Meet Our New Intern: Tara Rahman

A South Asian woman smiling and sitting on a green couch. She has black hair, half lying over her right shoulder and half down her back, and is wearing a wine-red turtleneck. Behind her are two closed window curtains, one light blue and floral print, and the other solid teal.

I’ve had many changes and ups and downs in my life, but one thing that has always remained constant has been my love for books. Whether reading them, writing them, or even thinking about them, books have always been a big part of my life. As the daughter of a chemistry professor and a biologist, I grew up in a family that valued education and reading. Every shelf and table space was covered with textbooks, research papers, almanacs, newspapers, and nonfiction books. As a child, I would often flip through my father’s books as he graded exams and lab reports, trying to sound out the words and familiarize myself with them even though I didn’t yet understand what they meant. I’d also read and re-read my copies of Little Bear, Judy Moody, and Dear America books until they started falling apart. On top of this, I had limitless imagination and loved to create different worlds and characters. This often involved scribbling ideas down in my Dora the Explorer notebook and having my dolls act out the scenes in dramatic Bollywood-style fashion. Storytelling was my favorite pastime because there was always a new tale to explore. 

The first original poem I ever wrote was for my language arts class in second grade: a free-verse poem about nighttime, with a hand-drawn illustration of a sleepy girl and a moonlit window at the top of the page. After turning in my poem, my teacher, Ms. Emmond, pulled me aside to tell me that she loved my poem and asked if she could share it with the class. I remember how, like a public reading of an author’s latest work, she carefully read my poem to the entire class and asked me questions about my inspirations and word choice. The memory of her reading my line about falling asleep “in a bed sheet heap” and asking me about its meaning is something I cherish to this day. 

My love for language continued into my middle school and high school years. As a teen who faced severe bullying and later developed anxiety and depression, reading and writing became a source of comfort and a way for me to reflect on my experiences and the world around me. In the school library, I would immerse myself in different books and genres, including children’s fantasy like The School for Good and Evil by Soman Chainani, YA historical fiction such as Between Shades of Gray by Ruta Sepetys, literary fiction like A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini, as well as Japanese manga and graphic novels. These books introduced me to diverse, complex characters and empowered me to develop my own unique perspectives and creative styles. 

This lifelong passion for literature and writing led me to major in English Language and Literature and concentrate in Creative Writing at Smith College. During my senior year at Smith, I pursued a Special Studies project where I wrote a YA historical fiction on the Bangladesh Liberation War of 1971, combining my interests in global history and diverse storytelling. I am grateful and excited to work with Sundress Publications and support its mission to champion traditionally underrepresented writers. 


A South Asian woman smiling and sitting on a green couch. She has black hair, half lying over her right shoulder and half down her back, and is wearing a wine-red turtleneck. Behind her are two closed window curtains, one light blue and floral print, and the other solid teal.

Tara Rahman (she/her) is a Sundress editorial intern with a BA in English Language and Literature from Smith College and an MSc in Global Development from SOAS, University of London. She is also a recent graduate of the Columbia Publishing Course in Oxford, UK. With a strong interest in culture, identity, and global history, her personal writing often focuses on intersectionality and the untold stories and experiences of marginalized communities. In her free time, she enjoys reading literary and YA fiction, watching anime, and spending time with her tripod cat, Tuntuni.

Meet Our New Intern: Ruoyu Wang

An East Asian, non-binary individual wearing a black KN95 mask standing next to a tree in the daylight, holding up next to their face a postcard with a cartoon stork and child drawn on it. They have short brown hair, glasses, and are wearing a green top with a greenish-gray jacket and gold pendant necklace.

I wish I could speak to a transformative, empowering journey of childhood reading, but I don’t think my relationship to creative writing really began to mean anything until I was 15. I grew up in suburban Tennessee near Knoxville and towards the end of elementary school, I moved to a suburb of Seattle. Like many other writers, my childhood had been punctuated by whatever book I was then reading, and then the next (Little House on the Prairie, or YA romances later on),  but only when my relationship to poetry was complicated by workshop did creative writing emerge as something essential to me. 

