by Quin

I've words to say. You've written something painful, something searing, something that hurt, something not meant to hurt, which hurts more in the end because it was so thoughtless, so throwaway in its manner, typed with partial attention as a reply with a click of "send," it shows how little I meant. To all the words written and as importantly, the words not written. Fuck you. Yes, you. Oh, and have a nice day.


Quin, author of The Question, is the nom de plume of a woman born and raised in New Orleans, who spent time in Colorado and later in Utah (where theater was discovered and taken to heart). Her children are loved forever, a terrier sleeps at her feet, and words ache to escape onto paper. Her version of life in New York is here.