“(Mr.Cinadr’s)…Potential is vast…A literary writer for the century.”
Adam Korn, Editor
“I’d be hard pressed to find a more lyrical voice in any writer today…”
“there seemed a river” is Brian’s first novel. “…a haunting, lyrical, novel… The sustained metaphor of the river as the place of dissolution,but also rebirth is beautifully handled, with intelligence and passion.”
Indiana University Press
Behind Cinadr’s gritty, working-class, earthbound stories, the human spirit perseveres and, on occasion, soars. “there seemed a river,” reads like one long poem. While his words resonate with pathos and at times dark humor, it is his ability to use language to evoke the unsaid and the unsayable that sets him apart and lingers.
Executive Vice President Warner Brothers Pictures
I have greatly enjoyed reading Brian’s stories. He is a lyrical, imaginative writer with an antennae keenly tuned to the twists and turns of contemporary American life.
The Police, Guitarist, Photographer, Writer
“there seemed a river” has haunted me, has made me sad, has made me feel so profoundly with his characters and the places they inhabit I can’t get them out of my mind. Finally a true american tragedy, Cinadr does what very few writers can do.
Producer Good Will Hunting…
brian david cinadr has had his short stories published in the country’s most prestigious literary journals (The Alaska Quarterly, The Big Muddy, TheSouth Dakota Review, The South Carolina Review, Soundings East,WaterStone, ZYZZYVA…) He is the recipient of Cal State Northridge’s BEST SHORT FICTION, 2003 and is a two time Pushcart Award nominee for America’s Best Short Story.
Born and raised in Cleveland, Ohio and based in Los Angeles, brian has acquired a broad group of readers and supporters. His life is storied with strippers and studio executives, mafia businessmen and neighborhood pushers. He has had a career in bodybuilding, dug graves, bodyguarded for a number of rock stars and Hollywood celebrities. brian’s stories grow out of his Midwest working roots, stories of his common folk, of the factories and the fields of his childhood, of the highways that gave him hope and a vague faith in god and an America that haunt him still.