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Alphabet of Hope – anthology of stories written by members of the global LGBTQ+ community
Alphabet of Hope is an anthology of stories written by members of the LGBTQ+ community from around the world. Hope is a precious commodity for teenagers trying to understand their identity, and these authors share their own accounts of trying to understand who they are, and how the world is going to treat them once they come out. Many stories show the evolution of legal and societal acceptance of queer lives and relationships and show that we can be accepted for who we are, and will inspire people to live more open, authentic lives. The purpose of this anthology has been to inspire, motivate and give hope to LGBTQ+ youth that they can be accepted regardless of the kind of community they come from.
Alphabet of Hope is an anthology of stories written by members of the LGBTQ+ community from around the world. Hope is a precious commodity for teenagers trying to understand their identity, and these authors share their own accounts of trying to understand who they are, and how the world is going to treat them once they come out. Many stories show the evolution of legal and societal acceptance of queer lives and relationships and show that we can be accepted for who we are, and will inspire people to live more open, authentic lives.
The anthology includes stories by Edward Borek, Kellan Bunting, Lillith Campos, Parker Chapple, Monica Furlotte, Brett Grunerud, Austin Johnson, Alex Keen, Colter Long, Alex Masse, McRae, Conner Mertens, Stephen Parnes, Micah Porter, Trevor Ritchie, James Sanyshyn, David J.C. Smith, and Derek Smith. The stories were compiled, curated and edited by Michael Arendt & Trevor Ritchie.
Hope Pages Press Ltd. was founded in 2021 by CEO Trevor Ritchie and Editor-In-Chief Michael Arendt. They were inspired by Ryan Clayton to create an anthology of stories of hope for LGBTQ+ individuals. During the process of putting together this anthology, which would be titled Alphabet of Hope, they met a roadblock. How were they going to publish this book? Initially, Trevor and Michael leaned toward publishing independently. However, they looked at the bigger picture and made the decision to publish this anthology under their own publishing imprint. And thus, Hope Pages Press Ltd. was born.
Alphabet of Hope, an anthology of stories from LGBTQ+ authors, launched on January 1st, 2022. It became a #1 best new selling book on Amazon upon release. It features stories written by Edward Borek, Kellen Bunting, Lillith Campos, Parker Chapple, Monica Furlotte, Brett Grunerud, Austin Johnson, Alex Keen, Colter Long, Alex Masse, McRae, Conner Mertens, Stephen Parnes, Micah Porter, Trevor Ritchie, James Sanyshyn, David J.C. Smith, and Derek Smith.
Available from Hope Pages Press.
Read an excerpt, and more about the authors below
Recollections, by Alex Keen
It is 2008, I am 17 years old, and I have just been outed in front of my family.
My dad has his head in his hands. His shoulders are shaking silently. I am frozen in place.
My mother is staring at me, horrified, tears in her eyes. I do not know what to do.
My fifteen-year-old brother is gobsmacked.
I am utterly unprepared for this moment.
My sister, aged 9, is looking from face to face, trying to work out what is happening. I have no words to explain this.
“What?” says my brother. “No, seriously, is this a joke? This is a joke, right?” He looks to my mum. He looks to my dad. He turns his stare back to me.
weird.
I shrug helplessly.
It is 2002, I am 11 years old, and I feel very
There are a lot of boys around me.
Somehow, this is something I am very aware of all of a sudden. I notice them in a way I didn’t, and I am not sure when I started noticing them.
Of course, I’ve always known that boys exist, and so does every other boy around me, I am sure. But now, I have realised something nobody else seems to see: boys have bodies.
When I am sat at a desk, my attention is drawn to the back of the neck of the boy in front of me. I imagine reaching out and touching the soft downy hairs that stray below the close-cropped cut. In the library, I look at the legs tucked under chairs and, as my eyes rise up, dare to contemplate what lies beneath the zips. During lunchtime, when we are lining up to enter the dining hall, the disordered queue often becomes a press, and I am electrified by the arms that press against mine.
Twice a week, I have to go into a room with all the other boys and take off my clothes. It is beyond comprehension that everyone else seems
fine with this. Here, and only here, is it acknowledged that there is the possibility that some boys might look at other boys in the way that I want to look, and it is universally agreed that doing so— wanting to do so—would be shocking, laughable, wrong.
Despite my attempts to hide my eyes, the glimpses of brightly coloured underwear invade my dreams each night.
It is 2004, I am 13 years old, and I am alone.
My bedroom is dark. My back is pressed against the wall, half-undressed, headphones playing gentle piano music in my ears. Suddenly, I am seized by a sense of loss. I want to curl up into a ball and cry.
