Here’s the thing… I don’t usually read novels. I can’t say I really read more than three in a single year and, as time goes on, I find myself more and more immersed in poetry, lyric essay, critical theory, memoir, and other forms. Something I do read slightly more occasionally, however, is the well-written short …
With three months to go before my 26th birthday (a little under two now), I achieved the milestone of writing my first six books and releasing them out into the world. Unlike my upcoming “10 by 27” (inspired by my “6 by 26”) this wasn’t planned; it just happened. Therefore, and before my 26th birthday, …
In an age where instant gratification is all the rage and accountability is a lost art, Christopher Mahan rises above the current social climate in his poetry collection, Private Poems Mostly. I found Mahan and his poetry through Twitter and discovered even more of it through his Patreon account. This is a man who lives …
One of my absolute favorite things about being an independent author is the level of transparency I’m able to have with my readership. I have the extraordinary privilege of involving my readers, potential readers, friends, family, followers, and sometimes even authors aspiring to go indie in every single step of my writing and publishing processes …
I’ve been following Momus Najmi on Twitter and Instagram for some time now, and I’ve found his unique and insightful posts deeply refreshing in a sea of social media sameness. Najmi’s voice on social media is identical to his voice in Mumblings of a Fool: honest, fearless, wise, and unrelenting. He’s that person who speaks …
I don’t usually write book reviews; as a matter of fact, this is only the second one I’ve ever posted on this blog. My [unintentional] “celibacy” in regards to not blogging about other authors’ books persisted for a long while without any glitches. It’s not exactly like I was going out of my way to …
A poem from Sanghvi’s fifth book, Cerulean. Released: March 13th, 2020. Sometimes, I try on these words like jeans. I squeeze into them, or else squish them into my small, flat palms, as if it is they who will wear me instead. Alas! They almost never seem to fit, nor do they ever quite seem …