An Interview with Will Cole

Will Cole is a queer, transgender man, professor, scientist, activist, a “seahorse dad” to an adult son, and proud husband to a fellow writer. In 2026, he completed an MA in Writing Nonfiction at Johns Hopkins University, received the David Everett Award for Outstanding Thesis, and attended the Yale Writers’ Workshop. His work has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and the Monarch Queer Literary Award. His work appears in The Portland Review, Welter, Jarnal, Open Secrets, The Science Writer, Cosmo, Baltimore Fishbowl, and regularly in Another Jane Pratt Thing. In his newsletter, Your Trans Cousin, he demystifies transgender health science for broad audiences with a personal touch on trans issues, backed by science.

---

What inspired you to start writing this book?

For decades, I’ve intended to write a memoir. Or three. I was raised as a Mormon girl in Utah, married and had a child young, left religion, lived in East Africa for over a decade for my global health career, eventually came out as queer and trans, and had a second puberty at forty. I’ve also been an avid (even obsessive) journal keeper and write to process, so I have plenty of fodder and primary source materials for this book.

Eighteen years after leaving the Mormon church, I realized I was having panic attacks any time I entered a religious building. I’d been having these emotional flashbacks for years, but I’d been so disconnected from my body that I hadn’t noticed. It dawned on me that I had intellectually deconstructed my religious upbringing and family estrangement, but I had yet to emotionally process any of it. I started an MA in Writing Nonfiction two months later, and as I wrote and received feedback, I gained new perspectives on my experiences and decided to lean into how much Mormonism has affected and still affects my psyche and life.

This book is a creative deep dive into that. I play with Mormon artifacts, place, and teachings in the writing. For example, I weave in some of my earliest creative nonfiction from high school, when I wrote about mundane things like being bored in driver’s ed, but in the old-timey, verbose style of the Book of Mormon. Priesthood blessings, evil spirits, and temple rituals bury queer longing, gender self-knowledge, and emotional autonomy, but I eventually rescue Little Will from The Silent Place and protect him with my anger.

Tell us the story of your book’s current title. Was it easy to find, or did it take forever?

The current title is only weeks old. My previous working title, A Light in Outer Darkness, was an irreverent reclamation of the Mormon version of the worst hell, Outer Darkness, where only ex-Mormons go. The Silent Place is a recurring phrase from the book, referring to psychological self-exile where, age three, I sent my knowledge of myself as a boy. It became the repository for all things Me that did not fit into the Mormon mold I was expected to cram myself into. This silence permeated my life, finding “safety” in silence and invisibility in childhood, then in marriage, and in the soft shunning from my family after I left Mormonism. They tolerated me as an ex-Mormon—until I started to write about it publicly.

Describe your dream book cover.

I’d love to use one of my paintings. Years before I had the words for it and started writing the book, I painted a picture of a young boy version of me in what I now recognize as The Silent Place. He is sitting forlorn, almost in a fetal position, hiding himself in a dark hoodie (as many trans people do before they come out). Behind him in bright, warm hues of orange, yellow, and red is an anatomical heart. This represents a main theme of the book: how the body knows something is wrong and cries out for help, even if the conscious mind does not yet understand.

If your book had a soundtrack, what are some songs that would be on it?

I’ll never get the rights to use them, but if I could, songs from Mormon children’s Sunday school would feature prominently in some of my chapters: “I Love to See the Temple,” “I Walk by Faith,” “Love is Spoken Here,” and “A Child’s Prayer”. Growing up, I learned that singing a hymn was a primary way of coping with negative emotions (framed as “of the Devil” and “I sinned so I am unworthy of the Holy Ghost’s presence.”) Singing these songs was a way to “invite the Holy Ghost back in” and feel calm and safe again. Because of this, at big, distressing points in my life—then and now—these songs come unbidden into my head, haunting me.

Besides those, Tyler Glenn, the gay ex-Mormon lead singer of Neon Trees, has an album Ex-Communication, about his own journey out of the church. His songs “Midnight,” “First Vision,” “Gates,” and “Gods + Monsters” would be on the soundtrack.

Also, “Take Me to Church” by Hozier, “This is Me” from The Greatest Showman, and “The Village” by Wrabel.

What books are you reading (for research or comfort) as you continue the writing process?

Lots of nonfiction and fiction on religious deconstruction and psychology! I just finished Pure by Linda Lay Kline, about the long-term impacts of evangelical purity culture on women, Shame-Sex Attraction, edited by Lucas Wilson, and Yesteryear by Caro Claire Burke. Next up is A Well-Trained Wife by Tia Levings.

I’ve been reading memoirs, too. Hijab Butch Blues by Lamya H, Pretty by KB Brookins, Frighten the Horses by Oliver Radclyffe, Raising Hare by Chloe Dalton, and Gay Mormon Dad by Chad Anderson. High on my TBR pile are Conversion Therapy Dropout by Timothy Schraeder Rodriguez and A Queer and Pleasant Danger by Kate Bornstein.

What other professions have you worked in? What’s something about you that your readers wouldn’t know?

I have a public health career, and lived abroad for over a decade, studying HIV prevention and treatment, and other sexual and reproductive health issues. I have niche expertise in different modalities or formulations of PrEP (pre-exposure prophylaxis, i.e., HIV prevention medicine), which comes in or has been tested in various forms: pills, injections, intravaginal rings, and patches. I’m a professor of LGBTQ health and speak Swahili!

Who/what made you want to write? Was there a particular person, or particular writers/works/art forms that influenced you?

It’s hard to point to any one moment, author, or work that inspired me; it was a panoply. Writing has always been more comfortable and effective for me than speaking. In the past five years or so, I realized I was autistic and finally got formally diagnosed, so the preference for writing now makes sense. I have always read a lot, too, including reading stories aloud to my little sisters. Some time in my twenties, I heard the concept of creative nonfiction, and I knew it was what I wanted to do, but I never seemed to manage to make the time. I realize now I was still in survival mode, and it’s impossible to write what it’s like to be burned when you’re still on fire (thanks to poet Steven Leyva for that gem). Once I felt safe (I transitioned genders, was in a happy marriage, and was self-employed working from home), I started a master’s in writing to give myself the due dates, structure, and feedback I needed. Turns out I also have ADHD, so having classes to keep me motivated is important.

Where is your favorite place to write?

I do most of my writing in my home office, where I have a messy desk, laptop, two big monitors, and a fluffy cat who sometimes graces me with her presence. Won’t say no to a residency, though.

What advice would you give your past self at the start of your writing journey?

You don’t need to know the answers, the end goal, or the point of the essay to start writing it. That first draft can be a big dumping ground for potential ideas. It’s supposed to be a mess.

Trust yourself. And get other’s feedback; they can see things you cannot.

Be vulnerable. Write the thing you’re scared to write.

What’s one thing you hope sticks with readers after they finish your book?

Everything is complicated. Stereotypes about Mormons, trans people, queer people, and autistic people are based on ounces of fact, but ignore mountains of info.

People are complicated, and you cannot separate one layer of identity from another. I can’t tell my trans story without the queer and Mormon parts. I can’t tell my divorce story without the trans and living abroad parts. Let the complexity percolate.

---

Are you a writer, too? Submit your manuscript to Atmosphere Press.