My Style
(or so I've come to learn)
(or so I've come to learn)
If there’s one thing doing flash fiction competitions has taught me, it’s that when you’re constrained by time and random prompts, it’s hard to be anything but authentic. You don’t have the luxury of curating your voice or conducting deep line edits; you only have raw creative energy and the unique way you pour it forth on the page.
Having done more than fifty of these events over the past three years and having been part of weekly critique groups with other novelists, I’ve been fortunate to receive an abundance of feedback from strangers, judges, and friends that circles around the same five things.
Here is what I’ve learned about the Taurenelle style:
Grave Whimsy
I know what you’re thinking: “Wow, he’s leading with a term he coined himself? We’re off to a good start.” Well, yes. Yes, I am. Because I think it sets the right tone for the types of narratives I craft.
So, what does Grave Whimsy mean? Is it simple juxtaposition? Yes, though I think it’s deeper than that. My work often deals with weighty, serious topics while steeped in the strange, playful, and utterly enchanted. You’ll discover cruel characters who do terrible things and plots that raise questions with no easy answers, but you’ll reach that devastation in a world where beauty is everywhere, and magic is close at hand.
As a result, my stories are never nihilistic or cynical; my fantasy never tips into grimdark, because darkness is never the point. No matter how deplorable my characters may be, or how bleak my settings may seem, despair is simply not an option. Because in my worlds, humor hides behind every shadow and there is always hope beneath the pain.
TL;DR: I approach adult themes with childlike wonder.
Antique & Ancient Prose
Let’s face it: I don’t write the type of novels you bring on holiday and half pay attention to while the receding waves remind you of your fleeting years. No. Whatever Hemingway said about short, punchy sentences has no bearing on my life whatsoever. Whenever I sit down to write, my laptop becomes a Davenport desk with an oil lamp and a steel dip pen. And I’m not one who has a particular affinity for that kind of lifestyle— “dark academia” as the trendy folks are calling it— it is simply how my mind thinks books are supposed to sound.
I assume this is due to my general lack of reading modern fiction. Not that I have anything against it, but my taste tends to cap out in the 1960s. Mostly, though, I blame the years I’ve spent studying Ancient Greek and Latin. Translating the works of the greats into English has taught me to embrace long sentences, poetic language, the passive voice, and phrases meant to be puzzling. You will find clues within clues...even when I’m not writing a mystery.
My goal is to give you a piece of art. A nice, slow read where you can lose yourself in the language and hunt for the truth behind the words. Two author-judges from the podcast Not Quite Write put it better than I can. A.K. Scotland described my piece, “I told you this was a poem,” as a “masterclass in subtext,” and Elise Scott commented that my story, “Borrowed, like the moon” was “so layered and so aware of its ephemeral nature” that she “found it achingly beautiful.”
TL;DR: If you like layered, poetic, slow reads, you’re in the right place.
Worldbuilding as an Art Form
There’s worldbuilding, and then there’s what I do. Some may say I have a problem, and if surrendering yourself to your imagination is wrong, I don’t want to be right.
Admittedly, I enjoy building worlds almost as much as I enjoy writing prose. My background in philology left me with a deep fascination with the origins of things, and when you pair that with my love of history, theology, and cartography, the craft of world creation becomes impossible to resist.
I treat it as an art form unto itself, obsessing over every mountain and every river, every culture and every name, every legend and every fable. My stories echo their own past, and that past reflects the natural progression of people and places over millennia. And even when the world is real—say, Victorian England—I infuse it with secret histories, new myths, and lore humming under the cobblestones.
So what does this mean for you, the reader? It means you can go as deep as you like, from simply enjoying the current cast of characters to chasing the hints I’ve sprinkled throughout to uncover the stories behind the story. And for those who love exploring new worlds, rest assured there’s always more beneath the surface.
TL;DR: The worldbuilding runs deep, but it never gets in the way of the story.
Unapologetically Apologetic
Thematically, my work explores the intersections of legend, myth, and religion, often featuring characters, settings, and events that are at odds with their own internal theology or with the beliefs of our world.
Or more succinctly, I’m fascinated by faith under pressure. What happens when a devout man becomes what he has been taught is wrong? What happens when the old gods refuse to stay buried? What happens when belief and reality disagree, and someone must decide who’s right? If an unforgivable character does something redemptive, is it enough?
These are the kinds of questions my narratives strive to pose to the reader. To quote the great J.R.R. Tolkien in Mythopoeia, “We make still by the law in which we’re made.” No matter how fanciful my worlds, or how inhuman my cast, there is no escaping the laws that govern us, but it is always fun to read about those who try.
TL;DR: I explore the tension between lore and faith; between what is right versus what is true.
A Touch of Absurdity
Lastly, let’s not forget about humor. In my flash fiction, the limited word count forces me to be either funny or serious, but in my short stories, novellas, and novels, the comedy and tragedy are often interwoven.
When you compile everything I’ve mentioned so far, you may conjure an image of archaic prose about serious characters exploring philosophical themes in robust worlds, and while that is true, you’ll also be laughing along the way. The surface-level pitch of all my manuscripts is inherently funny, hooking you with an absurd and original premise, but as the story progresses, you’ll experience the full breadth of emotions.
This isn’t me trying to give you a “you’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll feel all the feelings” spiel. Instead, I want you to understand that what’s deadly serious to a character, given the world they live in, can be hilarious to you, watching from ours. The rules I create are often built on a foundation of absurdity, though that doesn’t diminish the stress and trauma of those forced to live within those ridiculous parameters. If anything, it makes them more relatable.
TL;DR: Don’t worry, you’re gonna laugh a lot, too.