From the Greenland Diaries: Happy Little Trees

“I really didn’t think I’d be using it for this,” Debbie mumbled to a few squirrels crossing the trees to her right. “This is not what I had in mind. Not at all. I guess none of us did, did we? Who could have thought this much has changed in less than two years.”

She stopped and dipped her brush in a can of odorless paint thinner at her feet. It caught a bit of afternoon sun as it gleamed between the sharp stalks of overgrown grass. She beat the brush on the wooden legs of her easel, just like Bob Ross used to do. She tried to laugh thinking of his videos.

She wondered if she would ever watch them again. Power had not been restored, and she had a VHS tape of a few of the episodes. She had noticed them while hiding in her basement beneath the stairs when the Drum first started. They would shake beneath the old tube television her son Tyler had left there from the 90’s. He had been out in California when the Drum started. She doubted she would ever see him again.

Her husband, Tim, had died the first night. Debbie had happened to be downstairs grabbing some chicken breasts to defrost when she heard them arrive. Her instincts fired and she hid quickly and silently. It was like a dormant portion of her brain switched on. The reptilian lobe took control and hid her like she was nothing more than a frightened insect.

It had worked; she had survived.

Now, at present, she was in her backyard. The same backyard of oak trees and white fencing that kept her kids from escaping when they were toddlers. The same backyard her husband had tried to play catch with their son despite him having no interest in sports or athletics. Despite the rampant greenery, and the destruction, she could still see shadows in her memories of these moments. They were her only escape from all the heartbreak and weirdness that had appeared with these actual, living shadows.

One of these very monsters was in her backyard.

Debbie had gone to college for visual art. She then met Tim, who had just returned from Vietnam. They got married, had kids, and her artistic endeavors had firmly gone into purgatory. She always made a little time each week to watch Bob Ross on PBS to keep her skills honed. She loved landscape painting with both oils and acrylics. She loved him, too. She made plenty of mistakes following his tutorials, but he always made her feel like she was supposed to make mistakes. It gave her a sense of confidence, and eventually she was painting without him and to the quality she was creating back when she graduated. 

Then the Drum arrived, and everything changed.

Debbie laughed. She couldn’t believe this was happening. Of all the things to be painting. She couldn’t abandon this emotion. This weirdness. What would Bob Ross say? He was the embodiment of wholesomeness to so many. His ability to communicate positivity in the face of failure and difficulty was unmatched.

What would he say about the Unnamed?

They were beyond anything that his canvas could capture, emulate, or portray, but here Debbie was, using it to paint one in her backyard. Since the destruction of the Drum, survivors had moved through the wasteland and said the Unnamed should no longer be hunting humans like they did before. With the Drum gone they would have a new role in our world, but nobody knew what or how. 

When Debbie first noticed it, mixed in with the edge of the trees that led to the forest she’d lived next to for thirty years, she immediately wanted to hide. However, it stopped, and just floated on the edge of the trees, like it didn’t know where to go. After watching it standing amongst the bark, branches, and billowing leaves, Debbie got an interesting idea. She had been staring at her art supplies and canvases for months. They were just sitting there. Her digital camera and phone had long died. She needed to capture it, to pull into her own voice.

To make it hers.

After all, despite the nights of pure violence, the Unnamed was magnificent in all terms of the word.

It was ten feet tall, wide, and curled over itself like a frozen wave of fluctuating darkness and bone. Its hooks of golden claws were dug into the earth, with flowers sprouting around their impressions and edges. Birds were sitting and chirping along the golden horns and spikes sprouting from their back and hood. Even the shifting shadow beneath that midnight fabric seemed to glow in the sunlight. Below that was its chest of amber ribs, which reflected sunspots of daylight. Occasionally it shifted, but mostly it was just a violent cloud sitting still. A tempest tethered. A sleeping maelstrom of claws and bones. A thunderstorm lost and confused without its demon thunder to call home.

“You’re a good subject; you stay awfully still” Debbie would occasionally mumble from across her yard. She had set up her easel on the back of her brown deck. She had to chisel away at some of the plants that had choked the wooden planks with a spade. Eventually she got it to sit evenly.

“Do you understand what I’m doing?”

