Poetry perches on a lofty mantle, out of reach of we plebs and unlearned fools. It refreshment of language fit only for the lips greater beings. Except it's not, and all that bluster is for the TRASH BIN. I wrote my own poetry, horror author style. The sunset is a putrid thing, is it not?

Philip sat down for a cup of coffee that tasted like Summer Goose. We tried it because it was NEW. The alternative is finding what you like and having it again and again. That'll break your knees.

Kyle D. Garrett is a new horror author like myself, and goes by the moniker Kreepy Keelay when narrating. That's right, two fresh horror writer/narrators opening up the world of vivid imagination.

A story for an audience of one, jokes timed for unique ears, and game night forged in the fires of diverging plots. This is when writing becomes completely unprofessional, and boy, is it a lark.

Fickle, treacherous, and enigmatic, the infamous "inspiration," is as alluring as the blue moon. She's also just as cold, and visits as infrequently. But when I have her, she's all mine. My Precious.

A cholo wanted to throw down, and it tested the growth of my character this day. It was a story if redemption, personal growth, and the treacherous human condition. Also: growth's influence on art.

Highlighting the low points, today I share what it's like to grind away on the tedious aspects. At the end of the day, the bitterness is wrung out into dark ink and splattered on the page.

Why do all of H.P. Lovecraft's characters collapse into gibbering ruins? Is it the author that is mad, or the audience for witnessing such a thing? Let's talk crazy, and how I do it.

Recharging and taking a load off is part of mastery and accomplishment. So is striving. I talk about how I separate the two so I can get things done, and not struggle against the impossible.

From the four podcasts I'm a part of on Narrative Audio Network, to vlogging, to novels and narration, I'm keeping plates spinning. Secret: everything is supported by 100% more editing and marketing.