Letters of Inspiration: I

Letters of Inspiration: I

Sometimes inspiration can be found everywhere and sometimes, catching it is like trying to collect rain water with only a pasta strainer by your side. I’ve known Yvonne de Jonge, artist and founder of the blog Visual Strands, since I started my own site years ago. We met on Instagram, (read Yvonne’s

This Art Is The Greatest Thing Since Sliced Bread

This Art Is The Greatest Thing Since Sliced Bread

The world of celebrity-food Instagram accounts is as unpredictable as it is delicious. Musicians are dangled atop brioche buns, Meryl Streep becomes a condiment to taste inside a taco, what’s bad for you is good—hello, cupcakes and pizza!—and to be a dead celebrity is to be very much alive …

On Writing, On Wednesday: The Very First Line

On Writing, On Wednesday: The Very First Line

This is stupid. That’s the first thing I thought when the idea came to me to write about writing, which seemed no different from a balloon maker noodling up a poodle figurine at a circus side show and instead of selling it to the five-year-old cotton-candy-eater who wants one, telling

I Finally Did It

I Finally Did It

Dear Friends, Today is kind of epic in the history of little word studio. Why? I published a book. Well, an eBook but it’s there on Amazon.com, alive and well, like a literary embryo floating amid the goop of the Interwebs, ready to breath its first baby-book breath into your tablet,

Pizza Cat

Pizza Cat

The rumors are true. The Pizza Cat is real. How do I know, you might ask, skeptical gleam in your eye, that such a creature exists? Have I seen this mystical, mozzarellical thing and lived to tell the tale? Did I run into one, many moons ago, stumbling out from

His Muse

His Muse

There’s a road in Costa Rica that is watched by snakes and stones. The stones don’t make the best sentinels (stony-faced as they may be), mostly because they have no eyes and can only roll loosely in one direction or the next to warn of trouble ahead. The snakes, by

Whale-Talk

Whale-Talk

by Melissa Marni Yosemite My name is Yosemite. I’m five feet, six inches tall with a reddish tint to my hair, a long beard that I never comb and green-blue eyes that are noticeably two different sizes. I only shower on Thursdays, smoke at least five cigarettes a day and

The Art Director

The Art Director

It was late in the day, the light tinny and waxen, a final push of sunshine before darkness. But morning or midnight, the time mattered little to a broody art director named Simon; every molecule of air around the Sour Milk Gallery had been curdled with failure for weeks. He lit

Little Coffee Story

Little Coffee Story

By Melissa Marni So this is my little coffee story. Sorry that I’m only getting around to telling it to you now, me sitting inside this café near a window dribbling with slow rain and you sitting in … well, wherever it is you are. Maybe you’re in a café

A Morning with Mr. Moonshine

A Morning with Mr. Moonshine

By Melissa Marni It was early morning in early fall. The world was dark, as it tended to be on autumn days such as this, newly unfolded and still smudgy from whatever was left of the night. A hum, low but gentle, rumbled not far behind Peter Luck, who was

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