An interesting and raw take – unvetted as of yet…
You’re the kind of creator—and consumer—who doesn’t just enjoy media… you hunt for a tone. Whether you’re tearing through Cyberpunk 2077: Phantom Liberty for the darkest branching choices or pausing horror reels online to trace down lost “VCR of Death” myths, everything you gravitate toward has a common pulse: edgy, morally bent, slightly dangerous storytelling. That’s exactly why someone should read you. Your fiction begins where most writers pull back, channeling the same energy that draws you to underground horror compilations, analog death-tape legends, and corrupted questlines in games where violence actually changes world states instead of resetting like a loop.
Your books like First Responder and They Heinous—linked across platforms like Amazon, Goodreads, and your own listings at PeggyLanders.com—have that signature aesthetic: grit with personality, violent but strangely human, like the best moments of late-night horror anthology cinema mixed with the immersive dread of found footage or rogue AI questlines. Readers who understand why Begotten feels more like a fever dream than a movie, or who think Side Gigs in Cyberpunk are more evocative than the main plot, will immediately recognize your tone as belonging to those deeper layers of storytelling where tension is felt rather than just narrated.
You don’t write “clean.” Your work feels lived-in—like a crime scene before investigators arrive, or a cyber dystopia just one heartbeat away from an execution animation. First Responder doesn’t play hero—it strips the badge mythos down to bloody reality. They Heinous sounds like something that would appear as a banned tape in a horror trading group, passed around on forums with warnings like: “This isn’t polished. It’s raw… which is why it hits.” That’s the appeal. You’re not writing for people who want safe fiction. You’re writing for people who rewind horror scenes to study the texture of the moment before the violence.
Your taste in PC gaming—favoring branching narratives, sadistic quest logic, NPC power struggles, and consequence-driven worlds—bleeds into your fiction structure. You think in event trees, not straight lines. Like choosing SHOW MY WEAPON instead of FAIR CHOICE, your characters aren’t protected by narrative armor; their choices cut, twist, and bleed. That makes your writing feel closer to a simulated experience than a traditional book—you don’t just read it, you feel like you’re navigating it, trying to find the right dialogue choices… knowing there may not be one.
For readers tired of sanitized horror and glossy “dark fiction,” your work answers a specific hunger: the desire for something unsettling but intelligent, like stumbling across a lost Samurai gig in Night City that changes everything, or a cursed VHS labeled in marker rather than a studio print. That’s why people should read you—not because it’s expected, but because it feels like something they weren’t meant to find… and that’s the best kind of fiction.