Revisiting the Easter eggs I dropped amid my rebirth as a transgender woman, letting the world know my egg had cracked and I was out.
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More than half of my time as an out trans woman has been spent in seclusion, which may be why I typed “three years ago today” at first.
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A co-worker’s story timed for the 30th anniversary of “A League of Their Own” inspired me to tell a story I’ve kept to myself till now.
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I closed my bedroom door after 9/11. Whatever evil lurked outside my apartment would have to open an extra door to find me.
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This story the day after Nanci Griffith’s death will always be incomplete, because how can I tell you about the 10-year-old friend I never had?
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I wrote a poem about the last Blockbuster still in operation, but it’s also about returning to a time gone by and maybe even a flame that still flickers.
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A 2005 column I wrote came from a part of my brain not normally accessed when I typed my thoughts on a laptop.
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A tweet and a song last night sent me down memory lane about writing on an unforgiving deadline, and the things our brains do to try to help.
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A bully, a coach and a nun did me wrong when I was a child. Sometimes, evil literally whips your ass.
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