What (and Why) is Brittle Views?
It started as a home for quiet fiction — stories that didn’t rush to explain themselves. Small moments. Stillness. The kind of writing that lingers more than it lands.
Over time, it widened.
Now it holds essays, reflections, fragments, and the occasional question. Some pieces are soft. Others sharpen at the edges. A few sit in the space between.
I write about the moments that slip past most people — the cracked places, the tender losses, the small defiances that make a life. Whether I’m tracing the punk chaos of the 1980s or the quiet fractures of adulthood, my writing blends candid reflection with grounded detail, always holding space for imperfection. It’s less about offering answers than creating echoes — inviting you into the places where memory, resilience, and longing collide.
The name Brittle Views felt right from the beginning.
“Brittle”—as in fragile, yes. But also precise. Honest. A kind of clarity that can crack, but still carry weight.
There’s no niche here. No algorithm. Just attention.
Writing that resists noise, trusts the reader, and doesn’t mind being unfinished.
If something here stays with you, I’m glad it did.
If not, that’s okay too.
And if short stories are what brought you here:
I’ve collected some of them in a book, The Shape of Silence.
Why Brittle Views Is and Will Remain Free
I started Brittle Views to share the kinds of stories that stay with us. The ones that don’t always fit neatly into a category. The ones that make you feel seen, or quietly provoke, or just hold space for something tender and true.
I’ve had enough walls in my life. This won’t be one of them.
Everything here is — and will remain — free. No gated content. No hidden extras. No pressure to pay. Just stories, reflections, and occasional defiance shared openly, in the hope they find their way to whoever needs them.
If something resonates, pass it on. That’s how this grows: not by marketing, but by meaning. Reader by reader. One honest moment at a time.
And if you’re circling a story of your own—something half-formed, hard to name, or asking to be written—I offer quiet 1:1 support for writers and meaning-makers. No hustle. Just process.
— Robert
