Stories are magic

Plus a few updates on Queer Mythology

Some news about Queer Mythology

My book Queer Mythology was chosen to be part of the Associated Press Gift Guide for Kids Books of All Ages! It is an incredible honor. It is also very cool that Kate McKinnon and Trevor Noah are on the same list.

There have been a lot of local bookshops including the book on gift lists, as well as some libraries. If you see any shelf displays or lists please send them along, I would love to shout-out the source and thank them! Same goes for events if you have a lead. I have some events planned for 2025 already, and some videos from 2024 events to share in the coming weeks.

Stories are magic (from the KidLit Newsletter)

I had the opportunity to write the opening to the KidLit Newsletter, Running Press’ monthly newsletter to tens of thousands of booksellers, librarians, and teachers. It was an honor to get to share why stories are magic, and while written before the election, it continues to be true to me that we all need to tell a better story.

Children remember stories. In truth, we all do—children and adults alike. Stories don’t just stay in our minds; they settle into us, becoming something we feel. They dive deep into whatever core of us we call our heart, soul, or spirit. In all my years working in middle schools, I have countless memories of young people’s faces lighting up, their excitement sparked by a story. Whether it was a fictional tale or something real they shaped into a story of their own, the narrative is the power. It’s rare for something without the context of a story to ignite that same feeling.

Stories aren’t just classic tales with a beginning, middle, and end. They’re our minds’ way of understanding the world. We’re wired for it, ever since the first cave drawings told a magical story, before we even had language.

And that power—the profound power of stories to change minds and lives—is undeniable. As a health educator, I’ve seen how stories spark genuine, lasting change. It’s not fear or statistics that reach people and inspire sustained change; it’s a story that gets under their skin, swirls around with their identity and values, and transforms into something new within them. It becomes a part of them. Of us.

I remember the magic of being five or six, standing in the library with my mother, bargaining to check out just one more book. Every visit, I filled a bag with stories I couldn’t wait to explore. The library’s name was printed in black on those white plastic bags, and filling one up felt like gathering something precious, each bag a little treasure chest of worlds waiting to open.

And those books—their stories—became treasures I collected, too. Today, countless books, movies, and comics still fill my life; I keep these treasures close, each one resonating in its own way. Every story I’ve encountered has, in some way, found its place in me, whether through the fictional magic of an author’s imagination or the lived experiences of friends, strangers, or history’s icons. Through writing, curating, podcasting, and teaching, I’ve examined, told, and created my own stories now in countless ways. Each one building from the countless stories, fact and fiction, woven into the fabric of who I am.

Writing Queer Mythology felt like stitching a small patch into the great tapestry of stories that surrounds us. These tales are about making queer stories visible—and that matters deeply to me—but they’re also part of a universal wonder, the enchantment of storytelling itself. Each story, in its own way, draws us into that magical realm where we find inspiration, solace, and joy. We journey there every time a story lives on inside our minds and hearts.

Through stories, we form lifelong relationships with characters; we work out our own feelings and even discover parts of ourselves as we’re led through tales of great turmoil, profound love, thrilling adventure, and confounding mystery. These stories might be folktales passed down over centuries, layered narratives by celebrated authors, real-life sagas from history, or the unfolding stories of those around us. Or perhaps, they’re our own stories.

I hope Queer Mythology finds its place in this vast, magical world of imagination. And more than anything, I hope it reminds us all of the power in our own stories—the lives we live, the tales we tell, and the stories that connect us all by weaving their intricate, ever-unfolding threads into who we are.