Rebelle Society

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bleed

you & me

To the Writers Who Make Me Cry.

Do you write to remember -- or forget? Do you write to heal -- or hurt? Do you write to teach -- or learn? Do you write to inspire -- or destroy? Do you write for you -- or me? Because you make me cry. Every damn time. But you must have cried too. I know those words have that effect on me only  ...

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wisdom

It’s Lucky I Am A Woman: A History Of Silence.

The book had birds on the cover. It called me to what women once were. But the questions it asked made no sense. “What is the sound of a woman screaming with her hand over her mouth?” I didn’t know. There was a hand, alright. There just wasn't any screaming. How can you know what silence is  ...

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art

To Be A Writer.

We want you to sigh in heart-heavy disbelief, especially at the end of the story when the little child dies or the mother returns, too late, much too late, or both of these things happen on the same damn page, in the same damn paragraph, leaving you distraught, welling up, swimming in a river  ...

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