Join Frequency’s Wavelength: Make a Donation Today!

Good writing has many elements, including vibrant characters, strong voice, and a moving rhythm both on its own and in tandem with others.

For over 8 years, Frequency Writers has been shaping our individual and collective voice, expanding our outreach, our wavelength, by contributing to the voices of many artists and writers through the offer of accessible, affordable, and unique classes that seek to empower writers of all levels and all backgrounds.

Frequency is nearly entirely volunteer-run, and your tuition goes to support our very talented instructors. We would like to offer even more:

  • We strive to increase scholarships
  • Grow our dedicated staff with compensation
  • Create more opportunities to conference, learn, publish, and connect with writers and artists across Rhode Island and New England.
In short, we intend to raise our frequency. Your contribution of any kind helps!
Today, we launch our first ever digital fundraising campaign:
Our goal is to raise $500 in 2 weeks, beginning today.
The equivalent of 50 people choosing to donate $10 each. We can do it!

Frequency is thankful for your support!

Karen Haskell
Operations Director


Around the Corner…

The Devil You Know

The figures that stalk our nightmares are as familiar to us as any fictional character we might embrace. For every Mr. Darcy, Harry Potter, and Offred, there’s a Dracula, Prince Joffrey, or a Freddie Kruger. As much as they repel us, we never quite let go of them; do we? But where do our monsters come from? In this class we will dig into the ways in which monsters in fiction and film grant us access to powerful impulses coursing through our society, culture and ourselves. Through inventive and infectious (!) writing prompts, we will explore how writers might harness these energies to answer the question: How do monsters, freaks, and other tragic metaphors enable us to speak about our society and envision change?

Watch the two-day workshop trailer:

View/Register for all Current Courses.

Instructors: Janaya Kizzie & Rekha Rosha
Dates: Thursdays, October 18th & 25th
Time: 6:30pm to 8:30pm
$120 – Scholarships available!

Interview with Instructors about this course:

Will this be a class about ghosts, zombies, and sorcerers—or what sort of monsters are we talking about here?
The seed for this course was zombies, but we’re really talking about all of them! We’re interested in exploring the ways that monsters reflect and are shaped by our fears, so they come in as many shapes and sizes as we can imagine.

The structure and prompts of the class follow the structure of monster stories, which is essentially a tale of transition and self-discovery in the face of extremes.

As students reply to prompts, they will be writing toward and engaging with the fundamental building blocks of horror novel. Meaning that our students will be, essentially, in their own monster story.

We’ll be looking at excerpts from short stories and novels that give us insight what monsters mean to us, as well as the ways in which we fight, flee from, or accept monsters.

Will you address some of the dreadful aspects of writing, with ways to overcome these terrors?

Writer’s block can definitely be as paralyzing as a monster! We have two tracks going at once during the class: The narrative of the monster/self discovery tale and the observation of the writers’ craft. For every prompt and narrative structural element of the monster story, we’ll talk about a different element of craft and how to approach it.

Screen Shot 2015-11-05 at 12.44.32 PM

Janaya Kizzie writes horror stories and an occasional prose-style sonnet. Providence

inspires her often, and her career as an archivist often informs the historical elements in her creative work. She is particularly interested in genre fiction  (especially historical fiction, horror and sci fi), interstitial fiction, small-batch self-publishing, and the places where writing meets other things, like visual art, music and film.

Rekha Rosha‘s work on the intersections of fiction and finance has appeared in anthologies published by Palgrave Macmillan and Cambridge Scholars Publishing. She has taught courses on American literature and composition at Boston University, Wake Forest University, and at Brandeis University, where she received her Ph.D. in English and American Literature. Her favorite moments

rekhain the classroom were teaching “When Zombies Attack!”–a composition course that explored questions only the undead can raise about consciousness and identity. She is currently writing an early American noir novel about the violence of colonization in 1630 Boston. She lives in beautiful Pawtuxet Village.

Fall Classes

All levels and beginner-writers welcome!

Saturday 9/15: Nature Writing

Sundays, 9/23-10/14: Endless Beautiful

Thursdays, 10/18 & 10/25: The Devil You Know

Thursdays, 11/8-12/13: Image into Text [Cinematic Writing]

Sunday, 11/11: Writing the Difficult Story

Tuesdays, 11/13-12/4: Poet as Witness to History

Sunday 12/2: The Road to Publication

Current Course Descriptions and Registration.

