Author Archives

Stavyah Vatsarah

Stavyah Vatsarah is the nom de plume of an Indian poet, storyteller, and former journalist. He is the founding editor-in-chief of The Literary Juggernaut and dwells in Delhi, India.

โ€˜Literature Plays a Role in Creating Empathyโ€™

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. โ€˜She returns to Montreal in a borrowed body forty years later, meets Leonard Cohen in a cafรฉ, 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,โ€™ 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. โ€˜After that, I went on a hiatus for a while and eventually returned to my roots in poetry and my interest in horror fiction,โ€™ the twenty-seven-year-old American author shares with us.

โ€˜If You Donโ€™t Sell Your First Book, Donโ€™t Lose Heartโ€™

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. โ€˜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,โ€™ 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.

‘Loving’ Friend

There’s a world abiding in each where blooms love;
Nothing great can be gained if yon world dies!
I say rear the world now; never ask when.
Would that you could grasp what in yon world lies!

Rescued by Poetry

Author Robert Stubblefield started writing around the age of ten. As a matter of fact, he began composing poems at the time as a way to cope with the loss of his grandmother. Speaking exclusively to The Literary Juggernaut, the twenty-eight-year-old American author and poet, who is currently residing in Maryland, the US, says poetry has always helped him express his feelings towards the world around him. Emphasising that he usually writes when he has the urge to pen down his thoughts and whenever he feels low, Mr Stubblefield, who holds a bachelorโ€™s degree besides two masterโ€™s degrees, says he composes poetry so he may articulate the deepest of his thoughts in ways he cannot do when he happens to be speaking.

The Force That Guides the Worlds Galore

I suggest you now grasp that heart’s core
Is illumed by none but God; thought ain’t vain.
Same is force that guides the worlds galore,
One birthed by a chaste woman. Prized lore!

You Slew Your Soul

But I suppose there is no fun
In leading what you’re leading – gruesome life;
You think not of superb acts dropped
Before you say the thoughts that stay well popped
Until slain is the mental strife!
And goodness goes on to stand sadly done.

When I First Looked Into Your Eyes

Lambasted love couldn’t even minds
That shall float now, forever,
Be born again to be dead, gone.
That is life’s nature; it quite binds,
Creating love in ways clever
In order that worlds may move on.

The Real Question

Could you will to enquire where we are caught,
And why the ball of fire has not touched us?
Give it some time, give what’s been said a thought
Before you put your questions, making fuss.

‘Writing Is Art, a Calling’

Author T C Weber is a morning person, and he begins his day with what he loves doing most: writing. In an exclusive email interaction with The Literary Juggernaut, Mr Weber, who is a member of Poets & Writers and the Maryland Writers Association, says when working on a novel, his goal is to write one scene each day, schedule permitting. โ€˜I ensure that I write something every morning, even if itโ€™s just random thoughts or a few paragraphs. Long scenes may take several days,โ€™ explains the author, who also knows to speak Spanish besides a bit of Russian and Japanese.

World of Play

The stars greatly glowed when the night was young,
And the moonlight gleamed, glistened upon seas;
It looked as if the stars were lights well strung
By men who would prize nothing but calm, peace.

Tricolor Profaned

Pretentious men sat, watched the harm,
Recalling to word their dead thought;
Observed was chaos; there was no calm!
Farm laws were blamed and farmers bought.

Could You Help Us Grow?

Make a Difference!

The Literary Juggernaut largely relies on donations for its functioning. We'd be immensely grateful if you could make a contribution and help us grow. Please note that payment through PayPal is applicable for only those residing out of India.

$1.00