Whenever I’m stuck with my writing, I look for something gay. Some of my favorite things are the documentary Paris Is Burning, the TV shows America’s Next Top Model, Veneno, The Golden Girls, pretty much any movie by Almodóvar. I’ll flip through 100 Boyfriends (MCD x FSG Originals, 2021) by Brontez Purnell or Mundo Cruel (Seven Stories Press, 2013) by Luis Negrón, translated by Suzanne Jill Levine. I’ll go to a gay bar and tip a drag queen a wrinkly dollar bill for knowing all the words to a ten-minute Ivy Queen megamix.
The act of writing can be so isolating—sitting alone at my computer for weeks looking into a screen. After a while of doing that, I begin to lose sight of my community, and all those little thoughts that make me insecure about my art start sneaking in: I get worried no one will care about what I have to say, that there’s no room for me and no audience for what I’m doing. Reminding myself of all the cool, funny, weird, exciting queer art that already exists helps me believe that my stuff is possible too. I know there is an audience for me, because I am the audience for other people like me. I know I can do this, because we have been doing this in all kinds of historical contexts; we’ve fought worse fascists with better wigs. It’s healthy to take a break sometimes to be a fan and remember the larger legacy you’re a part of. That’s usually enough to get me going again.
—Edgar Gomez, author of Alligator Tears (Crown, 2025)
Photo credit: E.R.C.