My name is H. A. Kirsch. If you would prefer to read this as a professional biography, you get to edit it into third person in your own head and make some pictures slowly pan around while music plays.

I write fiction, usually erotic, usually anthropomorphic, and often horrific. I also am an on-again, off-again amateur photographer.  This site is for both of those hobbies.


I started writing because my private school made me. Okay, they encouraged everyone to write stories. I guess everyone's school does this, but mine let me write about whatever I wanted. It was mostly garbage about my invisible anthropomorphic mouse friend, written in halting kid-script, until I got to fourth grade.

Okay, wait.


I'm a furry. Or rather, I like anthropormorphic animals in terms of their appearance and the literary ramifications of their existence. I got into that whole scene when I concocted an imaginary friend who was an anthro mouse, way back in kindergarten. Then, I started to play make believe as a cat. Then I discovered werewolves in third grade, and watched "An American Werewolf in London". As you might expect, that blew my third-grade mind right out of my head. By fourth grade, I was writing rambling stream of consciousness comedy stories about a group of werewolves living in an R.V. I also ran around my school tried to bite people and howling like a wolf.

Then I got sent to public school.

In between middle school and high school, I was exploring the new-fangled Internet when I bumped into the subculture of 'spiritual therianthropes'. I immediately decided that I actually was a werewolf, because that's what male sex hormones do to you when you're fourteen years old. That lasted about six months, until I discovered a much truer calling: furries. Screw complicated spiritual totem animals; I wanted to screw twinky, whimpering foxes with my big black wolf cock. Only I didn't have one.

So I did the next best thing.

Back to Writing

I eventually started writing actual original fiction for fun in high school. The very first story was ostensibly part of a science fiction novel I would write, entailing a coyote character and a transplanted human. That story will eventually be written down, even if it's been boiling around in my head for over fifteen years now.


In 2003, I wrote a story for a friend of mine while I was on summer vacation, happily marooned on a rocky tree-filled island in northern Lake Huron. That story revolved around an asshole black wolf tormenting a young, impressionable gay cougar with a leather fetish. I needed a name for the character.

I had just read "The Stand", and one of the characters - Harold Lauder - was nicknamed "Hawk". I thought that was an interesting juxtaposition, and so I carried it along. The wolf's name would actually be Harold Allen Kirsch, and he would insist that people call him Hawk since it was considerably more badass.

It was also considerably less stupid than my original internet handle, so I adopted it.

Little did I know that Hawk would become an epic Byronic hero and lead to the creation of currently over 30 stories, all dripping with fetishistic depravity.


More on this soon. Basic idea: insert penis into leather, take picture. I'm not making that up.