I can’t spin my weight into something good or lovable. — I am a fat person. Over the years, my mom’s told stories about how, at my earliest checkups, around 12 months old, the doctors were worried that she was overfeeding me because, guess what, I was overweight. But, despite that not being the case, I was fat. I still remember…

Traditional publishing drives me kinda batty. — I have been working on my current book for a long, long time. Too long, by any reasonable standard. One of the most basic pieces of advice that people will give to new and aspiring writers is that they have to finish things, then let go of them. I’ve given…

How do you live inside a space that isn’t yours? — A certain weariness of being. I’ve had a strange relationship with my body for a long time. But as the years go on, the worse it gets. I wonder how it is for other people. For a long time, my body has always felt like a thing I possess, rather than an intrinsic part of…

a poem — for Rachel Held Evans I wonder if you, borrowing an archangel’s sword, could pare me back into the boy who used to dance, before polished wood and purple cloth, hands raised and heart empty, charged with a confidence I did not own. Grief stirs ever within me, black without sugar, the…