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

Guns And Dishtowels: Flash Fiction

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

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Don't Pick: Flash Fiction

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

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10 Things To Avoid If You Don't Want To Be A Hipster

There are some hipster things that hipsters want us to love, so we’ll join their cult. But we’re done falling for these things because we’re all unique individuals. Here are 10 things you need to avoid right now if you don’t want to be a hipster.

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School Lunches: Flash Fiction

The bread had to be store-bought and white, of course, so as not to raise a red flag among my classmates. I still see rebellion in a ham sandwich.

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Trigger Warning: Trigger Warnings Are BS

Is flagging potentially offensive material taking the PC movement too far?

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Why Maps To The Stars Is Everything Wrong With Hollywood

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

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Things Like Destiny: Flash Fiction

“You are the naked girl on horse, yes?” he said, approaching her table from across the café patio.

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Dormant Insecurities: Flash Fiction

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

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A Pleasant Morning Ritual: Flash Fiction

The birds abandon their posts in the pepper trees, sending tiny, oblong leaves raining to the ground.

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Valentine’s Day At The Corcoran State Prison: Flash Fiction

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

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