Rowan comes from a background of street magic, burlesque bikers, and supervillain-fronted punk bands, and believes that he is visited by the ghost of François-Noël Babeuf in his dreams. His writing is best described as macabre, with a twisted sense of humor. Smirking shadows, abject weirdness, and giggling fiends eagerly await to take each reader on a trip that they won't soon forget. He believes that "Narrative is a dish best served cold and alone--with no one to accompany you but the voices in your head, and the shadows lurking beneath the next page." So, without further adieu, sit down and strap in. You're going for a ride.
Turn on the lights! Right now, as fast as you can, before you read any further! TURN. ON. YOUR. LIGHTS. You are in danger. Please listen to me. Do NOT fall asleep, at least not at night. Not in the dark. NEVER in the dark. THEY are there. All around us. I know that I … More The Black Harvest
Malcolm Price woke up with a Post-it note on his nose and a headache so excruciating that he could feel it in his teeth. The only light in his dilapidated rental home came from his old CRT television. Its orange and red glow hung throughout the living room like a fog, and the Looney Tunes … More The Vigil I – Splitting Headache
Hi. My name’s Rowan. I’m a writer. Also, an alcoholic. It’s unrelated, but my sponsor keeps insisting that I “tell people,” and “stop climbing that.” Welcome to your very own window inside my head. What to expect? Bees. Lots of bees, accompanied with healthy(-ish) doses of my own personal misadventures and tales of whimsy. I’ll be … More Good Hello
R. R. Knight 