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My Intentions for This Blog

You probably got here via my author’s website, but if you didn’t, let me explain who I am. I write fiction, primarily in the crime genre, and my stories range from short to novella to novel length. I’ve had a few books published, along with a handful of short stories.

This blog will be a space where I write about shit that has nothing to do with my fiction. Yes, I will curse because that’s how I talk when I can be fully myself, and I mean to be myself on this blog as much as common sense allows.

I haven’t thought too far ahead about what I’ll write here, but you can probably expect the following:

  • book reviews
  • film reviews
  • TV series reviews
  • thoughts about my favorite characters and their relationships
  • a lot of commentary on friendship, singlehood, homosexuality, celibacy, nonsexual romance, and alternative lifestyles, especially in the context of entertainment I consume and/or produce
  • maybe some reflections on writing, being a writer, etc.
  • if the mood strikes me: thoughts on life that will probably veer into deep and dark places
  • short stories I write that I either can’t get published or don’t want to bother submitting for publication elsewhere

 

For now, I’ll disable comments, because people don’t know how to act in comment sections. I reserve the right to change my mind at any given point in the future.

I have no idea how often I’ll post. It’ll probably be sporadic.

If you find a blog post of mine interesting, insightful, amusing, or otherwise valuable, feel free to share it wherever you please.

Happy reading.

Original Poem, written in 2019: “If You Were Here”

If You Were Here

 

I would look you in the eye when I tell you

I love you.

 

Bearing the risk, the unshelling of my heart,

with the fearlessness of a girl child

climbing trees

and running with wolves.

 

I would sit in humble joy before your silver hairs

rising in the black like the moon

and each fine wrinkle: the whisper of time

I am grateful to lose with you.

 

If you were here, I would believe life can be kind

to me. Gathering keepsakes like a bird with an eye

for shiny things: poems, Polaroids, purple carnations.

Things I can leave at your feet, in your hands,

in the light of your smile.

 

If you were here,

I would be in no hurry to die.

 

I could look at myself

and see someone who was meant to be.


by Marie S. Crosswell, copyright 2019

What’s the Difference Between Nonsexual Romance and Platonic Partnership?

Recently, I had a long, in-depth conversation with a friend about one of my favorite subjects: romantic friendship, of which platonic partnerships are a subset, in my mind. Much of the conversation was specific to me and my personal desires, but we also spent a good chunk of time discussing the difference, if any, between a platonic partnership and a nonsexual romantic relationship. That very difference is something I’ve spent a ridiculous amount of time and brain power attempting to figure out, and I ultimately landed on the conclusion that there is no universal, objective difference. It depends on the person experiencing the relationship in question, how it is emotionally interpreted. A frustrating conclusion to me at the time.

I want to share how I personally conceptualize the difference, but first, I need to say:

  1. I don’t actually like the word platonic, but I use it when talking about platonic partnerships because it’s the most convenient word available in the English language. Especially if I’m distinguishing a non-romantic primary partnership from a non-sexual romantic relationship.
  2. I realized, after talking to my friend, that there is a major drawback to using the term romantic friendship, which comes from academia: it could turn people away from that kind of friendship due to false assumptions they make based on the word romantic, even if they are actually open and willing to engage in it otherwise.

So, let me set the term romantic friendship aside for now and just explain how and why I see platonic partnerships and nonsexual romantic relationships as two different kinds of relationship, no matter how similar they can be.

My friend is not the first person I’ve encountered who’s responded to my description of a platonic partnership with: “Well, that basically sounds like your average romantic relationship without any sex.” Thing is, nonsexual romantic relationships do exist. The people in them very clearly consider them romantic in nature and therefore fundamentally different than their friendships, in an emotional sense. They would have a problem if somebody called their romantic relationships platonic based on the absence of sex. I don’t deny that nonsexual romantic relationships are qualitatively romantic, not platonic, for the people in them. Plenty of people out there would say there’s no such thing as nonsexual romantic relationships, that romantic relationships are by definition sexual, but they’re wrong.

That said, I think platonic partnerships are also real and different from nonsexual romantic relationships, even if observers would be unable to tell the difference just by looking at a pair of platonic partners vs. a romantic couple in a nonsexual relationship. I can’t say the possible differences apply across the board to all people capable of, engaged in, or desiring a nonsexual partnership of some kind. They don’t. All I can tell you is how I see the two relationship types as different.

 

Nonsexual Romantic Relationships vs. Platonic Partnerships

  • Physical attraction

This one’s pretty obvious. Romantic relationships begin with or at the very least include physical attraction. Notice I use the word physical here, not sexual. The rest of America often uses the first to mean the second. I don’t. Physical attraction is focused on a person’s appearance, but that doesn’t always mean a desire for sexual intercourse with the other person. You can be uninterested in or repulsed by sex–for any number of reasons–but still feel physically attracted to people. I can’t imagine being in a romantic relationship with someone I wasn’t physically attracted to. (Mind you, I’m not interested in romantic relationships categorically, but I can still say that if I wanted a girlfriend, I’d have to find her attractive, whether we ever had sex or not.)