The Unnamed would never reply. Debbie was getting low on food. She had heard other survivors were beginning to leave the neighborhood to look for more supplies. Lines of resources were trying to be established, but people still did not trust traveling around the Unnamed, or the Reanimated. She sighed as she labored with the paints. Most of them had been salvageable but there were a few colors that she had to use sparingly. Sadly, green was one of them.

“You’ll always be remembered,” she said, adding the trees and wildlife behind its grizzly shape. 

“Nobody will remember me.”

If you want to learn more about the Greenland Diaries series, you can get the Kindle version of the first book for a dollar right here, or read the first ten days for free.

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Visit me selling books at the Curious Crow

Hey all! I’m excited to announce that tomorrow (April 19th) will be my first book event of 2026. I will be selling my books and doing a short reading at the Curious Crow in Lexington Minnesota. I’ll be there with a bunch of other authors.

The event goes from 12 – 5. I’ll have all my books for sale, plus artwork and potentially some candles and other wares. I’ll be running event specials as well so the books are more affordable. $2 for 20, $3 for 30, etc. I only run these deals at events. I do not offer them at on my online bookstore.

Also, there is plenty of other stuff to see at Curious Crow Company. Board, booze, video games, cards, all your standard geek inventory. Also, there will be food trucks. This makes me very happy.

The event is FREE to attend, which is always a nice bonus. Hope to see you there. Excited to be a part of it.

Hit it here to learn more about this event and the Curious Crow

#adultBookFair #author #blogging #books #curiousCrow #events #fantasy #fiction #horror #monsters #patrickWMarsh #theGreenlandDiaries #writing

Red Guitar Wins

Daily writing prompt Describe something you learned in high school. View all responses

So, I originally wanted to start this post saying the number one thing I learned in high school is that nothing matters in high school. I still think this applies in many ways FYI, but of course I did find one experience in my memories of high school that was actually sort of insightful and echoed into my actual identity.

I hate it when my memories betray my like that. I was really looking forward to writing about how high school was a hall of illusions, a carnival in town for some cheap spectacle. About how the abusive social hierarchy was really just temporary and meaningless blip in my existence.

Oh well, another time.

I have always loved the arts, writing, painting, drawing, all of it. That being said, I had to warm up to the idea of accepting this part of myself, especially in the ultra judgmental halls of high school. In my experience (and I would venture most) in high school social status is so thick and disgusting, you might as well choke on it. Most people just conform and go with the flow to avoid detection, because those differences could result in various versions of torture. I fluctuated on this strategy myself.

My attraction to writing had already manifested in many of my English classes in high school. Poetry, fiction, nonfiction, all of it pulled on me with some sort of hidden magnetism. Often I would feel overwhelmed getting my thoughts out into the world, and creative writing provided the perfect conduit. It still does.

One particular experience in the lunch room pointed out this proclivity towards the arts. It was during lunch. My friends and I were all huddled around a round, gray table in a bustling cafeteria. My crowd in high school was a sort of mirage. We were all jocks, football players and weightlifters, but we were the lower tier of that collection. We were on the outskirts of that social hierarchy, so we weren’t necessarily popular, but we weren’t unpopular.

Anyways, my friend Dan had just discovered a program called Photoshop (yes, I’m old) and he’d made a couple of graphically enhanced photographs of his electric guitars floating in some sort of digital nether. One guitar was red with clouds of gray around it. The other was blue, with surrounding purple lightning bolts. Dan was going to enter the photos into a competition for his photography class, and asked for feedback from our ragtag group.

We went around the circle, each of my friends grunted “yes,” or simply pointed at the one they liked. It was very caveman-like. Not much communication. Sort of like sitting around a fire and eating a roasted boar.

Then, they got to me.

I lined both pictures up next to me. They were glossy and pixelated. I examined each thoughtfully and said:

“I think the one with red guitar has better contrast since the gray clouds have less detail, and make the colors seem more vibrant. The other photo has too many details it distracts from the imagery and texture. The lightning bolts pull your eyes away from the detail of the guitar. The red guitar has a cleaner look to it thanks to the balance of the foggy abstraction.”

There was silence across the table. Everyone had paused eating. Sandwiches sat unbitten. Fries remained dipped in ketchup. Collin, the class clown of the group, smiled and shrugged sheepishly.

“I, uh, didn’t think I had to mention any of that, because obviously, it was implied,” he laughed.

