<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?><rss version="2.0"
	xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/"
	xmlns:wfw="http://wellformedweb.org/CommentAPI/"
	xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/"
	xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom"
	xmlns:sy="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/syndication/"
	xmlns:slash="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/slash/"
	>

<channel>
	<title>Journal Archives | midnight &amp; indigo</title>
	<atom:link href="https://www.midnightandindigo.com/category/journal/feed/" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml" />
	<link>https://www.midnightandindigo.com/category/journal/</link>
	<description>A Home for Black Women Writers</description>
	<lastBuildDate>Mon, 22 Jun 2020 04:07:23 +0000</lastBuildDate>
	<language>en-US</language>
	<sy:updatePeriod>
	hourly	</sy:updatePeriod>
	<sy:updateFrequency>
	1	</sy:updateFrequency>
	<generator>https://wordpress.org/?v=7.1</generator>

<image>
	<url>https://i0.wp.com/www.midnightandindigo.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/07/unnamed-file.jpg?fit=32%2C32&#038;ssl=1</url>
	<title>Journal Archives | midnight &amp; indigo</title>
	<link>https://www.midnightandindigo.com/category/journal/</link>
	<width>32</width>
	<height>32</height>
</image> 
<site xmlns="com-wordpress:feed-additions:1">153713158</site>	<item>
		<title>&#8220;Holding Pattern&#8221;</title>
		<link>https://www.midnightandindigo.com/holding-pattern/</link>
		
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Desiree Evans]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Mon, 18 May 2020 04:00:45 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[Journal]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[short stories]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[love]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[short fiction]]></category>
		<guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.midnightandindigo.com/?p=75075</guid>

					<description><![CDATA[<p>When Lenaya is twenty-seven she begins to see pieces of her mama everywhere. In the red lip color worn by a stranger at the bar, in the thick country accent of her bus driver. In the solemn way her husband says her name; in the mirror when she stares at herself long enough, her expression darkening, turning inward. She is living up north now, in the coldest part of a Chicago winter hell. There are mornings she watches the snow click against the windshield, tap-tap-tapping like little icy fingernails against the glass. The static of the radio is lonesome in</p>
<p>The post <a href="https://www.midnightandindigo.com/holding-pattern/">&#8220;Holding Pattern&#8221;</a> appeared first on <a href="https://www.midnightandindigo.com">midnight &amp; indigo</a>.</p>
]]></description>
		
		
		
		<post-id xmlns="com-wordpress:feed-additions:1">75075</post-id>	</item>
		<item>
		<title>Black Barbie</title>
		<link>https://www.midnightandindigo.com/black-barbie/</link>
		
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Khaholi Baliey]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Sat, 07 Dec 2019 20:09:08 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[ESSAYS]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Journal]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[black lives]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[identity]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[journal]]></category>
		<guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.midnightandindigo.com/?p=76417</guid>

					<description><![CDATA[<p>Daddy straddled the heap of toys that lived on the floor of our playroom in Brentwood, Long Island. Tiny plastic arms splintered out as though bidding for a chance to accompany me to Becky Carrigan’s* sleepover that night. Daddy sifted unceremoniously through water-damaged board games and the action figures that my sisters and I mostly used as our dolls’ eager boyfriends. Beneath the Sega cartridges and tufts of nylon hair, Daddy unearthed a land mine. It was part of a limited edition and in an unopened, double-wide package to contain its power. I felt a sour feeling creep to my</p>
<p>The post <a href="https://www.midnightandindigo.com/black-barbie/">Black Barbie</a> appeared first on <a href="https://www.midnightandindigo.com">midnight &amp; indigo</a>.</p>
]]></description>
		
		
		
		<post-id xmlns="com-wordpress:feed-additions:1">76417</post-id>	</item>
		<item>
		<title>ISSUE 2 &#8211; Sneak Peek</title>
		<link>https://www.midnightandindigo.com/issue-2/</link>
		
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[midnight &#38; indigo]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Sat, 26 Oct 2019 17:23:01 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[Journal]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[journal]]></category>
		<guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.midnightandindigo.com/?p=76392</guid>

					<description><![CDATA[<p>&#160; midnight &#38; indigo is a literary journal dedicated to short fiction and narrative essays by Black women writers. Our second issue features contributions by 14 Black women writers including: Khaholi Bailey, Zakiah Baker, rebekah blake, K.B. Carle, Jeannine A. Cook, Cassandra Eddington, Johannah Fienburgh, Janyce Denise Glasper, Marissa Joy Leotaud, devorah major, Zuri H. Scrivens, Vanessa Taylor, Janelle M. Williams, and Akilah Wise. CLICK TO PURCHASE NOW &#160; K.B. Carle, “Wick”  A woman Sylke calls Wick leaves etchings of her lips on the Master&#8217;s windows while catching the drippings of candles in the palm of her hand. Sylke finds</p>
<p>The post <a href="https://www.midnightandindigo.com/issue-2/">ISSUE 2 &#8211; Sneak Peek</a> appeared first on <a href="https://www.midnightandindigo.com">midnight &amp; indigo</a>.</p>
]]></description>
		
		
		
		<post-id xmlns="com-wordpress:feed-additions:1">76392</post-id>	</item>
		<item>
		<title>&#8220;tea at miss daisy&#8217;s&#8221;</title>
		<link>https://www.midnightandindigo.com/tea-at-miss-daisys/</link>
		
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Jacquese Armstrong]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Mon, 12 Aug 2019 23:53:07 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[Journal]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[short stories]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[journal]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[social issues]]></category>
		<guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.midnightandindigo.com/?p=75701</guid>

					<description><![CDATA[<p>Many days we passed Miss Daisy’s house and yelled hi. She would usually call us up on her front porch to visit. She would be sitting in her rocking chair fanning flies from her face and intermittently wiping sweat from her wrinkleless brown skin with one of the lace handkerchiefs she always tucked in the belt of her dresses. When we sat on the porch, she always told us stories from her past, but today, the elderly lady asked us in for tea. “Y’all children come on in and have some of this pound cake I made,” she said. She</p>
<p>The post <a href="https://www.midnightandindigo.com/tea-at-miss-daisys/">&#8220;tea at miss daisy&#8217;s&#8221;</a> appeared first on <a href="https://www.midnightandindigo.com">midnight &amp; indigo</a>.</p>
]]></description>
		
		
		
		<post-id xmlns="com-wordpress:feed-additions:1">75701</post-id>	</item>
	</channel>
</rss>
