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frederator-studios · 6 years

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Grace Ellis: The Frederator Interview

Grace Ellis is among the most exciting comic and TV writers working today, and all from coffee shops ‘round Columbus, Ohio. The first comic she created, Lumberjanes, is a NY Times bestselling series, in development as a movie, and brought her home Eisner and GLAAD awards for her cat to try to knock over. Grace is currently writing one of the most magical comics of the year, Moonstruck, but still found time to pen some awesome episodes of Bravest Warriors season 4 (after she determined that the gig was not, indeed, a prank). Grace and I sat down to talk log-doodling, queer representation in comics, and the commonalities between Beth Tezuka and Captain America.

Having written Lumberjanes: were you a Girl Scout yourself?

For a little, until my troop disbanded! Lumberjanes re-connected me with my Girl Scout roots. The inspiration for a lot of the woodsy stuff comes from an outdoor camp I was part of. After college I worked for Autostraddle, the biggest online network for queer women. They host a weeklong sleepaway camp every year called A-Camp. It has a bunch of panels, talent shows, activities - really cool stuff. When I was a camp counselor one year in Big Bear, I made friends with an attendee, Shannon Watters, who’s a writer and editor at Boom! Comics. Later, she approached me about making a comic together.

Wow! So Lumberjanes was your very first comic... ever?!

Yup! The first issue of Lumberjanes was the first comic I ever wrote.

That’s amazing! Wait, backin’ up - what were you doing before?

My big kid job was journalism. I studied a mix of journalism, theater and women’s studies at Ohio State. After school ended I started pitching around and got a gig writing ads for Playbill. Then I got some work with Bustle too. I was doing sort of garbage writing: mostly TV recaps and some vaguely personal stuff here and there. Very little actual journalism. Then I got the job with Autostraddle when the site was still fairly new.

So you taught yourself both comic writing and screenwriting?

Pretty much! I was already familiar with story structure, so it was really about learning to adapt those elements to different formats, and take advantage of each medium. That comes with practice more than teaching. Every format is different. Like with comics, I go panel by panel, one at a time. I have to keep framing in mind while focusing on what’s happening in the scene, and what the characters are saying, because comics are super dialogue-driven. Writing comics is like trying to write the minimum in order to say the most.

How did Lumberjanes develop from the first ‘let’s make a comic!’ moment?

We drew a lot of inspiration from Ms. Kitty Fantastic and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I developed the concept with Shannon and we started from just rough outlines of the characters. Then Brooklyn A. Allen came on and designed them. And after that we brought on Noelle Stevenson as a second writer. Working all together was really smooth, a cut-and-dry process. We only needed one Skype call per issue!

Which girl in Lumberjanes are you the most like?

Molly - well, I’m always told to answer Molly! She’s the timid and unsure one. But hopefully Jo as well! I like to think that I can be a leader.

How did you come to write for Bravest Warriors?

Shannon submitted me! Benjamin (Townsend, Story Editor) reached out. I actually forwarded the email to my lawyer right away. I was sure that I was getting scammed. I was so excited when it turned out legit!

(“Catbug! You don’t just bust in on someone when they're dukin’. Buddy... we talked about this.”)

Do you have a favorite character in Bravest?

Catbug is the most fun to write. Before pitching the Detective Catbug episode I wrote this season, I prepared by hanging out with a 5 year old. It actually helped! Catbug has the funniest voice, I just love writing him. But Beth is my favorite Bravest Warrior. Once I’d nailed down who she is, I really liked writing her. She kind of reminds me of Captain America: she’s unbeatable and refuses to stay down. And she’s unapologetically herself.

She truly is That Beth. How did you first start working on Moonstruck?

It actually started as a school exercise, with no plan to extend it! 2 years ago I was doing a program with Columbus College of Art & Design, where they partner their artists with pro comic writers. I was lucky enough to be accidentally (I later found out, secretly-totally-on-purpose) partnered with Shae Beagle. The assignment was to write a 5 page scene, with 2 twists; the first building off the second. That became the opening of Issue 1: the first twist is that we’re not in a normal human coffee shop - it’s full of mythological creatures. The second is that the girl we're following who seems totally normal… well, she doesn’t view herself as normal at all.

