by Rosiee Thor
I’ve been immersing myself in myself lately. It feels indulgent to say it, but it’s the closest thing to a self-hug I can imagine.
As a professional in the publishing industry, I feel constantly pressured to read specific things–partial manuscripts for my boss, CP and mentee manuscripts, the pile of Novel 19s arcs I have on my kindle. Even when these are books I do, in fact, want to read, it can feel like a chore… because very rarely do any of these books speak to the aro/ace part of me.
After eleven months of reading the “right” things–the arcs I was given, the Big Books I simply had to read, the never ending pile of manuscripts for work–this unsettling disenchantment with reading came over me. It’s a familiar feeling. I feel it when I’ve been away from home so long that I’ve forgotten what it’s like to sleep in my own bed, when I haven’t had enough veggies in my diet and my body’s crying out for nutrients, when I work too hard and forget to fill my creative well. It’s that empty, aching, hunger that hurts so much you’re almost afraid to feed it. It’s homesickness; it’s actual sickness. It’s the result of being told over and over again, through the absence of yourself, that part of you doesn’t exist.
It was when I was deep in this feeling that I gave myself the gift of permission. I chose to set aside the work burning a hole in my desk and a hole in my stomach, and read nothing but aro and ace books. For all of December, I read ace books, using the hashtag #dACEmber (because I am nothing if not shameless with my puns) and for January, I’ll be reading only aro books, using the hashtag #januARO. Others have joined in–other Aro and Ace spec authors and readers alike–sharing their reads on the hashtag and engaging in conversation. Claudie Arseneault, author and creator of the AroAceDatabase, chimed in with some bingo cards to get the readathon going.
So far, this experience has been affirming, enlightening, and encouraging. It is a reminder that I am not alone. Not only is there fiction about people like me, but an entire community of readers who want to be seen just as badly as I do. It’s like looking into a mirror and liking what I see. It reminds me who I am–and that I am not invisible, that I am allowed to exist, that I am valid and I am valuable.
It also reminds me that there’s work to do. This readathon showed me there are simultaneously more aro and ace books than I expected, but still too few. It showed me the value of indie books that pave the way and fight the fight every day. It showed me how many more books there are about aces than aroaces or even just aros. It showed me how these identities intersect and the struggles they share, but also how they often struggle alone. It showed me how different a-spec experiences can be from one person to the next, how we are not a monolith, and how each book means something different for each reader.
Most of all, it showed me how worthwhile it is to write stories about my own identity. The empowerment I felt reading about people like me matters. Our identities matter. And our words matter too.
Traditional publishing is a very allo place. There are many of us working to change this, bit by bit, book by book, but it’s easy to get lost in the fight. Don’t forget to stop to take care of yourself. Read the books that reflect your identity back at you, because you deserve to be seen… but most of all you deserve to see yourself.
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Rosiee Thor is the author of TARNISHED ARE THE STARS (Scholastic, 2019). She lives in Oregon with a dog, two cats, and four complete sets of Harry Potter, which she loves so much, she once moved her mattress into the closet and slept there until she came out as queer. Follow her online at rosieethor.com and on Twitter at @rosieethor.
