Welcome to Project Unicorn, a fiction project over the course of one year by both me, author Sarah Diemer, and my wife author Jennifer Diemer, to put out, twice weekly (Mondays and Fridays!), free YA stories with lesbian heroines.

Today, we release the VERY FIRST short story, "Witch Girls." Enjoy! <3

"Witch Girls" by Sarah Diemer
YA/Dark Fantasy
The wild witch girls lurk at the edge of the woods, waiting to snatch away any girl who’s less than good. Gran’s warnings are the same every day: be good, or the witch girls will take you. But what if you want to be taken?

Read it here!

(Trigger warning–the following post contains triggering elements for anyone who has survived violent attacks. Please don’t read if this will be triggering to you, thank you.)

Saints, Martyrs and Mortals: On the Lesbian Teen Shooting is on Muse Rising.

Please consider donating to the fund set up for Mary Kristene Chapa's medical bills.

The beginnings of our marriage license. <3


Jenn hung our marriage license in our bedroom today. I noticed it when I was taking off my earrings when I came home from work. We'd talked about finding the most special place possible for it, proudly displayed in its new frame. It's right next to our gigantic "happily ever after" plaque, and when I saw it, I got teary eyed all over again.

If you're a straight person, reading the above paragraph, you might not understand it. A marriage license is something you've always been allowed to have, something you've never had to think about. That's not your fault. You were born that way. You were allowed marriage and I wasn't, though your love is not better or worse than my love. Not better or worse, just different. But the ramifications of its differentness impacts me deeply and legally. Or, it did. Until a few months ago.

You see, Jenn and I live in New York state. NY began to allow gay marriages on July 24, 2011. I remember that day with such a striking vividness, though I remember the moment that they announced it as legal much, much clearer.

We were having a fairy party (you are not surprised) over the weekend, and many of our guests had already arrived that evening when my best friend--who hadn't yet made it--called me. I couldn't hear her amidst the laughter, so I went into the bedroom, hand clasped over my other ear. "...it passed?" she yelled breathlessly, exuberant. "I don't know if it passed, silly!" I laughed back, "we don't know if it's going to be voted on tonight..." "No!" she shouted. "SARAH. It PASSED."

My world fell away. I stood, silent, limp when she said: "SARAH? DID YOU HEAR ME? IT PASSED."

And then I began to sob. I sobbed, breathless, for five minutes, turning, blind, to collapse into Jenn's arms. I kept crying, everyone gathered worriedly. "It didn't pass?" someone whispered, and only then did I find my voice, only then did months, years of activism, of praying, of frustration, of abuse from angry, homophobic people fall completely away into my personal history as I gulped air, shook my head, and through my tears I said over and over again like someone who's been given the world: "no. It PASSED. Oh god, it passed."

I'd always been so afraid, though I'd tried to hide it. Afraid that Jenn would get sick, that they wouldn't let me see her in the hospital. Afraid something terrible might happen to me, and she be left with nothing (the house is in my name). All of the little things that a married couple never even has to think about I thought about day and night. For Jenn and I were already married, though it wasn't legal. And if she'd gotten ill or something had happened to me, it would have meant nothing to the faceless systems that would keep us apart.

It sounds science fiction-y, doesn't it. Like something out of a movie, that in this day and age, two passionately and madly in love people could be kept from one another in the moments that matter most. My worst nightmares contained faceless hospital staff that stood and barred the door, refusing me admittance to the room where my wife lay, calling for me. It's a grotesque and dramatic image, but it happens every single day in this country. Every single day in every single state that does not have gay marriage or protection for gay couples.

It wasn't just about the legal ramifications, the safety that would be afforded to us once it passed. It was the "less than" status that, every day, we combated. Gay marriage in NY state has not been a miracle pill. In our rural community, it's still sometimes frightening to be an openly gay woman. Countless people still look down at us, hate us, make the everyday, simple task of holding hands a political statement open for commentary by every stranger passing.

But we're legal. We are no longer less than. And that has begun to make all the difference.

The problem, now, is...well, I'm calling it "survivor's guilt." You see, we have a lot of gay friends. Many of them don't live in NY. Some of our dearest loved ones are not allowed the exact same rights that we have because of geography, because of the state they live in. Which seems so odd, so wrong, so ridiculous to me that I have a hard time understanding it. L and J, two beautiful hearts and so in love women, cannot marry because their state doesn't allow it. So, while I am afforded the legal safety and privileges of marriage, they are still in the cold and dark of waiting for their state to see progress, to see empathy and equality. There is nothing different about their love from ours.

The only difference is geography.

I can't stop looking at our marriage license. I have such mixed feelings when I do. Relief. Elation. Love. Joy. Happiness. Gratitude.

And sadness that I'm one of the "lucky" ones. When we should ALL be the "lucky" ones.

Some of our older gay friends have reminded me, gently, that Rome wasn't built in a day. When Jenn and I fell in love, eight years ago, we could never have imagined that we would, today, be legally married. THAT seemed like science fiction, and yet--look. Eight "short" years later, and I wear a beautiful, shining wedding band that symbolizes, as simple metal can try, everlasting love. Who knows what eight years more can do?

