Brian K. Lowe About writing and life and where they intersect.
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Salute the Awe-inspiring, the Death-Defying and the Daring. There is No Certainty; There is Only Adventure. Your Destiny Awaits a World Away. May Your Sword Stay Sharp. Welcome to the Vintage World of Adventure, Crime, Horror, and Fantasy. May Your Gun Blaze Righteously.
Author of the savagely funny debut novel, Anti-Social Media. Kate Beth Heywood - Author. A brand new cover for a fantastic book by the lovely K. Thoroughly recommend this book, which is the first of three. Kate Beth Heywood - Author. If you read my previous blog post,.
Shoplifting in the Marketplace of Ideas. Now, it would be easy, so, so easy to join the dog-piling and point out things like. No, my point is that she is wrong about the lack of gatekeepers. There are actually more gatekeepers now than there are editors and publishers and agents in the entire publishing industry.
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The site had the following in the homepage, "About writing and life and where they intersect." I noticed that the web site stated " August 15, 2015 by brianklowe." They also stated " My mind was recently wandering as it is wont to do along paths not traceable by normal means, with odd ideas burbling up from places that probably require spring cleaning themselves and have since 1995. I dont think this phenomenon is abnormal, though; I challenge any writer to clear a shower drain and not think about Lovecraft. In a Flash Delivery Service."ANALYZE MORE BUSINESSES
Exposing my inner uncertainty and openly living like an asylum patient. And instagram, of course. God had kissed his palms,. Before he threw him into the abyss. Zarathustra gave birth to his own chaos. Nymphs danced above his head. It was in him, all along,. He abandoned gods who tell stories,. And ran into the arms of a God,.
Well this week it was the opposite. I move back to school in TWO DAYS.
I went six days without an attack but then the dam broke. I have to practice meditation now before I get lazy and turn on the television.
I stare at the pink hues of the sunset and all I can see are endings. Faces I pass in this dark are dim;. Yet I always see you so clearly among them. You burn beneath my eyes and fingertips;. I hopelessly imagine it is your touch. It pains and thrills and always, always lingers deep into the night. Until I wake, pushed forward into icy mornings. And I am left,.
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