Arianna wrote her first letter to Santa Claus at the age of four. She has not stopped writing since. She graduated from UC Berkeley with a B.A. in English and currently lives and writes in Los Angeles. She is a member of The Wimpole Street Writers under the guidance of author Jill Robinson and is co-founder of Found By Clothing, a women's vintage store in Los Angeles.

Her first novel, The Harmonic Progression of Our Sorrows, is almost done, although, it has been almost done for a year.

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Past Work

Girls, Season Two. It was going to be different, went the rally cry! Revolutionary! Bastion of the new television! Well, here’s what you’re not supposed to say: these girls are no [...]
“I’m wearing your shoes to take the dog out,” she called, sneaking her feet into slippers several sizes too large, too loose, too worn to provide condolence. He had no reply. He wa[...]
Yesterday marked the official one-week anniversary of Valentine’s Day 2013, which means many of you are now single. Let down and led on by Casanever’s and a devil’s dozen excuse fo[...]
Through the crack of the bathroom stall. Some form of pensive self-reflection usually strikes me at incredibly inopportune moments. Like when I’m sitting in a stall of a public res[...]
Two years ago I canceled a flight to Paris. Which I know, le big fucking sigh. It was a phone call comprised mainly of my bereaved groans—at the hold music, the twang of the operat[...]
The Santa Anas were always at it, as were the fault lines, and as if by proximity, so were we. When the earth was silent, we were loud. When the earth was loud, we were loud. When [...]
To date: There are over 9.8 million people living in Los Angeles County. Over 3.8 million of them reside in Los Angeles proper. It is the second most populous city in the United St[...]
I told a story once, to a limo full of business types. We had all just touched down via private plane arriving in Maui from Los Angeles. Oh it was so glamorous when we were togethe[...]
I live in the city, but nowhere near the street, of my youth.   People move away to come here, so I am not sure where I’m supposed to go, and I turn corners into my past that remin[...]
An Open Letter to the CVS on Wellworth Ave and the ER at UCLA’s Ronald Reagan Medical Center: I’m bunching you together because I have the same message, and frankly there is only s[...]
Someone stole my purse.  I saw him sitting by it.  I watched him move my sweater. I watched him carefully fold it as to not sit on it.  I thought he was being polite, despite the d[...]
Everybody else may be an asshole, but I’m not…by what right would you call me and ask me to work for nothing? Harlan Ellison Being the impoverished writer that I am, I spend a fair[...]