The summer after 10th grade, I had the opportunity to attend the Iowa Young Writers’ Studio and have Logan Hoffman-Smith as my teacher, in addition to several lovely classmates. By then, I was already infatuated with writing. I obsessed over rhythm or the perfect turn of phrase; I turned in poems that I’d written about love, trauma, or loss. The workshop had been titled Troubling the Voice, and indeed, Logan urged me to interrogate my writing more sincerely. I think about their advice to me all the time: that I have to be writing about either what I either really want to talk about or what I really don’t want to talk about at all, and what I was already saying—supposedly about love and loss—was not that.

Since then, I’ve been trying to ask myself every week what compels me to write and why I keep returning to writing in the first place. I’m a freshman in college now, and one upside of such a transitional period in life is that I finally feel like I have some sort of answer. 

I love stories about people who spend too much time on the internet and kids who are up to all kinds of weird, stupid stuff; I love characters who are too angry, hurt, or confused. I’m not a fiction writer quite yet but those depictions of shame and grief in others’ work informs so much about my own artistic creation, whether in poems or elsewhere. For example, reading Alexander Chee’s personal essay “The Autobiography of My Novel” or Kelly X. Hui’s short story “Iphigenia” for the first time felt life-changing. In 11th grade, I took an art history class, and I still relate one installation we learned about—Pepón Osorio’s En la barbería no se llora (No Crying Allowed in the Barbershop)—to moments in my life all the time. 

Above everything else, in my own work and in engaging with others’, I’m thinking about it in the context of things like queerness, Asianness, borders/diaspora, and ongoing forces of imperialism and colonialism. Kelly X. Hui and Kaylee Young-Eun Jeong (a past Sundress intern!) are both incredible, lovely writers—who I admittedly and sentimentally see as older cousin-ish figures—and they lead their creative lives with so much astonishing dedication to the communities around them. 

Like Kaylee and Kelly, I want to ask what kind of world we are building with and for each other while creating art. Another one of my friends (she’s so brilliant…) told me once, years ago, that for the process of revision, her goal is to locate the heart of a story or poem and, from there, ask how best it can be brought to the surface. That’s how I’ve tried to approach writing ever since.

More about me: I love postcards, sincere emails, bridges, shakshuka, the movie God’s Own Country, and I hope to figure out the short-story-writing thing soon. 

I’m so excited to see where my time at Sundress takes me. Sundress takes so much initiative to platform underrepresented voices and create a more accessible literary community, and I’m so grateful to be able to play a part in that.


An East Asian, non-binary individual standing on a walkway outside of a building in the evening and visible from the chest and elbows up. They have short brown hair and are wearing a white blouse under a black blazer.

Ruoyu Wang is a writer from Seattle. Their poems appear in Sine Theta Magazine, COUNTERCLOCK, and The Shore, and have been recognized by YoungArts, The Adroit Journal, and Narrative Magazine, among others. Currently, they serve as the Founding Director of the SUNHOUSE Summer Writing Mentorship and study Critical Race and Political Economy at Mount Holyoke College. They love linguistics, postcards, live music, and jasmine milk tea.

Meet Our New Intern: Reina Maiden-Navarro

For a long time, I was told my writing was “proficient.” Not good, not even okay, but proficient. In fact, every single one of my papers was marked with this word in a large red scrawl. 

You see, my elementary school had a rather peculiar grading scale. It looked something like this:

A: Advanced (90–100%)

P: Proficient (80–89%)

B: Basic (70–79%)

BB: Below Basic (60–69%)

F: Failed (0–59%)

More than anything, I wanted to be an advanced writer. The words almost sparkled to me. My teachers never had anything bad to say, always praising my competency and citing my growth, but it never felt like I was good enough. Looking back, I now understand. I was primarily raised by my deaf and Spanish-speaking mother. While she always reinforced my reading habit, communicating my own thoughts in words and constructing my own sentences in English hadn’t always come easily to me. 

