I finished my first novel at the tender age of 14. A fantasy novel parked at 75,000 words. And the question naturally became, “Well, what do I do with this thing?” I’d shown it to family and friends, who either read enthusiastically or kindly, and it seemed to be reasonable enough to see what would … More The Quarter-Century Bandage.
The internet had seemed to convey such possibility, from an artistic perspective. Bear in mind that I came of age in the 1990s, when the internet was a half-formed thing. Blogging platforms didn’t exist; instead, we had to carve out virtual homesteads by hand with crude HTML and ‘Under Construction’ GIFs. It was a big … More The Infinite Canvas
Sentence fragments. Periods floating facedown in rivulets of black brackish water. World without sunlight without semicolons without quotation marks or crows or trout. The last raft just out of reach. Somewhere along the ashen side of every hill. Babies spitted on spikes roasted for their flesh and gnawed upon for lifegiving sustenance and what happened … More ‘The Road’ by Cormac McCarthy
“The Growing Mist.” A poem which, on the surface, speaks of days Gone by, of lives and deaths and all the ways The shades of writers work their ethereal Art; now, a classic poem with classic feel. The commentary wrapped around the text Like Russian dolls; opening the next Layer was an act of murder … More ‘Pale Fire’ by Vladimir Nabokov
