Mature content warning. Neon was originally published by Curiosity Quills on April 11, 2013. Unfortunately, a re-branding and website update lead them to unpublish this piece from their website. Enjoy!


Lace and leather. Dark nights and body heat. Shivering. Where’s your mind going right now? If you’re a man it’s not hard to guess. What? You think that’s sexism? Well guess what? I don’t really care. Everyone has buttons. Men just make theirs easier to figure out. Sex. It’s both my business and my pleasure. Want me to paint you a picture baby? I can be whoever you need me to be. It’s the oldest business, what I do for a living. I can honestly say I enjoy every minute of it. I’m not afraid of it. I don’t care about the loss of self respect or the risks to my health. It gives me a rush, and I’m talking more than just a climax or an orgasm. It’s a pure feeling of bliss. To me it’s better than any drug, which is probably why I don’t do any. No smoking, no drinking and no cigarettes. My mother would be proud. If she weren’t worm food. Besides, that woman had tracks longer than the Nile. I never wanted to be like her. I wanted to be someone else. Someone worse.

Fucked up?

You’re damn right. But it’s the only goal I’ve ever had in life. I’ll lay it all out for you. Thirteen: decided I had no future. Sixteen: I lost my virginity to the next door neighbor. Seventeen: I hit the streets. By the time I was twenty-one I’d worked my way up to a high-class hooker, an escort. I’d met this guy one night. He dressed real sharp and paid well. Told me he’d give me a better job with far better pay. He smiled at me and told me my ass fit real nice in a pair of jeans. It was easy to figure out my next move. I ran a hand down to his fly and started the interview. You might call it disgusting, but ever since then I’ve lived the high life.

All the gains with nothing to lose.

Sweat and Heat. Gasp. Shudder.

Tonight it was the same thing. A nicely dressed man with a big wad of cash. I unclasp the bra slowly, pull down my underwear. Run my hands down my body, in between my thighs. He’s a regular. So I already know he wants a show. I watch his face. His body movements. I look to see where to press. I lick my lips. Ah, yes. Right there. His pupils dilate and he shifts in his seat. I have him right where I need him to be. With him, it won’t be bondage, so I won’t get to lose myself in it tonight. This time I’m in control of the ride, the speed and the variation, the height. He gets off watching me do my best work and hey, what can I say? I’m a girl who loves to please.

What gets me off? It’s either times like this where I have complete control, or other times where I have no control at all. With the first I can set up a scene and create a fantasy all my own. With the second I can lose my identity for awhile. I can curl up into a rush of pleasure and forget everything. It’s riding the wave. I go where it takes me and I always like where it’s headed. Up and down the easy street to six. Six is my lucky number. So I know if I can get a combined total of six orgasms, it’s been a good night. Right now though, I’m grasping the wave. I slide easily and float away. Nothing matters anymore. I take one last ride down, for all it’s worth. It has to be a good tonight because tonight?

Well, it’s going to be my last.

I head back to my pent house and look over all the paperwork that’s been set up. I decided to go out doing one decent thing in my life. The only decent thing I’ve ever done. Every penny I have left behind, I’m donating. I’m not sure if the money is depreciated coming from a girl like me, but that’s the beauty of anonymous donations. I don’t think it’ll matter. I line up sixty different pills. Remember, six is the magic number. I curl up with them and a new friend: Jack. I don’t usually spend much time in the company of men outside of work. I like having sex with them, mostly because of this curse of heterosexuality, but they don’t tend to do it for me otherwise. In everything else I prefer women. Although, I’d never turned down sex with a woman when the pay was good enough. But tonight I guessed I’d make an exception. I take the pills three at a time. I open Jack up and tip him over. He goes down easy enough. I grab a blanket, pull it over my head and close my eyes. I laugh a little as I drift off to sleep.

“One last wave baby. One last wave.”

The Saint and the Sinner

My very first published writing piece! This was first published in volume 36, Issue 8, of The Mirror News, under their “Through the Looking Glass” segment. (March 3, 2011). It was then reprinted for inclusion in Michigan Avenue Creative Arts Journal. (2011-2012 edition).