In my last year of elementary school, I finally received my first-ever “advanced” on a paper about Rosa Parks. My teacher, Ms. Brace, said it was the first time she heard my “voice” in an essay. 

Throughout my life, I’ve fallen in and out of love with the written word, but the whole time, I’ve learned to lead with my voice by imbuing my passion into my writing.

On the first floor of the Ayala Science Library at UC Irvine, I became an advanced writer professionally. For two years, I worked at my university’s writing center, serving as both a Writing Tutor and a Community Outreach Coordinator. It was the best part of my college experience. I met with hundreds of peers, many of whom were first-generation or international students. We bonded over language barriers and cultural storytelling. My favorite part was seeing the growth of my repeat students experienced over the course of a quarter or a year as they came into their identity as new writers. I finally understood what Ms. Brace meant about using my voice. I tried to help others do the same.

This passion for ushering in the stories of underrepresented writers is what led me to Sundress Publications. As I begin my role as an Editorial Intern, I hope to continue to use my story to connect with readers and find common ground with the authors I work with.


A white woman is standing in front of a tree in a grove. She has short, dark red hair. She is wearing a black dress with white trim and a blue graduation stole with the words "UC Irvine" embroidered on it with gold thread.

Reina Maiden-Navarro is an editor, writer, and photographer. She recently graduated from UC Irvine with a degree in Film & Media Studies and a minor in Creative Writing, cum laude. She also works as an Editor at Prompt and an Outreach Coordinator at Bookstr. If she is not reading or writing, she can be found traveling, painting, or baking cookies.

Meet Our New Intern: Nafisa Hussain

Despite being a voracious reader as a child, I cannot pinpoint the exact moment in my teenage years when I began to view reading as a chore rather than a delight. My memories from my earlier years are a bit blurred, but I vividly remember my father taking me out to the local library every week after school. At our run-down library, I would pick as many books as I wanted and vow to myself that I would finish them before our next trip (I would go into tunnel vision as soon as I arrived home, and finish most books within a day or two).

A smiling graduate in a navy cap and gown over a long, red dress. She is holding a diploma folder and is walking along a university campus pathway.

When I entered secondary school, although I stopped visiting my town’s local library, I would almost religiously visit my school’s library after school and during lunchtime. In English class, we would start every lesson by sitting in silence and reading our own books for approximately 10 minutes; when I tell you that everyone hated these reading sessions, I mean that everyone hated it. However, while my peers were gladly shoving their books into their bags after our ‘silent reading time’, I was once scolded by my teacher for not putting my book down after the designated 10 minutes! Looking back, I can’t fault 12-year-old Nafisa. 10 minutes is an unreasonably short amount of time to read, especially when we are being encouraged to do so in the first place.

I do not know how old I was when I stopped reading for enjoyment, but I can say that years later, when I was 17 years old, I decided to finally pick up a book again. At first, I just downloaded the Kindle app on my phone and decided to read a couple of books to pass the time. However, within weeks, I had ordered so many books to my house, as if I was trying to catch up to the words that I had missed in those handful of years. My parents would (and still do) constantly tease me, saying that if I was going to spend all my money on something, it might as well be books rather than anything else. Soon, I left for university. Every year that I moved back to London to study after spending the summer with my family, there would be no less than three bags that were jam-packed with books following me to my flat, alongside the other bits and bobs necessary to live independently, of course. It was definitely an enormous struggle to fit everything into one small car, but somehow we made it work.

During my final year at university, I had zero clue regarding what I wanted to pursue as a career. My friends around me had solid goals and careers in mind. Yet, whenever I was asked what I planned to do with my degree, I would try to steer the conversation away from myself. During a careers consultation with my university, I vented all my frustrations. I recall the career advisor simply smiling at me and asking me what I enjoyed. And then the realisation hit me. I enjoy getting lost in a good book; I enjoy losing myself in the plot and connecting with the characters and their struggles; I enjoy getting into passionate discussions with my friends about the books we’re reading, almost as much as I enjoy recommending them books and vice versa. This was my light bulb moment.

