A.J.M. Aldrian Aldrian
Writer
Tier: New
Active 1608 days ago
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Samples: 3
Biography
A.J. is a graduate of Hamline University with a BFA in Creative Writing, she loves many genres including fiction; horror, sci-fi, literary, fantasy, and poetry and non-fiction, historical, nature and memoir. She has worked as a editor at Hamline's primer online literary journal Runestone, she has had several publications including one in Sharkreef Magazine, Ayaskala Magazine, and upcoming ones Apocalypse Confidential and poetry in a ebook by Silent Sparks Press. She collects books and loves spending time cuddled up reading them with her partner and cat.
Non-Fiction, History, Religion & Spirituality, LGBTQ+
Content snippets
Exert from: Forget-me-not: The Decorated Art of Feminist Victorian History by
One reminisce of love object art is the notably “lover's eye” jewelry similarly made and used as some aforementioned hair jewelry, function as lockets or upon pocket watches but depict often a single eye of a lover. The simple but beautiful pieces hold the gaze of a lover often gifted to another, surrounded in gold and covered in glass or delicately circled in gemstones. Of course we as modern observers inquire why and for what reason these pieces exist. Grootenbeor notes that “people were desperate to give each other not just images of themselves, but part of themselves,” and the pieces ac...
Godmother and the King of Myth
Hidden within the Austrian and Germanic borders, the palace of the last king stands still, only ever brushed by the wind. To reach the main building, you must traverse the valley dirt road downhill to a rocky beach. A crystal blue lake sits beside Bergen waiting for you. If you turn from the water and look up the road, it will change into a multi-colored cobblestone. And beyond, another hill will arch upwards into a cluster of green-leafed trees blowing delicately in the wind. Above them you can catch a glimpse of gold and marble. # It was hot, and German summer heat is drier than what ...
Woman of Time
Waking is never so uncertain then waking in your tepid body and feeling unreal, unalive. Like Time. Waking, in your own body. Cotton-mouthed, slowly recalling how to blink your eyes, look down and see your hands. You might sit up and take in your surroundings, breathing with the lungs in your body, air clattering against your bones. Trying to capture your thoughts and just thinking-I’m alive, alive again. Still blinking into the brightness before you, remembering, but at the same time, not remembering who you are. # It was the same rattling, the click-clack shaking of your bones and ...
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