I’ve wondered why Julie is so insecure, when she’s surrounded by such a diversity of mythological people?

For Julie, it’s really this fear of losing control. She’s has a deep sense that in her werewolf form, she’s not normal. She’s not right. So she’s internalized some really negative stuff about what that means for and about her.

Are there levels of privilege and marginalization in this world around being human or mythological?

Yes - I’ve been working on how to represent societal privilege surrounding mythological and non-mythological people. A big inciting factor in Julie’s story is her falling in love with a girl, who - spoiler alert! - is also a werewolf like she is. But Selena has a totally different perspective on who she is. She’s comfortable with herself.

Your characters are so distinct - what is your process for nailing a character’s voice?

It’s a lot of time thinking about who the character is; how they’d react to things, based on their personalities and what they’ve lived. Living close to a college is a big help because I’m surrounded by people around the age of the characters I write. Overhearing conversations is often inspirational! I also pull a lot from real life and my own friends. I have the best time writing over-enthusiastic characters: the ones that are high energy, always on, and oblivious. Julie, on the other hand - it was tougher to find her voice. She’s so timid, yet she also has this sardonic edge. It helped when I realized that she would say “Sorry” all the time. It’s her instinct to apologize for herself, even when she has no reason to! After figuring out something like that, that’s core to her character, I was able to grow her voice from there.

What do you find most challenging about writing? And most rewarding?

Being done is very rewarding! And feeling like you nailed it. The worst thing is when you don’t want to write. It’s easier now that it’s my job, because I have to do it. When I was an AV tech at a movie theater, I always wanted to write, but I wouldn’t do it. What’s tough is that I would rather think than write. Thinking is underrated. But the problem is, I know that I should write something - anything! - every single day.

Do you ever do any of your own art?

Nah, I’m not an artist. I draw sometimes. I’m a prolific log-drawer.

Logs?!

Yeah (laughs) I sometimes fixate on one thing and it becomes the only thing I doodle. Logs are that.

That is… oddly fitting! What is your creative process like?

It’s not very strict. My rule is that I leave my house every day before noon and go to a coffee shop. Then I just plug into it.

What do you like to do outside of writing?

Is there such a thing? Video games, especially during winter. Reading a lot of comics, plays and nonfiction. Biographies are great character studies. Currently, I’m reading a novel, The Blunderer by Patricia Highsmith. For writing pretty light and happy comics, I really do like books about heavy guilt and punishment...

Speaking of Patricia Highsmith - with her Price of Salt such a cornerstone in queer writing - what are your thoughts on representation and writing queer characters?

Oh yeah - we’re all familiar with the tropes. The sad stories, the coming out stories. They’re important in their way. But they aren’t what I need to write! I’m not a sad person, so I can’t just put that on. I write upbeat stories about characters who are already out and accepted. I’m a happy, out lesbian. So to represent those characters isn’t just what’s truthful to me - it also says to readers that hey, you can be a happy, out lesbian too!

Do you think there is a market for young adult media with queer characters and themes that didn’t exist a decade ago?

Absolutely. It used to be that anytime a writer put a gay or lesbian character in anything - let alone a main character - they were pigeon-holed as a ‘queer writer’. And a decade ago, that could severely limit, or even ruin, a writer’s career. Now, ‘queer media’ isn’t just a subgenre - gay and lesbian representation is coming into the mainstream. It’s a changing world. Lumberjanes did so well, it uncovered a whole market of tween, teenage girls and queer women. And there hasn’t been enough made for them! Backstagers, Zodiac: Star Force - a lot of the new comics coming out are riding on a wave of realization for the comic companies. They figured out that they were leaving money on the table when it came to queer female audiences.

What’s your advice to people who want to write comics or TV shows?

