Author Archives

B Sudharsan

B Sudharsan is an Indian poet, English instructor, and former journalist. He is the founding editor-in-chief of The Literary Juggernaut and dwells in Delhi, India.

Back to the Pavilion

Her legs are now treading artfully,
Stopping once she reaches her destination;
She’s content, for schools are now reopened,
Gladdened is she at the prospect of
Meeting new students,
Friending youngsters,
And… making money.
She has never been to school though.

Point Five

My brother was called point five since his walk
Was like that of a lass and likened much
To dames that were abiding far; his speech
Was quite high-pitched, possessing girlish touch.
The folks he was acquainted with would breach
Rules made, not one or two or three but each.

Shimmed and Chiming

Eldritch witches stitched the charming chambers
With chandeliers, each of which bewitched
Charlie; and Charles, who was chastised
By rich, unchaste, chilling chaps,
Who, with cheeks chiselled, downed
Glasses of champagne,
Chilled and cheering,
Choked, choking
Witches

When I Wakened This Morn

When I was awakened this morn
From a kip that lasted too long,
Humming were birds one adorb song,
One that I’d oft heard in Cape Horn.

Five Verbs You’d Thought Never Existed

We’ve always maintained that the English language is weird. And the list of verbs you are to find in this post is only going to validate our claim, a claim few souls have disagreed with. Wait for a second though! We’ve got a warning! In this post, you may come upon verbs you’d never imagined existed, so you’d better not gasp while reading. When you’re ready, begin!

Song of Spring

Winds wind well while cold months, worn, weakened, get wound down;
Assailing coldness that has done a lot of wrongs,
Heralding spring, a season as bright as the Sun
As plants beam, flower, making us sing many songs…

‘When My World’s Stressful, It Takes Me To a Different One Where I Write My Own Ending’

Author Annie Mick started writing in January of 2019 when the ideas and characters crafted in her imagination needed to find their way onto the page. In an exclusive interaction with The Literary Juggernaut, Ms Mick, who currently resides in the state of Colorado in the US, a place where the sunsets are colourful and the mountains make for a beautiful landscape, says when she starts working on a book, she always knows who her main characters will be and the initial plot, but as the plot unfolds, she happens to tweak it. ‘Or it ends up tweaking me!’ she exclaims.

‘The Path of Being Self-Published Author Is Long and Complicated’

Author Justin Monroe has always considered himself a writer. Even while struggling with dyslexia at Elementary School, the author, who, beyond a shadow of a doubt, proves to be a great source of inspiration, considered Creative Writing his favourite subject. ‘For my senior project at High School, I wrote my first full-length manuscript and did a research project on the publishing process. Back in 2002, the pathway to being published besides the self-publishing market was so difficult that I moved onto more practical career paths. However, throughout college and most of my life, I always found time to write, whether stories, blog posts or Dungeons and Dragons campaigns,’ he begins, speaking to The Literary Juggernaut in an exclusive interaction.

‘Literature Plays a Role in Creating Empathy’

Having established herself as a professional writer, Ms Brett, who can also speak French albeit not very fluently, tells us that one of her works in progress deals with a young woman, a professional violinist, who was in a camp orchestra at Auschwitz. ‘She returns to Montreal in a borrowed body forty years later, meets Leonard Cohen in a café, and together they work to discover her mission. She is a folkloric character, an ibbur, a spirit who returns in corporeal form to do good in the world,’ she lets on.

The Town I Live in

Oh, mansions seen embellish narrow streets,
Each of which is graced by dire slums as well,
And every man who dwells in slums defeats
The filth of their soul to escape pain, hell;
And each who weens karma exists not meets
Death like those who believe in strength of knell.

‘A Lot of Beauty Comes From Suffering’

Author Matthew P S Salinas first began writing in the fifth grade, which happened to be a time in his life when he adored reading stories of all kinds. This was also the time when he began dreaming of becoming an author one day. Speaking to The Literary Juggernaut in an exclusive interaction, the author and poet, who is currently working on releasing a sequel to his current work besides actively looking for a literary agent and traditional publisher to help him expand his audience and improve the quality of his work even more, says he primarily wrote poetry and was published in Visions Literary Magazine. ‘After that, I went on a hiatus for a while and eventually returned to my roots in poetry and my interest in horror fiction,’ the twenty-seven-year-old American author shares with us.

‘If You Don’t Sell Your First Book, Don’t Lose Heart’

Going on to aver that writing is a career for him even if he does not make a living at it, Mr Link, who has studied Spanish, Japanese, and Brazilian Portuguese, tells us he thinks authors get too tied to the financial aspect of writing, and that’s not the bar he sets for his success. ‘I want to reach people so they’ll read my stories and enjoy them, not so I can quit my day job. That’s one of the reasons I love Kindle Unlimited. People can read me for free,’ he says.

Because the Welkin Charmed Me Much

When I was young, I’d longed to float and fly
Because the welkin charmed, allured me much;
I’d hankered after gladness and pure bliss,
The airy, blue expanse I’d hoped to touch.

Thrown

When you were thrown right into darkened, foul pits,
Each of which snatched your chilled-out cheer, chastised charm,
I wept, wondered if ever you’d sense the harm
Caused by ones that laughed, staring at you like kits;

Spring Like a Deer

Spring like a deer, one scrounging for lush leaves!
Is that not something you adored to do
When your heart learnt what brought my charmed soul to
You was a force that never weeps or grieves?

When I Eyed Your Evil Eyes

What transpired next caused me great harm,
For I learnt I was conned, fooled
By you and those you had valued;
Places you’d been to were revealed,
So were lanes you’d trodden upon;
I smiled though my heart rang bruised bells.

The ‘Thoughtful’ Train

The snakes sometimes squirmed like worms you’d detest
While en route to work fields that gleamed on Earth,
And like raged, raging winds hoping not to rest,
They oft assailed and harmed and caused great dearth.