Keanan Brand is a pseudonym for an author who writes a variety of speculative fiction and poetry. He is also a freelance editor.
He also provided “Shooting the Devil’s Eye”, a short story for Raygun Chronicles anthology (2013). The story is a prequel to Thieves’ Honor, a science fiction serial (2008-2012) he wrote for Ray Gun Revival, an online magazine specializing in all things space opera. Prior to that, his post-apocalyptic story “At the End of Time, When the World Was New” was published in the final issue of Dragons, Knights & Angels magazine (December 2007).
He blogs at Adventures in Fiction.
A few words from Keanan:
Before I knew how to write or even read, I was a storyteller and a story-listener. I loved hearing about my father’s misadventures as he grew up in the Ozarks or the Willamette Valley, or his tales of life in the Navy in the late 1960s and taking shore leave in Japan. (The Navy yarns were highly edited; I realized this when Mom let slip a detail here or there, her lips pursed, her tone displeased.)
Dad comes from a long line of yarn-spinners, many of them tellers of tall-tales. In the car while on long trips, or at bedtime as we settled down to sleep, Mom read Bible stories and children’s books aloud. I listened intently to everything, and thus my love of story was born.
Although I pursued other interests in college and later in work, storytelling was always there, lurking. “But it won’t pay the bills!” people told me, and wanting to be wise and not foolish, I worked rather than wrote. And life taught me much. I am a better writer because I did not write.
“What?” you ask. “But aren’t writers called writers because they actually write?”
True. But I didn’t understand people or human nature or even myself. I had to learn more about things like sarcasm and humor, about irony and failure, and all sorts of Hard-Knock University stuff before my writing improved.
Oh, I scratched out poems and short stories, and made notes for novels, but for many years that was the only writing I did — not the grand, sweeping, epic novels that clamored in my mind. Although I finished some many years later, those early stories may never be read by the world. They were my university. What I write now is a result of their existence.