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
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 Kay9 months 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.
By Suze Kay9 months ago in Poets
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 Kay9 months 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 Kay9 months 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.
By Suze Kay10 months ago in Poets
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 Kay10 months ago in Fiction
How lovely it is to be forgiven, cradled. When I feel like bursting at the seams, make them elastic. // I want them natural, meltless in the hot breath of the kiln.
You feel the call coming for days, across the eastern seaboard. Pressure building to the South: texts with alarming frequency, fear
We spent a week's worth of nights awake at the flickering altar. It made sense to us. What was budding was secret, and the night was made for secrets.
Bring me to the place you’ve dreamed of. The bed upstairs, the raft in the cool, still lake. // Peach juice, sticky sweet, running