This is war.

For over a decade, I've written novels about gay teens. I'm a cisgender, straight advocate, and I write these stories because I hate injustice, I hate fear-driven paranoia, and I'm distressed at the vulnerability of LGBTQ teens.

When I began writing, I was certain that I would not see marriage equality in my lifetime. I knew very little of the hell that trans individuals go through. I knew nothing at all about what intersex means.

And since I began writing, I have celebrated win after win after win for LGBTQ people.

Then came Trump.

Not in my lifetime

It was 1978 when I met the first gay men I would come to know well. In 1983, across a table at a New York City sidewalk café, one of these men told me in hushed tones about the "gay plague." I'd never heard of it before. Neither of us knew then that within ten years it would claim him.

I remember the mysterious darkness that descended over the community at that time, a darkness that has lightened considerably by now but that still hangs overhead. Paralleling it, also lighter today than thirty years ago, is the progress of LGBTQ acceptance by the general populations of many countries, including the U.S.