Electric Literature

I had forgotten the taste of bread. Of salmon and chicken. Of chocolate and figs. My tongue held the memory of these foods, of a cube of Kobe beef so tender that it felt a profanity to chew, of a spoonful of gelato, which seemed to carry a lesson of its own: how the initial shock of cold will g...

I’m just sitting down at a table at the back of the bookstore café with a stack of books and an iced coffee, and the woman at the next table, thirtyish, dreadlocks, librarian glasses, nose ring, leans over and says, “Skip that one.”

With her chin she points to the paperback with the bright purple cover at the top of my stack.

I’m talking...

I grew up in a small southern town. The models I had for queerness were people on television, living glamorous lives in New York City—lives totally removed from the farmlands, marshes, and forests that surrounded my home. One day, desperate for a nearer, more intimate model, I went online and searched, “Can animals be queer?” This search eventually led me to Bruce Bagemihl’s ...

On the splintery old dock where we wait for the flotilla of Zodiacs that will ferry us out to the Galapagos Magic, a sea lion lazes in the sun, apparently fast asleep. “Aw,” someone says, “isn’t he cute?” There is a flurry of picture taking, both with cell phones and cameras, then a moment of silence as ...

For the last several years as Electric Literature’s Managing Editor, grant writing has been a component of my job description. For those unfamiliar with the work, it is almost entirely an exercise in articulating and appropriately packaging the organization’s best features. As a result, I can, upon request, reel off a list of Electric Lit’s accomplishments. There are many. Mo...