Stories have always been my truest mirror — the place where questions could linger and who I was becoming didn’t have to be an apology. I grew up in Michigan, dreaming bigger than my small town would allow, and chased those dreams to New York City, where I found my first true family — a constellation of souls who taught me that chosen love can feel like coming home. In time, I returned to Michigan to hold my roots closer, to sit at familiar tables and remember the shape of belonging. Reconnecting with my my loved ones. However a reckless headt never stays long. Now, I stand at the edge of another ocean, carrying my words and my queerness with the same quiet pride: unhidden, unashamed, unafraid. I write for the ones standing at the edge of something vast and uncertain, daring to whisper I am here. The Sibyl’s Ember began with a question about faith and freedom and became a world of hidden gods, unspoken names, and a boy learning that belonging is not given — it’s claimed. I believe in stories that hold tenderness alongside ruin, that make space for doubt, and that remind us the ember we carry is worth guarding, no matter how far from home we roam. When I’m not writing, you’ll find me catching half-finished thoughts with ink-stained fingers, watching the sea for omens, and building quiet worlds for restless souls — mine included.