Kate Ryan

Kate Ryan

Bio

A Revolutionelle is the woman curled up in the back of a cafe, accompanied by a good book and lots of espresso. She’s the kind of girl you want to grab a beer with. She unapologetically loves the Bachelorette and Masterpiece Classic. She’s a fiend for dark chocolate, cheeseburgers, juice cleanses, milkshakes, kale, boxed wine, and whatever the hell she feels like. She goes for long walks on the beach, takes long naps on the couch, hikes through the Sierras, skinny-dips in community pools, soaks in lavender-scented bubble baths, rides mechanical bulls, or does none of those things because she does whatever the fuck she wants. She’s a tomboy, jeans-and-tshirt-wearing, girly girl, diva, fashionista, rebel rockstar, tea-drinking diplomat, hellhound motorcycle babe, spiritually-centered yogi, bookworm, historical buff, comedian, jack of all trades, all in one day.  She’s a contradiction and that’s okay. She speaks her mind. She loves herself. She’s an all-around badass motherfucker.

Kate Ryan Articles

Improv For Introverts: A Crash Course in Social Skills

One of my biggest fears is having a random stranger ask me, "how it’s going?" They might as well ask if I’d like to step into their van and get murdered.

Read...
It'll cure what ails ya.

The Only Tip You’ll Need To Survive The Holidays: Masturbate

Light some candles and use those bath salts you've been saving for a special occasion. Masturbate for 55 minutes.

Read...

12 Signs You Might Have A Dog-Child

We all love our dogs. However, some of us take it a little too far, convincing ourselves that our dogs are actually our children. You call your dog your “baby” one day, and the next thing you know, you’re pushing him or her down the street in an expensive stroller. How did we get here? Trust me, it’s a slippery slope. Here are 12 signs you might have a dog-child.

Read...

Before I Die, I Hope My Blender Arrives—Fiction from Luna Luna magazine

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

Read...
Thinkstock

Grandparents Camp: Flash Fiction

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.

Read...
Thinkstock

Dormant Insecurities: Flash Fiction

My tights are cutting me in half at the waist . . . just like a sausage in its casing.

Read...
Thinkstock

Don't Pick: Flash Fiction

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

Read...

Midnight Confrontation: Flash Fiction

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

Read...

Touching Down: Flash Fiction

LAX, on the other hand, seemed like a perfect place to pick up the latest deadly virus.

Read...
Thinkstock

Seahorse Man: Flash Fiction

He thought I was mad, but in an artistic way; I thought he was horny all the time, but in an artistic way.

Read...