Fisayo D Adeyeye

When asked this the past, I’ve always felt pretty content saying that I simply “can’t not” write. In that I feel compelled to, or that when I think of a perfect day, that day includes writing something down. A poem, a short story, a couple stray lines of something indistinct. READ MORE

Angela Dawson

Picture this: a country-pop obsessed thirteen-year-old girl with a slight perm, unnecessary reading glasses, and a habit of treating her books like people. Needless to say, this was me in a nutshell.READ MORE

Brian Lin

I was wired by white worlds: the Midwest and the Ivy League. Fat, Asian, and queer, I feared sight as judgment. Abercrombie was the norm; I was nightcrawler.READ MORE

Suzanne Wilcox

I write because in 10th grade, Mr. White told my entire English class that the research paper I submitted about the AIDS epidemic was the best paper he had read by a student for as long as he could remember. READ MORE

Rod Martinez

As a child, my grandmother read the Sunday funnies to me. Her reading soothed me. I think she saw something that it took others a while to catch later on. She would give me drawing pads and lots of pencils and I would draw to my heart’s content. I didn’t realize it back then, but she was feeding my creativity.READ MORE

Foster Hurley

I was writing before I knew how to write. Vivid, fanciful images projected non-stop onto the mini screen of my still-baking young brain…sparked by the wonderful radio serials of the 1940s that enthralled me.READ MORE

Sara Guerrero

ESTRELLITA (a recalling of an earlier time.)

When I was very little I asked my dad, “Do you have wee-wee? ”READ MORE