He bought me glucose tablets. He held my hand while we biked. He took me to see the seals in the snow. He left a birthday gift outside my parents’ gate, close to midnight on a day I thought he’d forgotten. These are all the ways I’ve fallen in love. But this one unrolled the country and we hiked right across it. He vacuums. He lets me drive his ATV. This one woke me that night I'd fallen off the bed, wet and shaking, and didn't mind that I'd broken his glasses. This one is afraid of the right things.
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.