K. C. Alexander doesn’t ‘write’ so much as she fires words into your cerebral cortex with an electromagnetic railgun.
— Chuck Wendig, NYT Bestselling author of Star Wars: Aftermath and Invasive
I'm asked what writing between the lines means. I explain that I tell stories about the people erased in the middle; the ones that don't fit the labels. I tell them I write about me, too.
JABberwocky Literary Agency
Readers like you.
It's impossible to speak for everybody. It took years for K. C. Alexander to understand that—years in which she struggled to find herself and her drive while keeping up with the expectations of those around her. Eventually all that time and all that bottled up frustration converted to a rage that exploded into novel form. Five years after publishing her first book, fifteen years after losing herself entirely, Necrotech leapt savage and bloody from her head, her heart, and her flesh and bones.
She has never looked back.
Coming out bipolar and genderqueer was a turning point for her personally and professionally. Labels pasted on people, concepts, archetypes and activities became her prison. Labels came with expectations—dress and appearance, voice and verbiage, thoughts and feelings.
Ultimately, Alexander chose to dedicate time and story space to her own journey. Sexuality, gender roles and expectations, invisible disability, the freedom of fantasy and the rage of erasure fuel her works, often leaving violent footprints in its wake.
She is, let it be known, a struggling Buddhist.
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