Pastry chef by day, insomniac writer by night.
Find here: stories that creep up on you, poems to stumble over, and the weird words I hold them in.
Or, let me catch you at www.suzekay.com
I know your kind has hovered here before - A pilot filmed you tricking twixt two blues. But did you smell it? Taste it? Spot its hues?
By Suze Kay2 years ago in Poets
You know when you get there. For miles and miles in every direction, the earth is dead and dusty. Heat pushes against your car and tumbleweeds drift between fields of solar panels and wind farms. But as soon as you cross the border, the arid ground turns to lawn. Flowering bushes and swaying palm trees line the wide paved streets. It’s beautiful and more than a little eerie. Part of you thinks this is an oasis, the other wonders if it’s a mirage.
By Suze Kay2 years ago in Horror
Hi, and welcome to my world! I thought I'd jump on Kayleigh's challenge bandwagon and share more about who I am, what I do, and what I love.
By Suze Kay2 years ago in Confessions
When this piece is posted, it will be my fiftieth story on Vocal. It's been such a glorious ride. Over the past two years (but really, six months in earnest), Vocal has helped me rediscover and hone my creative edge.
By Suze Kay2 years ago in Writers
When I tell people I went to boarding school, they always ask: "What was that like?" And I find myself pasting on a smile and saying "Great!" through my teeth. Unless I'm drunk, and then I twist my mouth and say "Complicated."
By Suze Kay2 years ago in BookClub
The baby teeth rattling in a bedside table, kept for love or superstition. The puckered quilt that held the dream where Mom disappeared.
A hundred minutes from home and nothing looks like it used to, but men on the street say the same things. A guilty relief.
Against rolling Irish hills and freshly-washed linens, Marianne and Connell touch and love and part and chase and fail. Their minds and bodies are ravenous, their souls and tongues damaged. They leave me wanting more.
By Suze Kay2 years ago in Critique
Rainy days, drunken nights, sleight of hand, ripple and snap. I promise not to look too hard at the chili oil smudges memorized
It's a one-man job these days. The cafe never closes, but I try to be in the shop nine to five. Seems only proper. You still need a human hand sometimes - a filter gets jammed in the drip machine, the cashier needs an authorization code, a skimmer biffs a handoff and I'll chase it down the street to safely deposit the missing coffee in its basket. Besides, I like our regulars, the ones who still come in with their trusty travel mugs and want a kind greeting to go with their latte.
By Suze Kay2 years ago in Futurism
Challenge #1 Sweet Summer Song: Pick a song that represents summer for you. Use the song as the title of your piece, and to inspire either a poem or a short story/micro fiction about summer. Feel free to use some of the song's lyrics in your piece as well. So what does summer feel like for you? For the main James & Oneg Summer Writing Challenge Extravaganza, click here.
She came in with the storm. If you believed the news, the Eastern Seaboard was drowning: Hurricane Harry dragged tidewaters up and over train tracks, beach clubs, and highways on its steady way north. I'd prepared Declan for the eventuality that she might not make it to us. It wouldn't have been the first time. But she left Philly just in time to stay ahead of the floods and the worst of the weather, pulling her car into the garage as the first fat drops of rain fell on the driveway. When he heard the low thrum of the garage door heaving open, Declan abandoned his markers.
By Suze Kay2 years ago in Fiction
