Christine Stoddard

Christine Stoddard

Bio

Originally from Virginia, Christine Stoddard is a Salvadoran-Scottish-American writer and artist. She also is the founding editor of Quail Bell Magazine, a place for real and unreal stories from around the world. Her art and stories have appeared in Cosmopolitan, Bustle,The Huffington Post, Vivala, The Feminist Wire, the New York Transit Museum, Philly Fringe Fest, and beyond. She also is the author of Hispanic and Latino Heritage in Virginia (The History Press, 2016). In 2014, Folio Magazine named Christine one of the media industry's top visionaries in their 20s.

Christine Stoddard Articles

Image: WordsmithChristine.com

9 Obstacles That Moms In Freddie Gray's Neighborhood Face

I recently spent some time in Freddie Gray's West Baltimore neighborhood asking local women for their thoughts on police reform. I was curious because, as the Freddie Gray trials drag on, I can't help but feel that city and state officials are failing to ask everyday people what needs to change.

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Illustrations by Ajah Courts (http://cargocollective.com/ajahcourts/Quail-Bell)

China Street: Fiction From Quail Bell Magazine

The moon sauntered out from a curtain of clouds, whispering, “All things must end.”

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"When I told my husband that his relative comfort on a city street is evidence of his male privilege, the look on his face implied that this was news to him." Image: Thinkstock

Explaining To A Man What It's Like To Be A Woman And Afraid

My now-husband was stunned the first time I told him what I do while walking alone. I mentioned behavior typical of so many city-dwelling women: carrying pepper spray, checking my back every block, trying to look confident while struggling to properly breathe. After a moment of silence, he teared up and said, “I don’t want you to have to worry.”

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By the end of the first haunted house rehearsal, I knew the job would truly test my abilities to carry my body and voice well.

 Working At A Haunted House Was Better Than Therapy 

Before I became a haunted house performer, I thought having my face touched was one of the creepiest things imaginable. But it wasn't the eerie set music or the beheaded baby dolls that changed my definition of scary. It was what went on in the green room.

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