I still remember them looking at me after my critique like I was some sort of alien, or subterranean cave dweller hell-bent on occupying the earth It was at that moment I knew I was different, and that the arts, as it turns out writing, would be a fundamental part of my identity for the rest of my life. It wasn’t a poem, short story, or novel that I suddenly summoned at the lunch table, but the capacity to look at art critically and creatively, which of course lends itself to artistic creation.

Also, Dan took my advice, and won the contest.

#arts #author #blogging #books #dailyprompt #dailyprompt1905 #fantasy #fiction #highSchool #horror #lifeLessons #monsters #patrickWMarsh #theGreenlandDiaries #writing

April Free Book Giveaway

Two books for this weekend are FREE on the Kindle. Today and tomorrow you can get both my short story collections Monsters, Monsters, Everywhere, and Leave the Name for free. These are both excellent collections. They are multi genre as well. Science fiction, fantasy, horror, apocalyptic, and many others are represented here. You will find a monster you love. I guarantee it. They are unique and relatable in ways you can’t even imagine. Enjoy the free books.

An ancient werewolf laments his annual, blood-soaked pilgrimage. A doll comes to life only when your fear gives it motivation. Empty spaces are a feeding ground for an ancient monster. A mother dragon will fight through anything for her stolen future. After a random tragedy at the hands of a flying nightmare, a sky pirate visits a haunted grave. A demon followed across a continent, pauses for a very human vanity. Robots in an apocalyptic hellscape need a purpose, even if there is no one to witness it. Mysterious gravestones and highways twist the ordinary into hells for a pair of friends and family. A young woman laments her true, mystical identity in the waves of a stormy sea.

Click HERE to get Monsters, Monsters, Everywhere for FREE on the Kindle

A collection of short stories from a variety of worlds.

During the Greenland Diaries, in the shadow of an apocalypse, a survivor awakens with no identity or hope. He only knows that the monsters worship him, and want to keep him safe. Off the coast of Key Largo, a group of survivors stumbles through survival in the wake of the drum. The scared live and the ambitious die. So is the reality of the drum.

On the Cursed Island, a new assassin appears on the blood-soaked shore. Their goal, to infiltrate the Diamond Town and battle the freshly appointed Guardian, who despite the weight of the sword, can still remember her name. For now.

In the dark cloud of Hidden Oaks Park; a woman’s dead husband stirs to life, a grocery store devours a young man, and a playground appears and disappears overnight. It all flows according to the monster living in its otherworldly center.

Two brothers hide in an abandoned robotics factory after radiation and monsters have ravaged their world. They find an unlikely ally, and search for a bit of hope beneath the nuclear snow and forgotten sun.

Hit it HERE to get Leave the Name for FREE on the Kindle

#apocalyptic #author #blogging #bookgiveaway #books #fantasy #fiction #freebook #freeebook #freefantasybook #freehorrorbook #freekindlebook #freeonkindle #freeread #horror #journals #kindlefreebie #monsters #novels #patrickWMarsh #reading #theGreenlandDiaries #writing

Six American Poets

Daily writing prompt What book could you read over and over again? View all responses

For all the media I’ve consumed over the years, and from what I’ve talked about on this blog about what raindrops from the zeitgeist I keep catching on my tongue, one collection of poetry jumps up in my brain when I saw this question. That collection is Six American Poets. The poets included in this collection are Walt Whitman, Emily Dickinson, Langston Hughes, Robert Frost, William Carlos Williams, and Wallace Stevens.

You can find that collection on Amazon right here

I’ve always enjoyed poetry. At this point in my life I’d call myself a poet. I write poems every week, nearly every day, and I’ve been published enough times to claim this label for myself, despite my midwestern background telling me I shouldn’t ever celebrate any accomplishment. Maybe that could be my self-loathing upbring? Lack of emotional validation when I was kid? All of it perhaps. Pick a card, there are plenty.

Anyways, prose and narrative sort of hit the same beats for me over and over again. Once I experience the story, I often don’t need to go back to it. I mean have on certain books, but they’re pretty seldom. I have my emotional crutches of shows, books, movies, that I rewatch when all my depression and anxiety roars and tumbles within me. Reexperiencing media repeatedly can be a coping mechanism for emotional stress.

Overflowing on that inventory.