Student Spotlight: Veronica Vela

Frequency is honored to feature the voices and writing of community members! Our Student Spotlights bring you the words of some of our inspired writers. If you would like to share your own thoughts, please email

The Writer

When I’m not writing, I’m usually laughing. I love watching movies and traveling. I’m grateful to have a career in writing, where I can still be creative. The goal of being able to write professionally has always been my goal ever since I can recall….

…Reading helps me find the right mood I’m trying to achieve in a new story…. I’m typically very focused and sometimes (if I’m lucky enough) I’ll get in a trance-like state where the piece writes itself. Experiencing that is one of the many reasons I have always loved writing. 

The Writing Community

How has Frequency inspired your writings? 

I was part of Kristen Capaldi’s Flash Fiction course. The reason I joined was because I hadn’t written anything new in over a year….Kristen’s prompts helped unlock my creative juices and I managed to finish three complete storiesaround 500 words each, which I am grateful for. 

How has being part of a writing community impacted your writing practice and life beyond the page?

Typically, I love solitude…but I challenged myself to participate andreally listento other writers. Members of my writing group helped me solve problems I was grappling with, they motivated me to keep going… Their insights were invaluable. 

Because of this class, I became motivated to submit to journals….[T]he act of submitting a piece of fiction was an achievement for me…. [W]e still meet bi-weekly to talk writing and workshop our pieces. 

Who would you invite to Frequency writers? 

I would encourage people who are nervous about getting out of their comfort zones to take a class, with classmates from all different backgrounds[some] had never written a piece of fiction in their life.  Like most people, we were busy, tired from working ten hours at work, and driving in bad traffic, but we all showed up. We showed up just so we could engage in something wonderfully creative….

Read a flash fiction piece by Veronica Vela, Astrobee-3:


I can’t recall the feeling of being hurled hundreds of feet into the air, but I can remember the smell of the field. Stretches of young, coarse wheat surrounded me and I drew my hand through the cool stalks.

Each time I landed, I hit the ground butt first and each time, I woke up further from the house. Father had taken to the new device, the Astrobee-3. The Astrobee was a precarious little knob that worked roughly half the time. He had worked his way up on the dial to 500 feet. It was a distance far enough from the house that the march back would be a contemplative one.  According to the manual, “anything greater than 500 feet could result in the unpredictable displacement effect or even death.”

I can’t recall the feeling of being mid-air, but I remember always wanting him to leave. My father was an orphan from the slums of Birchdale and by the time I had become a teenager, he was a widower from Moose Jaw. He had a shrewd, fat face, and was devoid of spirit except when it came to swinging his wrists. By the time Astrobee arrived, he was practically giddy as he removed the contraption from its box. ASTROBEEwas printed in black bold letters on a silver round button. He couldn’t read, yet fingered the black raised letters sweetly as if hoping he could. He kicked the styrofoam peanuts all around the floor and tinkered with all of Astrobee’s mechanical parts. “This knob ‘il set you straight you mark my words” and kept the button deep in the pockets of the trousers he wore every day.

Father used Astrobee every chance he could. If I shifted in my chair a certain way, if my shirts were too tight, if I cooked a bad meal,  hell if the sky was pink. Each time I made the walk back to the house, I came back bruised and blood-crusted with wet grass stuck to my legs. But each time, my body adjusted a little more. He thwacked the ejector knob so often and with such excitement, the “A” “S” and “R” had worn off the button leaving the word “T   OBEE” in pale black ink.

Our house was a squat log cottage, with two bedrooms and three beds. The house came with a high stone fireplace and a good country dog, one rich in leisure. The last night I saw father, he had about two pints of curl (homemade alcohol that’ll curl your toes) and passed out with his head resting on the hearth near the fire box. Father had tripped so hard that the button slipped out of his khaki’s. My body felt like an electric wire and I shot straight up. I could see the tick marks so clearly and the DO NOT EXCEED label near the orange range. In that moment, I saw everything.

I took the button and turned it over with the dial side facing me and cradled it in both hands like a precious animal. I looked at my drunken father on the floor, looked back at the device, and smiled as the dial’s face stared back at me.


