I found a spare dictionary at work last week and gleefully took it home, and now it’s displayed at the very top of my bookshelf. If I have to pick an odd hobby for when I’m old and curmudgeon, and when all I have left in life are inanimate objects, I would choose to collect […]More
Loan is the author of A Pho Love Story, a rom-com published by Simon & Schuster's Books for Young Readers. She is also a book editor at Atria Books, a Simon & Schuster imprint. She graduated from Fairfield University with her bachelor's degree in 2014 and her MFA degree in 2017. In addition to her YA writing, Loan writes adult short stories—mostly ghost stories—and her work has appeared in CRAFT Literary, Mud Season Review, and more. Visit her website at writerloanle.com and find her on Twitter @loanloan.
Rain slaps the windows of my Uber as we cruise past bright lights on Eighth Ave. The driver talks at me but I am away. Lightning flickers; outside Duane Reade, I hear a soundless argument between a couple. A large man claws at his chest, his heart, as if to say, this is what you’re […]More
My short story, “Gaw Gaw, ” was recently published by Mud Season Review, a magazine run by the people behind the Burlington Writers Workshop in Vermont. I can’t thank them enough for accepting my piece and revising it with such care. Also, I love the artwork they decided to use for my story. Please read and […]More
Realizing that I could have easily shortened the title by saying “Things I Can’t Do” instead of “Things I’m Incapable of Doing” Remembering song lyrics and singing along to said song lyrics Quoting lines from films–doesn’t matter if they’re mainstream or obscure Keeping the left side of my bed free from stacks of paper and […]More
The simultaneous turn of heads compels you to pause your music. You were lost in your own world before, hypnotized by chaotic rhythms that get you through the morning commute. You look left when you see synchronized movement and notice, a couple of seats away, a man on the ground. He is still. You look twice, thinking he’s homeless or mentally ill; you’ve trained yourself to spare a glance—and only that—to people like them: those whose homes are in public spaces, bodies splayed across park benches, subway seats, or outside suit-and-tie offices. But this man is slumped against the door. He wears khaki pants, a red-and-white argyle sweater, and Sperrys. A briefcase lies beside him.More