Christian Baines: “I like my characters to be complicated, nuanced, flawed, likeable, and most importantly, to go on a journey. They need to be changed between page one and ‘The End.’”
Christian Baines is quite an intriguing figure. He’s a self-proclaimed “awkward nerd” who has developed into a less awkward, highly compelling author. Growing up, Christian was nurtured on a steady diet of dark humour, which shows in his writing, adding flavour to his prose, a distinctive blend of wit and ardour with a splash of blood.
Originally hailing from the picturesque landscapes of Australia, Christian embraces a life of exploration, travelling across the globe whenever the opportunity arises. He currently resides in the vibrant city of Toronto, Canada, where he immerses himself in writing between his adventures abroad.
His body of work boasts (so far) 9 distinct works, including the thrilling gay urban paranormal series Arcadia Trust, the queer horror romance My Cat’s Guide to Online Dating, the twisted MM romance The Puppet Boy, and the sexually charged, queer dark fantasy novel The Prince and the Practitioner.
My personal favourite of Baine’s work is Geist Fleisch, his contribution to the 2024 Gay Paranormal Romance series Haunted Hearts. This captivating gay ghost story masterfully intertwines pre-WWII history, queer diversity, and the paranormal to create a haunting and emotionally charged tale of love, loss, and survival in 1930s Berlin.
In this interview, Christian and I discuss various topics, including the intersection of queerness and horror in fiction, the exploration of sex, queerness, and eroticism within LGBTQ+ narratives, as well as the reinvention of classic genre tropes for a contemporary audience.
My reviews of Christian Baines’ Haunted Hearts novel, Geist Fleisch, and his Arcadia Trust series can be found in earlier blog posts.
Christian, when did you realize you wanted to become an author, expressing your thoughts and imagination through the written word for personal fulfillment and as a career? What—or who—motivated you to move beyond writing for yourself to getting your work published. You often have book signing events in various interesting locales, from gay club nights to outdoor Pride events. How do you deal with any anxiety about speaking in public to promote your work?
I always wanted to tell stories, but it wasn’t until my early 20s that I started working out how I wanted to do that. I grew up with these very naïve ideas about making movies or video games as a storytelling medium, but I had no idea how those worlds worked or how to gain any experience or know-how in them. I was also growing up in a very rural, very religious environment where imagination wasn’t given much room to grow. I knew I was a good writer, but I’d always thought of that as a more journalistic thing.
It took a few years to recognize I was good at writing fiction, and this was a far more realistic and practical way to get my stories out there. So, I started practicing, studying, and networking in that world. But it was always with the intention of getting published. The idea of writing something that only I would read never interested me.
To answer your other question, I’m a bit of an introvert unless I’m empowered by circumstance. That means if you give me time to prepare and put me on a stage to read in front of people, I’m fine. It’s a performance, and it’s kind of compartmentalized in my mind.
Same goes if I’m signing or selling books at an event. As long as he gets his recharge time, my introvert has learned to cooperate, and I love doing readings or signings in unusual places and having those spaces celebrate queer culture in ways that aren’t all about drinking and hook-ups. The club I held my last three launches at had bingo, my book launch, a cabaret piano show and a Latin dance party in the space of about six hours, so I love that some venues, at least in Toronto, are mixing things up like that.
As a globetrotting expat, why is travel important to you? Is there a deeper meaning beyond just a stress-relieving escape from the usual routine? Is it a spiritual journey, or do you see it as a way to enrich your writing with new cultural and geographical experiences? Do you often tap into your ventures abroad to influence and flavour your writing?
Absolutely it enriches and flavours my writing. I was the geography nerd who’d wander into a travel agency just to grab the brochures and flick through them. I wouldn’t call it a spiritual journey, though I’ve definitely had spiritual experiences while travelling. I try to make travel a priority, even when I don’t have the funds for it. That’s come at the expense of other things of course but travel is never something I regret. A sense of place is vital to every story you create, whether it’s a real or fictional one, and every place is defined by its stories. It’s a very symbiotic relationship.
Some writers may feel that making a character, supernatural or not,
gay—or some aspect of the LGBTQ+ community, shows a thoughtful embrace of queerness in their narratives. What are your thoughts on the elements that define meaningful and nuanced representation of queer characters in fiction, irrespective of the genre? How diverse do you feel a work of fiction must come across to be considered queer or, at least, queer-inclusive?
I think right now, there’s so much emphasis on “representation,” particularly from corporate forces looking to meet quotas, that it’s become more about what a person is as opposed to who. I don’t want to work like that. This is where you have an advantage as a sole writer who doesn’t answer to an executive or a focus group. Your lead character will almost always be some aspect of your own personality, so you can imbue them with an authenticity that’s harder to bring to a corporate product that has to tick X number of boxes.
