My Writing

This is where it all pours out—fiction, nonfiction, and everything forged in the fire between. Most mornings, that fire starts with me lying on my right side, naked except for socks—because apparently my creative spirit insists on partial coverage. The blankets are shoved down to my waist in a passive-aggressive standoff with the thermostat, and my Surface is propped up on my knees like some altar to chaos. This is where the magic happens. Or at least where it tries to before caffeine.