Proof of Life
Holy fuck. I just ordered proof copies of my book. It’s real now. One last push, one last pass, and it’s out in the world.
When The Universe Says “Hold My Beer”
Sometimes the universe doesn’t wait for you to ask. It looks you in the eye, cracks a grin, and says, “Here, hold my beer.” Then it grabs the wheel. Today, instead of rage-writing about healthcare or bureaucracy, I wrote queer short stories. Two of them. And when the words come like that—unforced, urgent, necessary—you don’t argue. You get out of the way and let them land.
When The Universe Takes Over
I don’t write on command. I write to stay ready. Because when inspiration shows up, it doesn’t ask what you planned to work on that day, it takes the wheel. Yesterday, it dragged me out of one project and dropped a whole new book in my lap. All I could do was let the words fall out.
Dreaming on the Edge of Becoming
Tonight I’m dreaming — about the book I just finished through broken bones and pain, and about the life I’m building from the ashes. This memoir is my launchpad. My declaration. My refusal to play small. And the future I’m carving is starting to take shape.
On Gratitude, Fear, and Finally Finishing the Damn Book
After months of chaos, healing, and unexpected clarity, I reread my memoir from beginning to end — and realized it’s finally fucking done. What comes next is terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure, but I’m stepping into it head-on.
Me and My Watch
Schedules are my kryptonite. Creativity is my fire. The problem? Writing for a living requires both—and nothing makes me want to curse humanity more than penciling “Thursday at 5” into my calendar.