A Bolt from the Blue
By Elizabeth Costello
My heart, my gut, my cunt assumed positions of power. If that moment was a tarot card it was absolutely The Tower — the first time I spoke to her I felt hit by lightning. The rules of my gravity changed.
By Elizabeth Costello
My heart, my gut, my cunt assumed positions of power. If that moment was a tarot card it was absolutely The Tower — the first time I spoke to her I felt hit by lightning. The rules of my gravity changed.
By Chef Rossi
Being a bisexual rocker chick suited my image, but still, there were all those pesky penises to contend with. At first, I thought, “Maybe I just don’t like nice Jewish boys.”
By Laury Egan
I don’t consider myself an LGTBQ+ writer; I am simply a writer who sometimes creates stories that include LGTBQ+ characters, though they are treated as an integral part of the social fabric and don’t exist in a world unto themselves.
By Irene Javors
Freud’s Last Session takes up the challenge of offering the audience yet another perspective on the highly controversial psychologist.
By Mary McGrath
My partner and I went home. I was crushed that my mom didn’t defend me. I was her daughter. He was a newcomer. When she picked him over me, I was devastated.
By Shaley Howard
What an incredibly brave seven year-old girl. I couldn’t imagine grasping my sexual orientation at that age, let alone having the courage to speak openly about it.
By Jessica Mills
While in elementary school I, like most children, grasped the concept of gender but hadn’t yet faced the term’s social significance. I remained unaware that my family differed from others.
By Allen Ellenzweig
Bening’s Nyad gives us a take-no-prisoners portrayal of a fiercely independent woman who may still harbor hopes of lesbian romance…
By Risa Denenberg
Minnie Bruce Pratt—cherished poet, teacher, and activist in the LGBTQ+ community—died on July 2. I learned about it on Facebook, and found it devastating. I owe a lot to this courageous woman. She was important to so many, and will be tremendously missed.
By Leslie Absher
I knew intuitively not to talk about the fact that I preferred girls to boys. But when I was called a “lezzie” by a boy on the school bus, it was really clear: it was bad to be the way I was.