I like my characters to be complicated, nuanced, flawed, likeable, and most importantly, to go on a journey. They need to be changed between page one and “The End.” It doesn’t really matter if they’re a “positive” representation, whatever that means, as long as they’re compelling to the reader.
I also don’t think there’s a diversity threshold for queer characters in fiction. My books tend to be mostly queer characters, but even if there was only one, they would have a queer sensibility, and so be queer. It’s kind of odd the number of stories with queer characters that have no queer sensibility or perspective. Not that they’re necessarily bad, but you notice it in little ways—how characters think or behave.
Have you ever wondered if your sexuality subconsciously influences your work, shaping it in ways that make it inherently centred around gay/queer themes? Do you believe that, as a writer, you are acutely aware of your narrative framework, including its queer content? Are you always intentionally crafting stories and characters that reflect an LGBTQ+ perspective, whether personally experienced or invented?
This ties into sensibility again. I don’t think I’m intentionally crafting stories with an LGBTQ+ perspective, but they do carry my perspective. Keep in mind, I’m the G. I can’t represent the LBTQ+ in terms of perspective (though I try to ensure those identities are, when it makes sense, present and properly developed).
To date, all my characters have approached the world through a queer lens, so that tends to bring gay themes into the book whether I’m seeking to or not. One example is the movies Eric in Puppet Boy or Zach in My Cat’s Guide to Online Dating talk or think about. Do they like those movies because they’re queer? Not necessarily, but those movies do tend to be popular in queer circles—and I’m, in most cases, a fan—so there’s that sensibility and culture that touches us.
As you reflect on your writing career, was there a time you feared being confined to a “genre box” based solely on a particular aspect of yourself? For instance, let’s say your gender and/or sexuality. Is there a concern about being labelled a “gay writer,” a “queer writer,” or a “white cisgender male writer?”
Do you believe these labels restrict our literary careers by being too narrow in focus? Should they be disregarded, reasoning that they’re descriptors put upon a writer by others, which, like reviews, are outside their control? Should these labels be embraced as poignant markers of diversity? Is it ever as simple as saying, “Representation Matters!” or are there more complex and nuanced goals for an LGBTQ+ writer like yourself, predominantly, if not exclusively, working within a queer narrative framework?
I think I gave up worrying about how my work was perceived a while ago. I rushed out a story once, thinking that if I wanted to compete in the MM world, I had to be crazy prolific and pump out several books a year. Mistake. Not true. Don’t do it if the book isn’t in you! But people are going to label me as they see fit. In particular, Amazon will label and mislabel my books with weird and sometimes hilarious results. My Cat’s Guide to Online Dating hit the Amazon UK “Dating advice books” chart at #1 the week of its release. Some people will see that I’m a white cis guy or a gay guy and decide right away the book isn’t for them. Others don’t care. That’s okay. I don’t want anyone to waste their time on something they won’t enjoy.
I also stopped worrying about breaking into mainstream publishing. I have friends who publish in that sphere and are agented and getting advances and all the rest, but they’re not really making much more money at it than I am. Queer writers in that space also tend to have more expectations placed on them in terms of content. My first job in Canada was with Random House, and it was instantly clear just how conservative and corporate the industry was in many ways.
To some extent, there’s also added pressure to have this socially aware wholesomeness in your work—but I also remind myself this is the country that spawned Bruce LaBruce, and that empowers me to write whatever I want. Cat’s Guide would never have fit within that commercial framework despite the fact that it’s sold quite well for a small-press book. So, to your question, there are definitely more complex and nuanced goals, but they depend more on the individual author than the genre or queer literature. You have to develop your own relationship to that.
Horror and, more specifically, Queer Horror reflects a distinct yet
complementary aspect of the human experience, intertwining fear and queer identity in exciting and terrifying ways. Your writing has a clear focus on queer representation and LGBTQ+ narratives in Horror fiction. Your work also includes Dark Urban Fantasy featuring LGBTQ+ main characters and Gay Paranormal Romance.
How do you see these two categories fitting into the broader context of Queer Horror? What does it mean to you to write about queer romance and sexuality, particularly MM relationships, through a supernatural lens? What is it about horror and the paranormal that excites you?
Desire lies at the heart of romance fiction, and it’s a terrifying emotion in so many ways, making it a natural partner to horror. So many aspects of what makes a good life, like the privilege of growing old, carry with them these horrifying aspects or sacrifices we need to make. In queer life, that can mean coming out or reshaping ourselves (sometimes physically). So much of life is scary, and through this world of fictionalized terrors, we condition ourselves and come to know and trust ourselves to handle that.
