be an awesome lawyer married to an awesome writer who was also that one guy in the book who… wait, what? Turtle married a guy? You’ve got to be kidding me. She was way too cool to be straight.

Anyway, here are a few more YA/MG/classic/beloved/etc. books I’d love to have read gay-protag-versions of:

1. Their Eyes Were Watching God
2. Little Women
3. Gone with the Wind
4. A Northern Light
5. The Babysitters Club
6. Sweet Valley High
7. Fear Street
8. The Book of Three
9. The Great Gatsby
10. The Cat Ate My Gymsuit
11. The White Mountains
12. The Fault in Our Stars
13. The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants

So, what books do you wish there were a gay version of? Tell us in the comments!

Robin Talley’s first book, Lies We Tell Ourselves, will come out in 2014 from Harlequin Teen.

Recently, fellow author and friend, Brigid Kemmerer and I were discussing how we’ve both gotten some reviews on our books that included something along the lines of: “I hadn’t realized there was gay material in this book. I wish I had been warned.”

Warned. Okay. Right-o.

Nevermind everything else in the book that should be a lot more astonishing. There are people who are unhappy because two people of the same gender locked lips.

This was particularly puzzling when it happened to me with HUSHED. When review copies went out, the blurb went along with it. The blurb for HUSHED is pretty straight-forward about what you can expect. A same-sex relationship, murder, abuse, and very dark themes. Overall, not a book you’d give to your ten year old.

A few reviewers wrote back to my editor stating, “I didn’t realize this was a male/male book! I’m not interested in reading it.” This was baffling considering they had the blurb to begin with. No complaints about the hetero sexual content, or the violence and blood and the moral grayness of Archer, the main character. Because his love interest was a guy…that suddenly made the book unreadable.

Don’t get me wrong. While, ideally, everyone in all the world would be a-okay with homosexual relationships presented in our books, television, movies, etc., that isn’t how it is. I understand this as being a (very sad) fact of life. I understand certain people do not have an interest in reading a book with a homosexual character, especially a main protagonist.

What I will loudly protest, however, is slapping a book with a very low rating and bitching about it simply because it had something you, personally, did not like as a topic, likely without even finishing the book. Oh, this has a rape scene? Automatic one star. This has an abusive relationship? One star, I can’t stand that. Gay protagonist? Ugh! One star, I’m not reading this crap.

I mean, really, what?? That’s like going to see a comedy and then complaining that there were too many jokes! It’s one thing to complain about how something was executed, but that isn’t what these people are doing.

I know as a YA and NA author of LGBT fiction, these are just the kinds of hurdles we all face. It’s not a perfect world, and not everyone is as accepting as we’d like them to be, even within the book industry. I will forever appreciate those who step out of their comfort zones to read my books, and I know they exist. I’ve had numerous reviews saying they had never read a gay protagonist in a book before HUSHED, and that they truly enjoyed it and will read more in the future. This statement makes me so ridiculously happy.

The point of this post being: chin up! Writing—or even reviewing, reading, whatever—gay fiction, especially of the YA variety, is not an easy path to travel. But it’s so immensely worth it. A few months back, I received an email from someone who is gay, and lives in a country where that is very much not okay, and they told me they’ve considered suicide at times and that reading SUICIDE WATCH really helped them and touched a chord with how they felt. To think that something I wrote was capable of having that effect on someone was truly amazing.

That, my friends, is a huge perk to doing what I do. And despite the hate and judgment I sometimes get, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

by: Shaun Hutchinson 

Books have come a long way when it comes to gay characters.  About A year ago I read John Donovan’s book, I’ll Get There. It Better Be Worth the Trip.  Written in 1969, it was one of the first, if not the first young adult book to deal with the issue of homosexuality.  When I finished, I found myself underwhelmed.  I’d expected more. The themes were danced around but never addressed.  I’m not even sure if they used the word “gay” at all. But I tried to put it into context, imagining how a kid in 1969 might have reacted. Back then, gay characters were not taken seriously. They were a punch line. However, Donovan’s book, for all its subtlety, was groundbreaking for how honestly it treated its characters.