Write a lot. Write every day, if you can. It’ll make you a better writer. And put stuff on the Internet. It sounds scary, but it’s the best way to get your work seen. At this point, people are getting jobs off of Twitter. Networking is BS!

What is your Dream, or dream gig?

My dream is to write things that I’m proud of in many different mediums. A musical. A video game. A movie. I’m a really big fan of form. It’s an almost intellectual interest: the different things each format brings to the table, and how you work with each to find the best possible way to tell a story.

What are some of your favorite Things?

I loved Saturday Morning Cartoons. Recess, The Weekenders. I like weird slice of life children’s stories. Calvin and Hobbes is a huge favorite. LA Noir is my favorite video game. And one of my favorite comic artists is Alison Bechdel. She does a strip called Dykes to Watch Out For that is absolutely hilarious. ❀

Follow Grace on Twitter and Instagram.

Thanks for the interview Grace! We’ll no doubt be keeping up with you. Can’t wait for the great stories you’ll tell, across all the formats that strike your fancy!

- Cooper ❀

#The Frederator Interview #frederator studios #grace ellis #lumberjanes #boom! comics #bravest warriors #comics #moonstruck #noelle stevenson #brooklyn allen #alison bechdel #cartoons #animation #writer #patricia highsmith #interview #shae beagle #columbus

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ccinthecity · 7 years

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Living in the Illusion: Queer expression and relationships between fiction and physical spaces and representation

My portfolio (and effective final) for HUM4938: Media, Power, and Sexuality. In abstraction, an analysis of the role of media in portrayal and/or realization of queer characters and spaces, and its relation to the constructed fictionalization/stigmatization of queer people in real life.

Introduction

On June 24th, I landed in London. It was my first time outside of the United States, and an opportunity to study and learn a new city, a new culture outside of my own, and of course, explore my own relationship to that. But I was a student, first and foremost. I spend my week studying, going from class to class, to excursions and museums and parts of town I couldn’t even dream of finding on my own. As the days went on, so more did I see new prismic projections down the streets and up the escalators of the underground, peering through at tube stations and in coffee shops and in the alleys of Leicester square. The west end soon became a flurry of rainbows—the city, although already diverse and buzzing, was more and more colourful as it anticipated the arrival of the celebration of freedom of expression of love.

Although I’d been somewhat involved in LGBTQ+ groups and discourse in my time in high school, and certainly had gone through moments of questioning my personal identity, I’d never been to a Pride parade, or any queer community event for that matter, before. I wasn’t sure if I was meant to go; at the time, and still currently, I identify somewhere between asexual and bisexual—a demi-bisexual. Since there’s some ambiguity among the members of the LGBTQ+ community about ace and bi individuals as to where they belong in representation, activism, and portrayal, it seemed a little difficult to throw myself in the mix. In any case, my preferences have never been evocative of any particular direction or affect, and I’d been hesitant to label myself, either in fear of being wrong, or perhaps in fear of being misunderstood, judged. Quite simply, I was never really sure if I was really queer enough, so I never came out.

And so, out of pure curiosity, and perhaps with a little sense of hopeful belonging, I went the second Saturday of my trip to London Pride—it was a special event, as it was the fiftieth anniversary of the partial decriminalization of Homosexuality: a civil rights benchmark that was so significant to the progress and acceptance of so many individuals in modern society. It was a colourful event, filled to the brim with unbelievable spectacles of love, joy, happiness, exuberance, glitter, rainbows, and what seemed to be absolute magic performed by drag queens and shown by endless seas of flowing rainbow-coloured fabric, flags flying down Oxford street, highlighted by a rugby player’s proposal to his boyfriend, furthered by the unending positivity between all those who attended. I felt an innate sense of grounding in camaraderie with the people surrounding me, in the crowd and on the parade route, that I never felt before, regarding sexuality and identity, really.

