I wrote 140 pages before I figured out what I was trying to write.
Then someone asked me to write an essay.
I wrote this essay for The Rumpus.
After the essay was published, I started dreaming about it.
About the man who beat me, about the men who came before him, about the other bruises.
“Oh, shit,” I said under my breath a few months ago. “The Rumpus essay is the book.”
The beginning of the book, at least.
The first sentence of the essay: Until now, it has always felt like lying when I tell people I was gay bashed in the first few hours of January 2008.
The first sentence of the book: Until now, it has always felt like lying when I tell people I was gay bashed in the first blue hours of January 2008.
Nina Simone’s “Blue Prelude” is my favorite song.
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