Author • Reader • Weirdo
I’m an aspiring author living in sunny California with my dog and am working on my MFA in creative writing.
My fiction and poetry are as varied as my reading tastes, but they usually say things that I can’t verbally express (or..um..sometimes I write them just to entertain).
This is my blog: Inky Tavern. It’s all about fiction, my writing journey, and creativity.
Nice to see you!
The year is 3020 and time travel is an execution method. A few years back, it was a hopeful science experiment. “Humanity’s next great breakthrough,” said World Union’s propagandists. It earned them a few willing volunteers. A couple hundred if I remember right, but after humanity’s next great breakthrough turned its volunteers into charred corpses, …
I want to be alone… with someone who wants to be alone. Dimitri Zaik We rented a motel room in a city far away from our respective lives. The moment we entered, we killed our phones then sequestered them in the old drawer – charging be damned – officially going off grid. Two chocolates and …
I’ve wanted to launch this newsletter since the moment I created my blog. Email lists are pivotal for authors / aspiring authors to not only gain some creative freedom and control over their careers, but to build closer connections to those who actually love their work.
The following is an excerpt from my upcoming ebook, Musings from Rock Bottom. Details are below! Every bit of meWants to believe weAre real, that inOur silences, a chord,Silvery, binds us together.Unseen but felt, remindingUs that we areKindred souls in loveFated to be byGod or whatever forceThat put us here. Every bit of meWants to …
She was here.
Physically.
But not really.
Mentally.
She’s in limbo.
Like between sleeping and awake.
Like between breathing and not.
An elaborate veneer of external liveliness.
Question, why does joy
Feel temporary?
As if an intermission
Between tribulations?
A ragged, painful breath
Post marathon?
As if being broken
Is natural?
Silent afternoon
Smooth coffee and old pages
No care in the world
I play a sick game with my Unconscious
I hand it my woes—
The ones that prevent me from functioning—
And plead, “Don’t let me remember this.”
But the bastard always reminds me
When it senses it did its job too well.
She dragged her knife against rigged metal, grating its edge to a sharp point. Well, she thought, turning to her victim subdued in the kitchen chair. His new girlfriend is welcomed to my leftovers.
She doesn’t need to leave on that commute again…the one from two months ago when her car flipped and she–the real she–was taken from me.
If I stay silent, she’ll always be asleep beside me.
It’s better than this unexplainable dread that fills me as I leaf through the streaky magazine paper. Every page detailing how the world is falling apart. Hell, how it might even die before my own little shits come of age. I let the pages slip between my thumbs, fast forwarding through all the bullshit.
We agreed to sign the papers. No more trying to heal us. Fixed on our poker faces and met at his house. By nightfall, we were wrapped in each other’s arms.
Our call crackled with silence.
The neighborhood
I stared out the tattered screen mesh that shielded my doorway from the neighborhood. My eyes met an abandoned home, probably housing squatters, across the way.
Along with the short, free works shared on this blog, I also work on larger projects. They are a combination of novels, novellas, and comics. Get the details on each one below:
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Desiree S. Brown 