Complete strangers often ask me how I got my name. They think this is an acceptable question. But for me, for the longest time, it was like being asked to tell the origin story of a scar.
The curse of being a writer is knowing other people. I need other people (to write about) but I can’t handle other people (the way I can literary characters).
Over at Rolling Stone, Alex Morris gives us vignettes from dystopian lifestyles; all of them from teenagers that’ve just “come-out”: So while Jackie hoped for the best, she knew the…
When I say I am not like other gay men, I mean I am not like this man. I am not loose. I don’t just let things happen. But still I want to take him in my arms and kiss him on the cheek. If I am not here to have sex, then what am I here for?
A writer for Orange is the New Black talks about discovering she was gay while writing for the show: Accordingly, I was nervous about the first love scene I’d written…
Sometimes around dusk (I was probably six or seven years old), I would look out my bedroom window and see the sky turning orange and purple, and the setting sun…