PHOTO: ANGELA GARZON
In 2005, I graduated from film school at San Francisco State University, confused as every twenty-something is about who they are and what they want to do with their lives. I didn’t know much, but two things were for sure: I really liked having sex with girls, and I really loved writing about it. So, I applied to intern with Curve magazine. I was lucky enough to be there at the peak of it all, right when The L Word came out, and the majority of lesbians I knew subscribed to have the magazine delivered to their door every month. I started writing little ‘bit’ pieces-30-50 words on a movie, a quarter of a page on an event-but soon worked my way up to doing multipage articles and even the cover interview with Jenny Shimizu. We were a small but mighty team at the time, and so I also occasionally helped with shipping, photography, graphic design, and even once sold an ad.
When my internship was over, I kept writing for the magazine as a freelancer, writing about travel, interesting current events, and, eventually, the law. It was while in law school that I made my biggest contribution to Curve, though the one I’m best known for is my ‘Queerie Bradshaw’ blog. During the weekdays, I’d be at the University of Oregon School of Law studying my ass off. On the weekends, however, I’d be shaking my ass as a burlesque dancer in Portland gay bars, trying to get fodder for my next article. It was one of the first lesbian sex blogs on the Internet, and while sometimes I look back and cringe at how very little game I had and how very bad I was at getting laid, it was such an honor to be a part of that history, both for Curve and queer publishing in general.
Since my first internship with Curve, I’ve written for and been featured in many major publications, including VICE, The Huffington Post, Autostraddle, Glamour, xoJane, and seen on Good Morning America. But nothing holds as sentimental of a place in my heart as my time at Curve.
In 2017, I had a dream that Dwayne Johnson wanted to date me – and I turned him down. I couldn’t handle the idea of being the fat girl dating The Rock in the newspapers; plus, I’d never dated a man before, and I didn’t think starting with a celebrity under the watchful eye of millions was a great idea. I woke up from that dream and thought, “Huh, that would make a good book,” but put the idea aside. At the time, I was in Mexico City to finish another “more serious” book, but every time I sat down to work, all that I wanted to write about was how The Rock wanted to date me. Eventually, I gave up on the book about grief and turned it into the movie they’re making in Because Fat Girl.
At its core, the book is about opening up to feeling worthy of love, wherever you happen to find it, and how identities, needs, wants, and desires shift and grow throughout our lives. It follows Diana, an aspiring filmmaker, as she navigates Hollywood as a queer, fat woman just reemerging from the grief spiral she took after her brother died. It’s one of the most diverse books I’ve ever read, and I feel like there’s a character in there for everyone to identify with and love. My biggest dream for this book is that it encourages people to bet on their own dreams, write their book, make a movie on their phone, produce a play locally, and bet on their creative dreams. Because the world needs your story now more than ever.
Please enjoy this excerpt:
* * *
Janelle Zenon and I met as incoming freshmen at UCLA film school, the two queer kids in a sea of geeky white dudes who all thought they were going to be the next Tarantino. It was Janelle who got me the job at Roussard’s when I was struggling to make rent and pay for my senior thesis film. They were hiring extra help for the holidays, and she’d dragged me to the job interview, promising it would be an easy way to pay the bills. She was right; it was easy money. A little too easy. Instead of pursuing the shitty-paying director’s assistant roles my fellow graduates had taken, I worked my way up the Roussard’s ladder, enticed by the high-paying commissions I made from selling clothes I couldn’t fit in or afford. It was fine in the beginning, when I had the time and energy to work at Roussard’s and hustle for film gigs on the side, but then my brother died and took my ambition with him. These days, the closest I got to making movies was watching Emmy dress the stars of them. Janelle hadn’t let Roussard’s consume her like I had.
A talented cinematographer, she was the best director of photography to come out of our program, yet she always seemed to lose the big jobs to people “with more experience” and “a style closer to what the director was seeking”-a.k.a. straight, white, and male. Those same “more experienced” cinematographers, however, would have to hire Janelle to come in and consult on scenes involving Black actors, which they had little to no practice in lighting. That sums up white privilege right there: the world is lit up for your skin tone.
Despite our setbacks, neither of us had abandoned the dream of making a movie together, and with Janelle’s encouragement, I’d started writing scripts and putting myself out there again. “This party is our ticket to network with the big dogs,” Janelle said as we ordered our lunch. “We have to go all-out. Make a statement. Think Cinderella going to the ball.”
“Except we don’t have a fairy godmother to come bibbidibobbidi-boo us some gowns and a carriage.”
“No, but we have connections at Roussard’s,” she replied. “And your film fund.”
“Which I refuse to tap into for an outfit to a random party.”
“This isn’t just some party! This is exactly the kind of event you’ve been saving for,” Janelle argued as a waiter dropped off our food. “It will be years before you make enough money to fund a film on your own. Even if you want to make an indie film, you’ll still need five hundred thousand dollars bare minimum. And I know you don’t have close to that much saved. So you’re still going to need investors. This is the kind of party where you can meet them! But you’re not going to attract anyone looking like you’re going to a funeral.”
I sighed, resigned to the fact that she was right. “What do you suggest?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” Janelle grabbed her phone and opened up JIBRI’s latest collection, a designer whose outfits I’d drooled over for years. The clothes were gorgeous, fashionable, and colorful-total showstoppers.
“We aren’t Emmy,” she said, grabbing a spring roll. “We don’t get invited to Hollywood parties every week. This is your opportunity to hobnob with the elitest of the elite here in town. You’ve got one chance to shine like the star I know you are. Wear something so bright that they can’t help but notice your brilliance.”
“These are from the spicy curry.” I motioned to my tears, the ones that had pooled during her pep talk.
“Sure they are.” Janelle winked.
“I have only one problem.” I pointed down at the JIBRI site still up on her phone.
“What?” Janelle asked.
“How do I choose which fabulous skirt to buy?” I laughed, scanning the assortment of colorful options.
* * *
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lauren Marie Fleming (xe/her) the author of the queer contemporary romance novel Because Fat Girl and the non-fiction self-help book Bawdy Love: 10 Steps To Profoundly Loving Your Body. The founder of SchoolForWriters.com, xe is dedicated to helping diverse storytellers thrive, including supporting aspiring authors in writing and publishing their books, and helping established professionals in making more time for creativity in their lives.During her 20-year writing career, Lauren has been featured in prominent media outlets, including Good Morning America, Glamour, xoJane, Autostraddle, and Cosmo, and has had columns for Curve Magazine, Vice Magazine, and the Huffington Post. Lauren is a highly sought-after and entertaining public speaker and has spoken at prestigious conferences and colleges, including Yale, Brown, Wordstock, BinderCon, and BlogHer.Always up for an adventure, Lauren has lived all over the world, and will try anything once, as long as it’s gluten free. When not traveling, xe can be found walking her dog on the beach in San Diego listening to a good audiobook.
Get a behind-the-scenes look at the making of Because Fat Girl, and inspiration to tell your own story at LaurenMarieFleming.com.