The first piece of writing I was ever proud to share was a horror story I wrote for my tenth-grade English class. It was early October, and we were charged with writing spooky stories to share on Halloween, which unfortunately fell on a school day that year. Inspired by the works of Franz Kafka, the first author I became truly obsessed with, I wrote about a man who woke up paralyzed and was then embalmed while still alive. It was gory, visceral, and definitely not school-appropriate. When sharing it with my classmates, the predominant reaction was one of disgust. Although embarrassing in retrospect, I reveled in this reaction; I had made them feel something, no matter that it was disgust. Ever since then, I’ve been chasing that feeling.
I’ve always had a penchant for the weird, the off-putting, the over-the-top and campy. I attribute this to feeling like an outsider for most of my life, being both visibly queer and caught between my very Southern upbringing and the culture of my suburban hometown. Combine this with the inherent body horror of growing up as transgender, it seems self-evident that horror would eventually become my mainstay.
The urge to shock is not an inherently negative thing. Although it can easily give way to base cruelty, shocking art can also be a powerful tool for galvanizing others to action. For me, creating and enjoying art that seeks to shock is an act of self-empowerment. In a way, I am claiming the right to exist as something strange and margin-bending. To this day, I still love trashy, over-the-top art of all kinds, from Pink Flamingos to ’80s slashers, from Manhunt to Bladee.
Around the time I started college, another of what I would call my “sustaining motivations” emerged—the urge to document. I was regularly attending hardcore and DIY shows hosted in basements, bars, and anywhere else that would take us. Additionally, I was (and still am) immersed in Knoxville’s “queer scene.” Inhabiting these spaces catalyzed my personal and artistic development. Anyone who has danced until 3 AM or moshed in a basement that is packed from wall-to-wall will tell you that it is an experience like no other. Its beauty is in its transience; for just a few hours, you are one with everyone around you. If the experience itself doesn’t convince you of this, stand outside after the show and watch complete strangers talk like old friends, share their last few cigarettes, and make plans to see each other again despite having just met. Watch the crowd dissipate, go back to your normal life, and then do it again a few weeks later. Do this again and again, watch scenes emerge and thrive and die, and you’ll understand the urge to hold on to it.
Queer lives, local scenes, basement shows where people who feel unwanted find community for the first time in their lives—all of these things are transient and immeasurably beautiful. Much of what I write is an attempt to document the beauty around me before it is gone. I owe this perspective on life and writing to another author that influenced me as a teenager, Torrey Peters. Peters’ debut novel, Detransition, Baby, was the first book I read by a trans author explicitly for a trans audience. It’s hilarious, heartbreaking, and utterly enthralling, but more than that, it is a snapshot of the trans experience in a particular time and place. Peters moved me and showed me that I could accomplish more with my writing than I ever imagined. My writing became imbued with a new purpose, or rather, my ends evolved. No longer was I writing just to get a rise out of people. Instead, my goal became to create something that spoke to my particular moment, and for it to move the reader through its sheer, self-evident beauty.
When you really get under the hood of it, this desire is the same as my long-held desire to shock and disgust. Buried under all the teenage angst was a desire to make the reader feel something, and for them to really feel it. In truth, this is the goal of all art. There is beauty in every moment, in every voice, and I believe Sundress Publications is a place that values this beauty. I am excited to be a part of this team, and I look forward to making beautiful art with y’all!
Natalie Gardner is a trans writer hailing from Knoxville, Tennessee. She is currently pursuing a BA in English with a minor in philosophy from the University of Tennessee. She loves transgressive fiction, hiking, and schlocky, B-tier horror movies. When she isn’t working, you can find her haunting the coffee shops of Fort Sanders and DIY shows across East Tennessee. Her work in the field of linguistics can be found in Feedback Review in Second Language.
- The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: Roadmap: A Choreopoem by Monica Prince - April 3, 2026
- Meet Our New Intern: Tara Rahman - April 2, 2026
- We Call Upon the Author to Explain—Noel Quiñones - April 2, 2026