Kate Ryan

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

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

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.

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

Sheila applied widely and on a whim. She needed a job and she needed one fast.

The case of beer I brought, as my mother explained, is “pure poison” and so I must drink it all by myself.

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

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.

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

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