I want to be held. I want another boy, someone like me, to hold me in his arms. To stroke my hair and press me close, hot, with his breath on my neck, hold me so tight it hurts, and I still ache to be closer. I can picture him, chest hard, sweat tart, shoulders broad, voice an echo of my own, body a sponge for my loneliness. I can feel the tears pressing the inside of my scrunched-up eyes.
I imagine a boy. Today, the boy has curly brown hair and blue eyes. He is broad-chested, a little taller than me. His name is Luke. He has a grin on his face. We are lying in grass.
Yesterday the boy was a redhead. He was skinny and sad. I rested my chin on his head as he buried his face in my neck. We met in a sandy cave on the edge of a beach. His name was Ryan.
Tomorrow the boy will be different, and the day after. My teachers have always said I have a powerful imagination. Sometimes we are just talking, sometimes we play-fight, sometimes we kiss. Sometimes, we touch each other. More than anything, though, we hold one another. Each night, I can almost feel the boy in my arms.
In all these fantasies, the boy and I are always in private, always alone. Of all the things I can imagine, I can’t consider the idea of our fragile, perfect moment together surviving the trauma of being seen.
It is 2006, I am 15 years old, and I am suffocating.
I am sat in the front passenger seat of my mum’s car. We are waiting at a traffic light, the song that was playing on the radio has just finished and now we are sat in silence.
My tongue feels sticky in my mouth. My hand is white on the seatbelt. All the air in my lungs is pressing against the inside of my vocal cords.
“I like boys. I don’t like girls. I am gay. I like men. I love men. I’ve been having these
thoughts about guys. I want to date a guy. I want to
date guys. I like guys. I think I’m gay. I know I’m gay.”
This is what I don’t say. I’ve been rolling
the phrases around on my tongue for weeks, and I’d even managed to convince myself that it was purely speculative, imagining what it might sound like if I were for some reason to come out. Casual.
Inconsequential. Just an offhand thought that I keep on having for no particular reason, like you do.
Now, suddenly, sat at this traffic light, I am crushingly aware of how hard the words are fighting to get out, and how terrified I am of saying them.
My mum is a psychotherapist. She has shelves upon shelves of books about tolerance, and acceptance, and love. She has a gay brother. She has gay friends. When I was 9 or 10, she gave me a book about how some boys like girls, and others like boys, and some girls like boys, and others like girls, and some people like both, and how all of that is okay. She has told me and our brother and sister out loud, together and individually, many times on separate occasions, that she and my dad will always love us, no matter what we do, no matter who we are, no matter who we love.
So why can’t I say it?
The light changes. A new song comes on the radio. I exhale. My mum asks me a question I don’t hear. It is an ordinary day.
It is 2007, I am 16 years old, and I cannot believe the words that are coming out of my mouth.
I am in the office in our house, talking to my mum, telling her I have something to say. I have realised that I cannot wait for the right moment. If I try to plan for the right moment, I will chicken out. I will never be ready, and I can’t wait any longer.
So I trick myself into it. Here’s how I do it. I walk into the room, and I open my mouth and I say “Mum”.
Now she’s looking at me. I have to say something. She will know something is wrong if I don’t say something.
“What is it?”
“I have something to tell you.”
Great. Now she can tell that this is isn’t just a random thing, it’s *something*.
I am trembling with the effort of keeping my mind blank, not letting myself come up with a lie.
Not letting myself imagine what will happen next. “Okay… You can tell me anything.”
“I… am…”Breathe.“I’mgay.”
Several months later, we’re sat at the dinner table. My brother and I, eager for anything to talk about other than ourselves and school and our teenage selves, are loudly contemplating a brochure that the family received, explaining all the things we can do with the reward points my mum has accrued from shopping at a nearby supermarket, with running commentary from our parents and our little sister.
“We could get a half price subscription to a monthly wine club!”
“You don’t even like wine, and they’re always half off anyway. Ooh, they sell Nerf guns— ”
“No! No toy guns in my house, thank you.” “Fine. How about a hot tub?”
“Like with bubbles? I’d like a hot tub in the garden.”
“Do you know how long those things take to fill up? And then you have to clean them every time you use them. And we get so many leaves in the garden.”
“We could go on a cruise. I’ve always wanted to go on a cruise.”
“Yeah, a GAY cruise!” The world freezes.
“Why would it be a gay cruise?” asks my mum. She has been encouraging me to tell them for months. I am waiting for the right moment.