Physical attraction is irrelevant in platonic partnerships. It is not necessary, and it’s not the reason you eventually end up with your platonic partner. A platonic partnership begins as a friendship, and we don’t become friends with people because of physical attraction. We may recognize our friends are attractive, we might even be attracted to our friends, but we don’t choose to develop a close friendship with someone because of her looks. And if we don’t find a friend physically attractive, that does not limit the amount of closeness, love, emotional chemistry and attachment, etc between us. We don’t love our attractive friends more than our unattractive friends. The friend who emerges as our best friend, if we are so lucky in adulthood to have one, isn’t by default the one we’re most physically attracted to. That’s not how friendship works, so it’s not how platonic partnerships work.

This is why platonic partnerships are possible between people regardless of their sexual orientations and respective biological sex. I’ll use myself as an example. I’m a lesbian, but that doesn’t mean my platonic life partner has to be a woman. It certainly doesn’t mean my platonic life partner has to be a woman I find good-looking. She could be someone I wouldn’t look twice at on a dating app. And the same goes for my partner: he or she might not find me physically attractive at all, which is fine. And because physical attraction doesn’t factor into platonic partnership formation and feelings, this relationship could absolutely spring up between two people contrary to their sexual orientations. My platonic life partner could be a woman who’s heterosexual or asexual. My platonic life partner could be a man, despite the fact I’m a lesbian. And while I’m sure I would come to be fond of my partner’s appearance out of sentimental attachment, I wouldn’t expect to meet this person and notice his or her appearance. Nor would I consider his or her appearance when deciding if I want the person for a life partner.

A bonus of platonic partnerships: there’s no competition to worry about based on physical attraction. (Potential romantic/sexual relationships with third parties do pose a threat to platonic partnerships, but that’s another blog post.) I’m not going to leave my platonic life partner for somebody I find more physically attractive because physical attraction is obviously so unimportant to me that I chose a platonic life partner in the first place, rather than a romantic/sexual partner. If I see a physically attractive woman, cool. There’s no way in hell she would be even a little bit of a threat to my platonic life partnership.

  • Speed of development

Romantic relationships, most of which are sexual, move fast. People often go from strangers to a serious, publicly acknowledged couple in the span of weeks or months. They could decide to move in together or get married within a year or two. They often “fall in love” (which is usually just infatuation) without actually knowing each other. They also break up after only a few months, maybe a year or two. People can fall out of romantic love as quickly as they fell into it–and that’s pretty damn fast. There’s no reason this would be any less true of nonsexual romantic relationships than of sexual romance. While some nonsexual romantic relationships do evolve out of friendship, not all of them do. People who go from strangers to a romantic couple who don’t have sex are likely going to do it at about the same speed as their sexually active counterparts: weeks or months, maybe a year tops.

Friendship is slow-moving, by comparison. Even if you luck out and meet someone you’ve got instant emotional chemistry with. We expect it to be slower. We take our time because we’re usually not desperate for a new friend the way so many people are desperate for a lover/spouse. And there is no external pressure of any kind to speed through a friendship to some specific goal, like cohabitation or marriage. Friendship develops more organically than romantic relationships, on average, and without sex or romantic infatuation, the emotional bond takes more time to form, to deepen, and to become strong. The advantage here is that a serious friendship has more staying power than most romantic relationships. Yes, it takes longer to get to a Serious Level, but once you’re there, you’re far more likely to stay.

So it’s safe to say that most platonic life partnerships will blossom out of friendship that’s older than corresponding romantic relationships ending in marriage. It could easily take a few years, if not longer, for two close friends to reach the point where they want to commit to each other as platonic life partners. By then, they know each other well enough to be sure they’ve got enough personal and practical compatibility and love each other genuinely, which I figure makes it more likely the partnership will succeed.

  • Level of eroticism

There’s a very clear difference, as far as I’m concerned, between erotic and non-erotic touch. Most of that difference comes down to energy. Women especially can sense when there’s sexual energy in somebody’s touch we’re receiving vs. when there isn’t, and if we’re talking about forms of touch that aren’t sexual–like cuddling or a casual caress or a massage–then energy is pretty much the only thing that will make them erotic. In other words, there’s a wide range of physical affection that could be either romantic or platonic, and it all depends on the feelings and intent of the people engaging in it. The meaning of the touch changes from one context to another. It’s the kind of physical affection that is loving, caring, and even intimate, but not sexually charged.

