Deirdre Coyle

Writer, music geek, elastic realist.
Editor at Mixtape Methodology.
New York City.
Recent Tweets @DeirdreKoala


Fiction by Annabelle Edwards


Photo: Mike Monaghan

She croons with her soprano timbre “I didn’t know, it would come to this, but that’s what happens when you’re on your own. And you’re alright, letting nice things go-oh-oh.”

A voice behind her interrupts, “Lizzy, no one is going to buy that crap. Look at the Kill Kill sales. One hundred and seventy two people bought the EP. You can’t release a record like this.”

Lizzy replies with a throaty mumble, “Just listen to a little more. It’s fresh. I just wrote it last night, let me sing the rest of the lyrics.”

The producer sighs and she returns to her guitar, gently plucking the five chords she learned at Fordham.

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Control Lit Mag published my review of Sia’s 1000 Forms of Fear.

L’inferno (1911)

(via shiverandsing)

Did I mention that Mixtape Methodology is happening? Mixtape Methodology is happening. This cassette j-card enlargement is by Victoria Haven.

I’m tired of the line that someone drew down the middle of me. He split me into halves and said, Stay symmetrical or else. Or else what? I asked. No answer, and yet I obeyed that command my whole life.
Chelsea Hodson, Pity the Animal (buy here)

(via chelseahodson)

The idea of an individual changing society is so abstract and mythological it borders on the imaginary, and I work closer to the imaginary than you’re supposed to, I think, as an artist, and it’s really almost a childlike idea to think you have agency, and it’s embarrassing to express that notion of agency, but I feel like I am this illustration of a person who has no role in society, who was trained to be a manager of managers but has no prospects aside from a vaguely defined massive social arena, where I’m occupied but not employed, and I’m concerned with meta structures but I can’t understand the most basic societal structures (employment again), where I emerge from a lifetime of school and, not knowing what to do, continue to behave as if I’m in school.
Blaise Larmee (via brokenoval)

(via davidhockney)

The boys smile at each other without kindness, half-naked, fearing for their heterosexuality. When they smack each other on the back, I sense the sting, the warmth of their still-dry skin. The bald one stands sideways, watching me peripherally. I wonder if his head will burn in the sun.

I drink my root beer and do not care.

So excited to have a piece of flash fiction on lunalunamagazine today, curated by the fab tumblingtowards.

At the Colgate Writers’ Conference, I boiled my creative energy down into this drawing of a killer unicorn under the Star of Bethlehem.


Last autumn, I participated in Ariana Reines' Ancient Evenings workshop, and there two magical things happened. I fell in love with poetry again, and I met Tommy Pico. Tommy is such an inspiring person, from his dedication to writing to his relentless energy in putting together zines and…


My girl Ruby asked me to do this blog tour about writing process and I said yes because no one can refuse her.

1. What are you working on?
Lately I’ve been working really hard on procrastinating getting a job, mainly by doing a lot of weird things for money, including my most recent scheme…

Genius: “like a lot of people who’ve burned through versions of themselves at the same rate as Margot Tenenbaum’s boyfriend montage, I’m kind of a late bloomer.”

If you are a female reader of genre fiction, you have probably gotten used to being dismissed. You are dismissed within the narratives of the stories you love, which all too often cast you as a lover or a witch, a virgin or a crone, a sexy plot-device on two long, supple legs; you are dismissed by half of the people who share your interests under the maddening label of fake-geek girlery. (Unless the genre you prefer is romance or young adult, in which case everyone dismisses you out of hand, because those are frivolous kinds of books for frivolous kinds of people, aka women, specifically young ones.)
from my piece on The Toast about Hild and Game of Thrones and how to tell a feminist story.  (via zanopticon)

(via jennydeluxe)

It’s much safer to be fond of dangerous people.
Edith Wharton, The House of Mirth



theNewerYork picked up a piece of mine called “Mind,” and paired it with this lovely photograph by Alex Robichaud.

You can read “Mind” here.

"She found, so often, in the men she fell in love with—there had only really been two—a fear that would rise up, after a rubber-like stopping, of where her mind might take her." 

- Read Mind by .