Here’s My Story
HERE’S MY STORY is a feature on The G&LR‘s website, where you can share some part of your life story with other readers. We receive a lot of submissions of personal memoirs, but the magazine doesn’t publish first-person narratives as a general rule. “Here’s My Story” is a space that allows our readers (and others) to talk about their experiences as members of the LGBT+ community. There are no restrictions on subject matter, but some broad areas might include:
- Coming-out stories
- Memorable love affairs
- An epiphany (e.g. a work of art)
Here's My Story View all
My Loss of Innocence
By Mark Olmsted
In the summer of 1970, Chuck Falco was a handsome and charismatic 28-year-old scoutmaster at Camp Waubeeka, in upstate New York. I was eleven when he molested me.
At the White House and in the Closet
By Craig Smith
While I was in the closet, as a good Catholic, I was also celibate. I suddenly found myself in a small office in the old Executive Office Building across the alley from the White House in a job that would change my life forever.
Death and Plunder
By Mary Aviyah Farkas
I didn’t know I would again become death’s witness and companion. The two most important people in my life were gone. My soul festered with abject pain and grief. I couldn’t sleep and could barely eat.
My Daddy’s Daughter
By Noni Salma
This is not a love story. Or a story of a child missing a father. This is a story of a father chasing a lost shadow. This is a story of a child who is not a dream come true. …
Shirley T. & Me
By Jer Long
Life with Shirley T., was a rollercoaster ride through an Edgar Allen Poe version of Alice in Wonderland. Her peaceable downtimes I relished. Her flipping nightmares I bore with monkish silence. Her madcap express I boarded eagerly. Unpredictable, she was a force to reckon with.
Keep Telling Her Story
By Dick Atkins
Tiffany never gave up hope for her ultimate goal, finding love and comfort in the body and soul she felt was hers.
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Between Panic and Pride
By Anne Kruse
For many, feeling pride about who we are is a foreign concept, but we worked at it
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What Comes After
by Mae Espada
My mother whimpering, choking, eating her own words: “Really, who, what, are you?” Me, sitting down, clutching my phone in one hand and my bandaged chest in the other. This can’t be true. It can’t be true.
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