On the other hand, there are kinds of touch that, while not sexual (if we define sexual as involving genitalia), are definitely erotic. I’m not going into detail about my personal delineation between the erotic and the sexual here, but suffice to say, erotic touch carries a sexual charge even when it happens outside of a sexual encounter. The erotic can lead to sex and often does, but it can also stand alone.

Nonsexual romantic relationships can still potentially involve a level of eroticism in physical interaction that probably won’t exist in a platonic life partnership. Some people out there who don’t want to have sex still enjoy erotically charged touch and physical affection–like open-mouthed kissing, unclothed cuddling, kissing a partner’s neck or back or [insert other body part here], sucking on a partner’s neck, biting, etc. You get the idea. Erotic touch is the kind that you can easily picture happening in the lead-up to sex or during sex, and it’s the kind of touch you would only ever do with somebody you’re physically attracted to, whether you want to have sexual intercourse or not.

Platonic partnerships don’t carry that energy, broadly speaking. No matter how emotionally profound and intense, how deep and intimate, how loving, it’s not the kind of relationship based on physical or sexual attraction. So it’s highly unlikely the two partners would want to engage in erotic touch, even if they’re otherwise physically affectionate.


Those are the only key differences between nonsexual romance and platonic partnership that I’m certain of. Once upon a time, I would’ve included jealousy on this list, with nonsexual romance being more conducive to jealousy than platonic partnership, but I’ve since decided that how jealous platonic partners might feel over each other varies too widely for me to use jealousy as a differentiator between the two relationship types.

So, yes, the line is thin for me. But those three differences are pretty meaningful.

Movie Commentary: Bad Boys (1995)

Marcus Burnett and Mike Lowrey in Bad Boys

I was going to try to review this movie in a traditional fashion, but as it turns out, the only kind of commentary I want to make is on the parts of the movie that actually interest me.

First, a minor observation I want to get out of the way: the black woman gets killed in the first quarter of the movie, and the white woman survives all the way to the end. I can see the supposed plot-based justification for Max Logan, played by the beautiful Karen Alexander, to die in order to motivate Detective Mike Lowry (Will Smith) to avenge her death—a lazy-ass trope that male writers in Hollywood are notorious for: woman dies to give male hero a vengeance motive and Man Pain—but beyond a brief few moments of sadness upon discovering her death, we don’t actually get much from Mike. Julie, the white female character played by Tea Leoni, makes a bigger deal out of Max’s death than Mike does.

Anyway, why the dark-skinned black female character had to be the one to die instead of the white woman, I can certainly guess. Throw the white audience a bone, right? I’m just glad that despite Marcus (Martin Lawrence) handcuffing Julie and Mike together at the end of the movie, the two don’t actually end up together. 

What I found most interesting about Bad Boys was the level of open affection between Mike and Marcus. First of all, to my knowledge, this movie franchise is the only buddy cop story in which both cops are black men. Both direct and indirect expressions of love and affection are present in all of the other buddy cop relationships I know of, but the racial dynamic Mike and Marcus have—as opposed to the other buddy cop pairings out there, most of which feature two white men and the rest being interracial—makes their relationship unique and special in the genre. It remains uncommon to see black male friendship on film that is not only meaningful but which allows the men involved to openly declare their attachment to each other without some kind of joke to offset the emotional earnestness of the declaration. Black masculinity has always been held to a rigid and extreme standard compared to white masculinity, at least in entertainment, and that usually means black men’s relationships with other men are completely devoid of overt affection and emotional vulnerability, while their heterosexual escapades and appetite are aggressively displayed. Mike and Marcus get plenty of opportunity throughout the movie to show the audience how heterosexual they are, but their relationship with each other is the most important one in the film, as you would expect from a buddy cop movie.    

Marcus first says “I love you” to Mike when they’re in the middle of an honest dialogue about Mike’s inherited wealth, a conversation which of course takes place in a car. Mike gets defensive and says “fuck you” to Marcus, and Marcus answers with “I love you.” It could’ve easily been delivered with levity or humor, but instead, the genuine feeling behind it comes through when Marcus softly says “I do” right after. Mike, being only a little placated but still annoyed, tells Marcus to shut up and quickly changes the subject to a criticism of Marcus’ driving. He does not return the words, but Marcus seems to be okay with that. I think it’s noteworthy that Mike also doesn’t make fun of Marcus for saying “I love you,” nor does he make some kind of anti-gay quip in response. He simply tells Marcus to shut up, then changes the subject.

The buddy cop sub-genre has always been the one corner of crime-focused media where the aggressively masculine, heterosexual male heroes have to juggle their performance of masculinity, their heterosexual image, their anti-gay anxiety, and their tender feelings for a male partner all at the same time. The tension of this act is fascinating to me. That both Mike and Marcus are black men adds another layer to the complexity of the relationship.

