About this place, *about myself*
This place is the overflow, the essays and confessions and small cruelties that will not fit inside the novels, usually because they are too contemporary, too political, or too close to the bone. If you like reading things that do not ask permission for thinking, stay.
Maxim Blake is my pen name.
I am a novice writer, novice since I was a kid.
My stories are bones still wrapped in skin, unfinished, imperfect, but pulsing with need.
I draw breath from the obsessions that shaped me, the dread-soaked elegance of Sir Edgar Allan Poe, the raw disquiet of Sir Chuck Palahniuk, the fevered, decadent beauty of Monsieur Charles Baudelaire. They are my pillars.
This space is my beginning and I have no ambitions, except to leave something meaningful behind, for the world.
This is not a polished place. It is raw and unfinished. But it is mine. If you’ve ever been haunted by a story that didn't settle, I think you’ll feel comfortable here.
If you feel like connecting, drop a message:
Maxim writes fiction about intimacy and the wreckage it leaves behind. Of Love and Other Nightmares is his first collection, assembled over years of writing and diaries he finally decided to refine and publish. He is an observer. He came to it through photography. People tell him things. He does not judge. He only collects, and transcribes. Born in Italy, citizen of the world. Husband, father of two.
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