Kate Ryan

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

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

She gropes for attention while he dies in the other room.

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

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

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.

As an Uber driver, I have the privilege of talking to and eavesdropping on a sampling of L.A.’s finest, ranging from the clinically insane to the simply self-absorbed. As a writer, there is no end to the amount of inspiration my passengers provide.

Surviving the Apocalypse didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy a little romance.

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

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.