I realised I wanted to contribute to the stories and words that were to be shared with the world. My books had provided me with so much, both as a child and as an adult: they provided joy and laughter, as well as escapism. Books teach us morals and lessons; they encourage us to open our minds to differing perspectives. I will forever be glad that I was so dreadfully bored at 17, that I finally picked up a book again.

Stories have given me plenty, and I would like to help other readers feel as I have. After my careers consultation, I wanted to support writers in any way I could, so they could share their works and ideas with the world. I cannot conjure a number to reflect how many stories have genuinely touched me, but I am sure the number is in the hundreds. I’m eager to support writers with their works, with the hope that readers will feel the same connection to the words on the page that I have felt time and again, and will undoubtedly continue to feel.


Nafisa Hussain holds a BSc in Anthropology and Sociology from Brunel University London, where she primarily focused her work on race issues in the UK. She has published articles, including a book review, for the Hillingdon Herald Newspaper, and volunteers for the Books2Africa charity.

Meet Our New Intern: Marian Kohng

Every day after school, my parents would take me and my sister to the library. We would spend hours debating which books to borrow and then end up checking out as many as we could. I still remember the immense joy I felt of making my own library card (Arthur said it best: “Having fun isn’t hard when you’ve got a library card”). One of the very first books that sparked my love for reading was the Rainbow Magic series. I absolutely adored the premise of two best friends helping beautiful fairies save their world. My love for stories grew and I fell in love with the world of words (and I started hinting for books for my birthday).

My favorite class throughout middle and high school was Literature, which was very on-brand for me. I loved how we got to read so many stories, and it felt like an hour-long class of just rambling about them with my classmates. And I can ramble for hours about books.

As I started to think about what I wanted to do in my life, I knew that I desired to be a part of something I am passionate about and make a difference in the world. I realized I really wanted to work in publishing after getting my Master’s in Marketing. I was reading more and more books during this time, and I started wondering about the process of how books are brought into the hands of readers—how amazing it would be to work with books and help share authors’ voices around the world. It felt very natural discovering this dream. My family and friends were like, “Wow, that is perfect for you,” which felt like an accomplishment in and of itself, since I never really knew what I wanted to do. And now I did. I want to be a part of helping stories come alive and make an impact on others. The thought of working in publishing ignites a spark of passion I didn’t know I had. And I can’t imagine myself doing anything else.

Books are powerful. They change us in ways we may not even notice. They teach us empathy, help us experience different worlds, and simply make us happy when we curl up with a good book after a long day. I’m currently a Traffic Copy Editor at a local news station in Tucson, AZ, and I’m so excited to work at Sundress Publications as an Editorial Intern. I’m grateful for this opportunity to learn closely about the publishing world. Here’s to helping more voices and books come to life!


Marian Kohng (she/her/hers) is a proud Korean American and an Editorial Intern at Sundress Publications and a Traffic Copy Editor at a local news station in Tucson, AZ. She also has a Bachelor’s in Neuroscience and Cognitive Science and a Master’s in Marketing. She loves to get lost in a good book and will read just about anything, including the back of the shampoo bottle.

Meet Our New Intern: Shelby Hansen

A white woman sits cross-legged under a large hole at the bottom of a tree. In one hand, she holds an open book to read while the other reaches up to tuck hair behind her ear.

I wrote my first book when I was six years old. Of course, this was not what you would typically think of when someone says they’re writing a book. This was a stack of printer paper that I had stolen from my mother’s printer, folded in half, and stapled carefully down the spine to make a book-like shape. Then, I wrote the story of a troublesome kid named Henry inside, affectionately named after my kindergarten best friend. By the time I was done, the pages were riddled with misspelled words, badly drawn stick figures, and accidental pen markings. But I had finished a book, and that was the first time I felt like I had actually accomplished something.