I was given this book back in college at the University of Minnesota Twin Cities. I was in a class called Textual Analysis Methods, and we thoroughly explored this book in every facet of analysis. My professor at the time had just come from Harvard. He was utterly passionate about examining literature, and he implored us to not only write in our books and not resell them, but to also employee a found writing notebook, where we wrote down stuff that inspired us. This could be a quote from Homer Simpson or a favorite line by Langston Hughes. I still have a found notebook today. It is sitting just a foot away from me while I write this blog post. This has built me up as a writer in countless different ways.

However, the found notebook is a whole different blog post.

When I reread this collection of poets, I see my original notes as the goofy English major who thought he was going to change the world. It brings me joy to see that I still have the same aspirations now as I did back then, despite a myriad of successes and failures in my personal and professional life. I’m brought back to walking across the bridge between campuses, flirting with other writers and poets at parties in crowded dorm rooms, or spoking cigarettes outside Lind Hall arguing with people about using rhyme scheme or free verse.

Nostalgia isn’t the only reason I go back to this book, but it is simply the quality and diversity of voices within this collection. It a wholesale trip through American history in the form of these poets. Each one is different, unique, and represents a different period of time within America. As an American, I am curious about our inherited identity. I do wonder about where I come from. America from my own POV is very much of an experiment. We’re a sort of orphan, forced to raise ourselves in the shadow of older civilizations and nations with stronger historical identities.

Now of course the collection could stand to be more diverse (one woman, one black man out of the group), but the range of voices is still a bit of wonderment. The nature infused rhyme scheme of Frost. The ghostly wanderings of Emily Dickson. The meditative role of identity by Hughes. The precision of William Carlos Williams. The lullaby flow of Walt Whitman. And my person favorite, the bits of imagination and randomness from Wallace Stevens unique diction. Each poet offers a staggeringly good snapshot into their individual style, and why they’re legendary in the halls of American poetry. I have read this collection a ridiculous amount of times, to the point that the plastic is separating from the paper cover.

So yeah, besides my personal relation to the book, this is just a great collection. For any writer for any genre, I implore studying and reading what made these poets standout.

I could read this book everyday and still find something new.

#author #blogging #books #dailyprompt #dailyprompt1902 #fantasy #favoriteBooks #fiction #horror #monsters #patrickWMarsh #poems #poet #Poetry #poetryCollections #theGreenlandDiaries #writing

Read my Poem “The Breadcrumbs” Published by Carmina Magazine

Hello all, just like my title to this blog post said, I have a new poem out and you can read it right over at the brilliant Carmina Magazine.

Hit it hear to read “The Breadcrumbs” at Carmina Magazine

This is one of those poems where I didn’t know if it would work or people/editors would enjoy it. I’m so honored and pleased to have it published. I have dialogue from a dragon mixed in with this island setting and graveyard of dead knights. I really wanted to examine what happens to the knights that don’t make it, the ones that try to slay the dragon before we get the typical heroes journey read to us. I also wanted to explore the dragon’s POV and how it must feel to have this constant string of warriors arriving to try and kill you. What that might look like from the outside.

Anyways, without saying too much, again you can read it here

Carmina Magazine is an excellent collection of voices. Their focus on myth and legend, and how it reverberates today in the modern zeitgeist is outstanding. I highly recommend reading the other works and contributions. This is fantastic literary magazine and I’m honored my voice was included.

Read Carmina Magazine right here

Hope you like my poem. Have a great weekend!

#author #blogging #books #carminaMagazine #dragons #fantasy #fantasyPoems #fiction #horror #knights #monsters #patrickWMarsh #poem #poems #Poetry #theGreenlandDiaries #writing

Malaise and Pushups

Daily writing prompt What are your morning rituals? What does the first hour of your day look like? View all responses

Mostly, I love mornings. Unless I have to go to work. This happens to be the majority of mornings. Despite me writing all the time like some frenzied badger with spectacles and a cardigan, I don’t make a living at it, or at least enough to make it my fulltime gig. In the future I keep telling myself. Anyways, waking myself up in the morning is hard. Don’t get me wrong, I like my 9 – 5 job. It pays the bills, keeps me alive, provides a little for my family, etc. At my wedding my coworkers were more enjoyable than the majority of my family. That doesn’t stop the existential dread I feel in the morning. One life. What am I doing? How I hate being another nameless cog in the hyper capitalist machine.

