Posts Tagged ‘Little Word Studio’

On Writing, On Wednesday: The Very First Line

Posted by melissa kandel on June 2, 2016 in On Writing | 2 Comments

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 the kid exactly how the […]

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I Finally Did It

Posted by melissa kandel on May 26, 2016 in Fiction, literature, On Writing, Personal | 3 Comments

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, 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, iPhone, Android or Kindle reader. […]

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National Poetry Month: A Celebration in Words and Stories

Posted by melissa kandel on April 28, 2016 in Fiction, In the News, National Holiday | No Comments

Long ago one April afternoon, in a library far, far away, a quiet bibliophile, nose between a Longfellow and a Wordsworth, looked up from her thick, dusty book of poems and declared, “We shall henceforth call this month, ‘National Poetry Month.’” And so it was. OK, not really. But that’s how I like to imagine it […]

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Brews with Views: The 2016 Newport Beach Beerfest

I hate to be the one to say this but Shakespeare had it wrong: To beer or not to beer—that is the real question. The answer? Let’s have the 2016 Newport Beach Beerfest respond, because it’s happening at Newport Dunes this Saturday from 7 p.m. to 10 p.m. Newport Beach Beerfest, an O.C. tradition that brings quality brews beachside each year, will feature more than 150 breweries—many […]

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On Meditation, In London

Posted by melissa kandel on April 12, 2016 in Fiction | No Comments

He paid the taxi cab and stepped onto the street. The ground was still slick and sheeny from the afternoon rain and he took care where he treaded, moving in a tip toe to prevent all 6’7” of him from skidding on the pavement, a heap of gangly limbs and red hair. Although if he […]

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Harvest and the Yams

Posted by melissa kandel on March 27, 2016 in Uncategorized | 3 Comments

Harvest was born under the shadow of a half-moon. In the scope of his life, it wasn’t the most significant fact about him but it forever hung there, like the half-moon itself, way in the back of a mind mostly empty and then rose to the front whenever Harvest thought about all the things he […]

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The Art Director

Posted by melissa kandel on December 8, 2015 in Fiction | 4 Comments

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 a cigarette and shuffled across […]

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Featured Friday: Slasher Mag

Posted by melissa kandel on October 23, 2015 in Interview, On Writing | No Comments

Like James Dean in a perfectly worn leather jacket, Slasher Mag defines cool. The online publication has a certain je ne sais quoi that is hard to describe but, with a quick glance at some recent Slasher posts, easy to understand. (Bonus: Editor-In-Chief Elodie Parthenay’s Instagram gives the most seriously chic vibes.) So, when Slasher published my article about […]

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Gimmicks In The Sky

Posted by melissa kandel on August 24, 2015 in Fiction | No Comments

By Melissa Marni No one of any importance had ever heard of Earnest Cole. No one had ever said things like, “Oh, that Earnest Cole, can you believe what he’s done now?” Or, “I wonder what Earnest Cole is eating for breakfast today.” No one knew what he was doing and no one knew what […]

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In The Bag

Posted by melissa kandel on August 16, 2015 in Fiction | No Comments

By Melissa Marni His skin was old and ashen. Not ashen like a cigarette but ashen like the scorched embers of a campfire that had been left burning too long. Nikolai was the exact opposite: A tan-skinned, lanky figure of twenty six, with sun-dipped curls in his hair and a bright rose to his cheeks. […]

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