For years, I continued this pattern, making my mom viscerally angry by “wasting” her perfectly good printer paper. Then, I found out that I could use spiral notebooks instead, and I began to write there. Most of the time, these little stories were never finished. My brain was always swirling with ideas, and each time another would come up, I would think it was better than the last and immediately get to work on it instead. It wasn’t until I discovered my very first book while cleaning out my desk one day that something clicked. I had loved that story so much because it had someone I loved in it. I had used my own experiences, as well as his, to create a story that meant something to me. And when I showed the original Henry, several years after they had already moved to a different school, the tears in their eyes showed me that it meant something to them, too.

From that moment on, my approach to writing changed. I was no longer looking to empty the contents of my brain’s creativity on the page; I was looking to make people feel, to find a way to evoke the same feelings I had when I read my favorite books. Even before I could analyze literature properly, I knew what their authors were trying to say. Every novel that I loved and cried over had a message, and I began to find ways to put my thoughts and opinions into my own stories.

Now, I find that writing is power. In an era where critical thought and originality is shunned rather than celebrated, all I can do is write. Sometimes, that means writing think pieces that will never see the sun in my journal. Other times, it looks like poring over the third draft of my debut novel, looking for meaning in every word. Either way, the writing I do alone empowers me to write for others, to share stories that makes people think, feel, and see themselves represented in a space where they may not have been previously.

If you take one thing about me away from this post, let it be this: my writing is my activism. The world can be an incredibly dark place, but it is up to us to not only find the pockets of light but to create them and share them. In truth, my writing has never been about me; it’s been about the people I love, the people I have met and have yet to meet, and those who cannot write or speak for themselves. It’s been about you, the person who is reading this blog post, and those who have already passed and will never get the chance to. The written word has a long history, one full of pain and joy. I aim to tip the scale and make the joy a little bit greater than the pain.

“There are two ways of spreading light; to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it.”

Edith Wharton


Shelby Hansen (she/her) is a creative writer and self-proclaimed fantasy maestro hailing from the northern plains of Texas. She recently graduated from the University of Tennessee’s English program with a focus in Literature and Creative Writing, where she won several awards for her fiction. Her writing often focuses on womanhood, identity, and the reclamation of the self. This is reflected in her debut novel, which she hopes to publish soon. When she is not writing or teaching today’s youth, she enjoys reading, crocheting, swimming, and spending time with her two cats, Stella and Gemma.

Meet Our New Intern: Caylin Moore

When I was entering middle school, my parents filed for bankruptcy. My father worked a manual labor job from which he had to take a great deal of time off due to back surgery. Since his was the primary income of the household, our family struggled substantially. I mean this in the financial and emotional sense. Financial strain has a way of causing relationship problems, and for my parents it was no different. They began to drink and fight. I, as a young girl already struggling through puberty and the increasingly complicated social scene of adolescence, developed a plethora of mental health issues. I became bulimic, depressed, and anxious. I began to self harm. However, I am the stereotypical oldest daughter, and I behaved accordingly in the midst of my struggles. I maintained a GPA above a 4.0 with a schedule full of honors and AP level classes, and I was involved in many extracurricular activities. Staying busy was one method of coping with what I was going through. Reading was another. I had loved books since I was a small child, but this period of my life made me view them as an escape. Books represented the fantasy of what I believed my life could eventually become even when my current reality was far from desirable.

Let’s fast forward to my high school graduation. I had started to experience some of the more extreme symptoms of having an eating disorder, and I had come to the realization that the way I was living was not sustainable. I started recovery during the summer after graduation, and I geared up for my first semester of college as a psychology major. I wanted to use my career to help people through the same mental health issues I had experienced. Little did I know that I would switch majors and career paths multiple times throughout the years.

