Jessica Flayser
Bio
I'm a native New Yorker and retired fashionista. My novel "Beach, City, Villages" is available everywhere.
Stories (5)
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The Princess's Sleeves
The end of summer always meant two things to Tamar: the season to pick pomegranates was being left behind and the week of celebrating her birthday was near. She'd requested yards of silk and linen for gifts this year, in hopes to make garments for the other women in the palace, yet she couldn't stop thinking of the "surprise" her father had promised. Today, she was determined to find where he'd hidden it, or at least get a hint.
By Jessica Flayser2 months ago in Fiction
Forged for Freedoms . Runner-Up in History Would’ve Burned This Page Challenge.
Unlike what I knew to be true in the U.S, in South Africa, there are twelve official languages. Local sitcoms and soaps like Isidingo and Muvhango have mastered their representation of what it looks like to have twelve languages spoken organically from coast to coast: in a single scene at a cafe, one character will initiate a conversation in Zulu, their companion will answer in Afrikaans, and the waitress will pen their orders down in English. All the while, English subtitles glide across the screen, just in case you can't keep up.
By Jessica Flayser7 months ago in History
The Antagonist to Lowly
Depression and anxiety are on the lips of everyone I know. Close friends and strangers introduce these emotions, these states of being, soon after conversation strikes. Growing up, I was told that people who don't have "real" problems in life bore themselves into depression and brew anxiety by marinating in their own lives for too long. As I grew into adulthood, I learned that wasn't always the case, but I'd be a liar if I told you those to be baseless claims. Just like any great war the world can recall, the wars between our ears can have root causes that are hard to trace or even explain.
By Jessica Flayser9 months ago in Psyche
The Big Apple in Red. Honorable Mention in The Moment That Changed Everything Challenge.
There's something about 80's rock 'n roll that can get anyone feeling nostalgic. As Jouney's "Don't Stop Believing" plays in the distance, sudden feelings of affection grow in me as I remember the "old New York"; $2.25 metro card fare and salted pretzels in Central Park. But the opening lyrics couldn't be further from anything in my memory bank. Growing up in the heart of Manhattan is about the furthest thing from a small-town girl that one can imagine. With Lincoln Center just a frisbee throw away, boredom is hard to achieve and novelty is just a classroom away.
By Jessica Flayser12 months ago in The Swamp
