Kate Ryan

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

The Gap come autumn: where normcore and film noir cleverly collide.

Hollywood continues to flounder in a dick-sucking frenzy of self-congratulatory white male directors, writers, and producers.

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

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

12:48 AM. Why would someone schedule an exorcism for the middle of a weeknight?

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

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

She knows you’re not supposed to call it an “it,” but she honestly can’t tell if it’s a boy or girl or . . . undecided.