About the Author

My name is Hanif S. Ali and I am a writer from Orlando, Florida.

Despite the ides of The Mouse and the perpetuation that Orlando is of the tourists, by the tourists, and for the tourists, my hometown is not what you think.  The groundswell of counter culture swept along with the disenfranchised fallout makes for an edgy fringe to the City Beautiful and I embrace it everyday as I walk the disgruntled streets and visit my patient haunts with one goal in mind…

to fill my pages with ink.


There’s more than a few authors I return to time and again for inspiration, so let me start with one of the most raw and unapologetic amongst them.

Cormac McCarthy has a style all his own. His brilliant prose splays the human dynamic out in all it grizzly glory and lets the reader decide for himself what the true nature of man is. I return to his cannon often to refill my wonder at how honest a writer can really be.


A few paragraphs from my recent manuscript:

Confidence Men: Chapter 4

        “The room filled with a thick tangible dread and our group sat supplicated and powerless breathing it in, realizing the extremes to which our diluted ‘Mr. Fox’ had gone to bring us here. The door opened again, but this time with a deafening “CLANG!”  The echo alone rummaged around the room and our heads with enough force to make us all flinch.  The Mr. Fox of subtle brevity was gone and the Mr. Fox that plowed into the room now was possessed, screaming in some strange tongue at the helpless person he dragged in tow, masked and cloaked.  “You watchin’?  You watchin’ this little bois?”  This is your lovelies, if I find meself crossed!”  Mr. Fox placed his prisoner, a rather large male by the look of him, dead center in front of us and hurried over to grab a thick metal pipe from the corner of the room.  Without hesitation, Mr. Fox strode briskly at his dummy and swung his weapon at the man’s shinbone like Babe Ruth swinging for the stands. We all instinctively turned our heads at the contact.  The sound of the crack enunciated in the room like a baseball bat broken on a tree trunk.  While the sound echoed again and again, ‘the Company Man’ met my eyes briefly, then promptly threw up next to his chair.  The masked victim yelped in agony between gasps for breath as he convulsed on the floor.  I was the first to return Mr. Fox’s stare, my lips pursed with disgust.  He snapped his head at me and grinned, but this time I knew it wasn’t planned…he was happy.”