But it so too felt almost unreal—not only in the way that I was four thousand some miles away from home, but too because my understanding of LGBTQ+ history was that of struggle; up to this day. The presence of protest groups in the pride parade made a stark contrast to the parties surrounding—while the parade remained a spectacle, and celebration of what had been achieved, groups like stonewall and others were reminiscent of the original intent of pride; to make it clear that queer individuals existed, and should be treated as any other human being, through breaking that spectacle, and agitating others as to make sure they are heard, and change takes place (as Oscar Wilde noted, “That is why agitators are so absolutely necessary,”). The perfect, rainbow-coloured parade was manufactured by the many corporations that sponsored the event, and that “pink-washed” (and furthermore was a part of the depoliticisation of) what was once a political protest and communal event for demanding solidarity and equal representation. It was dismal to think, even at the back of my mind, that something so beautiful was at its foundation, (like many things) corrupt.

The day after pride, our class took an excursion to the new music biannual conference—or festival, I’m not too sure—it was the final performance of the series, a piece composed by avant-garde contemporary composer Philip Venables, featuring the London Sinfonietta and queer performance artist David Hoyle: Illusions (read more about this excursion here). It wasn’t exactly a speech pattern composition, but an orchestral interaction between parts of the text that elicited rhythm and meaning.

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Although it is the title statement, one phrase did manage to stick out to me, after pride, and even continuing into further exploration of queer culture in London—Hoyle mentions of democracy in the current age (2015 was the original release of the piece, but Venables, in an interview between the performances, still noted its relevance two years later) “you know and I know it’s an illusion,”. The piece was addressed mostly to the new conservative government—but too was shown to those in attendance, ranging from any given socioeconomic class (but most likely, those who could afford a ticket were of middle or higher status) and sexuality or gender identity. So, which population experiences that illusion? Perhaps it is all those there at the moment.

This idea (moreso a conundrum) remained in my mind until now—and I thought I should explore the idea of illusion when it comes to the portrayal and understanding, as well as the identification of homosexuality and queerness in media.

Illusion (n.) - 1. a misleading image presented to the eye 2. the state or fact of being led to accept as true something unreal or imagined 3. a mistaken idea

The Illusion

So often queerness is treated as if it is illegitimate; perverse; a figment or fancy of the imagination. Homosexuality, although partially decriminalised in England and Wales in 1967 under the Sexual Offences Act, was only decategorized from major psychological association’s published texts as a mental disorder in the 1970’s—trans* folk were even more outspoken in the medical community, with gender identity disorder only leaving the volumes of the DSM-V in 2012. Being queer was to be mentally ill, and was to live in illusion, to the understanding of society.

But who truly lived in that illusion? To queer folk, their experiences were all but as real as any other. The fictionalisation, or rather, assignment to obscurity of homosexuality and queerness too fictionalised those individuals accounts and agency when it came to social action: it was (and still, to a certain extent is) harder for LGBTQ+ individuals to assert certain self-evident rights in many situations. That fictionalisation too worked against them, when they were victims of continued cultural persecution, legal prosecution, and violence from various outlets. The stigmatisation of the community and of homosexuals in media, and the cultural paradigm that had existed prior to legal decriminalisation created a heavy ideal that, still today, continues to threaten even the basic levels of hierarchical need of queer individuals, forcing them to live “in the closet”, diminishing personal mental health and relationships, fostering subversive and possibly dangerous ways of life (queer individuals more prone to homelessness, drug use, contracting STIs, prone to domestic and direct violence), taking away access, or not deeming necessary, social resources, all caused by accepting queerness as fictional, and denying the existence of quite a large portion of the population, dismissing them as unreal.

It’s no wonder, then, that queer individuals have become so accustomed to their lives being called fiction—as they have produced some of the most intricately creative pieces of artwork, literature, and music, that exist in the realm on the edge of stark, political, reality and sensual, blissful, scary, manic dream matter.