My brother cracks an excellent joke: “Because Alex is gay, duh.”
“Well I’m glad he’s told you, but let’s not make jokes like that please.”
It is 2008, I am 17 years old, and I have just been outed in front of my family.
My dad has his head in his hands. His shoulders are shaking silently. I am frozen in place.
My mother is staring at me, horrified, tears in her eyes. I do not know what to do.
My fifteen-year-old brother is gobsmacked.
I am utterly unprepared for this moment.
My sister, aged 9, is looking from face to face, trying to work out what is happening. I have no words to explain this.
“What?” says my brother. “No, seriously, is this a joke? This is a joke, right?” He looks to my mum. He looks to my dad. He turns his stare back to me.
I shrug helplessly.
My mum is on the verge of crying. “Oh Alex, I’m sorry! I thought you’d told him! I’m so
sorry! Oh my god, Alex, I thought you’d told him!” She remains in this loop for at least a minute.
My dad is actually crying, tears of laughter streaking down his face.
My sister says, “Is there someone you’re being gay with?” When I shake my head, she asks how I know I’m gay. My mum, who has recovered somewhat, explains that I like boys and not girls.
“Oh. Okay then.” She goes back to eating her peas.
My brother looks at me dumbfounded. “Erm, sorry?”
“It’s okay. I probably would like to go on a gay cruise.”
And it was that easy.
It is 2009, I am 18 years old and today is my first day at university. We are sat around, getting to know one another, relying on cheap lager and the structure of I Have Never to compensate for the fact that we are all terrified that everyone else is an adult and we are not.
Someone says, “I have never kissed a guy.”
I take a deep breath, and a quick swig. I say, out loud, to nobody in particular, “I’m gay.” Then I shrug and take another swig.
Each time I say it, the heartbeat pounding in my chest is a little more manageable.
It is 2018 and I am old enough that when someone asks me how old I am, I have to think about the answer. I’m sat in a pub with my sister, who has somehow become old enough to have opinions on global politics as she gesticulates with a glass of Sauvignon Blanc in her hand. I ask her whether she’s joined any societies at university.
“Well, there’s a cheese and wine society, which obvs I wanted to check out, but they had like a hundred and fifty people sign up at the fresher’s fair and the student union are at war with the Uni over whether they can even stay open or whether
it’s encouraging drinking, which I think is stupid because students drink anyway and it’s not like a glass of wine and a couple of slices of cheese is doing more harm than £1 pints at the End of Exams party, is it? So, there’s that, and the film society, and Politics Society because you basically have to be on the committee for your course society if you want to run for student council, and the LGBT society.”
She throws me a little glance. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, I’m bisexual.” “That’s cool.”
“Thaaanks. Can I have another glass of wine please?”
My heart is bursting with pride.
Available from Hope Pages Press.
Meet The Authors
Edward Borek, or Edward J. Borek III knows how important finding affirming spaces is for disproportionately impacted individuals. In his short story, “To Find Community,” he explores what it takes to build such a community for LGBTQ+ college students. Edward is a long-time volunteer, an effective student leader, and community advocate. Learn more at www.edwardborek.com.
Kellen Bunting– A graduate of Salem State, Kellen lives in Boston, Massachusetts. Adopted early in life, he makes greater efforts to appreciate his privileges and life luck than he ever could have envisioned as a child.
Lillith Campos is the parent of 4 beautiful children that she adores. She volunteers her time facilitating trans support groups and provides safe zone trainings to promote inclusivity with various organizations. She practices intersectional feminism and advocates for equality with a passion for mental health awareness and suicide prevention. www.onslowcountylgbtq.com
Parker Chapple can be found at parker@badasscreative.ca
Monica Furlotte appreciates art in any format; often attending poetry events, art galleries, concerts, and plays. Over the last few years, she started being involved in art projects herself to raise awareness on different issues she is passionate about & as a form of self-expression. Music is her love language.
Brett Grunerud is a current PharmD student at the University of British Columbia in beautiful Vancouver, British Columbia. Apart from school and work at a pharmacy on weekends, Brett enjoys curling in the winter and volunteering with a variety of community and university-based organizations.
Austin Johnson is a licensed clinical social worker (aka brain fixer upper) who lives with his husband and coven of witches in Salem, Oregon. When not benevolently manipulating people, he enjoys finding random uses for discarded bits and rationalizing his perpetually messy workspace as “part of the creative process.”
Alex Keen– A writer, an award-winning improv comedian and a designer of TTRPGs, Alex Keen lives in Sheffield, England with his partner and no pets or children, thank you. Find his work at www.alexrkeen.com.