Nature Writing workshop THIS WEEKEND at Lincoln Woods!

Just a couple of spots left in the one-day N


ature Writing Workshop this Saturday!

And the weather forecast is SUNNY, just as the leaves start to change colors.

We are re-sharing course details and the class description here, in case the writer in YOU is interested in spending a quiet weekend surrounded by trees and writers with ideas and support for one another….

Instructor: Maryann Ullmann
When: Saturday, September 15th
Time: 10:00 am to 1:30 pm
$65   (With full and partial scholarships available for all writing levels!)

Slow down and savor words in a natural setting away from your screens. Reconnect to the elements, observe the world around you, and connect with other writers. Learn nature journaling techniques using all your senses, and reflect on your relationship with the natural world. Read, listen and discuss pieces from authors, poets, and science writers such as Aimee Nezhukumatathil, Mary Oliver, Clare Walker Leslie, Charles Darwin, Rachel Carson, Winona LaDuke, and Richard Louv.

Register here, at

NEW Courses Announced & Open House!

So delighted to share Frequency Writers’ Fall 2018 classes! We strive to offer something for everyone. All levels and beginner-writers welcome:

Current Course Descriptions and Registration.

Frequency Writers Fall 2018 Open House

Come meet our fall session instructors and community members!


Instructors will briefly detail their upcoming class and read a bit of their own work. Light refreshments will be provided. This is a free event and those with little or no writing experience are welcome to attend!

Sunday, September 9 at 6:30 PM – 8:30 PM
Doors open at 6:30 @Ada Books: 717 Westminster St. Providence
Facebook event page.

A Look Behind the Scenes: Flash Fiction

Our Flash Fiction course, taught by Kristen Falso–Capaldi, is currently in session. Students have been working from photo prompts. Here’s a sneak peak at a prompt and the resulting flash fiction!

Thank you to student Amanda Blount for sharing her work with us.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.


by Amanda Blount

Amy leaned forward and watched the hordes of people on the street below. The distance to the sidewalk caused her to step back. Everything was gray down there – the sidewalk, the doors, the sportcoats pulled over men’s heads, the rain rushing diagonally across their backs. She pulled her sweater around her.

Six months ago the sun had been so hot she would have done anything for rain. It’d taken her fifteen weeks to hike the length of New Mexico, and the heat had induced many moments of panic. She wasn’t in good enough shape for this, she’d tell herself. She was never going to make it. Tracking the mile markers calmed her, though.  Seventeen miles to the next town. Thirteen. Six. Every step closer to going home.

Today Amy felt the familiar panic creeping in. Only this time, she didn’t know how to stop it. She hugged her knees, picturing Mitchell. She wondered if he hated her. The morning she’d left for the trek, he’d stood awkwardly in their driveway, both fists full of the weeds he’d pulled to distract himself as she finished packing. She’d assured him the weeks would fly by. That she really needed this adventure before she could settle down. That image of him – in the driveway, clutching weeds – had made her smile months ago. These days she did everything she could not to conjure it.

A phone inside the apartment rang and she stood, her face catching drops of rain. She heard the second ring, and then the third. She knew she had to answer it when it rang, those were the rules.

She crossed the room and answered the phone, her voice raw. “This is,” she hesitated, “Catherine.” It was the first time she’d said it. The man on the other end asked her how she was settling in. She told him she was pretty lonely. He said it would get easier, suggested she adopt a pet. They hung up. Amy stared at the phone, wanting desperately to dial Mitchell’s number. Her heart raced.

During the trial, she’d asked what the relocation would be like. They’d said it would take time to adjust. They’d said that panic attacks were common early on.

Amy couldn’t breathe. She banged her fist on the counter, wishing like she had a thousand times before that she’d never met Carl. Hadn’t gone home with him. That she’d just gone back to California.  She wished he hadn’t been drunk, hadn’t told her about the shipment. She wished the cops hadn’t approached her. She wished he’d seen the wire and killed her right then and there.

Her hands shook. She tried to slow her breathing, loosen the tightness in her throat. She pictured the New Mexico highway. One million one hundred thousand miles to the next town. Through blurry eyes, she scanned the room. Finding the phonebook, she scanned the pages and picked up the phone.

“Hello? My name is… Catherine… I’m interested in adopting a cat.”