The National Women’s Music Festival (www.wiaonline.org/nwmf)
was 32 years old this summer. I had the honor of being invited to its
Writers’ Series, organized by lesbian dynamo Mary Byrne and sprightly
Tammara Tracy, which has traditionally been part of the festival. Together
they operate Out Word Bound Books in Indianapolis (www.outwordbound.com)This
was my fourth visit over a twenty year time span and, as always, I came
away excited and energized.
Headliners in the Writers’ Series this year were Radclyffe, who has
written 25 lesbian novels and anthologies, and Ellen Hart, who has
published 23 mysteries. Kim Baldwin and I rounded out the writer’s
marquee. Is it just Midwestern women, or are lesbians everywhere as
passionate about the chroniclers of their culture? Every workshop turned
into a conversation between these avid readers, beginning writers and the
presenters. The sessions were more like gatherings of old friends than
lectures and readings.
Spirits were high, especially at the erotic readings, when Radclyffe
discussed the differences between erotica and writing about sex as a part
of general fiction. Radclyffe, who is also the publisher of Bold Strokes
Books, has a wonderfully clear vision of current lesbian literature and an
unusual respect for those who preceded her.
At the workshop I gave (“Femme-Butch Writing: So Last Generation?”) I was
delighted that two of the participants – Jeanne Arnold and Barbara
Lindquist -- were the founders of Mother Courage Press, one of the early
lesbian publishing companies. To have old wave Mother Courage and new wave
Bold Strokes Books in the same room was an historic event.
“Back in the Day: Older Butch Culture” was another lively session. Kai
Philippi, Ph.D, was the moderator. I just love it when dykes have
respectable titles. It feels like a form of thumbing our noses at the het
establishment. In the workshop, some of us told stories of life before gay
lib, and others described the future we could not have imagined. Once you
were femme, kiki or butch; now there are concepts like “androdyke” and
“polyamorous” and, rather than bisexual, “biattractional.” One of the
participants used the term “exploded labels” to explain what happened to
the old language and stereotypes.
Now there are women and men who view themselves as nothing so
old-fashioned as transgendered, but as gender queer. I never had a chance
to ask what the word “boi” means or to discuss whether the popularity of
gender reassignment could, for some butches, be another form of the
closet. A gay youth counselor in the group told us that some professionals
are encouraging gender changes in gay people, and asked whether this was
another way of enforcing the two-gendered binary status quo. If most
butches had sex changes and their femmes married the new men, lesbians
could once again become members of a despised and hunted underground for
refusing to be anything but what we are, women who love women. At what
point would gender reassignment become compulsory? If it was involuntary,
would it be any different than genital mutilation? What would a young
butch have to agree to in order to escape that fate?
Obviously, some intense thinking went on at this festival, which also
included spirituality, film and animal lovers’ series. General workshops
had titles like “How Women’s Music Saved My Life,” “Free Spirit Drumming
and Expressive Arts,” “Living Under the Swastika,” and “Adoptions and
Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorders.”
Of course the music was a continual joy. Just to know Linda Tillery is
still singing, much less be able to hear her mellow voice, was a thrill.
Jamie Anderson just gets better. Ferron gave a four-hour intensive
workshop on song writing, while Ubaka Hill, whose drum was lost by an
airline, soldiered on with a borrowed drum.
A major highlight of this festival for me was spending time with Ellen
Hart, who is as warm, funny and engaging as her books. Rachel Spangler, a
handsome young author whose novel Learning Curve will be released in 2008,
squired a bunch of us to dinner. The cuisine in Normal, Illinois, is
exceptional.
As always, it was the festival crew who most made me want to return to
National. Producer Jane Weldon seemed to have one purpose in life: to make
the performers’ time there easy and enjoyable. Manager Ann Arvidson was a
wizard at rounding up volunteers, sometimes her own daughters, to move
mountains – or in my case a bed – to accommodate presenters. Bonnie
Zwiebel, head of security, was also the transport dyke. In her big red van
and leather cowboy hat, she met planes and trains with a smile and even,
much to my pleasure, reunited me with my sweetheart, who flew in
unexpectedly in the middle of the lost drum crisis.
For someone who has always disliked travel and making appearances, I know
I will return to be with these dykes who, by occasional contact and a
shared love of lesbian culture, have become my friends. Why, with such
talent, drive and expertise, women like these don’t take over the world
and run it right, I don’t have a clue.