Plus—it’s an obvious answer but no less true—when you grow up seeing yourself as the freak or the monster, why wouldn’t you go to the place where the monster is celebrated? Even if it dies at the end of the movie, you know they’ll be back for the sequel, and that’s drawn so many artists over the centuries—writers, directors—who’ve brought with them this queer sensibility.
So now we have this amazing body of work that speaks to us not just as outsiders but as LGBTQ+ people specifically, and that goes all the way back to the silent era in movies, and before that to Mary Shelley, John Polidori, and Oscar Wilde. Just as queer is horror, horror is queer. It’s also a part of our world we can share with our straight weirdo friends, and because we’re all outsiders in some way, that makes it a very friendly, accepting genre for everyone.
In your work, especially within the Arcadia Trust series, I notice a strong appreciation for classic monsters such as werewolves, vampires, and shapeshifters. However, readers often have established expectations and a sense of nostalgia surrounding these familiar figures, which can construct creative roadblocks for writers.
What is your approach to reimagining and revitalizing traditional horror clichés for contemporary queer stories and LGBTQ+ audiences? For example, you renamed your vampires “Blood Shades” and tweaked their sexual practices and feeding habits. Does writing within a Supernatural and Dark Urban Fantasy landscape enable you to transcend the conventional expectations of horror tropes more effectively?
I didn’t want to just rehash tradition or fall back on the bloodthirsty, almost zombie-like vampire. My creatures are definitely from the Anne Rice school of supernatural beings, but there’s also a hefty dose of science fiction in those books, in terms of how the characters tackle problems. I grew up watching a lot of Star Trek—I still do—so there’s a hint of the crew tackling a problem when they approach a “supernatural” foe. I also love Arthur C. Clarke’s idea that magic is just science we don’t yet understand, so that’s how I’ve written it. The characters may protect those secrets or have religious beliefs around them, but that’s the idea underlying the magic in the series. It’s a world to be discovered.
Something you’ve previously stated is that you’re a writer of “quirky queer horror with a touch of smut.” The amount of sex portrayed in romance novels varies by author. Some readers like a lot of spice, while others prefer the heat to be more PG-13. In My Cat’s Guide to Online Dating and The Prince and the Practitioner, the sex runs quite steamy, quite gay—and quite often. In Geist Fleisch, the spice is more subtle.
Do you think M/M Romance allows for, perhaps even desires, a higher level of sexual content, differentiating it from what one might see as more traditional Gay Romance—emotional connections over sex-focused fiction?
Regarding your own writing, how much is too much vs just enough to keep things spicy without crossing over into Erotica? Is this balance something you’re consciously aware of when writing? Does the genre you’re writing in at the time affect the balance, be it Horror, Urban Fantasy, Thriller or Paranormal Romance?
Smut is kind of a tertiary concern in most of my books, but I don’t consider it something to be afraid of. Sexuality is part of who we are. With Geist Fleisch, because Cat’s Guide had had so many sex scenes, I made the conscious decision to not have the sex be explicit. In Cat’s Guide, it had to be because that is a book all about sexual awakening and claiming your desires without shame. Geist Fleisch is about the heart’s desire. The Arcadia Trust books are about desire mingling with danger, hence violent sex scenes between supernatural beings, and slowly, over time, grows love.
I think there’s a grey area between Erotica and “fiction with sex scenes.” Yes, Erotica’s primary purpose is to turn you on, and essentially, the plot is there to get you from one sex scene to the next. But that doesn’t mean an Erotica plot can’t be interesting or feature character development. Likewise, a good sex scene in a book that’s not about the sex can still turn a reader on. I’ve had readers tell me how turned on they were during Callum’s scenes with Heinrich in Geist Fleisch, even though “fade to black.”
In Geist Fleisch, your writing is wonderfully transgressive; you skillfully apply a more modern perspective to many of your characters. Well, readers may see it as more contemporary, but progressive and regressive attitudes around LGBTQ+ people have always existed to fluctuating degrees. We are sadly living that reality today. In the novel, you celebrate a vibrant sense of queer openness, weaving together a rich tapestry of diverse identities while still illustrating the pervasive homophobia of the era. Did you plan this as an intentional element from the start?
Geist Fleisch powerfully conveys the perils faced by those daring to live
authentically in a climate growing ever more hostile, capturing the tension of navigating love and identity amid a backdrop of rising prejudice, societal hatred, and internalized homophobia. One only has to look at the German military officers, some even gay, and how they navigated the queer Berlin club scene and their violent treatment, including sexual exploitation, of the gay/queer patrons.
