Mary, Queen of Scotch

Preface I hate prefaces. Oh, okay, I get it; this is a preface. But, to be fair, this is my thirteenth novel and first preface, so I’m willing to look the other way. To also be fair, this one is somewhat necessary, and so, I’ll be brief. Though as a writer, brevity really isn’t my strong point. Expounding. Yes, expounding is my thing. At length. And girth. Girthy expounding I prefer. But for the sake of this, yuck, preface, again, I’ll shoot for brief. Or, you know, briefish. Pronouns. That was brief. Now comes that aforementioned girthy expounding. See, pronouns fly out the window—on gossamer wings, or at least taffeta—when talking about drag queens. Oh, and, yes, I talk at length about drag queens on the pages that follow. At width, too. At witty width. This book is chockful of drag queens, in fact. Actually, you could choke on the sheer volume of drag queens that follow. Or at least on the girthy ones. But drag queens are men. Men go by the pronouns he and him and his. Except when said men wear dresses. Then said men go by she and her. Such is the case in real life. Such is the case in this real book. Really. All that is to say, when I’m referring to a drag queen by her drag name, I use feminine pronouns. When I refer to a drag queen by her boy name, I use masculine pronouns. Writing a book is tough business. Writing a book and switching pronouns is lumberjackian. P.S., I’m a writer; I can make up words. Don’t try this at home; please leave it up to the professionals. To sum it up: drag queen equals she and her; out of drag equals he and him and his. And that’s that. Brief. Ish. Though I suppose I could’ve simply stated that one summation and been done with it, but then look at all the girthy expounding you’d have missed out on. It’s all about you, dear reader. It’s all about you.