“What happens when you narrativize something that has that initiatory burden of transness, you take these steps to bring that narrative into actuality—to bring the inside outside.”

It's been cubbyholed for years at a time, but I always knew I would finish it. At times the story was in a form that can hardly be called a draft, it was more in pieces, lying around like a jigsaw puzzle.

I’m interested in the way in which memory—the way that we think about the past—is a re-creation of the past, how the past keeps happening.

I’m definitely methodical and imagine the metaphor as building paper mâché. I have these delicate sentences that layer atop each other until there’s something solid.

I’m deeply committed to not knowing what kind of writer I am. I rely on spontaneity and my habits change constantly. In that way I hope I’m evading stale, pat poems.

When I have an idea for a story, I never know how it’s going to turn out or, even, what it’s really about. I tend to spill out my guts all over the page, and then go back and shape it.