Brian S Monroe

Brian S. Monroe (1959—) lurks somewhere in the Pacific Northwest amid its dark mountains and grim waters. He suffers from the delusion he is an author and carries this to the point of publishing his ‘books.’ They make great campfire starters or to lay a trail behind if escorted into the woods by a wicked stepparent. There are occasional impressive flashes of excellence within the pages, but for most, the best part of the story is the ending.

His first efforts saw the light of day in the late 1960s. Despite a movement to place his works on the Index and jail him for criminal boredom, he thwarted all attempts to restrain or convict and thus continues his destruction of Western literature unabated. So blame them.

At home in several styles, his major focus is the style of H.P. Lovecraft—-horror/science fiction if you will. His stories push (and sometimes break) the accepted boundaries of reality leaving the reader in confusion about where imagination begins and reality leaves off—sometimes by design. He writes in other styles such as erotica, nonfiction, technical manuals and wry humor.

If you should meet him on the street, be sure not to approach too closely unless you have a good stock of hot fudge sauce or whipped cream. These can distract him while you run to safety. Should he capture you, prepare to be bored out your mind while he inflicts you with his latest verbal creation, much as the Ancient Mariner in Coleridge’s poem. Those who survive are never quite the same.

We hope he’ll drift away from literature to something else—but he’ll likely run that into the ground too. Like most disturbing intruders, he has developed immunity to his repellent, leaving us to suffer as he continues to serve up creations of the written word.

He also, just to be fair, is able to turn his warped sense of humor on himself - as can be seen from the foregoing.