Nikki Dolson



Fiction  Me?  
Reblogged from i-am-no-stranger
squidfiction:

booougbad:

Well

I was about to scroll past but then I got it.


Blue’s clues forever

squidfiction:

booougbad:

Well

I was about to scroll past but then I got it.

Blue’s clues forever

(Source: i-am-no-stranger, via elloellenoh)

Reblogged from mttbll
I used to tell interviewers that I wrote every day except for Christmas, the Fourth of July, and my birthday. That was a lie. I told them that because if you agree to an interview you have to say something, and it plays better if it’s something at least half-clever. Also, I didn’t want to sound like a workaholic dweeb (just a workaholic, I guess). The truth is that when I’m writing, I write every day, workaholic dweeb or not. That includes Christmas, the Fourth, and my birthday (at my age you try to ignore your goddam birthday anyway). And when I’m not working, I’m not working at all, although during those periods of full stop I usually feel at loose ends with myself and have trouble sleeping. For me, not working is the real work. Stephen King (via mttbll)
Reblogged from andyclarks

hollywoodlady:

Rear Window (1954)

(Source: andyclarks, via caughtinanocean)


Reblogged from theparisreview
Reblogged from 100wordsneversaid

REBLOG IF I CAN BE YOUR FRIEND.

& message you without being judged.

(Source: 100wordsneversaid, via protectbuckybarnesatallcosts)

Reblogged from medievalpoc
Reblogged from kelsfjord
kelsfjord:

THIS WAS IN TEXAS 

I don’t remember the south. By the time my memory kicked in, I was living in the Pacific Northwest. But I am deeply familiar with that bodily need to be within weeds. For the first eighteen years of my life, the bottoms of my feet were callused, my legs used to pushing through bramble. My backyard was half an acre of grass, and then beneath that, four acres of untended wood.
Sometimes in the late afternoon, I’d go to the bottom of the yard and walk down a path, toward where the shadows grew thicker between trees. I’d taunt myself with how close I could get, alone, before turning and running back up, terrified that some rustling (surely only a rabbit or a bird) was a coyote or, worse, the mountain lion we were told had nested between branches.

I have an essay about Ain’t Them Bodies Saints & its particular sense of place in the latest issue of the always gorgeous & always intelligent Bright Wall/Dark Room. The essay has a gorgeous illustration by Sophie Foster-Dimino! And is available for free online! But I do highly recommend subscribing (if you haven’t already)––there are great pieces on (among others) Twin Peaks, Nebraska, Singles, & Beasts of the Southern Wild. 

kelsfjord:

THIS WAS IN TEXAS 

I don’t remember the south. By the time my memory kicked in, I was living in the Pacific Northwest. But I am deeply familiar with that bodily need to be within weeds. For the first eighteen years of my life, the bottoms of my feet were callused, my legs used to pushing through bramble. My backyard was half an acre of grass, and then beneath that, four acres of untended wood.

Sometimes in the late afternoon, I’d go to the bottom of the yard and walk down a path, toward where the shadows grew thicker between trees. I’d taunt myself with how close I could get, alone, before turning and running back up, terrified that some rustling (surely only a rabbit or a bird) was a coyote or, worse, the mountain lion we were told had nested between branches.

I have an essay about Ain’t Them Bodies Saints & its particular sense of place in the latest issue of the always gorgeous & always intelligent Bright Wall/Dark Room. The essay has a gorgeous illustration by Sophie Foster-Dimino! And is available for free online! But I do highly recommend subscribing (if you haven’t already)––there are great pieces on (among others) Twin Peaks, NebraskaSingles& Beasts of the Southern Wild

(via therumpus)

Reblogged from heirofspacecore

heirofspacecore:

A girl who’s normally very passive and quiet lashes out at a boy for making a gross comment. She’s more aggressive than usual today.
“Is it your time of the month?” He asks with a smirk
But he’s right. It is her time of the month. The full moon peeks from behind the clouds and she transforms into a werewolf and devours the boy whole

Heh.

(via theappleppielifestyle)