About Me

I’ve always loved to read and to write. Even as a child, when we were assigned book reports (am I dating myself?), I felt a quiet thrill. It was the promise of stepping into a new world and then shaping my thoughts about it in words. I was most alive in those moments, scribbling my favorite scenes, retelling them as if I could breathe new life into their pages. 

I excelled at creative writing, and at any assignment that asked for more than facts — essays, reviews, reflections, anything that let imagination take the reins. Words were my first magic, and stories were the spell that never wore off.

I remember the late nights, reading by flashlight under my covers, drawn into worlds that felt vaster and more enchanted than my own. I devoured every page, trying to imagine myself as the lead character. But it was hard. The heroines I read about had alabaster skin, golden hair, eyes bluer than the sky, and waists as delicate as ribbons. The people who fought evil were always populated by fair-skinned warriors fighting against the dark. Each description reminded me that I was not meant to be part of their stories.

So I created my own.

I would lie awake for hours, dreaming of kingdoms cloaked in mist and battlefields lit by starlight. I built continents and castles in my mind, placing myself at the heart of them—the heroine seen as beautiful just as she was, even if her skin was not pale as ivory.

Then came The Death Gate Cycle by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman. In one of those books was a brown-skinned woman described as beautiful, the first I had ever encountered in the fantasy worlds I loved so dearly. That single passage felt like a key turning in a long-locked door. It made me realize that these realms of wonder and darkness could hold characters like me. That magic and representation could coexist in the same breath.

I was sixteen when I picked up a pencil and began to write. I still remember those first names that spilled onto the page: Raze and Guile, Shondra and Levin. They have never truly left me. They linger in the corners of my imagination, whispering, waiting to return.

Since then, I’ve written three novels and countless short stories and novellas. Perhaps one day I’ll revisit those early works, but for now, I’m following a new path through the woods—one lined with both shadow and light.

More than anything, I love to write. I love slipping into the minds of my characters, walking their worlds, and seeing life through their eyes. I’ve always believed that every story that finds me has already lived somewhere in the fabric of time and space. My purpose is simply to tell their stories, and to tell them to the best of my ability.

Thank you for joining me on this journey—to watch these worlds unfold, to see them breathe and grow, and to walk with me through every dark forest and sunlit dawn they reveal.

I Write Because

I write because I am compelled to tell the stories of the survivors who still fight. to make their stories real and not exploitative. I write because an entire universe has connected to my consciousness. I write because I have something to say to others -- sometimes. I write because others have something to say to me -- all the time.