Spent: A Memoir by Antonia Crane (Excerpt)
Life’s Up and Down Time was a hurricane with Bianca: weeks and months of snorting and fucking; more former than latter. Then silence. She ignored me so I stripped more, moved on to a...
Life’s Up and Down Time was a hurricane with Bianca: weeks and months of snorting and fucking; more former than latter. Then silence. She ignored me so I stripped more, moved on to a...
By Dorri Olds [https://honeysucklemag.com/]The infamous case of Cannibal Cop Gilberto Valle [https:...
Our first highlighted Press, Heliotrope books, known as a conduit for emerging and veteran writers who take risks with new material.
By Brian Whitney own admission, his novel, 'Raping The Gods,' is “truly odd, dark, offensive, and rather hilarious.”
Brett Flint parked up in front of Whiteacre Hall and adjusted his white bow tie in the Land Rover’s rear-view mirror.
After being raped on her second night at college, Aspen Matis dropped out. Depressed and shocked that her school didn’t believe and protect her, she fled to the California desert, found the Pacific Crest Trail — and set off to hike the path’s entire length, over 2,000 miles to Canada.
Susan Shapiro is an award-winning writing professor at the New School and The New York Times bestselling author of 10 books. Heliotrope published her novel What’s Never Said.
In her debut memoir, Neesha Arter shares the year of her life that followed a harrowing crime. When she was fourteen years old, she was sexually assaulted by people she had no reason to mistrust. She tried, subsequently, to reconcile feelings of guilt and shame by searching for a means of control.
New Girl in Cybertown: June 2010by Kate WalterAfter the fiasco with Mariana, I decide to...
An essay by author Gabrielle Faust. Gabrielle is an acclaimed author of horror and science fiction, an entertainment journalist, and an avid collector of voodoo dolls. Visit her website at http://www.gabriellefaust.com Twitter: @Gabrielle_Faust
I awoke on a bed of leaves and scattered branches tearing at my flesh through my shirt—itching and burning, scraping my skin raw. The sky was hazy with low-lying fog that obscured the treetops and swirled around the wilderness like curled fingers.
Imagine Lewis Carroll’s Alice was not an innocent girl lost in Wonderland. Imagine she was instead a hormonal teenager with a propensity for violence.