I’ve read quite a few books that deal with gay themes.  J.H. Trumble’s Don’t Let Me Go, Emily Horner’s A Love Story Starring My Dead Best Friend, A.S. King’s Ask the Passengers, Christopher Rice’s A Density of Souls.  There are a ton more, more than I can list. The thing most of them have in common is that they’re about being gay, meaning the plots featuring gay characters could only happen to those gay characters.  If they weren’t gay, there would be no conflict and no story.

I’m not saying these types of books aren’t necessary. Ask the Passengers is one of my favorite books of all time, and gay readers deserve characters that they can relate to. While straight readers can sympathize with a character who comes out, only gay readers can fully understand the terror of coming out, of the sleepless nights spent wondering if it will make their parents stop loving them. We will always need these stories, but they’re not the only stories to tell. Gay characters should also be allowed to simply…be. To have stories that are universal, that every reader can relate to.

When I was writing FML, I knew that Ben and Coop were going to be Simon’s best friends.  I knew from the beginning that they were going to be a couple and in love.  Ben is crazy and Coop is rational and together they compliment each other perfectly.  However, I didn’t want them to just be sideline characters. I didn’t want stereotypes.  From the moment I began writing them, I knew that they were special and deserved better.

It would have been easy and recognizable to write a “gay couple bullied at a party” storyline and show them overcoming that obstacle.  I could have written that honestly and passionately since I know plenty of gay folk who have been there.  But I wanted readers to see a fully-functioning gay couple who were accepted and liked and didn’t have any gay angst.  It’s important to me for both gay and straight teens to see that being gay doesn’t have to make your entire life about being gay.  I wanted to show readers a couple just like any other couple.  I also wanted to make the conflict in their story something to which everyone—gay, straight, or in between—could relate.  That’s why their story is about the first time they have sex.

The set up is this:  It’s the party of a lifetime.  Simon is convinced he’s going to tell the girl he’s loved for years how he feels about her at this party, which happens to be a barter party.  As Simon is doing this, Ben and Coop have decided that this is the night they’re finally going to do it.  But, of course, nothing goes as planned, and they both begin to examine their relationship, what it means to be together, and whether they’re even ready to take the plunge.

The greatest thing in the world is that I doubt I would have been able to publish this five years ago, despite the fact that the theme of two young people losing their virginity has been the source of movie comedy for as long as I can remember.  The only difference between every John Hughes geek ever written for the screen and Ben and Coop is that Ben and Coop are gay.  But the exploration of what it means to be ready for sex, and how it can change a relationship are ideas that every single young person on the planet can relate to.

When I was writing Ben and Coop, I didn’t feel like I was writing a gay story about gay characters.  I felt like I was writing something universal.  Ben and Coop’s fears are every kid’s fears.  Gay, straight, bi, queer, transgendered, girl, guy, we’re all afraid of the same things.  Ben and Coop could be Betty and Coop or Betty and Kate.  It wouldn’t matter. They’d still be in love and they’d still be trying to figure out whether they’re ready for sex and what it might mean if they’re not.  To me, the biggest victory is that I can write stories about gay characters that aren’t about them being gay.

Almost 45 years after Donovan wrote I’ll Get There. It Better Be Worth the Wait, we’ve come a long way. We can have gay characters in stories without having to resort to coded language to describe their feelings. We can have books about gay teens dealing with gay issues that gay readers can identify with.  Or we can have two gay guys in a book have problems that have nothing at all to do with being gay.  I think Donovan would have approved.

Q: Which is worse, being called a ’nigger’ or a ‘faggot’?

1.

Rehearsal was late that night, 10 pm on a Saturday night in Georgetown. I had only one line in the play, but I didn’t care. It was fun to see the play come together, the actors, and the scenery and the special effects. Prospero and Caliban and Ariel came to life on that haunted island now inhabiting the school auditorium. The sodium yellow lights spilled onto the night-time scape of Georgetown at night, its red brick sidewalks, and antique shops.  I went to the bus stop to await the 32 that would take me home. Though I was alone, I felt grown-up for my 14 years. I was buzzing from the feeling that I was a part of a tribe of creative people. For the most part, I was a loner. So, I had finally found my group. Even though I was one of the few African-American students. So, the night was magical.

