words & art by shé

bookshelf

Tag: essay

  • Coyote

    I met a coyote this morning while walking cerro de ballenas (Whale Hill). Blonde, slim, curious. After watching awhile and rotating her big ears, she trotted off toward the ocean. A few weeks ago I saw another one, larger, on the beach below, loping along at low tide. Several years ago in Northern California, I…

  • Friends

    “You needed a friend,” said Eric, decades after we broke up. Over dinner, I had wondered aloud how we had connected, besides proximity. An artist, he also worked at Tigerfly, the small animation studio I managed in Santa Monica in the late 80s. Housed in the Crocker Bank building, we spent breaks on the roof,…

  • Bi

    Bisexual is not a synonym for promiscuous. I recently read two casual slurs against bisexuals, by folks who should know better. Let me clear this up right now: bisexual is a word that simply means gender is irrelevant, attraction-wise. It does not mean a smorgasbord of sexual activity. It means that a specific person appeals…

  • Patin

    “Neat!” said a walker from the path around the athletic fields. Baseball, racquetball, soccer, and in the middle, a skatepark. I had it to myself that day, looping around the smooth concrete, dodging bars and blocks. “Thanks!” I smiled. The Ripstik is a goodwill ambassador. Last week I met Alison, about six or so with…

  • Sea Change

    MY NEW BOOK! Sea Change: stories & splashes In the style of Sandra Cisneros, Elizabeth von Arnim, Raymond Carver, Jill A. Davis, and Robin Sloan, this collection features 42 short and flash fictions interspersed with colorful abstract expressionist paintings. Here’s an excerpt from “Unlikely:” We were an unlikely pair: a white girl still in high…

  • Rapunzel

    Seahorses dance with their mates every morning. What kind of world would this be if humans did that too? Here’s an excerpt from “Rapunzel,” courtesy of my forthcoming book, Sea Change: stories & splashes by Shé: Rapunzel rappelled down the tower wall, landed lightly on her feet, and headed west. Her newly shorn hair fluttered…

  • Erin Slade

    The Méxican Navy marching band practices several mornings a week near a local elementary school. I fall into step with the drums on my way back from the swimming hole. They are slowly slowly improving, coalescing into uniform pitches and tones. I admire their tenacity. I, too, have been practicing something difficult, though I used…

  • BellaMar

    “I am myself. I am singular.” —Faerie queen in Emily Wilde’s Map of the Otherlands by Heather Fawcett 30 months in and I’m still surprised that I live on a boat. High and dry at the moment, but still in a sea-going vessel. “Ridiculous!” I laugh. Life is a twisty-turny adventure, that’s for sure. Habibi was recently…

  • Love Story

    Up late last night, working on a book of stories and splashes (art). Who knew that living in a boatyard could be so productive? Shoulda hauled out long ago…  Here’s an excerpt from “Love Story:” Our hands speak another language, independent of the kissing language. Our hands are chatterboxes, always commenting, caressing, caroming from hill…

  • Wild Swimming

    Evidently there’s a name for what I do: wild swimming, though I seem to be wilder than most. I usually swim without other humans; I don’t tow a brightly colored buoy; I meander, depending on the residents in view. Yesterday a big school of 2-3’ silvery stunners circled me in the dappled morning light, and…