After completing two years of coursework for a psychology degree, I transferred schools to pursue a ministry degree. While working toward this degree, I interned at a local church. This was the same church that I accepted a job at post grad. It quickly became clear to me that ministry was not a career I could do for the rest of my life. Growing up in a southern religious family meant that I had been raised by people with very conservative views, and I simply did not agree with these views anymore. The same views I was raised with were the views being promoted by the church I worked at, and the cognitive dissonance of being liberal in a conservative environment led me to feel that I was not helping people at all. In fact, it felt like I was actively contributing to the harm of marginalized communities.

I enrolled in a graduate program to study social work. It seemed like it would be a simple course correction. I would enter a field similar to that which I had originally intended to when I started college, and I would help people in a more hands-on way. A few quarters into the program, it was time for an internship in the field. This internship made me aware of how often I would be required to work with people who grappled with substance use, and I knew I couldn’t do it. Even if I could, it would take an extreme toll on my mental health due to the history of alcoholism in my family. I was at a loss for what to do next.

Every decision I had made had been driven by my desire to use my life to help people, but none of my choices felt right. I left the graduate program and my job at the church. I then did something I had not done in a very long time. I took time to sit still. I thought about what I loved and what had helped me through hard times. Then I remembered the young girl who always had her nose in a book. I remembered the girl who disappeared into stories that made her believe in a better tomorrow.

I now know that I want to be a part of bringing those stories into the world. I want to help publish literature that gives others hope. Because the first step to making the world a better place is hoping that it can be.


Caylin Moore (she/her) is currently pursuing a graduate level certificate in book publishing from Pace University, and SAFTA is her first internship in the publishing industry. Her previous work includes copyediting, social media marketing, and project management. She hopes to use these skills and those gained during this internship for a job in either editorial or marketing one day. As someone who has often felt seen by the stories she reads, she is passionate about bringing stories into the world that help others feel that same comfort. She is planning her wedding to Nathan, the love of her life, for next August. In addition to her fiancé, she also loves romance novels, murder mysteries, musical theatre, and her pets Stitch and Oreo. Stitch is a hound dog named after objectively the best Disney character of all time, and she will hear no debate on that matter.

Meet Our New Intern: Ana Mourant

Ana Mourant, a young woman, with blonde hair and light skin, wearing an explorer's hat, a short-sleeve shirt, shorts, and sandals, walking on a rope bridge high up in a forest

Growing up in rural Alaska, my family lived a largely subsistence lifestyle, which is the term we use when a family obtains most of its food from the wild rather than a store. We foraged for berries, fished for salmon, and hunted moose. We didn’t have a TV when I was young, nor computers, mobile phones, or even running water. Books, however, we did have. My family’s village had a small library, with many more books than people. Only about thirty people lived in the village year-round (yes, thirty, not thirty thousand), and our small library had around ten thousand books. With this book-to-people ratio, it’s no wonder that I became an introverted bibliophile.

People began to attract my attention as a teenager when I became interested in languages and met several foreign exchange students after we moved to the city. I use the word “city” loosely, since Juneau is a small town from most of the world’s point of view. But for us, Juneau was considered the “big city,” with its population of thirty thousand (yes, thirty thousand, instead of just thirty). I took linguistics, French, and Latin in school, and learned a bit of various other languages, including Greek, Italian, Mandarin, and Cantonese. My family decided to host an exchange student, after which I launched myself off on my own series of exchange programs to Greece, France, and Czechia, and spent my junior year of high school abroad in Germany (adding fluent German to my list).

In college, I knew I wanted work with literature, and initially thought I would become a writer. From my extensive language background (at that point I could speak five languages, to varying degrees), I knew I wanted to procure a thorough education not just in English literature, but the English language as well, from a linguistic point of view. I found the program I wanted which offered a major in English Language and Literature, with a minor in Professional Writing. I completed my BA and was also awarded membership to Sigma Tau Delta International English Honor Society.

