"New Indie Author" Harlinn Draper
"In my hour of darkness, I keep council with the dead, Just enough to remind me I'm Alive."
Who is Harlinn Draper?
The lines I've been carving in my face with hard living and bad choices form a roadmap of wisdom. I didn’t realize that 40 can look like 60 if you don’t treat yourself right. I say I don’t feel as old as I am; I still feel 23 most days. There's probably some truth baked in there. However, my body feels 107 some mornings. I get aching pains in my hands and shoulders, to the point where my hands are not long from being useless. It's ironic that I find a passion in writing after I developed old lady hands.
Ah, the timekeeper keeps counting. At the age of forty, I've reluctantly slowed my kamikaze pace towards self-destruction. Gone are the reckless nights of my youth when I could guzzle a fifth of Jack Daniels with ease and then perform the mystifying trick of falling asleep while standing—an act that would baffle even the most jaded of circus clowns.
In my thirties, life threw a cruel curveball, revealing that my love affair with tequila was more toxic than I'd ever imagined. Every time I indulged in that Mexican nectar, I didn't just break out in hives; no, I broke out in handcuffs. It was like clockwork—one sip, two sips, three sips, and I’d find myself in the back of a police cruiser, my wrists adorned with the cold metal bracelets of the law.
The relentless pursuit of self-crippling has decelerated. The mind, once razor-sharp under the influence, now clouds with the fog of middle age. Yes, the wild days are dwindling, but the stories remain—etched in the madness of my memory. I just can’t label myself a writer. However, I can make up a pen name and be any character my imagination wants to create. This freedom allows me to articulate my innermost thoughts without any inhibition, to give a voice to my imagination. I can reminisce about the diverse array of wild mother fuckers who have crossed my path during a crazy 40 years on this planet. I am convinced that my narratives would hold a certain allure for at least a few people.
I’ve lived a crazy life thus far, though not every moment has been spectacular. The leathery, weathered roadmap does holds some wisdom. I know this because it’s been tested through failures, silent lessons, and, eventually, achieving what I set out for.
Life has a way of teaching you what no classroom ever could. The victory’s feel better with scars, knowing it took some fucking pain and blood to get it. That’s the shit that hits, those fleeting moments of clarity amidst chaos—those are the true educators. Each failure a silent lesson to rethink what you thought you knew. And yet, here I am, still entertained by the absurdity of it all.
Whether I’m called by my birth name or a pseudonym, it doesn't change the essence of who I am or the stories I have to tell. Thank you! Harlinn Draper
The relentless pursuit of self-crippling has decelerated. The mind, once razor-sharp under the influence, now clouds with the fog of middle age. Yes, the wild days are dwindling, but the stories remain—etched in the madness of my memory. I just can’t label myself a writer. However, I can make up a pen name and be any character my imagination wants to create. This freedom allows me to articulate my innermost thoughts without any inhibition, to give a voice to my imagination. I can reminisce about the diverse array of wild mother fuckers who have crossed my path during a crazy 40 years on this planet. I am convinced that my narratives would hold a certain allure for at least a few people.
I’ve lived a crazy life thus far, though not every moment has been spectacular. The leathery, weathered roadmap does holds some wisdom. I know this because it’s been tested through failures, silent lessons, and, eventually, achieving what I set out for.
Life has a way of teaching you what no classroom ever could. The victory’s feel better with scars, knowing it took some fucking pain and blood to get it. That’s the shit that hits, those fleeting moments of clarity amidst chaos—those are the true educators. Each failure a silent lesson to rethink what you thought you knew. And yet, here I am, still entertained by the absurdity of it all.
Whether I’m called by my birth name or a pseudonym, it doesn't change the essence of who I am or the stories I have to tell. Thank you! Harlinn Draper
This new indie author has taken the southern fiction world by storm. His unapologetic raw writting is what this over saturated fiction genre has ben needing. Well, let me give you your first dose of the wildcat from southeast Kentucky. Harlinn Draper was born in Corbin, Kentucky in the year 1984. During his toddler years he was raised by a single mother who worked tirelessly to provide for him and his sister. In 1989, just before Harlinn began kindergarten, his mother remarried and the family relocated to Warren, Ohio. This was a big change for young Harlinn, who was excited at the presence of two older stepbrothers and a stepfather, but scared to leave his home.
After graduating high school in 2003, Harlinn was unsure of his future. He dabbled in college, switching majors and never quite finding his passion. Eventually, he entered the workforce with a strong determination, stong back, and stiff work ethic. Harlinn's resilience, hard work, and dedication paid off as he quickly rose through the ranks and became a valuable member of the company he worked for.
Today, Harlinn is a happily enjoying life with his beautiful wife and their amazing son. Always an animal lover, they have a dog named Gucci and a cat named Stoli.
-Sarah Bloom
Write Wrong Publishing