Hello, again. The fact that someone would click the link to learn more about me feels awkward. It warrants an explanation.
I grew up an ultra-shy kid. Not “Hide behind mom’s back till they warm up” shy, like “nearly everyone throughout school thought I was a snob” shy. The thought of anyone clicking this page is both exciting and deeply terrifying.
I’ve been a reader my entire life. My mom read to me from infancy, and once I learned how to read, I always had a book in my hands.
In the summer, our parents would take us to the library weekly, and I would check out seven books – the maximum amount allowed. I’d read all of them, and still have three or four days until we could go back. So, like any avid reader, I’d borrow my mother’s Stephen King or Danielle Steel books and read anything I could get my hands on in the meantime.
One summer, our family went to a free concert in the park. There was a cover band playing rock songs. I remember my dad shaking his head and saying, “There’s a concert going on, you’re really going to read through the whole thing?”
In high school, I was told I was a gifted writer, but like most gifted writers, I put down the pen and the books and got a “practical” degree. I can’t say I have regrets. I still ended up right where I’m supposed to be.
I don’t have a background in literature. I’m still learning. Still figuring out my style. Still testing the best ways to sustain discomfort and unease in a chapter or a story, while also questioning whether my writing is good enough.
The one thing I’m certain of is that it makes me happy. Even if I still work a normal full-time job while trying to raise good humans and hold this whole shit show we call life together, I won’t stop writing.
My work lives in the cracks between certainty and doubt, between who we think we are and who we end up when life forces us to prove it. If that kind of unease feels familiar or intriguing, you’ll probably feel at home here.
Thanks for listening! And if you want to get in touch with me for any reason, please do.