Authors

My mother was dead. Almost a month she was dead, killed by me.

I am eleven years old and too young to die, but I am dying nonetheless.

To see—and to see properly—is the writer’s central responsibility.

I understood that life could end without warning, even young lives.

Why do girls want to cheerlead? Don’t they know it objectifies women?

I think you’re carrying on to get your brothers in trouble.

This Lee was a woman, and she was a painter, and she was good.