Upcoming: I’ll be at Holy Family University 3/28 in-person (also livestreaming on Zoom), and presenting virtually on 3/29 at West Chester University’s Gender Justice Conference. Both events will be ASL interpreted.

The other day I was (attempting to) clean out my office and I found the first story I ever published—in greyish copy of The Minnesota Review. (Thank you forever MR, for yanking me up from the depths of the slush.) I don’t normally re-read my published work to avoid eternal cringing, but it’d been over a decade for this guy, almost like another person entirely had written it, so I flipped to the story and started reading.

Quickly, though, I was transported back to the moment I wrote it. I was 22, had just started an MFA program, was working as a substitute teacher, and was about to have heart surgery. These are the facts, dutifully recorded in my journal from the time—but reading this story reminded me of the feeling of those days. I still felt like a little kid; I was fucking terrified; I was losing control of my life just as I’d begun to take it.