Colter Long grew up on a fam outside of Stettler, Alberta. As a teenager, he was diagnosed with Leukemia and was the recipient of a bone marrow transplant. This experience influenced his interest in the biopsychosocial aspects of wellness. Colter is now is a practicing clinical therapist in Vancouver, British Columbia. Colter can be found at https://www.linkedin.com/in/colter-j-long/
Alex Masse, AKA Fairything, is a 21-year-old writer and musician residing in what is colonially known as Surrey, BC. The arts are a longtime love of theirs, and their work has been seen everywhere from the Scholastic Writing Awards to Vancouver Pride. They’re also a neurodivergent nonbinary lesbian, which greatly affects their process.
McRae (All Pronouns) is a neurodiverse writer and creator. He seeks to use his art to challenge the status quo, inspire independent and critical thinking, and inspire and amplify the voices of the marginalized. He’d like to thank the Squamish Nation for putting up with him and his strange family for over a century on their unceded territory.
Conner Mertens– In 2014, Conner Mertens became the first active college football player to ever come out publicly about his sexuality. Since then, he has been involved with groups like GLSEN, PFLAG, The Human Rights Campaign, and many more. In addition, he serves on an advisory board for The Trevor Project, is co-chair for the You Can Play Project on the West coast and directs the Sports Equality Foundation‘s youth advisory committee.
Stephen Parnes can be found at sparnesncs@hotmail.com
Micah Porter has been a public educator for three decades as a teacher, coach, LGBTQ+ advocate, and administrator. He has a deep philosophical belief in creating greater educational access for our most under-resourced students and creating positive experiences, both academic and extracurricular. His advocacy focuses on greater inclusion for LGBTQ+ teen athletes. Having worked with the Sports Equality Foundation, You Can Play, and Teens for Inclusive Athletics, among others, Micah has been a committed spokesperson in the LGBTQ+ sports movement.
James Sanyshyn is a Burnaby teacher. His Alberta upbringing fed his mission for equity and inclusion in the world of education. He was one of the main proponents of SOGI policy development in Burnaby schools. He is graduate of UBC and McGill University, trained in music and French.
David J.C. Smith has recently completed his Masters in Sport and Exercise psychology at the German Sports University of Cologne, following a Bachelor of Science on Sport and Exercise Science at Metropolitan State University of Denver. Over the last twelve years he has worked with the LGBTQI community in promoting exercise, fitness and sport as well as teaching, lectures, workshops and seminars/webinars in sport psychology, sports science, and sports diversity. David came out when he was 14 and spent his formative years working in the amusement park industry, an experience from which his story derives.
Derek Smith lives in Vancouver, Canada. Educated at the University of British Columbia with a MSc in Chemistry, he worked in academia and private industry until 2020. Derek has since left that career to focus on his passion of skydiving and is now working as a professional skydiver.
Meet Hope Pages Press Ltd.
Trevor Ritchie is the CEO and co-founder of Hope Pages Press Ltd, an international printing imprint focused on bringing forward the stories of marginalized groups in society. Trevor lives, works and sometimes plays on the unceded territories of the Coast Salish Peoples. Outside of Hope Pages Press, Trevor is a teacher in the Burnaby School District, and was one of the proponents of SOGI policy development in Burnaby Schools. Trevor also works as a sports ambassador for the Canadian Olympic Team’s OneTeam program. Trevor works to explore the ability of athletics to be affirming to LGBTQ+ people.
Michael Arendt is a co-founder and editor-in- chief of Hope Pages Press Ltd. While he is sad that he wasn’t able to contribute a story to this anthology, he enjoyed both editing the stories and creating the design of Alphabet of Hope. He hopes to be able to contribute to future editions of the anthology. Michael is an alumnus of Wayne State University where he earned a Bachelor of Arts in Design & Merchandising. Aside from Hope Pages Press Ltd, Michael teaches dance classes and does freelance design work. He would like to thank his husband, Paul, for supporting him on the endeavor of starting a publishing imprint and publishing Alphabet of Hope. He’d also love to give many thanks to Trevor Ritchie for allowing Michael to partner with him on this journey.
About the Author
Bryen Dunn is a freelance journalist based in Toronto with a focus on tourism, lifestyle, entertainment and community issues. He has written several travel articles and has an extensive portfolio of celebrity interviews with musicians, actors and other public personalities. He’s willing to take on any assignments of interest, attend parties with free booze, listen to rants, and travel the world in search of the great unknown. He’s eager to discover the new, remember the past, and look into the future.