Blog Archives

Then Keep Me (reposted)

He arrived in the middle of the night, banging on their door in the midst of a raging storm. Windy gusts lashed the windows, tree branches scraping the panes. It brought her and her parents barefoot down the creaking stairs,

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5:40am

It’s 5:40AM. I’m woken by the door buzzer ringing. Zulejka shoots into hiding (as cats do). I sit up in bed, groggy. Damn alcohol-infested jerks! I lie back down. I live above a pub; sometimes revelers decide it’s time to

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So. My Ex Called Me Last Night…

And he said: “I just took a p!ss in the pub you live above.” Me, thinking a million things but only saying: You’re here? Downstairs? Him: I’m waiting for the bus at the bus stop in front of your place.

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Super-Cat Strikes at Book Trailers

If you’re as exhausted as I am, here, have a 56-second-long video of my super-cat kitty-crashing my book trailer (she just can’t help herself) –> She stole that video! BUT! I have others that use ALL THE DRAMA! All. The.

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Hooman, Behold My Travail

Hoomans, behold the burden and the turmoil of my difficult life: My hooman interrupts my languishment: [No, you do not behold any half-eaten dish of chicken meat (that hooman cooked earlier) camouflaged upon the bedsheets]. Hoomans, pity me. See how

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A Healer’s Story (in Images)

Years ago, a woman drifted into the workspace where I host writing meetups every Saturday. She was dazed, floaty, and alighted on one of the couches. She couldn’t speak for a while, obviously utterly overwhelmed by something. She made to

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Locked Out

I came home from running the other day and my key wouldn’t work in the building door. Everyone’s gone through that first moment when the key doesn’t turn. You jiggle it, pull it out, confirm that it is–yes–the right key,

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Damn Human is Writing Smut Again

Cat Zulejka here. If you don’t know me, educate yourself below: I am the most beautiful cat ever. Not even flowers can compare. Confirm: I have claws that can drive fear into the fiercest heart: And I am capable of

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No Darkness Today

This week, the darkness is on haitus. You get a lucky escape. And rather than a book review, you get pictures of Prague from my walk home from my swing dance class. Because occasionally I’m in a social mood–only, since

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The Dark and Crazy Writer

Her spirit was the wrong shape: she never quite managed to squeeze it into the puzzle of her world, where she never belonged–never fit. She looked fine, sure, even pretty in all that diffuse light at royal dances, under fiery

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Sonya Lano

Sonya Lano

When I was twenty-two, I ran away to Prague, where I now sing to my black cat (who collects dustballs in her whiskers), eat chocolate for breakfast, and have lemon tarts every Thursday.

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