Whatever you do, he says, don't think about the cliff. So we're up there and all I can think about is the cliff. And then he's all, you can think about the cliff, but don't think about the fall. I've got the rope around me tight, he says too tight, but is there such a thing? From above the world looks so nicely constructed. The order is clear. He's singing and then suddenly he's not. The wind is strong. I mess up; I remember the fall. The rope loosens. That world looks mean. Hang on, he yells. I hang on.
writer. editor. doodler. er.
Writings in the Raw
Julia Halprin Jackson
writer. editor. doodler. er.
I write.
I doodle.
I'm at work on my first book, a collection of linked short stories that follows a community of expatriates living on the southern coast of Spain.
I care about stuff. Like curing type 1 diabetes. And marriage equality. And rights for immigrants. And public radio. And espanol. And Frank O'Hara and Jennifer Egan and Federico Garcia Lorca and Tony Kushner. You know, cool stuff.
I make postcards that are also stories.
Sometimes I read stories and poems out loud.
Sometimes I go to conferences.
You can find my short stories, essays, poems and flash fictio in a variety of places in print and online. If you Google really hard, you might find the two short radio pieces I produced on a badass NPR affiliate in San Francisco.
This is where you can go to find out who I am.