I get up early, close to 5 am before getting ready for work. Apparently, and I’ve become more health conscious as I’ve gotten older, but men’s cortisol is highest in the morning. So yeah, all the anxiety, stress, ideas, memories, thoughts, it all hits me like a ton of bricks in the morning.

I can’t speak for all men in this phenomenon of course. Not trying to whatsoever. However, there is plenty of scientific evidence that men’s cortisol levels are highest in the morning. I know for myself currently it is true. I don’t meditate or really attempt that sort of stuff. I guess this could be some variation of it. After I use the bathroom I sort of just lay on the couch and close my eyes. No music. No audiobook. I just give myself about 20 minutes to let my mind be sort of crazy. Paranoia, worry, anxiety, rumination, and intrusive thoughts get their time. I’m always stocked up in those categories. I sort of focus on all the anger and anxiety. I sometimes go past the 20, and sometimes I go less.

After I journey down this dark hole of reflection and wistfulness, I usually workout. I go for about 30 minutes. I do three exercises of free weights, with five sets of each. It is usually a mix of upper body, lower body, and core work. After this I brush my teeth and make myself presentable for the workday. I kiss my wife goodbye, go wake up my kids if I have them that day, and then head to work or to drop them off. Sometimes I have to take my dog back to my exes as well. He’s part of our divorce agreement. Getting twin 10 year old boys, and a dog ready and into my car at 7:00 am is not an easy process. It tends to be stressful.

There have been plenty of times where I skip working out because I’ve ventured too far into the abyss. Where the malaise and existential wormhole has shackled me and I find myself to be unmovable until it is time to wake up my sons. So my weird meditation has drawbacks. Overall, I’ve found if I give myself just some time to worry about things, to really let my anxieties breath in the day, it is much easier to operate. I’m giving the devil its due for about twenty minutes, and that is it. This technique sort of shackles these spots in place for the day. Not saying they don’t reappear. I’ve found at night when I’m tired my ability to control them is weakened.

Weekends are obviously a little bit different. I still tend to wake up before my wife and kids are up, since my schedule is designed for early morning activity. I usually spend my mornings working out if my schedule is thrown off, or I skipped day during the week. I work on blog posts, submissions, edits, and other smaller bits of writing. If I complete all those I’ll play a video game like Tears of the Kingdom, or something else.

As one does.

#author #blogging #books #dailyprompt #dailyprompt1895 #fantasy #fiction #horror #monsters #morningRoutine #mornings #patrickWMarsh #theGreenlandDiaries #writing

Goals are Roots to a Forest

Daily writing prompt How often do you say “no” to things that would interfere with your goals? View all responses

I’m not a huge fan of questions like this, which is why I decided to answer this specific daily writing prompt. A question like this oversimplifies the complexities of life and all its many forces that are thrown at you. I just don’t agree with reducing down a yes or no when it comes to your goals. As if you were simply flipping on a light switch when it reflects making decisions and how they correlate to your goals.

That’s not how dreams and goals actually function in our fragile reality.

We have a bit of a dream/goal issue in our society. We sort of look at them as single-lane highway firing off into some yellow rock wasteland. You can only go in one direction. The hustle. The grind. All those bits of vernacular from the social media monster of a zeitgeist. They’re all masks over shadows. With goals and dreams, if you get off this road of destiny, I feel shame and guilt for sometimes being limited as a freaking human being.

Wants, needs, desires, rest, self-care, there is this certain cloud of shame that surrounds you if you’re not relentlessly pursuing your goals.

I understand passion. Drive. All those buzzwords. I have passion in spades. My god, I’ve gone back and forth on traditional publishing, and self-publishing so many times. Sometimes between decades. I’ve been trying to figure out which direction to go. My overarching goal is the same though as I execute this fluid state. I want to get my voice out there. I want to be seen. I want to tell stories about monsters, and their complexities in various mediums.

These are all different branches, forests, and pathways from the same root.

And that is okay. Your dreams, or for the sake of this question, your goals, don’t have to flow in one direction. We are not a one lane highway. Goals can spread out, find different homes, and adapt to what is echoing in your personal life. Because yes, I would say I’m living my dream by pursuing writing and my monster fascination, but also I want a personal life, and that requires me to be human, and have human needs. I have a wife. Children. A family. Friends. Connections to people in my life. Their needs and mine do not require me to say no, they just require me to be human.

So basically what I’m saying is that you can’t make things this simplistic when it comes to your goals, because goals populate reality in ways you can’t even imagine, exactly how one root can start a forest.