The Saint and the Sinner

“Sorry I missed church, I was too busy practicing witchcraft and becoming a lesbian.” It was plastered to back of a rusty chrome bumper on the back of an equally rusty forest green jeep. It looked innocent enough, but the mere sight of it had my mother’s lips disappearing fast. My reaction was altogether different, I laughed out loud. My mother shot me a disapproving look and grabbed my arm. She steered me away from that jeep like the parking lot of the Mega Mart was filled with wet cement. I couldn’t see the harm in it. It was just a novelty bumper sticker and honestly, I’d seen a lot worse. As the tugs on my numbing arm became more rapid, I sighed, and was dragged against my will back to our own blue minivan.

While Mom loaded my arms with groceries, I placed them in the back absent-mindedly. My thoughts were still tuned into the green jeep in the space across from ours. It was in between this time that a tall girl walked out of Mega Mart; She was carrying an armload of her own groceries and helping an elderly woman, both approaching the infamous vehicle. I couldn’t stop myself from glancing at her now and again. At least it was not as obvious as my mother’s full on glare. She was young, maybe sixteen, and she had long wavy red hair that reached her waist. Her clothes were simple: a peasant blouse and an ankle length skirt in various earth tones. None of it had the mark of the devil from what I could see. The elderly woman was also dressed plain, and she had pure white hair that raced down her back easily rivaling the other’s. She was limping slightly, clutching the girl’s arm tightly for support. The pupils under her wrinkled eyelids were a milky white.

Suddenly the young girl swore loudly. The paper shopping bag had bottomed out, spilling its contents everywhere. A jar of peaches broke at her sandaled feet scattering glass and fruit juice, a jar of tomato sauce followed. The eggs, poor things, also suffered a similar fate. I rushed forward to help her but the hand of the iron maiden held me back firmly. “Don’t,” she hissed. I wrenched away from her as she struggled to keep hold, convinced that she was the one who was possessed. What was the big deal?

“Here, let me help you,” I told her bending down to retrieve the soggy mess. Maybe some of the items could still be saved.

The girl swept her long tresses back and fumbled in her purse for her keys.

“No, that’s okay; I’m more worried about my grandmother.”

She gestured to the old woman and then took her hand, leading her around to the passenger side. As she made sure the old woman was comfortable, she gestured at me to walk over and I followed feeling horribly awkward. The inside of the jeep smelled slightly of lavender and rosemary, and my eyes fell on a small cloth bag hanging from the rearview mirror. There was also a silver cross, but it looked different from most of the crosses I had seen. It was etched all over with knotwork and the center of the cross was encircled. It looked almost antique. The girl followed my gaze and answered my unasked questions.

“It’s a Celtic cross and that bag is a herb sachet. It’s kind of like a homemade version of potpourri. My Gran makes them herself to keep the jeep smelling nice. She doesn’t like it when my brother smokes while he drives. The smell makes her sick,” she explained.

As she was talking she pulled a large roll of paper towel from the battered paper bag and tossed it to me. “If you really want to help, you can help me clean up the mess. I don’t anyone stepping in all that broken glass,” she explained.

It seemed odd to me. Well, more odd than it already was. Most people wouldn’t bother to clean up broken glass in a huge lot like this. They’d just leave it lying around. Yet, the thought of this seemed more foreign to her as I brought it up while walking back to the spot.

“If you do good things, good things come back to you. I don’t have anywhere to be and I really don’t mind. You don’t have to stay and help though. It’s just a little glass.”

I waved off her objections, even though my mother had been honking the horn for the last few minutes. I just ignored her as thoroughly as I did my alarm clock in the morning. So as we picked up tiny shards and carefully wiped up most of the goop, I guess it was natural that my eyes kept going back to the bumper sticker. Right? But every glance I took seemed wrong somehow. I couldn’t help it. I asked her how it ended up there and she laughed.

“My friend put it on there as a joke. I mean, we thought it was funny. But people do give me funny looks from time to time. I think it’s sad that we take everything so seriously nowadays.”

