(Because “About Me” just felt a bit too dry)

My writing style is somewhat of a hybrid lovechild—conceived by rhythm, raised on emotional intelligence, and disciplined by editorial rigor. (A quirky but lovable little mutt.)

If you’re more of a visual person, just picture an ill-advised (but artistically productive) gathering: Joan Didion, Leonard Cohen, Hunter S. Thompson—part séance, part intervention. Or total orgy of influence, if that lands better for you.

Basically, it’s versatility with standards—cleaned up by someone who actually gives a fuck about syntax.

I believe if something’s worth saying, it’s worth saying exactly. And meaningfully. And with a sense of humor every now and then.

That’s my paradigm—the foundation from which my writing adapts. (And trust me, the adaptability runs deep.)

I’ve covered a smorgasbord of mediums over the years—from fact-based to free verse and just about everything in between. And I’m particular about every single piece.

Whether it’s bound for national publication or destined for kindling, I always aim to do it justice. And with the hope that, somewhere along the way, it moves someone.

When I’m not channeling dead authors across various platforms, I’m busy raising two wildly wonderful humans (16 and 9). Or perhaps it’s the other way around…?

In the imaginary moments I have to myself, I’m likely off somewhere chasing music, wandering outdoors, summoning my inner yogi, and/or geeking out on astrology.

I’m a lover, an idealist, and very possibly Led Zeppelin’s biggest fan. I daydream about more saltwater and fewer screens (and world peace, of course), and I’m endlessly drawn to the mysterious—the intuitive, the emotionally charged, the slightly unhinged (read: the dark side).

I embrace the experiences that spark connection—the people, places, and moments that make for a better story.

I’ve been conquering writer’s block (for a living, shockingly) since 2008—you know, back when the em dash was just an innocent stylistic mark, not probable cause for some overeager 22-year-old in Silicon Valley.

Yes, my (now slightly tainted) love affair with the em dash predates Claude, Grok, and the era of tech bros—not to mention the bizarre notion that punctuation could somehow be patented.

In other words, everything I create is authentically mine. Sure, I use AI every now and then—for research, brainstorming, or the occasional “how the fuck do I fix this?”—but I’m still the one holding the pen.

Truth be told, the onslaught of robotic “creativity” kinda scares the shit out of me. Call me old-school, but I still believe real storytelling requires a soul… and fewer acronyms (for the love of god, fewer acronyms).

Okay, so I’ll adapt. I’ll evolve. But I won’t ever hand over the writing.

Nor will I apologize for my em dashes.