College life was fun, mine especially so since I had the pleasure of studying English and global literature written from the beginning of the Old English language up to the present. Still, my heart has to get off the pages and into the woods sometimes. No matter what country I’m in or how many buildings I’m temporarily surrounded by, I always make time to return to the forest, the mountains, or whatever form of nature I can get to. I also make time to listen to Indigenous storytellers whenever the opportunity arises. Growing up in Alaska, I was immersed in both Indigenous as well as Euro-American culture. When I wasn’t out playing in the forest or reading, I was often listening to others tell their stories. In Alaska, we’re lucky that live storytelling is popular, both in casual settings as well as large ticketed events in cities. During the latter half of my college years, I began to realize that my true passion lies not in writing my own creations, but in helping others to tell their stories.

When I discovered editing, I knew that this was the path for me: helping others tell their stories. My mind is analytical, my background is strong in language, and my heart is with storytellers who have braved the wilds of life and have enthralling experiences to share. I found that I enjoy helping others more than writing my own pieces from scratch. I love the process of analysis. I love seeing the forest through the trees and helping the story shine. I love getting a rough manuscript and working as a team with the author to form it, see it grow, and watch it bloom.

After I finished my undergraduate program, I pursued this passion and went to grad school at the University of Washington to obtain my editing certificate. I graduated in June 2025, not only with my editing certificate, but also with a certificate in storytelling and content strategy. I am now equipped to help authors find their voice and bring stories to the world.

During my time at the University of Washington, and since then, I’ve edited books, news articles, and websites. I’ve worked with well-known authors, first-time authors, international journalists, and businesses around the world. I enjoy editing a wide variety of material, my favorites being nature writing and anything by or about Indigenous Peoples. As of this writing, besides my editorial internship with Sundress Publications, I’m the copyeditor for journalist Marcie Sillman, and I continue to freelance edit for a wide variety of publishing houses, authors, and businesses. My three favorite authors are Robert Macfarlane and Tristan Gooley, both nature writers, and Wes Henry, whose wonderful prose makes me smile every time I work on his humorous teaching memoir manuscript (in the substantive editing phase as of this writing).

Stay tuned for my Sundress Reads book reviews coming up in the next couple months, as well as my Sundress TikToks. I’m so excited to work with Sundress Publications and happy to be a part of this team!


Ana Mourant is an editorial intern for Sundress Publications and a recent graduate of the University of Washington’s editing program. She holds a Certificate in Editing as well as a Certificate in Storytelling and Content Strategy, and a BA in English Language and Literature, with a minor in Professional Writing. Ana conducts manuscript evaluations, developmental edits, structural edits, line edits, copyedits, proofreads, and beta reads, as well as authenticity and sensitivity readings for Indigenous Peoples content. Ana loves nature writing and Indigenous cultures, and, when she’s not working, is often out in the wilderness tracking animals, Nordic skiing, or just enjoying nature.

Meet Our New Intern: Natalie Gardner

A white woman leaning against a wooden deck railing with the woods behind her. She is wearing a black dress, a green army jacket, and a black scarf, and is looking to the side.

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.

Meet Our New Intern: Aylli Cortez

Aylli, a fair skinned person with short brown hair, sits cross-legged on the grass. He is wearing wide frame glasses paired with a black crew neck top and blue jeans. Small purple flowers and various plants fill the upper half of the background.

Last February, I had the honor of reading some of my poems at a book launch in Makati, not far from the city where I grew up. As a then–university student who’d only been published in one journal, I was thrilled to play a supporting role in the milestone of a great poet. I didn’t expect to come away with a message of encouragement that evening, but when the author signed my copy of his collection, he also scribbled on the title page: “For Ayl—keep writing… You don’t have a choice now.”

The note struck me as funny, scary, and touching at the same time. Both a form of pressure and a show of recognition, it seemed to say: You need to continue doing this because it’s who you are. Now, one year later, I can do what I couldn’t in that small independent bookshop, call myself a writer. Not because I have a Bachelor’s in Creative Writing, or an award, or more published poems, but because I feel belonging in this community and want very badly to give back.

