Why We Need Stories about Older Lesbians.

A number of readers said to me they loved Auntie Florrie from Encrypted Hearts. I’ll be honest; so did I. I would’ve loved her in my corner when I came out.

Some of you know I was struggling to write a contemporary romance. When I went on a Global Wordsmiths writing course in March, I discussed this with my editor, who encouraged me to write what I wanted to write. I said I had an idea for a short story, featuring Auntie Florrie. The idea… and the manuscript… kept growing, and now she has her own story, a dual timeline second chance romance, which throws us back into 1920s London and comes forward to 1950s Cambridge (UK) and France. One of the key things I wanted was to include Florrie as an older lesbian.

In the sapphic fiction world that’s slowly embracing diversity, older lesbians are still under-represented. I’m not sure if this is because younger readers don’t want to read about the middle-aged or the old, but certainly very few book covers will show older characters on the front. I put my hand up to doing this too. My latest book, On the Edge of Uncertainty, has a portrait of the young Diana in the 1920s, painted in the style of Tamara de Limpicka. Why? Because apparently no-one would pick up a book with a cover of a middle-aged woman.

The stories of younger sapphics are vital, but they’re not the whole picture. Queer women grow up and age. They love, lose, and love again, and drag along a whole truckload of baggage, in the form of family, children, exes and aging bodies. And yet, their stories are still so rarely told.

Post-menopausal Woman

Once a woman passes menopause, she’s often written out of romantic narratives, or there are “comic” references to hot flushes, but nothing else. Society ignores older women or writes them off as being crones. But love doesn’t disappear with age, nor wisdom. Desire doesn’t wither either. Older lesbian representation reminds us that connection, self-discovery, and passion are lifelong experiences. And there are advantages to growing older, the chief being not giving a damn what people think, or feeling you have to be seen somewhere, or do something. For me, for the first time in my life, I’m now actually doing exactly what I want to do: writing.

Older Women carry Queer History

Many older lesbians lived through times when queerness had to be hidden. In the UK, this was characterised by Section 28, when being out could cost you your job, your family, or your safety. Most of my contemporaries have stories of being closeted at work or not daring to come out until later in life. To this day, my father refuses to talk about my sexuality, and still refers to my ex as “that woman”, who he blames for corrupting his daughter. A lot of the freedom and acceptance we have today is because lesbians in the past refused to be silent and demanded to live authentically.

Older Representation

Representation in books shapes how we see ourselves and how society sees us. Without stories of older lesbians, we reinforce the idea that queer life stops being visible after a certain age. But when readers encounter women in their fifties, sixties, or beyond who are falling in love, living and thriving, it changes the narrative. It tells readers: You are still here. You still matter.

Connecting Generations

When I wrote Warm Pearls and Paper Cranes, which shows two women from their teens to their nineties, I wasn’t sure the older women would appeal to anyone, yet I’ve had a number of readers who’ve said how much they enjoyed seeing how it’s possible to live a full, authentic queer life, and how they can relate to some of the entrenched misogyny along the way. Others have said how they’ve loved being able to celebrate old queer women having a happy ever after.

Stories are how we make sense of who we are and who we can become. When older lesbians are missing from those stories, a vital part of our shared humanity is lost. We need more books that celebrate our heartbreaks, our complex lives, and our courage to love again.

Because representation isn’t just about being seen. It’s about being remembered. And it’s time older lesbians took our place in the stories we tell about love, life, and everything in between.

Hello, Reader World!

I think I got into reading as it was something in which I could beat my brother. He was severely dyslexic, and they didn’t get support in those days. He was three years older than me, brilliant at cricket and everything else, and I idolised him. But reading was my thing.

As a child, I lived in Zambia and school finished at 1:30 p.m. In the afternoons, we were free. The dust tickled our noses, and we were serenaded by cicadas. It was so hot we would intersperse splashes in a friend’s pool with bouts of reading to dry off. We read anything and everything we could get hold of, from the Times of Zambia to classic children’s books, and we swapped with each other. We even picked up a copy of The Thoughts of Chairman Mao.

Television schedules were indicative rather than actual, so I’d read and tell stories to my brother’s Action Man and Eeyore while we waited for the one children’s programme to appear. I started to write the stories down. If I was asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I would always say, “a writer.”

At eleven I fell in love…with Shakespeare. On a trip back to London we went to a magical outdoor Shakespeare performances of A Midsummer Night’s Dream at Regent’s Park, and I was hooked. From then on I started to write poetry and study performance. 

Established back in the UK, I was lucky enough to attend the same girls grammar school as Carol Ann Duffy (although some years later!), and was taught by the same English department and by the wonderful Mr Walker who inspired and encouraged her so much.

I continued to write poetry but moved into economics and accountancy for a full career’s worth of numbers and report writing, which slowly stifled my creativity. In my very limited spare time, I tried to write a novel but struggled with the plot and having enough headspace and energy to explore and play.

I was determined to retire from full time employment as soon as I’d paid off my mortgage, and I saw an advertisement for Global Wordsmith’s course in Spain—to begin the day after my retirement date. It was fate.

The course was much more than I hoped, Robyn and Brey being the perfect balance of ultimate professionals and welcoming hosts. I soon realised how much I didn’t know, and that writing a novel is not like a glorified work report or indeed an extended poem. Within a day, the plot I’d been billowing around with for months formed into a parabolic arch locked with a keystone of midpoint crisis. 

I shall always be grateful for their wisdom and encouragement. So when I was approached to see if I would submit a short story for the upcoming anthology, LesFic Eclectic, I leapt at the chance, and I feel very honoured that it was accepted.

In the meantime, I’m working on my novel, Cider, which is a great excuse to go around and sample different ciders in the name of research. For details about my novels, please see my website tab, Scribbling. So I hope you enjoy my short story, and I look forward to years of creativity and connection with you all. I’ve got a lot to catch up on…