I just love that magazine. I can’t wait for the essay (“Our Undulation”) to appear in their next issue. It’s about father/son relationships, self-acceptance; it braids my dad’s time in Vietnam between my own, personal experiences in battle, and boy did I FORGET HOW FUCKING PERSONAL IT IS!
I’m taking y’all back to the trench years—me love-chewed, me booze-burdened, my too-tight jeans urine-saturated in a hospital bed. It was a hard essay to write and—to be honest—it’s a hard essay to share.
Workshopping “Our Undulation” in my Creative Non-Fiction course last semester secured an incandescent exclamation point over my head until we moved on to the next piece.
Publishing this essay is really helping me keep my grip. I feel that the baptism of this piece (whenever a piece is published, it is baptized and made real) is the filing of the paperwork that separates my present from my past, that defines a moment in time as a moment in the past. At last, this is all in the past.
And I think sharing this essay is something important too, maybe even in a greater sense (trying not to toot the shit out of my Nick-horn). I think it is important to share struggle when you’re part of a minority in order to prove that said “minority” makes up a person’s majority—constructs their perspective, perception, and prerogative Shared struggles strengthen the community. We gotta strengthen it as a community. So, this essay is my contribution to my community. This one is for the gays. Getting out of that fucking closet can be a voyage and a half. You’ll see what a mess it was for me. Hang in there, my strugglin’ homos. You gotta go through it in order to get the hell out of it.
For over a year I drank myself into blackouts, puked in routine, and grappled with whether it was all worth it. It was. I’m here. In this essay, I have proof.
I’ll post a link as soon as the issue goes live, of course.
<3 <3 <3