A few months into coming out, it seems like being a lesbian is a tricky thing. It’s a balancing act between sending out “I’m gay” signals to other gays, being yourself (although for most of us, self-presentation is hardly static), and avoiding becoming a stereotype of yourself. In order to find peace and clarity on this serious issue of identity, I turned to the interwebs. A blog entry for therapists called, Whether you come out or not, you’re still gay, presents the six stages of coming out thusly:

Can a straight woman write a convincing gay male character?

I once took a seminar with a famous poet who shall not be named. Our first task: go outside, walk the grounds, and write one or two haikus.

Know amazedly how
often one takes his madness
into his own hands
and keeps it.

Poetry is like the last thing you want to pick up if you’re feeling distractable. Poetry is what you pick up when you’ve done all your errands and it’s a Sunday afternoon, and you’re eating cherries, and you’ve basically just meditated and you need your weekly dose of profound. Or is it?

In lieu of serious poetry, pls njy my lolasterpiece.

“Old Dudley folded into the chair he was gradually molding to his own shape and looked out the window fifteen feet away into another window framed by blackened brick.”

This week, I read hundreds of short story submissions. It was grueling. And since I had very little time to go through all of them, the openings were extremely important for grabbing me and making me pay attention. It was also remarkable how useful it was to ask myself the question “Do I care?” at the end of the first paragraph. Often, the answer was no. It was either an attempt at richness resulting in generic description, or a litany of demographic information: “Inez, a 32-yr-old yuppie, looked up with impatience to her husband of six months at his 5’10″ height.” And often— so very often— the paragraph ended with some trite, bland philosophical statement. Such is the plight of the inexperienced writer. (Just kidding.)

Until two weeks ago, I hated anything that rhymed. But Vikram Seth has cured me.

Minnie Bruce Pratt is a gay who writes poetry about being gay— a perfect candidate for this column! And with Sunday being the 40th anniversary of the Stonewall Riots, it seems like the perfect time to share some of Pratt’s work. So why do I hesitate?

“Site-Specific Adaptations” is a brilliant poem about huddling in a closet on the Manitoba tundra.