Also, you cannot predict how your goals will unfold, and that’s all the fun.

#author #blogging #books #dailyprompt #dailyprompt1888 #fantasy #fiction #goals #horror #monsters #patrickWMarsh #theGreenlandDiaries #wordpress #writing

Bonus Free Book for March

Exactly as the post title says, I have a free bonus book for this weekend. It is my favorite novel (alas not my most popular) Beware the Ills, which is FREE today and tomorrow on the Kindle. I have been sharing this novel in chunks the last year, which you can read right here, but if you’re dying to finish it, just get the book. Dark fantasy, steampunk, weird POV, giant sword fights, cannibal monster guy, pet sasquatch, etc.

For the last 30 years he has been the sole protector of the legendary Diamond Town. Every hour it snows, howls, and storms. Every week, wave after wave of invaders crawl through the woods scouring for a bit of fame and glory on this lost island — and he cuts them all down with indiscriminate slashes of his sword. No one has survived being the Guardian as long as him, and the shadows are seething with vengeance in the forests and mountains. A vengeful cannibal from a lost invasion, ancient beasts stalking about the mountains waiting to attack, and a fresh new batch of invaders with a beautiful berserker and emotionless captain are just a few of the festering plagues on this cursed island. There will be no respite. There will be no end to the war and strife. The winters are growing longer, the cold harsher, and the enemies bolder. Take a walk in the footsteps of the Diamond Town’s Guardian and his world, through his own blood-weary eyes. Count your footsteps and mind the silence, it’s time to hunt, and to fill the graveyard again.

Hit it here to get Beware the Ills for FREE on the Kindle Today and Tomorrow

#apocalyptic #author #blogging #bookgiveaway #books #fantasy #fiction #freebook #freeebook #freefantasybook #freehorrorbook #freekindlebook #freeonkindle #freeread #horror #journals #kindlefreebie #monsters #novels #patrickWMarsh #reading #theGreenlandDiaries #writing

I Understand

Daily writing prompt What was the best compliment you’ve received? View all responses

I felt like this could go a bunch of different directions.

There are compliments I’ve received from friends, readers, editors, lovers, my children, and family through the years. For all of those I am grateful, and certainly not always deserving of them. Some compliments of course mean a ton to me, and I have thought about them often, especially in dark moments that have weighed me down. I’ve even screenshot or wrote them down for me to revisit when the fog of negativity has surrounded my mind, eating away at all corners of my mind.

Man, depression is a beast with a thousand faces and arms.

Those soul-saving compliments mean a lot of me, and my choice for this writing prompt isn’t me throwing shade on them, or diminishing their roles in my life. I just wanted to find something simple, but sort of universal for life when it comes to compliments. Something you could both give a stranger or loved one. A sort of fix all compliment with typically low impressions but with high stakes.

I settled on: I understand.

It’s not flashy. It’s not sexy. It isn’t something you’d write at the bottom of a Valentine’s Day card.

So many of us struggle to get seen in life, much less accepted for who we are. My god, I write about monsters to be seen. Having someone, in whatever capacity say “I understand,” is an allusion to that feeling of being seen. A wavelength of being human is seen. Have you noticed when you’re having conflict and someone pulls out the “I understand,” and how much that deescalates the situation? It is almost a magic bullet.

However, don’t say it unless you mean it. I guess a comp to that would be don’t say “I love you,” unless you really mean it. Don’t say you understand someone, but not actually do. There is weight to the compliment, especially with the more complex, personal situations. Understanding has a sense of memory. You can build a relationship with a person when you say it, even if they’re a stranger or your estranged father. When you say I understand you’re trying to match up with their humanity. Aligning things just right for a simple second of connection.

It makes you feel like you’re not alone, whether it is in life, or in your perspective. Also, even though I do believe some POV’s are not understandable, especially in a casual setting, but learning to understand people tends to stimulate self-growth. You learn more from understanding than not. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been telling my wife vulnerable things and she has said this to me in one form or another.

Again, I believe that many of us are struggling to be seen and understood. Life is complicated. It can be an amazing compliment when someone simply tries to understand you.

#author #blogging #books #dailyprompt #dailyprompt1881 #fantasy #fiction #horror #monsters #patrickWMarsh #theGreenlandDiaries #writing