Growing up near Los Angeles, I spent much of my time frolicking in the Pacific Ocean and penning angst-twisted poetry. Now I'm living in sunny Spain writing pathos-riddled fiction. Ironically, two of my favorite things are traveling, and swimming in the ocean, despite increasingly intense phobias of sharks and flying.
I've always loved the music and substance of words, always loved writing in well-worn notebooks by hand, tapping at the keys of the computer, and, of course, conjuring up stories.
And from my earliest memories, I've always been fascinated—maybe obsessed?—with sex and sexuality.
In my writing, sex is the medium, the expression, and the tool of discovery for my characters' insecurities, the needs that drive them, the comfort they can't live without, the joy and relish of life that makes each of them intense, strange, and alluring.
i am so lost, i love Krylov's writing and everything that is dark and twisted with this story but it was obviously lacking.
It's creepy and off, i dont know even what to say but it was just incomplete. Even with more it would still be a mind-f*ck horror story. i like horror but it wasn't developed at all, it was like being thrown into a story right at the climax; the impact was still there but the intensity would have been much greater if we knew who these characters were(are) and just had some kind of background or build.