Bad Boys acknowledges the anti-gay anxiety of both its characters and the subgenre itself, maybe even more directly than other buddy cop movies: when Mike and Marcus are pretending to be each other to Julie, she openly admits she wondered if Marcus was gay because of the many framed photographs of Mike in Mike’s apartment (that Marcus is pretending belongs to him). Marcus, of course, immediately denies there being a gay relationship between him and Mike and instead tries to explain the photographic shrine as a cop thing: a tribute to your partner for saving your life. The scene is supposed to be funny, and it is, using Mike’s self-centeredness and vanity against him while he isn’t there and putting Marcus in the awkward position of having to explain why he’s got multiple framed photographs of another man in his apartment that isn’t really his. But it’s also the movie’s way of letting the air out of the gay anxiety tires, for both the characters and the heterosexual audience. This anxiety has to be allayed some way somehow, if the two men are going to be openly emotional about their relationship and affectionate toward each other. What’s interesting about Bad Boys is that Mike and Marcus don’t acknowledge what I’m going to call the Gay Question to each other, nor do they ever make anti-gay comments in each other’s presence. I’ve definitely seen that in other buddy copy movies—the original Lethal Weapon comes to mind—but rather than go that route, Bad Boys addresses the Gay Question in a humorous way. I much prefer this approach to the more derisive kind where the men make unprompted, cutting, homophobic remarks.  

I have to briefly acknowledge the scene where Marcus becomes so paranoid that Mike is hooking up with Marcus’ wife that he attempts to catch them in the act. I won’t bore you with a lengthy discussion of it, but this is a long-acknowledged trope in academic literary analysis: two men bonding with each other through their mutual sexual connection to a woman, channeling their sublimated homoerotic feelings for each other into their competitive attentions to the woman. Men using women to be closer to each other, basically. I didn’t read Mike, Marcus, and Theresa that way at all, but I think it bears mentioning that this kind of “love triangle” ultimately about the male/male relationship at its heart goes back a long ways in literature and continues to appear in film. Despite Mike’s reputation as a womanizer, it’s made clear that his loyalty to Marcus makes an affair with Theresa, Marcus’ wife, utterly out of the question. Marcus recognizes how ludicrous his fear of Mike and Theresa hooking up is and apologizes to Mike.  

The movie ends with another “I love you” exchange between Mike and Marcus, but this time, Mike says the words back to Marcus. Marcus is a bit surprised, and Mike says, without looking at him, “Yeah, I said it.” It’s significant that the movie essentially ends with these two men declaring their love to each other. Sure, after their dialogue, Marcus handcuffs Mike to Julie and walks away to go home to his wife, but this predictable moment of returning to heterosexuality feels like an afterthought, not the conclusion itself. After the big shoot-out and the car chase and the explosions and Mike killing the bad guy, the story ultimately returns to what really matters: the love and relationship between the two male heroes, which give all of the aforementioned action a sense of meaning it wouldn’t otherwise have. It almost feels like the criminal plot was merely a vehicle to get Mike and Marcus to that mutual “I love you,” to give Mike a reason to say the words back to Marcus.

Bad Boys, like any buddy cop movie, is about men bonding because of violence. Entertainment is full of the reverse set-up too: men, usually either active military or criminals, bonding through committing violence. In either scenario, violence creates the need for the men to protect each other from serious injury and death, creating the kind of high stakes that naturally evoke strong feelings. There’s a particular intensity to attachments between people who depend on each other for survival, which most ordinary civilians will never know. So the kind of emotional bond that can exist between police partners is exceptional amongst both the general population and the male population specifically. The life-or-death situations that arise in the buddy cop movie not only stimulate a strong emotional bond between the two cops but allow that bond to be expressed with openness or tenderness that male civilians living quiet lives and working nonviolent jobs can’t indulge in because of the masculine heterosexual imperative. If Mike and Marcus were co-workers in an insurance office or a construction firm or an auto shop or any other non-violent setting, they wouldn’t be able to get away with spontaneous expressions of love, nor would they have occasion to engage in them.

“You always get emotional after gun fights,” Mike says to Marcus at the end of the movie, in response to Marcus saying “I love you.” Not one but two “I love you’s” in the span of one movie, from Marcus to Mike. It’s rare even for heterosexual couples to exchange the words more than once in a romance movie, but Marcus can get away with telling Mike a second time in their story because they did just survive a shoot-out, explosions, and a high-speed chase. Mike verbally points this out for the audience, who might be raising their eyebrows at Marcus during this scene.

All in all, Bad Boys was an okay buddy cop movie. Mike and Marcus’ friendship was the most compelling thing about it for me. The plot is unremarkable, and I found Julie’s character grating. At least some of the action was over-the-top and unbelievable, but that’s typical of cop movies. I don’t love Bad Boys enough to watch it again and again, the way I do Lethal Weapon, but I did appreciate watching Mike and Marcus the one time. Only time will tell if I decide to watch the sequels.