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

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Baby On A Train: Flash Fiction

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.

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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.

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Confessions Of An Uber Driver: Passengers Say the Darnedest Things

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.

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What I Learned From Living With Five Guys

Someone would always cook in their tighty whities, his package at eye level for the person doing French homework at the kitchen table.

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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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Touching Down: Flash Fiction

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

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Everyone Hates The Tall Guy: Flash Fiction

For the record, I didn’t mean to be born so tall. I didn’t ask for bulky shoulders or a head that doesn’t fit most hats.

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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.

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I’m a Writer And I Walk Dogs: The Archetypal Struggle Of The Day Job

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

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Midnight Confrontation: Flash Fiction

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

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