Monica Johnson

Monica Johnson was born and raised on the beautiful Oregon coast, a place she still calls home with her husband, Ryan, her dogs Peanut and Ruby, her cat Iris, and her lizard Leo.

Monica works in a variety of mediums including prismacolor, watercolor, gouache, and acrylic. She attended Portland Community College and Pacific University where she studied figure drawing, sculpture, design, and painting.

Her ideas come from her nieces and nephews, her pets, her dreams, and the beautiful landscape around her. She strives to make art that will inspire children’s imaginations and keep the rest of us young at heart.

Stories illustrated by Monica Johnson


Written by Zach Walchuk

It was just after noon when I arrived back from the grocery store. In each arm I carried a canvas bag weighed down with vegetables and canned goods. I put both bags in one hand while I fished the keys from my pocket, and with one smooth motion I unlocked and opened the front door. I …

High Rise Love

Written by Chanel Earl

I’m just going to come right out and say it: I hate my life. You may be thinking, at least I have a good view. And, yes, in the evening, when I look out to the west and see glimpses of the sunset peeking through the city skyline, I feel truly blessed. Most days it’s …

Not Now

Written by Taryn Bell

The elevator was quiet when they stepped in, except for the soft piano melody playing from a hidden speaker and the creak of the elevator adjusting under their weight. It smelled of metal and mold, but it appeared to be rather clean. Their reflections graced the metallic walls, each from a different angle. He pressed …


Written by Rina Palumbo

As she walked through the tall grasses of the meadow, her elongated shadow following her progress and slicing the sunlit greenery, Marietta stopped for a moment, her eyes scanning the ground below. Her long black hair, dressed hurriedly into a bun, was starting to loosen, and she placed an offending strand behind her ear in …

I’d like to go back…

Written by Serina Lewis-Galla

I’d like to go back to the farm that I began my life on. Back to the beautiful mixture in the air of the barn animals, the hay, and the random wild flowers in the fields. Back to the sound of the tractors mowing away in the distance, and the clanking of the riser as …

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