Kate Ryan

I have no choice but to start all over again, tomorrow or not at all.

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.

He died a violent death. I saw him myself, flopping between wooden blades, his head bent back strangely.

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.

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

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

A bloated mother in her polka dot one-piece gnaws on a corndog while reading the romantic pulp she picked up on her way out of the supermarket . . .

Alma couldn’t understand why her Yelp reviews were so dismal. She didn’t advertise herself as a magician. She was a hair stylist.

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