Meet the Writers

Lime Andersen

Among many things, Lime Anderson is a writer. “Normal,” plays little to no role in her life, a philosophy that keeps her sane. She joined WritersAnonymous to provide her the “oomph” and inspiration to keep practicing the art of the written word. She believes we all bring something unique to the table and our imaginations keep us young and fresh. Her parting words? “May the muses inspire you.”

Otis Anderson

Otis Anderson has been found carving unsettling memoirs on the bathroom door at The Sevens. Her hobbies include studying anatomy textbooks, and listening to a variety of jazz, R&B, and soul radio programs. Her short fiction has appeared in Microchondria: A Collection Of Forty-Two Original Short StoriesRumble magazine, and

Uncommon Bostonian

Born and raised in Washington DC, Uncommon Bostonian is a writer with Asperger’s Syndrome who was with the Boston Now newspaper. After the newspaper folded in April 2008, she started a blog, titled Uncommon Bostonian, while maintaining her other blog, Outside In. She named herself “Uncommon Bostonian” because she doesn’t like sports, says “Harvard” instead of “Hahvahd,” doesn’t drink alcohol excessively into oblivion, and frequently disagrees with retired local DJ Charles Laquidara. She is a graduate of Emerson College, class of ’86.

Charles Chestnut

Mr. Chestnut is a native of Los Angeles who has called Boston home since the dot-com boom, when he nearly started Facebook with friends until he realized he was a man of letters, not computer code. He holds degrees from UC Berkeley and Harvard and will soon start an MFA in Creative Writing at the University of Massachusetts, Amherst. He writes fiction primarily (short stories and a budding coming-of-age/historical novel), but also dabbles in poetry and seven-word memoirs. He likes short walks on the beach, is a junk-food vegetarian, channels Michael Jackson on the dance floor, plays guitar concerts for his apartment building’s enjoyment, and rocks the karaoke mike with gusto.

Kenton Ethan Clarke

Kent (“Clarky” to his friends) says he was one of the worst rugby players in the history of the Goldsmiths College. Despite Clarky’s questionable skills on the rugby pitch at Loring, he says it sure was a hell of a good time. He misses London and Lucy, Maryanne, and Thea, the artists. He often and fondly refers to the time when the girls slyly broke into his room when he wasn’t there and reassembled a replica of his room, bed and all in the middle of the common area of the hall. He also misses hanging out at the Hoy with mates Iain, Ralphy, and Gisella, and at The Rosemary Branch, affectionately known as The Rosie and run by John Laws. “There,” Kent says often, “we enjoyed many a pint of diesel and snakebite with fellow rugby lads, Stevey, Martin, Paul (the skipper), and Glynn, the meanest most serious looking gentleman you’ll ever meet.” With tweed sport coat over a gray hoodie, a newsboy resting neatly up on his head and tobacco pipe, his friends often joke with him about his contemporary but gentlemanly style. When you meet Kent, you’ll have to excuse him; he is still coming to terms with his nerdiness.

J. Lindall Derne

J. L. has deep roots planted in the Greater Boston area. It is his outspoken belief that the key to writing at all is to keep the company of good writers and better bourbon. After many years of technical and scientific writing, Derne has a longing to explore the more literary hemispheres (or whatever smaller portion of neural real estate that it might occupy) of his brain. Although he continues to grapple with a 39-year bout of writer’s block, his long-time affiliation with one very supportive member of WritersAnonymous keeps him dancing on the threshold of finding his literary voice.


Falcon Canthearthe Falconer

Falcon Canthearthe Falconer likes watching Bonanza and Space Godzilla on his RCA Electrotune color TV. He is good at both goal-directed conversations and small talk. And to his delight, the park ranger told him that it’s okay to keep looking for Big Foot.


