Author Archives

Suzannah Gail Collins

I am the author of a poetry chapbook, I Will Meet You at the River, (as Suzannah Gilman) the mother of four adults, frequent traveler, and a licensed attorney who represented victims of domestic violence under a grant from the U.S. Dept. of Justice Office on Violence Against Women. My poetry, essays, fiction, and nonfiction have in such in such publications as The Florida Review, Pearl Magazine, Calyx Journal, Green Hills Literary Lantern, Pearl Magazine, Prick of the Spindle, Slow Trains, The Cafe Review, and The Meridian Anthology of Contemporary Poetry, and I have recently begun competing in flash fiction slams, winning every one I’ve competed in. Twice nominated for a Pushcart Prize for my poetry, I now concentrate on blogging for The Gloria Sirens and writing fiction.

The Growing Opioid Epidemic: How to Save a Life

It’s important to understand how pervasive and insidious opioids are. Vicodin and Oxycodone gave way to heroin. Now fentanyl, a drug up to 50 times more powerful than heroin, is the new drug of choice, and it’s filling morgues. But new laws in response to the opioid epidemic are giving people the power to save the lives of their friends and loved ones.

When Another School Shooting is Another Domestic Violence Shooting

School shootings and domestic violence shootings are two separate, complex problems—even when they become intertwined, as they have today. Crucial in the development of this tragedy is that the victim, Karen Elaine Smith, had recently left her abuser—the most dangerous time and circumstance for a battered woman. In our righteous grief and anger because this shooting took place at a school and included child victims, we must not forget the women like Ms. Smith who need us to address this story as a domestic violence issue.

Confessions of a Christmas Letter Writer

My last Christmas letter was written a few years ago. My daughter, a freshman in high school then, read my letter and then wrote a spoof letter. When she read hers to her big brothers they laughed and laughed. I realized that my own children, who once thought the letters were special, had matured enough to know the letters were ridiculous while I, who should have long since outgrown the need to write them as a way of making myself feel better about my life, was still taking them seriously.