Mirrors And Doorways

Joanne Lockwood is joined by author Nonir Amicitia, who co-writes as O E Tearmann, to explore the idea of “mirrors and doorways” in storytelling: mirrors that let marginalised readers see themselves as full characters, and doorways that invite others into empathy and conversation.

They discuss how queer and trans characters are too often defined only by their identity or framed through tragedy, and why it matters to write stories where identity is present and meaningful but not the sole plot. Nonir shares how their hopeful queer dystopian series centres adventure, found family, and community, while still reflecting realities such as transition, disrespect, and the pressure of cis-heteronormative environments.

The conversation also touches on the emotional toll of hostile rhetoric and the “reactive terror loop” that can come from constantly amplifying threats online. Both reflect on mental health, dysphoria, anxiety, depression, stigma, and the importance of safe spaces, supportive relationships, and representation that shows people asking for help and still being fully human.

Nonir speaks candidly about their nonbinary identity and the challenge of presentation in a heavily gendered society, including the value of language and visibility for young people. The episode closes with lighter reflections on juggling as a metaphor for managing many projects, a brief aside on AI and productivity, and details on where to find Nonir and their books.

One-sentence summary

Nonir Amicitia writes hopeful queer futures because they refuse to let fear, stigma and silence be the only stories marginalised people get to see about themselves.

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Synopsis

Nonir Amicitia grew up knowing something didn’t quite fit. As a child, they moved through the world as “a very tomboy girl or a very girly boy”, without the words to explain what they felt. Queerness wasn’t visible, non-binary identity wasn’t offered as a possibility, and so much of society quietly insisted on neat edges and tidy boxes. It was through reading, theatre and fan fiction that Nonir began to recognise themselves. Representation didn’t just entertain them — it gave them language. Over time, they tried on names, pronouns and ways of being, eventually choosing a name that means “strong friend”, anchored in their belief in community, care and found family.

What drives Nonir now is both tenderness and defiance. As a queer, non-binary person of Jewish descent living in the United States, they describe the current climate as “freaking terrifying” if they think about it too long. They know how easily marginalised people are cast as villains, punchlines or problems to be solved. Through fiction, they’re building worlds where queer and neurodivergent characters are heroes — not because of their trauma, not reduced to their pain, but simply because they are human. They are trying to offer mirrors for those who need to see themselves, and doorways for those who need to understand.

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10 Small, digestible concepts for easy learning

1. You can’t become what you’ve never seen.

Visibility makes possibility real.

2. Queerness is part of a person, not the entire plot.

Identity enriches a character; it doesn’t have to define their suffering.

3. Stigma becomes self-doubt when it’s repeated often enough.

What society calls “broken” can quietly become internal truth.

4. Fear spreads fast in silence.

Talking honestly about identity can interrupt generational shame.

5. Representation is preventive care.

Seeing yourself reflected can reduce isolation before it becomes despair.

6. Marginalised people are tired of being cast as villains.

Stories shape who gets seen as dangerous — and who gets seen as deserving.

7. Safety allows experimentation.

People discover who they are when judgement isn’t watching.

8. Internalised policing harms everyone.

Systems that restrict minorities also tighten the box around the majority.

9. Joy is resistance.

Writing hopeful futures is a refusal to surrender to fear.

10. Community is medicine.

Strong friendships steady people when the world feels hostile.

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The “why” in the story

What they believe is true about people

That everyone deserves to be “the hero of their own story”. That people are not broken for being different. That most marginalised people are simply trying to survive and be loved.

What they cannot unsee

The way media codes queer and Jewish identities as villainous. The way mental illness is used to explain away violence. The way children grow up without words for themselves — and how dangerous that absence can be.

What they are no longer willing to tolerate

Stories that reduce queer lives to tragedy. Political narratives that erase existence. The idea that identity must be hidden to stay safe.

What they are trying to build instead

Worlds — fictional and real — where diverse people belong without apology, ask for help without shame, and exist as complex, adventurous, joyful humans.

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Narrative structure

1. The trigger:

Growing up without language for their identity. Feeling misaligned from both “girl” and “boy”, yet seeing no alternative reflected back. Later, witnessing political hostility intensify into something that feels dangerous and dehumanising.

2. The tension:

Living in a world that can feel actively hostile while trying not to drown in fear. Wanting to stay informed without being trapped in what they call a “reactive terror loop”.

3. The insight:

“Change begins in media.” Stories shape what feels normal. If people only see queer characters as tragic or corrupting, that becomes cultural truth.

4. The pivot:

Instead of arguing endlessly with hostile narratives, Nonir began writing different ones. A hopeful queer dystopia. Characters who struggle, love, lead and fight for democracy — without their identity being the sole conflict.

5. The destination:

A future where a child can find words for themselves early. Where queer and neurodivergent people are expected in the cast of heroes. Where existing isn’t political — it’s ordinary.

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Five key takeaways and learning points

1. Visibility saves more than pride — it can save lives.

When young people recognise themselves in stories, isolation loosens its grip.

2. Mental health stigma deepens harm.

Labelling people as “broken” discourages help-seeking and reinforces silence.

3. Fear-based politics thrives on caricature.

When communities are flattened into stereotypes, empathy disappears.

4. Authenticity unsettles rigid systems.

People living openly can feel threatening to those who feel trapped.

5. Hope is strategic, not naïve.

Imagining better futures gives people somewhere to walk towards.

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Ten distinct ideas explained

1. Mirrors in literature

For someone who has never seen themselves centred, encountering a character like them can feel like oxygen. It affirms existence.

2. Doorways for others

Stories allow readers to inhabit a life unlike their own without defensiveness — empathy grows quietly there.

3. The villain trope

Repeatedly coding minorities as antagonists embeds suspicion in culture, shaping real-world treatment.

4. Internalised stigma

When society insists you’re wrong or unnatural, that message can root itself in your self-worth.

5. Found family

When biological family or society rejects you, community becomes chosen shelter.

6. Non-binary visibility

Without language and representation, young people may feel confusion where clarity is possible.

7. Political fear and personal impact

Wide policy debates land as private anxiety in the bodies of marginalised people.

8. Safe experimentation

Trying a name, a pronoun or a style requires environments free from ridicule.

9. Marginalisation harms everyone

Systems that demand conformity suppress emotional honesty across the board.

10. Hopeful dystopia

Even when exploring frightening futures, centring resilience reminds readers they are not powerless.

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How people should change as a result

1. Think

• Move from “representation is cosmetic” to “representation shapes survival”.
• Move from “identity is divisive” to “erasure is divisive”.
• Move from “this doesn’t affect me” to “systems that police others can police me too”.
• Move from binary thinking to spectrum thinking — about gender, health, humanity.

2. Feel

• From defensiveness to curiosity when encountering identities unlike your own.
• From pity to respect towards queer and neurodivergent people.
• From fear to compassion about difference.
• From passive sympathy to active solidarity.

3. Act

• Diversify what you read, watch and share — normalise varied protagonists.
• Challenge lazy stereotypes in everyday conversation.
• Create small pockets of safety: use chosen names, correct pronouns, listen without interrogation.
• Support queer and marginalised creators financially when you can.
• Notice when fear-based media is pulling you into outrage cycles — step back intentionally.
• Offer reassurance to young people exploring identity: give them language, not judgement.
• Make mental health conversations ordinary and shame-free.

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One thing to remember

Everyone deserves the dignity of being the hero of their own story.