Attached below are some excerpts of my writing, as well as links to the full pieces. Additionally, you can find much more of my work at the link in my signature, titled “Blog.” It’s where I repost a lot of my orphaned writing, or things that aren’t attached to a particular project.
Unfortunately, due to my schedule, I cannot take on any more hobbyist/unpaid projects. Also, I'm afraid that I can’t accept work that only promises pay “when the game is done,” or a profit-share, in other words. That said, my rates are up for negotiation and I’m more than willing to find something that works for both of us. I generally will not work for under one cent per word, however. Editing can be discussed on a case-by-case basis.
Thanks for considering me.
*I'm not comfortable writing yaoi or boys'-love material, though I'm okay writing BxG or GxG - just not enough experience with the first to offer that. I'm fine with GxB, though I have much less experience with it than the other two. Additionally, I'm not especially adept at writing horror, but might be willing to give it a try, depending.
An excerpt from a writing-prompt exercise. Link to the full piece here:
- Maybe it was a placebo and maybe I was just excited, but I tasted the air. I heard the way the wind rustled leaves and wondered how I’d missed it for 19 years.
Lights were astounding. The way they cut through the night from every direction, crisply and directly, made it seem like the whole world was lit up just for me.
I probably could’ve cried from how beautiful it was, if I wasn’t too busy being overwhelmed.
For the past hundred days, I have walked those streets at least twice. There is no building I have not looked at. There is no car that has not rumbled in the distance, but I swear to you that I never saw nor heard before that morning.
I couldn’t be a god because God was everywhere. God was in the trees and in the air. He was slouching beneath the lampposts and he was casting shadow-dogs behind shadow-fences that barked their shadow-praise.
The gospel of psychosis. The Good Word of close friends and prescription receipts.
God may be in the syringe and God may be in the spoon but I don’t care.
God may be in the pipe and God may be in the foil but I don’t care.
I have searched the bottom of the bottle for God and I have found him missing. I have searched the churches for God and I have found him missing.
I have searched my heart for God and I have found him missing, but I swear to you right now, God is in my veins.
- Nobody wants to believe that they are not special. That they are nothing more than the next big fuck-up.
The sooner that you accept that you are not, in fact, anything more than one impossibly small speck in whichever impossibly huge system you belong to, the sooner you can get started living.
Felicia and I, we’ve made a history of being fuck-ups. You could say we’re professionals at it by now. The cuffs around our wrists, and the straps that bind us to our seats, agree.
“Attention. Arrival is imminent. Prepare for deboarding in 15 minutes.”
The voice echoes around the train, eminating from some unseen speaker system. Fifteen minutes. That’ll be to the second. Everything in this city is done exactly. There’ s no such thing as almost, not where the government’s concerned. There’s only “is” and “is not.” I start counting down in my head. Fourteen minutes and 36 seconds. Thirty-five. Thirty-four.
I’m no good at precision but I have to be right now. Or I will have to be, in fourteen minutes and 22 seconds. There’s a lot of lives in the balance. People watching my lead to know exactly what to do. There’s no room to fuck up. Or rather, there’s no time.
Is and isn’t. Exact. To the point.