Grant Trenton Gardner

Grant is a poet at heart, but not necessarily by profession. He often feels like a beatnik even though his friends tell him otherwise. He also considers himself an idealist with(out) any illusions. Get the idea? Grant is an anonymous writer in some part by choice, a seven-wordsmith, a part-time statesman, humanist, and philosopher. He can usually be found at The Sevens with a copy of Leaves of Grass and a yellow pad of paper with every inch covered; on foot strolling about the student center, the neighborhood streets and courtyards of Northeastern’s campus (a place which he describes as truly alive); in other scholarly hangouts such as the Espresso Royale café on Gainsborough Street, Boston; at Bakey’s Restaurant downtown: a living breathing Nighthawks (Edward Hopper) and a place where Grant and Scottie F. met for the first time; traversing Harvard Square; as well as walking the haunted halls of the Parker House and the Boston Athenaeum.

Scottie F. Gerald

Scottie F. is an incurable romantic. Few things in life seduce Scottie as much as that perfectly crafted sentence in which every word is exactly where it belongs. Scottie believes creative writing takes care of itself when craft, imagination, and life experiences cohabitate and inform one another. To her, imagination is the panacea to the human condition. She describes adults as creatures who have already made up their minds. And for that reason alone, she has no desire to grow up. While she doesn’t like to play favorites, she calls New York the unofficial center of the forever-expanding universe. Scottie F. lives aimlessly­ in the company of espresso, books, emotions, all creatures, humor, and imagination, and always in that exact order.

Temple Goodwin

Temple Goodwin’s wanderlust has brought her to nearly 50 countries, and provided countless adventures, some of which have found their way into her writing. She’s part sailor, dancer, problem solver, and wants to be the lead singer in a band, even though she can’t really sing. She has recently put down the novel she was working on to begin a volume of short stories whose characters kept tugging at her, asking to be heard.


E. E. Gowings

e.e. gowings fled the west for the east to discover her identity in the deep crevices of old New England cobblestones. Having tripped on the cobblestones with the wrong boots in inclement weather, she realized she had done it all wrong. By trying to flee her self-inflicted lack of “hipness,” she unknowingly clung to it even harder. But through raging blizzards, no free “paaahkkking,” and the general quarter-life crisis, she needed saving. When WritersAnonymous came to her rescue, she found herself in the hidden corner of a quaint section of Boston. Really, she just showed up for the famous bowls of chili at The Sevens pub but ended up being dragged into contributing stuff for a book. Whatever.

Pinckney Phillips

A compulsive reader, Pinckney came to WritersAnonymous looking for support and motivation to make the transition from reader to writer. Along the way, she was sidetracked into the world of film. In any format, though, she firmly believes that the key to happiness is a well-told story and is on a mission to find and tell as many as she can.

L. S. Russell

If she’s not saving whales from being slaughtered in the China Sea, ice climbing, or jumping out of airplanes at ten thousand feet, you’ll typically find her with pen in hand. And, if not writing, she’ll be at WritersAnonymous hanging out at The Sevens with fellow writers. She’s a scholar and a lady, not to mention probably one of the nicest people you’ll ever meet. But don’t mess with her because she holds several degrees in the arts, martial arts that is.

Myrtie West

Myrtie West became smitten with esoteric healing as a second grader when a man moved in next door and confessed to her that that there is more than meets the eye happening “in the human plane” of existence. When not doing deep transformational work on herself, her clients, neighbors, cat, or the unsuspecting person who just happens to sit down next to her on the subway, Myrtie can be found exploring health food stores on the hunt for new foods, herbs, wisdom, and the ever-elusive perfect salad bar. She likes to spend time with her husband flying their little airplane around New England exploring quaint, mountain towns.


Adair Willow

Adair Willow is a transplant Bostonian with a penchant for science fiction and fantasy. She first fled her cornfields of Maryland in 2002 when she was lured to the city by Emerson College, where she earned a BFA in Writing, Literature, and Publishing. Adair works office jobs to pay rent and support her addiction to writing and local bands.

M. Zd

A former financial consultant, M. Zd left her corporate job to pursue travel and aiding those in need. She is a seasoned globetrotter, an expert on Vietnam, and a promoter of volunteering opportunities via the blog SaigonOLPC. Prophetically, she authored a research paper on holding the Olympics in her hometown Sochi, Russia, 10 years before it was chosen to host the XXII Winter Olympic Games. Being too early has always been her problem. She is an above-average chess player, amateur pianist, and a book club organizer. Her articles have appeared in an NYC based Russian newspaper.