I asked her if there was any connection to the bumper sticker and her own views on the world.

“It doesn’t matter what I say, people already form opinions from the moment they see it. I’m pretty sure you already did, seeing as you asked about it.” With that statement she stood and snatched the dirty towels from my hands. I felt so embarrassed, even if I hadn’t really known this girl. Was I passing judgment on her?

“Gariníon,” I heard the old woman call.

“Coming Grandma,” she said and stalked off.

There was one last silent thing I said to her retreating form. I’m Sorry.

My mother laid on her horn and I turned sharply on my heel. I wrenched open the door of the minivan and slammed it. She muttered comments about “helping the hell bound” and I had to wonder…What really made a saint or a sinner?

©Nadia Hasan

Bird Song

This flash fiction piece was originally published on a website called Rewriting Mary Sue, but unfortunately that website is no longer available. So I thought I’d publish it here instead. Enjoy!

Bird Song

The light turns green, yellow, then red… As I’m watching this procession she leans over the back of her seat to wipe away a tear I didn’t know I’d shed.

“No tears.”

“No tears,” I repeat.

My voice betrays me. I bite down on my bottom lip to keep the rest of me cracking, too. The windows are foggy from the running heat, but winter permeates, even here.

Last night, I saw what it truly means for a human being to be undone. I watched as her eyes filled with terror, utter panic, and things I had no names for. There were shadows dancing a frenzied ballet behind the blue in her eyes, birds beating their wings against their ocular cage, until I could hear the crunch of their broken bones.

I saw the coil of strength slowly uncurl into fragility; her body shaking like a cup in its saucer, rocking back and forth as everything ate away at her from the inside.

This sickness had seasons: first a tornado and then a monsoon.

Manic and Depressive.

By the end of the night, she had decided to check-in. I stayed awake, watching the inky black turn murky gray and bleed slowly into powder blue. I listened for the bird song of morning; the world’s merciful reset button.

I climbed out of bed weary, my skin a jacket that is three sizes too big.

Now we are in front of the hospital. Not crying, not talking, not afraid…and lying.

When she looks into my eyes I see the unspoken apologies, the desperate wish she could stay here with me and the shadows gliding under her eyelids, reminding us of the impossibility.

“Mom?” The word burns all the way out of my mouth.

“I love you. Have a good day at school.”

What she means is stay strong. Always stay strong. That is rule number one.
This time it’s her turn to cry, but she won’t let me wipe away her tears. A gentle stroke to the side of my face and she’s already walking away.

“…I love you, too.”

Cover Reveal: Sleeping with Earth!

Good morning!

I am really excited that I get to share the cover of Ben Ditmars’s latest poetry collection with you. I know, it’s been awhile since you heard from me, but between publishing other projects, writing and starting school I haven’t had a lot of time. I hope you can forgive me. If you can, then take a look at this beautiful, gorgeous, serene cover with me. Are you ready? Read on to see what it’s all about.

Nature calls from the depths of itself, heating embers of a flame lost to global warming and withering romance. Hear voices find their truth as weeds tangle with free-verse and haiku poetry.


Release Date: September 29, 2016

Preorder Links: Amazon US, Amazon UK

I told you didn’t I? Isn’t it great? Ben’s poems always have a unique theme and style with each new collection. I can’t wait to see what this one holds. If you’ve never read poetry before (or have only read mine) I can’t recommend this book (or poet) enough.



Giveaways and Author Events

Hi everyone, I thought I would write some quick updates about what’s going on with me because I haven’t written here in awhile. The first being that there is now a giveaway up on Goodreads for a paperback copy of Waking the Wild! Thank you to everyone who has entered the giveaway so far! It’s open from today until July twenty-first to the United States and Canada, so if you’ve been wanting to read it now is the time to enter. When the winner is selected I will sign it, stick a pretty matching bookmark in it and send it on its way. You can enter the giveaway by going here.

(If you don’t win, the ebook is only $2.99 in most places and the paperback is less than ten dollars.)

