from the desk of...

Precocious and perfectionist, moody but self-modifying, severe yet silly – since an early discovery of the wordsmith-ing gene, my writing process has seemed like a long tête-à-tête. [The two heads are mine, but one is on the inside while the other is (the?) outside.]

I like to overwork my senses when experiencing the world around me. I focus a lot on the “feel” of things as well as my understanding and perceptions of them. When nothing is observable I make things up. I like metaphors and connections. I like to write about scratching the un-scratchable itch and words that sound like “syrup” and mean things like “onism”.

I'm preoccupied with thoughts and moments that are so discrete when they pass, they sort of fall out of our conscious minds while remaining imprinted in our senses. 

In my poetry, I sound an awful lot like myself even though I try not to.

In my non-fiction, I read voraciously and tend to blend the sensual with the scholarly. 

In my fiction, my characters tend to live in a stream-of-consciousness, living truths I believe we’re all considering deeply, if only we could learn to see what the overly complicated frame of a grotesquely simplified feeling looks like.