Kate Ryan

She doesn’t know how to communicate the feeling that all is for nothing, nothing is normal.

Motherhood is easily the toughest, most sacred job on earth. Without moms, the human race simply wouldn’t be here. But personally, I’d rather dangle myself from dental floss over a volcano full of spiders than push another human being out of my body.

One crawled up the side of the bag and opened her wings, a hardtop convertible with legs.

Someone would always cook in their tighty whities, his package at eye level for the person doing French homework at the kitchen table.

Eva, having stayed up the whole night preoccupied with death and time, planned to call in sick.

Okay, so maybe she didn’t really understand feminism.

My parents got the idea they’d send me to stay at my grandparents’ house in Florida for a week. I think my mother needed a week to herself.

She couldn’t imagine the water she sat in, the water that enveloped her body, wanted to be here.

She closed in on the open pores enlarged ten times their normal size by a high magnification pocket mirror.

Everyone wants to have the funny tweets because people equate them with wealth, power, and beauty. The problem is, we’re not all funny.