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Author: Julie Anderson

After spending many years globe-trotting as a supermodel, Julie Anderson finally came to the conclusion that trying to be "perfect" is a fool's game. As a writer, she explores the importance of rectifying the balance of inner and outer beauty through essays and poems on self-esteem, shame, family, and self- acceptance.
Anderson saw mass media as being a toxic atmosphere to women today. As an antithesis to that toxicity, she was inspired to create a safe place for women to share their secrets, desires, triumphs and pain. That inspiration became Feminine Collective, which she created and published in 2013.

7 Top Publisher Tips Authors Need To Be Awesome

Everyone is a writer. A Poet. An essayist. A memoirist. You encounter creative genius every day on social media and online. Musings of souls that must emerge. They are sharing truths, for validation of thoughts and actions and sharing emotions, releasing those sparks with the hope of connection. When a writer decides to become a “pro” who…

Enter the Dragon

playing with thoughts, inserting your ownto and fro we swing thependulum of coherenceone foot in the land of reason, the rest of our night we dangleprecariously over the pit ofself-destruction

White Picket Fence

Material possessions are worth nothing.It is love and family that counts for everything. Before the after, I tried to have it all.Long days added up to years of lonely rambling,came to a stop when I found my first true love. He was it.He was special.He was my life. I gave up on international adventures,I gave up…

Dinner with Donald Trump

I met him in 1988. I was fresh off the plane, fresh new meat.
We met at a party thrown by my agency.
I will never forget him. Pinched lips and all.
Notoriously gregarious, Donald was always in attendance when there was a fete where models could be counted as a dime a dozen.
I remember him cruising the crowd. Surveying the landscape. I knew from day one that he was a womanizer.

Listening Tears

Do youhear me? He asked. Repeat what I just said. No no noyou have got it wrong What the fuck is wrong with your head? This isn’t back then. I used to scream with rage and belittle you, but not anymore. I was just angry because I know you were playing dead. No that’s not itthat…