The spell was quickly broken, though. A car full of older teenagers (maybe college students) zoomed through Wisconsin Avenue, heading toward the heart of the neighborhood. There were three or four of them in the car. As they sped by, they took a look at me. The majority of them yelled out “Nigger!” as they sped by, in a rush of exhaust, fumes and hatred. One two-syllable word and I was the Other.  The word that my parents had been called in Jim Crow south, the word that been hammered in to me as the ultimate evil word, was flung at me in a cavalier way. I watched as the car faded into the distance. I felt as if I’d been thrown out of the human race.

2.

A year later, I went on a school trip to New York City. There were five of us, plus the teacher in a borrowed SUV. The plan was to do all of the touristy things in the Big Apple: visit museums, the Statue of Liberty, Central Park, etc. At that time, the early 80s, Manhattan was still gritty. Graffiti crawled across any available apartment building wall, underpass, and subway seat. Entering the city, we saw street corners and sidewalks teeming with homeless people. The awake ones pushed shopping carts brimming with odds and ends, as if they were Dickensian tinkers. Others slept beneath mounds of foam and soiled comforters.

The trip is kind of a blur now. I remember the freak show of the Village, with its neon-maned punks and street corner artists. The stately high-rises of Central Park West, where millionaires lived, perched above the city. Late night cafes and restaurants, and bustling crowds. Miles upon miles of endless stores, displaying everything from couture clothing, chocolates, exotic animals and books. Honestly, I thought I had died and gone to Heaven. We caught a Broadway show, and ate in Jewish deli which ignited my love of corned beef.

One evening, we went to a movie, where we saw Annie. After the movie, we decided to stop somewhere for ice cream. In a West Village ice cream shop, I started doing my Carol Burnett impressions. (Burnett starred in the movie). There were a few local kids in the line in front of us.  One of them must have heard me, because he started talking loudly to his friends about “that faggot” in line behind them. I cringed; of course they were talking about me. I just hoped that my friends from school hadn’t heard. I immediately stopped doing my Carol Burnett impressions, but it was too late. As I placed my order, the kid who had called me out stepped far, far away from me, muttering “faggot” beneath his breath. The look on his face devastated me. The word “hatred” doesn’t quite encompass that glare. Not at all. He looked at me as I were a diseased thing, something barely human. After that, my joy at being in the City That Never Sleeps ended.

3.

In many ways, my novel Bereft was written for that young boy (and others like him) who must deal with dual marginalities. The book is about Rafael Fannen, a 14-year old African American boy who wins a scholarship to a prestigious Catholic School. At first, he has to deal with the culture shock of being one of the few students of color at the predominantly white institution. Rafe is also gay and closeted. The novel explores Rafe’s journey to reconcile two parts of his emerging identity.

It’s a journey I’ve taken, and it still isn’t finished. I’m invisible in both of my nominal communities. Gay = white, in magazines and pop culture. Faces of color in that community are rare, and we are often fetishcized when we do appear. And much of the African American community is rife with the same fire-and-brimstone religious interpretations that poison many sects of Christianity. When I was Rafe’s age, I was isolated. There was no-one to talk to, no-one who looked like me. I found that people of color could be homophobic, and gay people could be straight-up racist. As I grew up, I eventual found people who had similar experiences. Now, we have out bisexual black men like Frankie Ocean; when I grew up, there were the works of James Baldwin and Samuel Delany, and an active underground literary scene of writing by black gay men, like Essex Hemphill and Joseph Beam.

LGBT issues are now being explored in YA fiction, something of a renaissance. Bereft  attempts to add a unique perspective in the field. I hope that my book can make a difference.

A: Since they are both essential parts of my identity, they hurt equally. I can’t separate/compartmentalize the hurt. And, for the record, I hate that question!

Craig Laurance Gidney writes both contemporary and genre fiction.  Recipient of the 1996 Susan C. Petrey Scholarship to the Clarion West writer’s workshop, Gidney has published works in the  fantasy/science fiction, gay and young adult categories.  Gidney’s first collection, Sea, Swallow Me and Other Stories was nominated for the 2008 Lambda Literary Award in the Science Fiction/Fantasy and Horror category.  Bereft is his first novel. His website is: http://www.craiglaurancegidney.com