I have hope. I have faith.

And though I am now afforded these shiny, new legal rights, I can't stop. No one can stop. And no one is stopping. We are all still trying, still fighting, and we will never stop fighting for equal rights for all. Everywhere. EveryONE.

Regardless of geography.

(cross-posted at Muse Rising)

Did you Come Out today in honor of National Coming Out Day? You're AWESOME. In CELEBRATION of your awesome, I'm giving you a free gay book at MuseRising! ♥

I've been working on this post on and off for a few weeks, now, and am very happy to share it with you today. :)

How the Queer Rise: A Manifesto at Muse Rising.



When they tell you it gets better, it comes with a postscript: make it better.

Life can be fucked up, and being gay/queer/bi/trans/poly can mean that sharing the truth can cost you a friend or familial heartstring. But for every person who goes out of your life for love, there is another who will love you unconditionally. Forgive the person who left you (if you can). Cherish the one who stayed/came/celebrated.

All of the older ladies and gentlemen who have deep issue with the hoe-mo-sex-uals will be dead in a couple of years anyway. Look to the younger generation who supports gay marriage and believes deeply in our inherent humanity.

...Read more

There's a new post up at Muse Rising--Write ALL THE THINGS: Or, Why Writer's Retreats are the Greatest Invention Since Bees

This past weekend, some of my dearest friends, my wife/fiancee/lady-of-awesome-and-loooove and I sequestered ourselves away into a cottage on the shores of Lake Ontario, forgoing all MORTAL NEEDS for that most noble and true art which is known as the WRITINGS.

(The forgoing all MORTAL NEEDS things is actually a bit of a fib. There was lots of coffee and cake nommings involved.)



...continue reading

I have written my yearly birthday letter and put it up on Muse Rising, along with a birthday explosion of joy, sparkles and happiness~



Every year on my birthday, since I was a very little girl, I have written myself a letter. When I turned fifteen and began to blog in earnest, I wrote the letter and put it online. It was a very real, very honest and vulnerable message to myself--the myself of the following year.

I've known I was supposed to be a writer since I was a kid--it is such a deeply ingrained part of me and my spirit and path that I've really known nothing else that strongly from such a young age. Every year, my birthday letter was hopeful, but a little hard on myself, too. "You didn't get published this past year--try harder, work harder. This coming year, you can do it!" What was sad, and a little silly, is that I never tried to get published. I kept writing and putting my books in drawers and my stories under the sofa, but I never put them out there.

You know...until this past year.

... continue reading

My wife was able to articulate my pain and sadness and hope and elation much better than I have been able to in these past few days:

"Why the legalization of gay marriage matters so much" -- new blog post up at Muse Rising by Jenn.



If you aren’t gay, it’s possible (and totally understandable) that you may take for granted the freedom to openly display affection to your significant other in a public–or even semi-private–place. I’m not talking about full-on makeout sessions. I mean hand-holding. Little kisses. An arm around the shoulder or the waist. Using terms of endearment and speaking–without fear of judgment–about the fact that you’re in a romantic relationship with each other.

You should take those things for granted. We all should. Because we all have a right to them.

Obviously, gay people can do these things in public. There’s no law against it. But there’s always that tiny flip-flop of the stomach…the quick survey of who’s standing around, who might be watching, who might take issue with the fact that we’re two women in love. Sarah and I are sensitive people, and one thoughtless comment or disgusted look can turn our simple joy into sadness as quickly as a finger snap.

The legalization of gay marriage isn’t just the legalization of gay marriage. It’s an acknowledgment of equality, of the fact that we have a right to exist and to love. It’s an end to the belittling rehetoric about sexual orientation being a choice–because it’s not a choice. It’s not a label or a fad or a phase. It’s who we are. And to this point, who we are is not recognized or respected by the United States government. The right to marry would change that.

-- Continue Reading -- if you were moved to comment, please do so at the blog! <3

New blog post is up at MuseRising -- June is National Pride Month — Support GLBT Books!

June is National Pride Month, which everyone–gay or straight–can celebrate. A perfect way to support Pride Month, and the GLBT community, is through GLBT books: by buying them, reading them, requesting them from the library and talking about them, you are getting the visibility out there, and are supporting the community, which is fabulous and wonderful.

As a lesbian author, I understand how deeply important it is to talk about my own book, The Dark Wife, because talking about it is getting it out there. There simply is not as great of an audience for GLBT literature as there is for straight–and any help bridging that gap is extraordinarily appreciated.

I thought, then, for Pride Month, I would compile a list of some of my favorite GLBT books–some you may have heard of, some you may not have, all ridiculously excellent and wonderful. By spreading the word about GLBT books, you widen the audience and bridge the gap and divide between “straight” and “gay”–pick up one of the following and get the dialogue going! <3

- Continue reading, and please comment at the blog entry with your favorite GLBT books~! <3