Hi, I'm Jill

I'm a mom, an award-winning author of 3 books, and an avid outdoor adventurer, who married a performance artist and addiction counselor renown for the best risotto on the planet.

I grew up as an Army brat, traveling the world. Now, I'm psyched to live in Spokane and adventure around the Pacific Northwest.

Jill-Malone-Headshot-Vertical

AP English

June 5, 2017
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We didn’t sit at the back of the classroom, though we were closest to the door. As the classroom was long and lean, we sat at the outer edge. The two girls on my left were new to Hawaii for their senior year of high school. I can’t remember if they were military kids, but that seems most likely. The blonde told us, on the first day, that she was from Texas, and the...

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Stirrup

June 1, 2017
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You have been ill. Your body wrung out like a wash cloth. The parts of your brain where the lights live have closed for repairs. “I don’t understand,” your boss says, “why we aren’t all in the streets. Why aren’t we all in the streets?” You are too tired to reply, “Many of us are.” Or, more truthfully, “Because we have to last out this work day in our air-conditioned building.” “Because we are...

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The giveaway

May 22, 2017
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The kid had already performed St. James Infirmary for Talent Show tryouts. Yet, we sat in the audience anyway. Maybe this year they were required to stay until the last performer had auditioned. His buddy was called to go home. And still we stayed. I sat on the back side of the lunch table, with my son and two girls in front of me. The girl on his left kept asking questions. I’d see...

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Child

April 13, 2017
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Years ago, my coworker had this sad, half-broken smile on her face when she told me that her 26-year-old son had survived for two years playing online poker because jobs were for suckers. “My son is a mystery to me,” she said. And I had this terrible urge to grab her and yell, “Do something! Fix this!” Which means that I was thinking about my own relationship with my son, rather than her relationship with...

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I just can't decide how much humanity you deserve

February 17, 2017
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In the new age of acceptable fascism, I guess the thing I find most troublesome is how familiar it feels. I stood in Dachau Concentration Camp as a child. I looked at all the photos and the ovens. I stood there as a five year old and have never been able to shake that feeling. I loved Germans. I spoke German fluently as a child. How could they have done this? Or stood by...

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Do you have a maroon jacket?

February 9, 2017
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There are only two people in the band who are under 70, and one is my son. He plays third trumpet, and watches the bandleader and the first trumpet for signals. You’d think he’d been doing this forever. Swapping out mutes, keeping time with his foot. The first trumpet is 90. During the break, he tells me my kid is an exceptional young man. He shakes my hand as though we’d both been in...

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So shines a good deed in a weary world

February 8, 2017
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“What,” I ask my wife, “do you consider your moral imperative?” “Be good.” “That’s the whole thing?” “Be as good as I am able in every situation.” Be good. We live in a time where “Don’t be evil,” and “Don’t be a dick,” fail to capture the range of assaults we face. It’s not enough to hold back from the worst behavior. We should be out there shining a goddamned light on the good...

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The dog alone in the house

December 25, 2016
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The family had a house in upstate New York, and an apartment in the city. They left the dog in the house because he was such a bother in the apartment — shedding, barking, needy. He was left alone, and they paid a stranger to walk him twice a day. She said he cried every time he had to return to the house and be alone again. There is a man deep in the...

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Collective animal

November 24, 2016
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Maybe my wife’s snoring woke me, or maybe I really was trying to decide when I transitioned from third person to second. In graduate school, I discovered I could distance myself from the camera if I focused the camera on the girl. What is the girl seeing? What does what the girl does mean? Twenty-one and the girl couldn’t even imagine the woman. Or the woman’s first person narrative. Look at the girl making...

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Home before dark

November 2, 2016
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When Mike Stock told us about the orange clay pools, we called bullshit because Mike Stock lied as habitually as the rest of us chewed gum. “I’ll show you!” he kept saying. And so a pack of us entered the woods that morning, behind the military housing at Fort Leonard Wood. The forest was quiet, with creeks, tree frogs, and small turtles. The summer after second grade, and my younger cousins were visiting for the...

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