The second thing I wanted to remind you all about about was Once Upon A Book Author Signing and Happily Ever After Ball. If you live in Michigan (or near Michigan or can get a ride to Michigan) there will be over seventy authors signing books (myself included) and overall having a great time. It’s a good event for families, too because there will be activities for kids and children ten and under get into the signing for free! If you’re looking for a fun, book-centered vacation then this is an event you won’t want to pass up.

I’ve mostly been working on finishing a novel and listening to the Hamilton soundtrack on repeat. Even though I won’t be able to make it to a live show the soundtrack is still fantastic. When I have downtime I’m watching reruns of Buffy and this new show I found called Humans. Has anyone else seen it? It reminds me of many of the topics we discussed in my Cyberpunk Fiction class about the nature of humanity and artificial intelligence. What are some good shows that you’ve seen lately? (Is anyone else bummed that next year’s fifth season of Orphan Black will be the last?)


Waking the Wild is Finally Out!

It’s been almost three days since I’ve published Waking the Wild and I still feel pretty good about it. There was a four year period between publishing my first book and publishing this one, and with good reason. I wanted to learn. When I published my first book I had no idea about what I was getting myself into, but I also didn’t see the harm in trying. What could really go wrong?

Not much, but it wasn’t exactly the best thing I could’ve put out.

I thankful that I know that now. I’m thankful that I met so many fantastic people who took the time to point me in the right direction, to teach me what I needed to know, to introduce me to people who would help make Waking the Wild the best it could be. Does that mean I’m done learning? No, because even now I’m still finding things that I could’ve done better. Still, my new book is way beyond anything I thought it could be, and I’m so proud of it. I’m proud of me. I’m happy that I can share it with all of you.


“There is a defect in us
as human beings
because we think ourselves
a fortress, a mountain, unbreakable
but at the center
in that stillness of being
there is a chasm
of love
which echoes hope, compassion, empathy
try again, it says
and though the fault lines are full of darkness
we are held together by
the optimism and foolishness
of a single spark”

One of the thing I did differently with Waking the Wild was to get it some exposure. I was lucky enough to have the opportunity to get interviewed by author Lisette Brodey about my writing process and my influences as a poet. I had a lot of fun doing it and I’m hoping you enjoy reading it. I also tried out ads on a few social media platforms. If you read my new book and you like it, please consider leaving a review or telling others about it. Every little bit helps.

(The best thing I did to improve my new book from my last was to get it edited, formatted and had a stunning cover designed. If anything, always get your books edited.)

This book was very personal to me. I discuss it in my interview, but a lot of the work that went into this book was written during a difficult time in my life. I’m still not completely through it, but I’m getting stronger with each day. I hope that the book will find its way to people who need its messages the most. I hope that you will find something in it to love.





Life, Before and After

One of the pillows you can find on my store at Society6.
One of the pillows you can find on my store at Society6.

If you read my last reblogged post, then you already know that life is more difficult to manage these days. I still deal with heath problems, family difficulties, problems with attaining my education…Life doesn’t stand still even when we wish that it would. Life keeps going for me. The only thing that’s different is that the person that I need the most to help me get through them can’t be here. Losing someone, anyone, is a struggle. I’ve lost people before, but it’s different somehow when that person is your best friend, when they’re young and it seems like their life was still forming and heading somewhere. It’s hard for me to accept all of the could haves, would haves and interrupted plans that have to stay unfinished. That’s why I’ve been pushing myself into work, into self-education and into school. If I’m busy, then it gets easier to push everything else into the back of my mind.

Even when I was struggling to write I wrote a few poems. Poetry is always the easiest for me because it is the truest reflection of myself and my life. As of now I am thirty-two poems into my next poetry collection. I don’t know when it will be published, but I’ve set an appointment in early November with my cover designer. I’ve also opened a store on Society6 that will sell my poetry as art prints and other products. I’m still experimenting with pricing and poems, so if you have any thoughts please let me know. I post frequently to both Facebook and Twitter, so if you have trouble getting a hold of me you can find me there. My current favorite of products that I’ve made is the Little Things pillow.

