Persistence prevails.
%20(-0c8d868.jpg/:/rs=w:1209,h:873)
About V Le Chenz
V Le Chenz Raised in Greenwich, Connecticut, where privilege collided with the working class, he walked both worlds, never quite belonging to either. His fiction is forged from that tension: intimate, unflinching, and steeped in the raw, “god-awful humanity” of everyday life.
A quiet dreamer and fierce observer, now rooted in the woods of New Hampshire, V distills pain into poetry and darkness into clarity. His stories don’t flinch, they illuminate. With a voice shaped by trauma, resilience, and relentless introspection, he offers readers not escape, but recognition.
For those who crave truth over polish, and beauty born from brokenness, V Le Chenz delivers fiction that lingers long after the last page.
Coming Soon!
A cursed legacy. A haunted town. A search for truth.
Greenwich, Connecticut. The sprawling mansions, the flawless lawns, the kind of place that practically shouts old and new money. But don’t be fooled by the surface. Beneath all that perfection, something rotten pulses through this family, a darkness that’s been there for generations.
This isn’t your average memoir. It’s more like a confession, raw, messy, and edged with desperation. The protagonist, V, grew up middle-class surrounded by luxury. What went on behind closed doors, and in the shadows, is the real story. That’s where the nightmare begins. Strange happenings and violence that make your skin crawl. Madness handed down like an heirloom, nobody walked away untouched.
It’s part family saga, part true crime, all fictionalized, colliding in a way that keeps you uneasy. One moment, you’re reading about an ordinary childhood; the next, you’re trapped inside a horror story. The family’s reputation? Just a mask covering up generations of secrets and cruelty you’d never dream of.
Not quite a secret society, but they were an evil presence hiding in plain sight, woven into Greenwich’s shiny exterior. The author can’t escape, it’s all tied up in his family’s past, seeping right into his present. He’s forced to confront a legacy drenched in violence, and a supernatural force that refused to let them go.
So, open the book. Step into the darkness with them. Afterward, you might never see your own family, or your hometown, in quite the same way again.
Epigraph
As the red-hot blood poured from the fresh wound in my neck, I thought, "At least this will be quick." I fumbled to apply pressure, but it was slippery! "Come on! You can do this," I urged, my trembling fingers pressing against the perfectly formed hole in my neck.
I was desperate to stop the roaring flood, but weakness quickly overwhelmed me, and I released my grip, surrendering to the inevitable. As I did, an incredibly powerful blast of hot blood erupted with such force that it hit the wall on the opposite side of my room, splattering it in a bright, savage red.
The sensation was disorienting, a horrifying mix of pain and release, like the agonizing urge of a full bladder finally met with relief, explosive and disturbingly euphoric. As the room swirled and shadows encroached, I struggled to comprehend the harrowing reality of what had just unfolded. My father shot me in the neck with my mother's chrome-plated .357 Magnum, and as I swallowed my own blood, my gut turned. The metallic odor of blood hung thick in the air.
Suddenly, I jolted awake. Heart racing, I was horrified to find my hands tightly wrapped around my throat, my fingers digging in as if caught in a desperate struggle. “Choking myself in my sleep?” My pulse quickened as fragments of the scene flashed in my mind: the gun, the blood, his face twisted with rage. When I finally loosened my grip, I released the backed-up, highly pressurized blood that hadn’t been making it to my brain. It made sense, yet I was left with questions that clawed at my sanity.
“Why were my hands wrapped so tightly around my neck in the first place, and how could anyone possibly strangle themselves in their sleep?” I didn’t think it was possible. I began to suspect my father, the very same one I often found standing over me when I woke during the night. What if he was the one choking me, his hands over mine, until he gave up or changed his mind and scooted away before I could see him? I couldn’t blame him; I was a nightmare. I kept them running night and day.
I could think of only one reason why he would want to get rid of me: he knew. He knew that I knew what he was, and he knew about me, too. We understood each other in a way that no one else did. We had a silent, shared darkness, that we dare not share with anyone else.
My other Novellas. Available NOW, on Medium.
The Man Who Never Wanted a Dog
The Man Who Never Wanted a Dog
The Man Who Never Wanted a Dog
He never wanted a dog. But one dog changed everything.
