However I must caution you, love: Those things may be amusing to us, but who, after all wants to read about sissies?”

- “Dancer from the Dance”
Andrew Holleran

Who wants to read lyrical tales about men fucking each other in the butts and sucking cocks? And love? Who wants to read about men falling in love with other men? Kissing each others hair lined lips? Groping their lover’s smooth or hirsute or shaven or flabby or muscled chest? Who wants to read a detailed story about a queer driving to a disco to meet a date, or expressive verse about a gay man buying a pair of jeans? Who wants to read a haiku about a fairy eating another queen’s ass? Or inspired prose about a fag lobbying the state house for his rights? Or a macho cruising the bathrooms at Penn Station? Or giving himself an enema before a trick comes over? Or coming out to his emotionally-absent mother? Who in this very modern era wants to read extravagant tales about true male homosexual desire?

Maybe more then a few.

When I was fifteen years old I worked at the Greenburgh Public Library, located in the small suburban hamlet of Hartsdale, NY. My job duties mostly consisted of me pushing a rickety wooden cart full of books and shelving them properly in the library stacks. The job was tedious, but one of the perks was that I was often able to read some interesting books to pass the time. My taste varied. I read everything from the brilliantly cynical young adult novels like “The Chocolate War” by Robert Cormier, to the campy pulp opulence offered by Judith Krantz’s “I’ll Take Manhattan.” Amongst all the volumes of literary clutter I sorted through, there was one book that stood out in my rapidly developing (or deteriorating) homosexual mind: George Whitmore’s novel “The Confessions of Danny Slocum.”

“The Confessions of Danny Slocum” was a semi-autographical tale of an openly homosexual man dealing with his frustrating sexual impotence. Whitmore used the character’s sexual exploits not to titillate, provoke, or offer an opinionated screed, even though I’m sure it could have served any of those purposes in the right light. Whitmore’s primary purpose was simply to create a poetic simulation of how an out, slightly-neurotic gay man in the late 1970’s lived his life. The novel is a simple, beautifully rendered testament to the life he was living. I stole the book from the library, and for the past eleven years it has become a psalm-like touchstone of what I love to read: a lyrical snapshot of gay life that is often not considered for the established canon.

Mary is seeking to capture and examine these queer moments; to offer a surfeit of gay writings of artistic value and give them the showcase they deserve. Mary’s goal is to highlight writings that strive to reveal a perfect homosexual moment without any rationalization other than to skillfully reflect: this is the gay world or this is the gay world as we imagine it to be.

In Mary there might be political and social commentary, and maybe an indoctrinating manifesto or two; but none of these things will come before a beautiful phrase or a lyrical stanza that lay bare the lives of the seemingly disparate communities of queers, sissies, activists, “straight-acting”/appearing men who have sex with men, daddies, punks, tops, cubs, pigs, bangee queens, twinks, romantics and head cases. Mary is dedicated to gay writing that is not simply art for art’s sake, but art as a demonstration of life.


Mary, a literary magazine published quarterly, is currently seeking submissions for both our print and web publications. Submissions are welcomed in prose, poetry, or essay format. We are eclectic and amenable to diverse styles and genres, but we prefer work that offers lyrical and inspired takes on the gay/queer/ homophile “way of life.” We at Mary understand that tales involving the “gay lifestyle” ranges from the staunchly conservative, to the staunchly liberal; from those that are somber, to those that revel in camp; from that of the highbrow, to that of the very, very, very low. We welcome all. Mary’s mission is to emphasize aesthetics, not social or political affiliations. To quote Oscar Wilde, our patron saint, “There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well written, or badly written.”

So write well and send it to us.

Submissions should not be any longer than 5,000 words, and can be submitted electronically at

Writers whose work is accepted will be awarded a small honorarium.

Mary also accepts a small portion of art, photos, and illustrations to be published along side written work. Please contact us by email if you are interested in submitting your visual creations.

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