E. C. Kelly


E. C. Kelly has a Masters in Liberal Arts, which is a fancy way of saying she's studied teaching, acting, and creative writing a lot. What motivates her writing is the queer kid born to an unaccepting family. She wants to reach that kid.

Crab Fat Magazine
E. C. Kelly

I want cinnamon oatmeal, and I want intense, meaningful sex where I cry because I feel fearless, authentic, and safe. I want bacon, and I want ridiculous sex where I try new things, fail, and laugh without stopping. I want iced coffee, and the ability to have hot, thoughtless sex where animal instincts take over and I don’t control a god damned thing.

Echo: A Journal of Nonfiction Issue 6
To My Baby Nephew

You go ahead and keep sleeping. I'll say all of this again when you're older.

When Wind Snaps Flagpoles

I’d never walked into a classroom after a school shooting before. No, that’s not right. I was eleven when Columbine happened, but my Midwestern mom and my Catholic school teachers hid things pretty well.

Chaleur Magazine
Cheese Stick Fucking

I wish I could say, “Mom. Doctor. I’ve fucked myself with a low-fat mozzarella cheese stick. Can I still get the vaccine? Will it kill me?

Thoughts on American Beauty

The difference between us was this: I was an 11-year-old girl repressing her bisexuality, and Kevin Spacey is a middle-aged man who had been sexually harassing young (and underage) men for decades.

Burnt Pine Magazine
River Mud Smell

River mud smells like movement. Losing constrictions. It's rich and mythic, fresh and rotting. The smell is the surrender that can occur when I stop resisting the intuitive swells tucked in the folds above my pelvic bone. I first met that smell when I was lying in my parents' backyard at 3 a.m., naked, my...

|tap| lit mag
Labia Bats

There’s an anger management technique that tells you to breathe deep and count to ten? I breathe deep, count to ten, and then imagine my labia flapping after Donald Trump like a bat out of hell.

Millennial Paperweights

I am five years old, wearing a steeple-shaped princess hat and holding a sparkly thing from my mom's desk. We're at her office on a Saturday so she can catch up on emails. I take the sparkly thing to my mother and ask what it is. She says, "It's a paperweight, honey.

Adios Barbie
The Body Monologues: A Call for Radical Empathy

By E.C. Kelly Brené Brown, a wacky woman with great hair, once said, "If you put shame in a petri dish, it needs three ingredients to grow exponentially: secrecy, silence, and judgment." The cure? "Douse it with empathy it can't survive."