Let loose the rope and cock your knees. The water won't reach your chin. Watch the egrets hover. See how everything on the river does what the water wants? There's no fighting this. Even when you accept the cold, every moment you sit here, you float backward in time. You shrivel. Your jacket dwarfs you. Hit it, you want to yell, but you’ve waited too long. The boat, too, has morphed. You are tied to a lousy sapling; the engine sank miles back. Don’t panic. You made it to the sea. Surf those waves, and you just might grow up.
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.