: About Me

We're not so different, you and I.

We both have methods of expressing ourselves, and we both desire, at some level, to be known through those expressions.  I choose to express myself through writing.

Well, I say that I "choose" to write, but it's not really a choice so much as an acceptance of what I must do.  It's not that writing is my mission or that I believe it is my purpose as a human or anything like that- writing is simply something that I am drawn to, it's something I enjoy doing, and I don't think that I could not do it even if I tried.  That is to say, I can't turn it off.

The need to tell stories, the need to report, the need to explore ideas through words- these are things that are a part of me and I can not escape or change them, so I figure that I might as well allow them to direct me.

See something you like?  Let me know.  See something you hate?  Hey, let me know then too.  I'm not too proud to accept critiques, and I'm certainly not too good to accept compliments.

It is my honor to serve as the Channel Manager for the Creative Writing: Flash Fiction channel.  Do you have a story to tell?  Do you think you can tell it in 400 words or less?  Why don't you stop on over to the Flash Fiction channel and flex your creative muscles?  If you have any questions, don't hesitate to drop me a line. 

Seriously,

-Alistair Marquise

My passion is ...

None.

What I am reading/watching/listening to ...

Listening to: Loudness, Sex Machineguns, X-Japan, 12012, Oz, Suicide Ali, Boom Boom Satellites, Heroes del Silencio, Cafe Tacvba, Killing Joke, Boris, Asian Kung Fu Generation, Abingdon Boys School, Wim Mertens, Soda Stereo, Igor Stravinsky, MC5, Iron Maiden, Lynch, Talking Heads, Jurassic 5, Kool Keith, Aphex Twin, Squarepusher

Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Childhood

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The paste has dried up and crumbled from the backs of our paper horses Releasing them from the atmosphere of autumn leaves on which they were once secured And pushed unwillingly from the imaginations of their creator and the only home where they ever belonged They drift downward with age-curled edges to the stained linoleum, staring upward as they're swept away, meaningless The black and white justice that we once stood for has become a muddy gray that we now only sit and talk about And the dragons we so fiercely fought grew up and revealed themselves to be unruly hedges that eat free time...

More..

Writing:

Rating:

• Editorial Advisory Board
• Creative Writing Gold
• Marketplace Approved Writer
• Channel Manager Flash Fiction
• Helium Charter Member