The Theatre

There is no secrecy in that the Theatre is a queer space. Not really that all people who work and live in the theatre scene are gay (as somehow, that’s become another stereotype in this weird world of ours)—but its one of the safest spaces for creatives who have different identities, historically. Among those dancers, writers, actors, and more, Vaslav Nijinsky (as discussed in the V&A Tour, post coming soon), Stephen Sondheim, on and on and on, furthermore, the material that comes out of the theatre is usually intersectional in its inclusion of different demographics, from race to identity to sexuality, and there are so many queer cult classics from the theatre world: RENT, Fun Home, Belle Reprieve, etc. etc. etc. If I had to list all of the queer creators and significant creations in the performance world, I would probably not be able to write this piece.

The Theatre is also a place where illusion itself lives. The entire concept of the theatre is a space in which one experiences a suspense of disbelief: a temporary adoption of ideas or mindsets, settings and events that aren’t necessarily true. Whether through costume, set design, make up, technical design and lighting or the sheer action and verbiage of the script, plays, musicals, reveries, cabarets, and skits involve the audience and actors in a whole mirage of make-believe. This is important.

In London especially, theatre has played an active role in queer representation and activism, if not simply by being the space for those individuals, then by creating attention. Both Stuart Feather and Jill Dolan remark in their books about the involvement of Street Theatre in the movement for decriminalisation of homosexuality, and collaboration with the Gay Liberation Front in the 1970’s. The culture surrounding the theatre here, in the west end, as well as on Broadway, is one of avid acceptance of queer art.

A indication of that culture was alive and well in the Cafe de Paris—a nightclub and performance venue in Leicester Square, which our class visited later in the week. The performance that night was the Seven Sins Cabaret—a cabaret, of course, reminiscent of the red-light district, raunchy, and alcoholic gatherings of parisian businessmen in underground bars and performance venues, and the later production between Bob Fosse and Fred Ebb, which focused on sexuality and subversive performance culture in Nazi Berlin in the Kit Kat Klub. It certainly surpassed expectations (link to post coming soon) and was a pinnacle of scintillating, slightly erotic? but completely empowered performance. Upon posting to instagram, the emcee and director of the show, drag performer Reuben “Ruby” Kaye, commented on my post, still just as enthusiastic about the openness and the stark portrayal of sexuality, and the intimacy of performance and the way it helps shape ideas and removes hurtful stigma about open sexuality.

Later, I also had the opportunity (on the last night, no less--link to post coming soon) to go to the west end and see Kinky Boots at the Adelphi Theatre. I’d never seen the musical before, but I knew it was one of the quintessential pieces from the United Kingdom that deserved a look—as well as a significant LGBTQ+ representative production, as it focused on the friendship between the protagonist, Charlie, and his opposite story centre, Lola, a drag queen who helps Charlie navigate a difficult time in his life, dealing with the death of his father, and learning how to define himself as a man, as the Mr. Price of his family business Price and Sons.

Its an incredibly liberating and relatable piece—perhaps people don’t come to the theatre to see Kinky Boots if they aren’t open-minded already, but certainly, the older ladies in the row in front of me had a wild time at the show. The most impressive pieces to me, regarding identity and sexuality, are that of Lola’s pieces—first, “Lola’s World”, in which the lyrics read “Step into a dream, Where glamour is extreme, Welcome to my fantasy,” followed by the number “What a Man” in which the roles of gender are explored and reversed, and used to empower the performer. Of course, “Just Be”, too is a fantastic pride anthem, preaching for unlimited self expression. In the show, Lola is completely open about who they are and what they are, and what it means to be them, completely breaking any sense of deceit or illusion that goes along with being a performer, a person with two identities at face value.

A Stand Out: Todrick Hall

Aside from starring as Lola in the fall/winter 2016 season on Broadway, this openly gay creator has recently risen to a relatively popular stance in the performance world—both on stage (in Oz, Kinky Boots) and in television (as a recent host and choreographer on RuPaul’s Drag Race, the creator of Todrick MTV, and contestant on American Idol) by way of his YouTube channel, which he started in 2006. A decade later, Todrick has amassed over 2.5 million subscribers.

