It took me a while to work out why I’m bad at writing queer experiences. After all, I’m bi. I qualify as queer. I am the B in LGBTQ. I should be farting rainbows and sneezing glitter and flying the flag as well as the rest of them, and perhaps the fact that I’m not is evidence of some kind of failure to be properly queer. That’s the feeling I’ve always had.

But it turns out I’m bad at writing queer experiences because, until recently, my experience of being bisexual has been erasure.

TW: Spiked drinks, vomiting, deathly ideation, terminal illness

Sometimes writers find themselves talking about dark stuff. I had one of these conversations this morning. We were joking around about how sometimes characters get too “feely” in tense situations, and how the whole “life flashed before my eyes” concept is… often… taken a bit too literally. What I said next shocked my friend…