Penelope Price: author, gamer, nerd.
A lover of words and language since- well, pretty much the moment she could read, Penelope has been writing all of her life. In fact, were you to ask her, she would that (for her, at least) writing is life. While that may seem a little cliché to some, P.P. thinks it is true.
The grass is always greener on the other side. Mangoes are sweetest when the day is hot and lemonade by the pool is best when summer is newborn. They flittered like artfully crumpled pieces of wrapping paper in half-a-hundred patterns. It was June and you could smell the sea from the parking lot. Someone put punch in the alcohol bowl and the ice played bumper-boats with soggy lumps of fruit. Melting pot of mannequins. I was the dandelion in the bouquet of roses and lilies and carnations and mums.
…is a quote from a series of faux-biographical shorts she wrote once upon a time. Also, this:
Windows thrown open like a lover’s thighs; the breeze is from the west and I can taste the salty tears of Andromeda as it were I chained to a rock. The heat is thick as mottled cream; sweltering air boils around me. A burning lake of blood spilled across the floor, the bed. Egyptian cotton, 400 thread count, Moon Rise cream stripes on a field of Cool Dusk blue. Pale places polluted; scarlet splattered.
More details about the enigmatic freakazoid wordsmith are forthcoming.