ESSAYS & COMMENTARY
Razor Literary Magazine: Some Meta SF Queer Rite of Passage. Flatland takes deep inspiration from my own life.
Helen: Confessions of an Ex Vegan Donut Baker. I gave away a thousand donuts to the wrinkled old church ladies who brought their grandkids to the Holy Roller Sunday school next door.
Matador Network: 6 Things I Stopped Giving a Sh*t About When I Moved to the Country. A year and a half ago I moved to the Hudson Valley, a rural area 90 miles north of New York City.
Cognoscenti: In Massachusetts, Repeating History, Hoping For Redemption. I still remember how I felt when my neighbor warned me about the homophobic graffiti someone had scrawled in the hallway of my apartment.
The Manifest Station: We Are All North Carolina Now. This summer, I prepared to visit North Carolina by growing out my hair for four months.
Queer/ish: Rural Identity Politics: Where I Live, it’s LGBT or Q. The first time I joined an LGBTQ organization, it was in solidarity.
AfterEllen: Lesbianing with AE!, a weekly lesbian sex & dating advice column. I’m generally of the opinion that, when too many weird things start happening, the weirdness is real or Mercury’s in retrograde.
Mortar Magazine: One Truth, Many Lies. These are some things you should know:
Razor: Literary Magazine: Flatland. It goes block by block is what everyone said about Oakland when I told them I was moving west, and my block, just off Foothill, is six houses thick, tiny two-stories with cement front yards and patches of lawn out back
Queen Mob’s Teahouse: Late Summer, Yellow Jade. The first time Sal hands me the slim joint, I take it and breathe in and then I cough.
Dust Jacket Short Story Journal: Asking for Trouble. July 3, Hannah Nussbaum told me that she was moving to Chicago at the end of the month.
Word Riot: How to Start the War With the Mexicans. Step out of the bright, beautiful day and into the cool, gray barn.
The Blueprint Review: Tessa in the Mirror. Tessa drives to the Target by the interstate, alone.
34th Parallel: Little Moments I Regret. I never considered Heda until she cornered me by the dumpsters behind the movie theater where we both worked and told me she liked the cut of my jeans.
Avalon Literary Review: The Wallet. I crouched in the school’s administrative office rifling through the teacher’s mailboxes and praying I could find the bio quiz answer key so Erica Ash wouldn’t tell the school I got an STI from Ricky Jeffries.
Square Table: Lemon Cherry Blues. I once studied with the best pastry chef in Boston, a tiny blonde woman who gave me weekly lessons in Middle Eastern desserts.