I’ve been writing since before I could read.

When I was little, when my mother would tuck me in at night, she would read me stories… much like many other moms and dads would do with their kids. I picked a book, and she read.

But, even before I chose books for her to read to me, even before I started to learn to read when I was in kindergarten, I was writing.

Not ‘writing’ so much as ‘telling stories’, but it was still the act of story creation.

The townhouse down in Florida, where I spent my early childhood until I turned eight years old, was filled with notepads, napkins, paper towels, and other scraps of paper that were scattered throughout, filled with either ideas for my stories or stories themselves. My mother or my father, whenever I got an idea, would write down what I said, as I said it. They were both supportive of my art, my first art, as soon as I knew how to speak.

Around ten years old, I began writing poetry.

Around sixteen, I started trying to find a way to self-publish. I didn’t like the idea of other people owning my work when I was the one who had created it, written it, and spilled blood on it.

And now, here I am, offering excerpts from poetry collections, four per collection, and sharing short stories with you that will be collected in collections.

Have fun and meander!