For as long as I can remember “Home” has been my goal. More than success. More than being impressive. More than having everything figured out. I have always wanted a place that felt warm, safe, lived-in and mine. Home means family, comfort, memory, creativity, and the freedom to be unfinished. Everything I make seems to circle back to here. I will never be finished building my home.
Its the people I love.
The stories I keep growing.
The ordinary life I hold close.
The strange little worlds that keep finding their way back to me.
Welcome to my home.
On My Bookshelf
Some stories are strange. Some are frightening. Some are tender. Most are all three.
Here you will find the novels and stories I am currently building- artificial women learning what it means to create, forgotten towns that refuse to let go, and institutions with hungry ghosts.
From My Garden
Not everything here needs to become a novel. Sometimes I want to talk about books, or creativity, or something I noticed. Sometimes I wonder into a kitchen, or fall down a rabbit hole and come back with something weird.