JCD Kerwin is a mystery wrapped up in a thingy and a wotsit–you know–but because we like her writing very much we’ve decided she must be a girl. A cute one with a tight ass to boot. Are we right? Are we wrong? Probably both. One thing’s for sure, we’re even more clueless than usual. So why not read this profile piece and tell us if you’re any the wiser?
OK, JCD, who the fuck are you really? An incredibly talented and good-looking writer with a tight ass to boot.
I have nothing to declare but my genius and … My unwavering dedication to be the next Great American Author.
Why the fuck should we care? Ever since I was a kid I’ve wanted to tell stories. Writing is not a hobby to me. It’s my lifeblood. I don’t want to dribble my feelings all over the page like some teenage suicide drama queen. I want to tell stories. I want to dream things no one else has and cut my veins so they pour ink onto the paper like waterfalls. I want to pluck fantasies from the minds of passersbys and put them down on paper. Then they’ll see they’re not alone and I was listening. I’m always listening. I hear them and I’ll save them. I’ll save the whole damn world. I want to dream with people-no, for people; I want to be their super soldier. I want to story tell until my heart bursts into a thousand pieces and they scatter across this godforsaken world like stardust. I want to cover this place in my stories and save you all with eternal dreams…That’s why the fuck you should care.
What the fuck do you care about? Real, honest to a god, story telling. And my family, obviously. And whiskey. Really good whiskey.
If you could murder any best-selling author and get away with it, guaranteed, who would you kill? And how? JK. Rowling. With a Beretta 92f goddamnit.
You are about to be castaway with the author or fictional character of your choice. You’re going to be alone with them for a full year. Who would you choose? And why? The incomparable Ray Bradbury, hands-down. I grew up reading his stories by flashlight. In a way, he’s the one who first saved me from the hell of reality. To hang out with him for a year would be badass. We’d probably end up building a spaceship and flying to Mars.
I have seen the future of something or other and its name is … Scorch Atlas by Blake Butler. It’s like T.S. Eliot’s “The Wasteland” and Pink Floyd’s video to The Wall had a baby and you’re babysitting it while high on bath salts.
What is next for you? I’m currently waiting to hear back from a publisher regarding one of my novels. Other than that, I’m still working on several other novels, short stories, and always shorter prose and poetry.
Your three closest friends on the internet. Fuck, marry, kill. Go! Well this is an odd one. I’m only friends with people on the internet on this site called DeviantArt. So… Fuck is probably this guy I used to be friends with. Can’t even remember his name but, damn, his poetry was amazing. Marry is probably this good friend of mine, Calleigh. Kill is this chick I shouldn’t name but pretty much treated me like crap after I told her a truth about myself. Bitch.
Have you come to terms with your own mortality? Hell no. I wish I was a vampire.
Tell us a secret. I have several pen names. No one actually knows my real name. Love, Jeremy.
Thanks, Jenn. And now say something outrageous. I am a mighty, mighty monster slayer.
JCD Kerwin writes poetry and fiction out of a city in New York. Their work has been published in Drunk Monkeys, Zouch, and other publications. Including right here. They prefer a proper Old Fashioned, a pen that doesn’t run out of ink, and sacred anonymity. They also enjoy making pompous grammarians mad by using the singular “they.”
Visit http://jcdkerwin.com for more.
Throw your homework onto the fire. Come out and find the one that you love.