We all have a story. Some are spoken, some painted, others whispered quietly between pages.
If we don’t let those stories move through us — through words, through art, through whatever language our soul understands — they linger, unfinished. Expressionless.
Writing, for me, began as another way to make sense of life’s weight and wonder. It’s the thread that ties together my art, my photography, and the questions that never seem to stop asking themselves.
Every sentence feels like a brushstroke — another attempt to capture what can’t quite be said aloud.
These writings are fragments of that journey: pieces of thought, emotion, and faith stitched together into something that feels like belonging.
My Debut Novel
In 2013, after my brother and his family were killed, grief hollowed out a space inside me that nothing could reach—not logic, not time, not even my stubborn willpower. So I did the only thing that felt alive: I wrote. The Shaling began as a lifeline, a way to outrun the ache while I chased answers in my own DIY investigation of their deaths.
When that search grew too heavy, I turned toward the mysteries that have always captivated me—the strange, intricate mechanics of life, death, and whatever lies between. My own near-death experience only sharpened that fascination.
From that mix of grief, curiosity, and sheer grit, The Shaling was born.
After years of writing, rewriting, reshaping, and rising from the ashes of each draft, I’ve finally completed a polished 83,000-word novel.
Now comes the part that feels like standing on the edge of something big—finding the right agent to help bring this story to the world. Fingers crossed.
(not original art work for novel)