Notes on (man) camp

Greetings, friends!

I return to my laptop both reluctantly and rejuvenated, having spent the weekend at Camp Lost Boys surrounded by trans men of all shapes, sizes, and backgrounds. I met pig farmers, nurses, poets, therapists, bakers, academics, dog sitters, lawyers, and influencers. It was… indescribable.

I don’t write about being trans much, in part because it feels off topic—this is a literary newsletter, after all. But I also use this space to write about myself, and trans is one of many adjectives that describe me. In retrospect, it’s a peculiar omission. I have plenty to say about my battles with the neighborhood squirrels, my various eye ointments and health maladies, and other hyper-personal anecdotes. But my transness, one of the most fundamental parts of myself, gets relegated to irrelevance when I sit down to write. It’s an overcorrection, …