Usually when I’m not writing, I’m reading, but even that’s been difficult for me lately. I’ve always been the kind of reader who can jump from book to book and back again, but it’s gotten a bit out of control. The one book that really grabbed my attention is We Slept Here by Sierra DeMulder.

We Slept Here is a case study in vulnerability and honesty. In this sequence of memoir-esque poems, Sierra DeMulder pulls at the threads of a past abusive relationship and the long road to forgiveness. The poems themselves become an act of recovery and reclamation, wherein the poet finds again the voice which was taken from her. These are hard poems, made up of clarity and healing, which attempt to share some of their peace with the world.

While it is bittersweet and lyrically beautiful, it also inspired me to be more honest in my own poetry. Poetry can be narrative as well as abstract and We Slept Here has a great execution of both. Even if you aren’t normally a reader of poetry, you should think about giving it a try. I can’t recommend this collection enough. Another recommendation for poetry as narrative form is Jacqueline Woodson’s Brown Girl Dreaming. It is the author’s memoir told in poetic verse. I read it some months back but I’ve been raving about it ever since.

“The writer’s passion for stories and storytelling permeates the memoir, explicitly addressed in her early attempts to write books and implicitly conveyed through her sharp images and poignant observations seen through the eyes of a child. Woodson’s ability to listen and glean meaning from what she hears lead to an astute understanding of her surroundings, friends, and family.” — Publishers Weekly, STARRED REVIEW

I hope that you will consider both of these books as your next read, and if you have any books that you’re currently reading and in love with please share them in the comments below.

Back to life events. In October I have the opportunity to go to my first big author event while simultaneously having a mini-staycation. I really dislike the word staycation, but it’s appropriate. I’m both nervous and excited. Hopefully, health and fate permitting, I will be able to go. I also might be travelling with new business cards. (Have I mentioned that my cover designer, Najla, is awesome? Because she is.) The excitement of the trip is somewhat diminished by the fact that I had wanted my friend to go with me, but I’m trying to stay positive. Even though life is still difficult, I’m trying. I keep trying. Some days that’s the best I can do.

Insomnia and Inspiration

I’m not completely sure how I feel about this year yet. There’s been some great developments (some of which are still underway) and there’s been some hardships, but one thing is for sure: it’s all progressing quickly. How is it April already? Lately, my focus has been on continuing with my education and writing in every way possible. Both have been challenging and time consuming, but I know I’m headed for some amazing things. Please be patient.

My best friend turns twenty-five today. I feel really lucky to have known her for most of my life. There’s something special about the rarity of it, but also because there’s memories that none of my other friends can share in…There’s exclusivity. I turned twenty-five last month, and the one thing I’ve learned over and over again is that maintaining any kind of relationship is difficult. People grow, evolve, move on, they grow apart, (and in some sad cases, they recidivate.) So, yes, I feel lucky to have this special bond with my blunt, brave, smart, wonderful, beautiful, pain in the ass, best friend. Cherish the people that make you a better person and that want better for you. Cherish the friends that love you when you’re anything but loveable…That’s what twenty-five(ish) years have taught me.

Today is also the day that Rewriting Mary Sue is featuring one of my flash fiction pieces called, Bird Song.

Like much of what I write, it wasn’t easy to put on paper. I write what hurts. I go where the pain is. Where the heart is. Being vulnerable. I don’t enjoy it, and writing…It’s putting something that you created out into the wild the world to be judged. I haven’t exactly mastered having that thick skin that being a writer requires, but at times I feel that whatever message the piece is sending is too powerful to ignore or keep to myself. I took a risk, and fortunately it turned out for the best. Rewriting Mary Sue is a fantastic website that believes in promoting realistic, strong, female characters that go far beyond the Mary Sue stereotype. To say that I’m honored, (as I  already have many times this morning,) is an understatement. The best thing that I can do with my time here is  put my heart and my art into things that I believe to be worthwhile. So, if nothing else, please go read some of the other fantastic content they work so hard to create.

Thank you to everyone at Rewriting Mary Sue, and to my readers, for all of your support. You’re amazing.

Read Bird Song: