Kate Ryan

Fresh orange juice, milk, thick slices of ham, a block of cheese, a carton of eggs—her husband kept it this way should this moment arrive.

At Monster High, Jimmy Werewolf gets another demerit for forgetting to shave again.

Like booster engines emptied of fuel, my limbs become disposable, useless tanks as the blood rushes from them.

I would send some chocolates, but I’m not allowed anymore since they found the shiv in the birthday cake I sent you.

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.

Writing simply does for me what long walks do for small dogs; it makes me tired and happy.

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

You could take this easy, informative quiz to find out with whom you side on important legislative issues and social policies. Or you could go my route and pick your candidate based on what dinosaur they resemble.

“Don’t you smash that cake in my face, or I’ll never forgive you,” she said, and she never did, not really.

Sheila applied widely and on a whim. She needed a job and she needed one fast.