A cisgender woman and her trans spouse learn, change, and grow together, navigating the transition, the communities they found, and the hostility they faced. "The person I married, who I am still married to and remain very much in love with, is now legally named Venus de Mars, and she uses she and her pronouns. But to get to that point was a journey of decades. At the time we didn't know where it would lead—we had no real role models and made it up as we went. Most of this story took place at a time when the kind of knowledge and terminology we now have about being trans didn't exist." — from the Author’s Note In the 1970s, Lynette Reini fell in love with a fascinating, talented man named Steve Grandell. They married in 1983; five years later, Steve came out to her as transgender. Through the following decades, as her spouse developed a public persona as Venus de Mars and fronted the band All the Pretty Horses, the couple struggled to stay together. They navigated an often hostile, anti-trans environment; fractures grew between them as Venus pushed the band toward success. Against the backdrop of the art, literary, and indie rock worlds of Minneapolis and New York in the 1990s and early 2000s, through hard work and love, they invented a way of being who they truly are. In Wild Things , Lynette Reini-Grandell shares a deeply personal story of love and growth. "Reini-Grandell’s riveting tale of her spouse’s gender transition—grounded in their shared world of glam-punk rock, poetry, and multi-form artmaking—is a tender exploration of time, place, and affection. This beautifully written memoir chronicles the dynamic Minneapolis arts scene, the evolution of queer identities, and a long marriage abiding through tremendous change. Wild Things is a deeply arresting page-turner." —Barrie Jean Borich, author of Apocalypse Darling , Body Geographic , and My Lesbian Husband . "In her bittersweet love story,  Wild Things,  Lynette Reini-Grandell speaks with an honest vulnerability. We see the cuts as they form, the scabs as they heal, and we’re reminded that when we find our kindred soul, true love isn’t about overcoming challenges—including those of sexuality and gender—as much as it is about learning to live through them together." —John Medeiros, author of Self, Divided "Venus and Lynette’s story is all about family values: they made and maintained a family of two right in the heart of Middle America. Their story is thrilling, not because they are unusual, but because they insist that their lives are as normal, imperfect, and joyful as anyone else’s. Readers are in for an eye-opening treat Wild Things is as universally relatable as it is specific to the Twin Cities and everything of which citizens are proud."—Emily Carter, Twin Cities columnist and author of Glory Goes and Gets Some: Stories Lynette Reini-Grandell is the author of the poetry collections Wild Verge and Approaching the Gate , winner of the 2015 Northeastern Minnesota book award for poetry. She teaches English and creative writing at Normandale Community College and the Loft and has received support for her work from the Finlandia Foundation and the Minnesota State Arts Board. A multidisciplinary collaborator, she performs at spoken-word venues with the Bosso Poetry Company and the jazz collective Sonoglyph. Her poetry is part of a permanent installation at the Carlton Arms Art Hotel in Manhattan. She lives in Minneapolis on the ancestral homeland of the Dakota people. I sought other explanations for why he would suddenly seem to forget I was there. Sometimes I imagined that his shift of attention to fans and admirers was a rock-and-roll thing, that he would be more attractive to audiences and booking agents, and so on if he had an alluring air of availability. I tried to turn off my emotions when the flirtations happened. I’d been willing to intervene with people at the Gay 90’s club for trying to cut him away from me, but in New York, with potential career advancement, I was less sure how or if I should get involved. I wonder now if part of the problem was that I simply didn’t see Steve the way other people did. I saw him as my spouse, plain and simple, the same person he had always been. And perhaps my use of a masculine pronoun and Venus’s former name when talking about those years creates the wrong picture. It’s all I had at that point, and it’s why I’m continuing to use it to describe these events, but the person I saw back then was someone in between, someone who hadn’t yet settled. The name Venus hadn’t been created, and when it was, it still wouldn’t seem to adequately describe the person I loved. But the dominant culture of the time was another thing, and perhaps to the typical male, heterosexual gaze, Steve looked like a hot, sexy woman or an exotic trans woman—not someone who was married, especially not to a woman. Not someone faithful to a partner.