AU REVOIR BY SHANNON MARIE KELLY ISSUE 27
I make trouble in the country,
I am a bore to urbanites.
I am quietloud, scarynice, nicelyscared.
I want to knick knack wack Paddy
And break her bones.
Attention, Monsieur! I am in Paris
Spilling gin, clinking cracked porcelain teacups,
With café connoisseurs, blowing in and out,
Of doors filled with Hemingway.
I wrap my hands around bars in asylums
With Van Gogh, wrap my teeth around ankles,
Wrap canvas jackets around hysterics, hissing, spitting.
34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 27
LUST FOR ORDER: STANLEY KUBRICK GRAHAM DASELER
SHANNON MARIE KELLY
TODY WAS A SEVEN ROBERT MCKEAN
I worship in my own glittering temple
In light-filled fragrance fog,
Make confessions on paper, to crowds,
Give sermons in desks, cars,
Through telephones, explosive.
I greet the breaking blues of swelling suns
In bedrooms with Chopin who, don’t stop,
Won’t stop, playing, preludes and polonaises,
Pressing chords into my spine,
Hammering on my tightly wound strings.
I send off my Good-Byes with the expatriates,
‘Cause it’s a big enough town,
And I’m not so good at sharing.
CHARIKAR BY JOSHUA FOUST ISSUE 27
SHANNON MARIE KELLY
I’m a working actor and model based outside of NYC in the beautiful Hudson Valley of NY. I’m an artist because it allows me to be free. I believe art encourages freedom in both its participants and its audience. Through story-telling and expression we connect to the humanity in ourselves and in each other in a way that allows us to experience empathy, forgiveness, and love even as we create art that is ugly, beautiful, and dangerous. shannonmariekelly.com
My articles have been published in Senses of Cinema , Bright Lights Film Journal, Film International, Moving Arts Film Journal, and Offscreen. I live in Los Angeles, where I work at a director, editor, and animator.
“What are you going to major in?” When posed this question, I answer “occupational therapy”. From family and friends I get the this-girl-is-going-places nod of approval. It was not until my twelfth-grade English teacher asked me this question that I got a different reaction. She gave me a strange look, almost like she was disappointed, and told me, “Well, you can really write. Always find a way to keep writing.” Before this moment I never thought of myself as a writer. No matter where I find myself in life, I plan to continue writing and writing until all of the pens on this earth run out of ink. I am proud to say that this is my first publication and definitely not my last. Twitter @_gab_rielle
In my day job I work in non-profit communications, and before that I worked as a freelance journalist working on national security. I wrote commentary and reported stories for The Atlantic, the New York Times, the Washington Post, the New York Daily News, the Christian Science Monitor, Foreign Policy, The American Prospect, and the Columbian Journalism Review.
So now, the writing is the thing. The writing is the action. And while the story is nothing without the reader, the writer takes the first chance. The writer makes herself vulnerable and in that, there is the greatest chance for reward. I received my BA in English from the University of Michigan and an MA in English Education from the Teacher’s College of Columbia University. After teaching for over fifteen years in a variety of schools across the country, I now live in Massachusetts and write full-time. Twitter: @amberhill
I have had stories published in The Kenyon Review, The Chicago Review, Dublin Quarterly, The MacGuffin, The Bacon Review, Ruminate, Front Range Review, and elsewhere. My collection of stories was a Finalist in the Flannery O’Connor Award for Short Fiction, the Mary McCarthy Prize in Short Fiction, and the Sewanee Writers’ Series. A novel was a Semi-Finalist in the Peter Taylor Prize for the Novel. I have been awarded a Massachusetts Artist’s Grant for my fiction. I am working on a novel that takes place during the Little Steel Strike, 1937. I think that when we are young we write because we believe that we have something to say. Now, I’m not so sure of that. Maybe now I write in the hope that I have something to hear.