I found inspiration for this analysis in watching some of his videos, which feature his takes on pop culture classics, like Mean Girls, Disney films such as Alice in Wonderland, Beauty and the Beast, and plays (namely Chicago, as there are several cell block tangoes) and reimagines them as hollywood, gay, and black versions of the predominantly white, straight originals.

One that stood out especially, perhaps because of its magnitude as a project (it’s a feature-length video on his YouTube), is an autobiographical musical re-adaptation of the Wizard of Oz called Straight Outta Oz—the story closely following the narrative of the original, but in this version, Todrick is Dorothy, and his story is a reflection of growing up gay, growing up black, and navigating a technicolor world. These themes are directly related to the course’s parameters: it is media, and the power involved, and how sexuality comes into play.

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(If you have the opportunity, skip to ‘Water Guns’ near the end of the video)

Following what Ruby Kaye imparted in her comment on my instagram post of “Perform, Educate, Empower,” Todrick fully explores what it means to be the content creator, producer, director, and performer of queer art and media made for the masses. His art takes the illusion, whether it be from the suspense of disbelief in the theatre, the makeup of drag queens, the use of music, or simply, the line between what is fictional in literature and real life, and applies it to a wholly human and enthralling experience, not necessarily to enlighten, but to ground—to create a common space that feels safe, welcoming, and intriguing, if anything. The fictionalisation which was used against him and other queer individuals is reclaimed in fantasy.

Creators like Todrick, who are now more able to express themselves in openly queer artistic choices, are not only the future of artistic production, but are also leading the way for progress in the destigmatisation of queer identity, diminishing the illusions of obscure gender and sexuality and making them known.

Conclusion

In 2016, the shooting at the PULSE gay nightclub in Orlando, Florida, was exactly that: a display to make us realise that we were not safe. That to a certain extent, the LGBTQ+ community (especially the L, G, B) did live in an illusion of security. That we were still so far from acceptance. It only took so much hate (that had already existed, so evidently, yet that was shrouded by progress, by the spectacle of parade and celebration) to take away the lives of so many.

The line between what is real and what is illusory has always existed for the LGBTQ+ community. But for queer individuals, the distinction of either is all too clear. They are not the ones living in an illusion, but rather the ones working to shatter it.

References & Further Reading

Venables, P. (Composer), Hoyle, D. & London Sinfonietta, (Performers), Baker, R. (Conductor). (2017, July 9). Illusions. Live performance at Southbank Centre, London, United Kingdom.

Venables, P. (2015, September 19). Illusions. Retrieved July 2017, from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g4hJQimj45U

Ackroyd, P. (2015). Queer City: Gay London from the Romans to the Present Day. London: Chatto & Windus.

Dolan, J. (2010). Theatre & sexuality. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan.

Feather, S. (2016). Blowing the Lid: Gay Liberation, Sexual Revolution, and Radical Queens. Alresford: John Hunt.

Fierstein, H., & Lauper, C. (Writers), Mitchell, J. (Director), & Oremus, S. (Conductor). (2017, July 21). Kinky Boots. Live performance in Adelphi Theatre, London.

“Illusion”. 2017. In Merriam-Webster.com. Retrieved from https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/illusion

Playful Productions. (2017). Kinky Boots [Brochure]. London.

Kaye, R. (Director). (2017, July 14). Seven Sins Cabaret. Live performance in Café de Paris, London.

Milazzo, F. (2016, September 12). Review: Seven Sins, Cafe de Paris. Retrieved from http://www.thisiscabaret.com/review-seven-sins-cafe-de-paris/

To contribute further to my research, if you are queer or identify in a way that you find different to cis- and hetero-normative tradition, consider completing this survey about your experience regarding the relationship between fiction, illusion, and queerness. Please follow, and if you’re keen on contributing, citing, or collaborating further to this research, send me an ask or submit!

#portfolio #HUM4938 #media power and sexuality #LGBTQ #queer

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