Columns

The Dear Leo Call for Questions

Is there something you’ve always wanted to know about the writing process? Or maybe you’re curious about the submission process? Maybe you want to know why LEO never wears matching socks, why she’s obsessed with ice cream, why she never takes a normal bio pic. ...

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Dear Leo #7

In Praise of Writing “Dull” by Leonora Desar Or how a simple writing prompt is better than all the good ideas— One day, instead of writing, I was doing my usual. I googled: “writers better than I am” and “writers that will inspire me to get off my butt.” I came across...

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Dear Leo #6

Writing Your Inner Child Or how to see with “Salvador Dali Eyes” (an awesome story by Douglas Campbell that you’re going to wish you wrote yourself)by Leonora DesarSometimes (often) being an adult is lame. Not to mention writing about it. By writing from a kid or...

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Dear Leo # 5

 Talk to Someone Weird (and leave the house) by Leonora Desar When I was at journalism school I was always super curious—and jealous—of the fiction people. They got to make stuff up while I had to hang out at the bodega with weird men named Gabe. I had to get...

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Dear Leo # 4

How to talk to dead writers—and get them to talk back (aka another off-the-rails-column-by-dear-leo) by Leonora Desar My favorite writer is Ned Vizzini. There’s this book, It’s Kind of a Funny Story. It’s sitting here right now. It has a yellow cover and a map of a...

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Dear Leo # 3

Dylan McKay is Not that Into Me Or using your lit mag crush to be a better writer By Leonora Desar            I’m obsessed with a certain magazine. Let’s call him Dylan—after Dylan McKay, the hot surfer boy on 90210. I was obsessed with Dylan. I am obsessed with this...

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Carry On by Lucinda Kempe

Once there was a man who loved his donkey, but his donkey didn’t love him back. The donkey loved an eggshell, but the eggshell didn’t love it back.

You, Visitor by Jane O’Sullivan

You don’t like her much, not that you can tell her that. Slugging along behind you, hands in pockets. Sullen as a fish despite the fucking dawn rising over the city, the glory of it.

Gallows Pole by Kathy Hoyle

In the dead of summer, while the whiptails hide in sagebrush shadows, and everything blisters in the amber heat and there ain’t nothin but buzzards hummin for miles around, a hanged man dances on a gallows pole.

Pet Shop Boys by Tim Craig

Dayne’s on-off-off-on stepdad, Kel, says stay away from that new pet shop.

After by Claudia Monpere

and after and after and nothing changes, just the names of the children. This one drew birds wearing hats. That one had an orange juice popsicle for an imaginary friend.

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