Kristina Mullenix grew up in the red clay soil of Alabama, writing stories and poems beneath the shade of giant oak trees. A 2004 graduate of Mount Mary University (Milwaukee, WI), she holds a B.A. in History, with Honors. She is CEO and founder of Juniper Creek Editing & Literary Services and works with a variety of authors, publishing companies, and writing consultant groups as a freelance editor. She offers writing guidance, services in proofreading and editing, and also consultation services in social media management. Kristina stretches her writing muscles by writing poetry and creative fiction, and she has also written feature articles for Southern Roots Magazine.

Kristina is a lover of books and words, is well-traveled, and brings a variety of experiences to the realm of editing. Her favorite books relate to historical fiction, biography, faith & spirituality, and Southern literature.

She is a member of the Gulf Coast Writer's Association of Mississippi, and the National Association of Professional Women.
Since 2014 she has been a member of the Selection Committee for the Magnolia Literary Award, which is sponsored annually by the University of Southern Mississippi.

Kristina was humbled to participate in the 50th Anniversary of the Civil Rights March in Selma, Alabama in 2015. She enjoys bicycling, gardening, traveling, and genealogy. Kristina lives in Milwaukee but travels frequently to the Gulf Coast area.



Writer, writer, where are your words? Locked up tight, hidden from the light.

The pen is mightier than the sword, but only with enough ink if you can afford.

Voice and tone filled with simile and metaphor. Poetry and short fiction, or novel and screenplay- which will be your door?

Hear ye, hear ye- I will write! Create a scene and develop characters with lives of drama, just like life with conflict and strife!

Shakespeare, Dickens, Angelou, and so many more… will I stand a chance to write like the greats? Only if I pour out my heart and open the wordsmith floodgates.



Capillary branches reach upward, stretching their barked veins into the gray-filled world.

Trunked sculptures fill the forest, their network creating an atmospheric system linking one to another.

They unfurl their fingered limbs before the sun, wind, and rain.

Earth’s precipitation is my lamentation, yearning for less severity among the sea and shore.

Hopeful that shoots of green will soon sprout with tiny buds amore.


Caught on the Bridge

Loud clouds high in the sky, shouting to hurry on by.

They gather quickly, rumbling gray and black. Time to get back.

Bolts of purple lightning smash the ground and the booms get louder.

Fast feet run leaps and bounds, my racing heartbeat the only sound.

‘Why, oh why!’ I cry. Safety lies yonder, up ahead. I just want to be back home safe in my bed.

Pellets of cold rain pound hot pavement. Will I make it?

Shouting from behind, he yells, ‘You can do it!’ No more pouting and faster feet as the rain flies.

With chest in throat, swiftly I go, but it’s no show.

Each breath a struggle, yet going for the gold. I was scared as hell, truth be told.

But run the race I did, and beat that storm quicker than the dread- Whoo Hoo, I’m not dead!

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