In my undergraduate years, I grew as a writer, editor, and facilitator through my participation (turned presidency and editorship) in two literary organizations. Combined with the experience I gained from my workshop and publishing classes, as well as my summer internship at the university press, I realized that honing my craft wasn’t a solitary endeavor. Writing didn’t have to be isolating; it could prompt me to converse and collaborate with my peers! I later learned that many of us shared the same zest for arts, culture, and niche Internet fandoms. Still, we needed the resources and opportunities to recognize that we weren’t alone.

While the pandemic drove classes online for half of my college life, I managed to organize and often moderate literary talks, writing workshops, social events, deliberations, and training seminars. It was a great way to invite professional authors to share their work and expertise with us, but also to invite students to read widely and critically, develop confidence in their works-in-progress, and offer their skills in service of each other.

Since graduating in June, I’ve learned to become a student on my own terms. Aside from reawakening my reading practice and seeing it translate to a calmer, more consistent writing process, I’ve made a habit of seeking and attending art events around Metro Manila—especially ones that platform small presses and self-published creatives. Talking to illustrators, writers, komikeros, and zinesters gives me perspective. Our insights (and friendship) show me what needs are and aren’t being met while getting me to see more possibilities for us as artists.

Now, I believe that self-expression can only take me so far, as my ideas flow furthest when I engage with material made by others, be it literary or “extraliterary.” Poetry welcomed me by encouraging that I test the distinction between the two.

As a genre, poetry willingly lends itself to overlaps. It can house hybrid forms, it delights in playful language, and it offers endless chances to experiment. When I came to grips with being transmasculine, I felt uncomfortable with the disclaimers of fiction and nonfiction, the line between real and not. Poetry didn’t have me choose. As I began reading more books by queer and trans poets of color, many of whom I have a dear professor to thank for introducing to me, the more my conviction in my future grew. Being a poet made me realize that my transitioning self was real, even though he wasn’t fully embodied yet.

Sometimes, I wish I’d arrived at this level of clarity sooner (read: before I drowned in my thesis), but I’m grateful nonetheless. Without my friends, mentors, and those writers I admire from afar, I wouldn’t have tried to put myself out there and soak up the opportunities that revealed themselves once I paid attention. No, in this timeline, I remain spurred when it comes to sending my poems out and starting new projects while my current manuscript sits in a contest inbox.

Having these connections almost makes me forget that I’m still the slippery, spunky, and super clunky kid that I was ten years ago. A younger Aylli dreamed of becoming a published writer, but he didn’t imagine that he’d be on the masthead of an international literary journal, or work for a U.S.-based publication, or be on a first-name basis with so many brilliant artists and writers, but here I am! A bit worn out, a bit bruised, but way less “I hate my body” and much more “This isn’t even my final form.”

Looking back, what alarmed me about the note saying I didn’t have a choice wasn’t the thought of my not liking that outcome, but the fact that I could no longer hide its importance to me. I enjoy withholding details, and being vulnerable doesn’t come easy. But when you’re a writer and everything else in the drop-down menu of the word, there comes a point where you admit that not having to confess anything (if you don’t want to) doesn’t absolve you of the need to be honest about what you want.

I’m excited to spend the next six months as an editorial intern at Sundress Publications. This is a dedicated press run by volunteers who deliver on the kind of care that writers deserve, and I feel privileged to play a short part in seeing it thrive. Editorial assistance is crucial to bridging the gap between necessary stories and the audiences that seek them. I want to support and offer this practice in my endeavors at home. I want to continue being led by wonder and respect. I want to inject myself into the world. I want to dream of the places my craft will take me, and of what I’ll become. Most of all, I want to choose to admit this.


Aylli Cortez (he/they) is a transmasc Filipino poet and creative writing graduate of Ateneo de Manila University, where he received a DALISAYAN Award in the Arts for Poetry in 2024. His work has appeared in VERDANT Journal, en*gendered lit, Bullshit Lit, HAD, and like a field, among others. Based in Metro Manila, he is currently a poetry reader for ANMLY and a member of the Ateneo Press Review Crew. Find him on Bluesky and Instagram @1159cowboy or visit his website.