A review about Atwood’s sequel and its inability to match the tension of her original work.

For all the bleakness and feministic torture imbued within Margaret Atwood’s 1985 novel, the charm of reading her ecumenical dystopian narrative is found in the underlining tension. How Atwood donates swathes of value to memory by manifesting this anxiety to forgetting, she weaponizes these mirages of yesterday as defenses against a society attempting to break you. As Offred discovers in the closet of her commander’s house, in the previous Handmaid’s writing, “Nolite te Bastardes Carborundorum” (don’t let the bastards grind you down.) …


A poem that challenges the duality of being true to myself.

Who am I? Who am I not?

Where do I fit in this baronial plot?

Take away a piece of my mask.

Is there anything underneath? Was there?

Is there a sun where I can bask?

Should I bury myself? Would that answer their prayer?

Throw a ball, swing a bat.

Best run fast, speak low, and do not dance.

Do not bend. Fit the format.

Drown into conformity, maintain their trance.

Born wrong, the cause of the ecumenic.

Create false truths. I can’t be authentic.

Where do I…


A longer work about the symbols carried around our lives and their significance.

It’s something inherited,

owned and drossed.

Embedded with parentage,

it simply cannot be tossed.

It’s like a relic,

a shape that has grown useless.

Despite its so-called ties to the angelic,

its sins remain anchored to the ruthless.

It’s non-expensive,

found alongside many other nooks and crannies.

Sold at almost any shop you can mention,

it’s impossible not to notice, it’s uncanny.

Yet worth is seeped into its bones,

from the moment you take it into your hands.

You’re aware of the forbidden zones.

The breadcrumbs tethered…


A Film Review of Zack Snyder’s Operatic Epic and the Continued Lack of Attention Given to Its Core Issues.

There will forever be a sweetness in walking back down traveled paths, whether indulging with an old flame or finishing a project clamored for a collective of unrelenting fans. For Zack Snyder, it is obviously the latter, but for myself, it is the former as I partake in my first film critique in what feels like a lifetime. It was my start, the tethering connection between discussing another’s work before beginning the reckless endeavor of manifesting my own. For Zack, in…


An essay about Marvel Studios’ WandaVision and the significance of creating a show focused on a character’s emotional triumphs rather than their physical strength.

When ingesting a story, I often find myself rummaging for its purpose. What is the intention of this scene? What does this character want? Why do they want that? Is this worth my time? This sort of viewership ideology is often viewed as harsh by friends and family, leaving a story in the dust before it’s able to start combusting in the way I was promised. For me, I’ve digested a lifetimes’ worth of story, and…


An essay about Sam Levinson’s Malcolm & Marie and its monologues on the subject of being a writer with a minority identity and how that can influence or even restrain one’s creative mind.

In the opening minutes of Sam Levinson’s mumblecore drama, Malcolm & Marie, Malcolm (played by John David Washington) rants about the overtly woke convictions of a white female film journalist from the LA Times. After a successful debut of his latest film, he raves about his individual conversations with critics who began to trace his talents to Spike Lee, Barry Jenkins, and John Singleton. He’s quick to…


An essay about the President & his demented legacy that serves as an essential reminder of the significance elections play in a democracy….

Here’s to a better tomorrow.

It is possible, I think, to narrow the views of the 45th President of the United States into one word: corrosive. Some might choose: divisive. A fair choice, if not for the nation’s centenarian divide upon race, ecumenical and other religious organizations, and ideologies. Others might joust with the word despicable or slash with the name repugnant, but it is no surprise that Trump did not fit into the normalized, bureaucratic outlines…

Shelby Fielding

Writer, Aspiring Author, & Coffee Enthusiast

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