I’ve always wanted to write a story in that era that could pay homage to Christopher Isherwood’s stories and explore Berlin’s incredible queer history, including, sadly hypocritical queer fascists, the SA, who were later exterminated by the SS once Hitler had power (the notion of “I never thought the leopards would eat my face,” is nothing new).
But I also wanted to feature Magnus Hirschfield’s sexual science institute as a key part of the story; imagine such a place existing, thriving, performing gender-affirming surgeries, and even giving tours to visitors in the early 1930s. It’s incredible, but it was just the topper on almost a century of German queer science and activism. It’s a phenomenal history that’s only started to resurface after half a century of conservatism tried to sweep it under the rug.
How freeing was it, as a contemporary queer author, to write a gay romance set in pre-WWII Berlin and not have to resort to coded language and textual sublimation of homoeroticism automatically?
It was certainly freeing not to have to write in “coded” language like Polari or that of McCarthy’s America (another era I’d love to tackle one day), but it came with its own language and setting to learn. That brought its own challenges!
At its core, Geist Fleisch is historical fiction and reads as wholly authentic and completely engrossing! With these types of period stories, do you find it necessary to do more than research the bygone era? Do you shift your mindset when writing from a “past” perspective more so than a contemporary one?
I’ve written historical narratives myself, and I believe that to achieve authenticity in tone, going beyond merely describing the period setting, an internal cultural transition is essential for accurately capturing a past era’s language, behaviour, and attitudes. Is this narrative transition relatively easy for you, or does it/did it pose challenges? I think you’ve succeeded brilliantly in this, but I’m curious to discover if you felt it a formidable experience to embody characters from an earlier period. Would you immerse yourself in this temporal headspace again for future stories?
I think it’s like learning a language—immersion is the best approach if you have time. Seek out the movies, music, plays, books, and non-fiction sources about that time. Fortunately, people are so fascinated by Weimar Berlin there’s plenty of material out there, and even if it wasn’t specifically queer, I could fill in the blanks with what I understood of the queer scene at that time.
I’m doing something similar with my next Haunted Hearts book, set in a very different, but still very queer time and place (I won’t say too much, but it’s set at the other end of a European dictatorship). But I’m less familiar with this one than I was with Berlin, so it’s a fascinating adventure.
In Berlin’s case, I’d been to the city several times, stayed there for two months, and got as much info about the Weimar era from local sources as I could, so I had very specific historical spots in mind. I also used famous real locations like the Eldorado (now an organic grocery store) and the Metropol theatre, which still stands over Nollendorfplatz today. It’s where they shot the 1985 movie Demons, if anyone’s a fan of that one.
What is the most helpful and detrimental advice you’ve received about writing and publishing? Reflecting on your own insights and experiences, what guidance would you offer to fellow LGBTQ+ writers who are interested in exploring fiction writing, especially the Dark Urban Fantasy/Horror and Gay Paranormal Romance genres from a queer perspective?
Oh gods! There’s so much out there that I think it just comes down to one rule. Read and write without stopping. Read your genre, read outside your genre. Absorb art. Absorb narrative. Learn the rules well so you can break them. If a piece of advice isn’t working for you, toss it out (including this advice!). But write what your passions are, no matter how nerdy or weird they seem. That’s where the interesting stuff lies and where your unique voice is going to shine. And in that respect, I don’t think queer writing is so different from any other. Just be sure to bring your own passion and perspective and let that guide you. Shame is not a sexy restraint; it has no place on a blank page.
What book(s) are you currently devouring? Do you often find yourself attracted to specific genres you don’t typically write in? Or do you usually “stay in your lane,” opting for darker, more fantastical, queer-centric narratives? Do you have a natural preference for books written by queer authors?
Currently loving The Book of Casey Adair by Ken Harvey, another local Toronto author. I don’t read quickly, unfortunately, so I rarely have more than one book on the go at a time. I definitely have a preference for books by queer authors—again, just that sensibility thing—but not really tied to any particular genre. I can get into anything with great characters or a compelling plot.
What does the future hold for author Christian Baines? Can we expect more Arcadia Trust stories or perhaps some sequels related to your standalone novels? Are you still involved with the Haunted Hearts Own Voices series?
There’s one more official Arcadia Trust story to come, and there’s a chance we might see a return to Berlin in that one. Also currently working on my new contribution to the Haunted Hearts project, which was a great experience I hope to repeat. But I’m also working on a few standalones and silently cursing not having 37 hours in the day to do so. I still love movies and video games, unfortunately.
Before I get back to it, though, thanks so much, Ryan, for having me on the blog and for your fun and insightful questions!
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