In a world obsessed with wagging tails and unconditional love, one man stands apart, haunted by childhood memories of a German Shepherd named Tonto and the emotional wreckage left in its wake. Alienated from his dog-loving circle, he wrestles with grief, identity, and the quiet ache of disconnection.
But when illness strikes and life begins to unravel, an unexpected companion arrives: Jett, a scrappy Jack Russell Terrier with a defiant spirit and a gift for chaos. What begins as reluctant caretaking becomes a reckoning, with the past, with pain, and with the possibility of joy.
Summer of the Carpenter Bee
The Man Who Never Wanted a Dog
The Man Who Never Wanted a Dog
One summer. One bee. One man’s reckoning with grief, memory, and the fragile beauty of life.
Set in the quiet hills of New Hampshire, this deeply personal narrative unfolds like a whispered confession, an elegy for a beloved grandfather and a meditation on the invisible threads that bind us to place, family, and self. When “Gramps” dies, the author’s world fractures. What follows is not just mourning, but a slow unraveling of identity, purpose, and emotional armor.
From the solitude of a back porch, the author reflects on the chaos of summer and the serenity of nature, until a trapped carpenter bee becomes an unexpected catalyst. Its futile struggle, dignified, desperate, mirrors his own. In that moment, compassion collides with indifference, and buried sorrow rises to the surface.
Through vivid memories of Gramps’ wartime resilience and quiet wisdom, and tender observations of his grandson’s empathy, the author begins to stitch together a new understanding of legacy. This is a story about the weight of small things, a bee trap, a porch chair, a fleeting summer breeze,and the way they carry our deepest truths.
For readers drawn to lyrical storytelling, emotional vulnerability, and the quiet power of reflection, this book offers a haunting, hopeful journey into what it means to grieve, to love, and to live with intention.
Baked Fresh Daily
Burned Bridges and Backroads
Burned Bridges and Backroads
Hotboxed at ten. Hooked on chaos. A brutally honest coming-of-age in the haze of the ’70s and ’80s.
It’s Glenville, 1977. The windows are up, the summer heat is suffocating, and ten-year-old V is riding in the back of a car thick with marijuana smoke. That moment, equal parts absurd and formative, marks the beginning of a childhood steeped in contact highs, dysfunctional family dynamics, and a search for clarity in a world that rarely offered it.
This candid memoir pulls no punches. From awkward crushes and hockey skates to missed chances and musical obsessions, V recounts a youth shaped by the haze of cannabis and the emotional fog of unreliable parenting. His parents’ friendships, neighborhood rituals, and a dart-related family injury all paint a vivid portrait of a life lived on the edge of chaos and comedy.
With sharp wit and unflinching vulnerability, he explores how addiction, identity, and longing collided in the smoke-filled rooms of his adolescence, and how those early experiences echoed into adulthood through workplace camaraderie, romantic misfires, and moments of unexpected grace.
For readers who appreciate memoirs that are raw, reflective, and darkly funny, this is a story of growing up stoned, emotionally and literally, and finding meaning in the madness.
Burned Bridges and Backroads
Burned Bridges and Backroads
Burned Bridges and Backroads
He burned bridges before he knew how to build them. This is the story of what survived.
In this brutally honest, darkly funny memoir, one man traces the wreckage of his past, from friend burns and failed relationships to couch surfing and career misfires, and the long, winding road to redemption. Emotionally detached and socially self-sabotaging, he spent decades running from connection, haunted by a childhood shaped by abandonment and mistrust.
Growing up as a misfit in a working-class neighborhood, then dropped into a world of privilege, he never quite belonged anywhere. Bullied, awkward, and always on the fringe, he navigated adolescence with a soundtrack of ’70s rock, bad fashion, and quiet defiance. College and early adulthood brought more chaos: impulsive choices, broken hearts, and a dream-chasing stint in California’s entertainment scene that ended in burnout and regret.
Then came New Hampshire, after a decade of drift, and a move for love that didn’t last. But somewhere in the wreckage, he found her: a woman who shattered his rigid expectations and became the anchor he never knew he needed. With her came family, purpose, and a chance to rewrite the story.
"Nothing in this world can take the place of persistence. Nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent”
Calvin Coolidge