Technically, I’m a writer: I’m a technical writer. I use clear language and well-chosen images to communicate technical concepts to the average reader (who is no doubt an above-average person). I also studied fiction from Pulitzer Prize-winning authors at the Iowa Writers’ Workshop and have written for the web on everything from medieval sports to alopecia in wild cats.
The sunrise ovals below are how-to guides and videos I wrote and designed for patient families at Pediatric Home Service, a home care company. The sunset ovals are web articles I wrote for the companies Reach Network and Eduify on topics like ghost hunting in New York, wine, and ways to start a poem. The aquamarine ovals link to short stories and articles I’ve published in literary magazines and anthologies. Get @ me on LinkedIn or email to chat about any of these pieces.
“Each of these five books is sprawling and ambitious, able to leap generations in a single bound and observe, as if with X-ray vision, the intensity of a single moment.”
“Follow these ghostbusting tips, and that banshee in your Brooklyn brownstone will have to find another borough to say ‘Boo’ in.”
“Subjects in a study who were forced to consume 1,200 mg of caffeine a day, or the equivalent of nine cups of coffee, found after a week that it was unable to keep them awake any longer, and slept soundly even after imbibing this amount. Perhaps, then, nine cups of coffee a day is the last outpost of safety for a dedicated caffeine addict (if you don’t mind contracting a condition known as caffeinism, which comes with involuntary muscle twitching, heart palpitations, hyperventilation, and spontaneous fainting).”
“If you’re new to being a wine connoisseur, keep in mind that wine glasses are not like beer goggles.”
“You will find yourself with an undoubtedly creative poem if you have to find ways in which the guy of your dreams is like a manatee or a cicada, and it might help you figure out new aspects of your beloved that remind you why you’re writing a poem to them in the first place.”
“She lay across my chest and I ran my nose through her hair, only twitching a little as a few stray ants tickled the back of my neck. My wife is a freelance entomologist. She works from home.”
“The recession had been good to her. She had won a divorce settlement from Kate’s father, a sound effects artist, which allowed her to collect a small royalty every time the radio played the sound of a cash register followed by the sound of a toilet flushing.”
“She was squeezing a papery pillow in the hospital waiting room, calculating what change of nurses would give her the best chance to creep into his room and smother him with it, when her son came down the hall and told her he had succumbed, like most of his generation, to ambient electronic cancer. By now she was eighty-six years old. She felt with something like sorrow the loss of the murder they had never had together.”
“The responses the class turned in ranged from virtuosic forays into multiple consciousnesses to the same piece of writing copied and pasted three times, with its adjectives changed courtesy of the Microsoft Word thesaurus.”
“So that, hopefully not too often but as often as we need to, we can revisit that space in our minds, while engaged in the work none of us ever truly give up afterward though we may set it aside forever, and say yes, we were great there. Even if nobody ever knows it.”
Adam Krause 