My stories live in small towns, in subtle shifts, and the kinds of moments that tend to go unnoticed until they don’t.

I’m drawn to places that feel lived in rather than polished—where routines matter, people pay attention (even if they don’t always admit it), and not everything needs to be explained to make sense. The interesting things, to me, tend to happen just off to the side of what everyone agrees is real.

That’s the space my stories tend to occupy. Not dramatic reinventions, but gradual changes–conversations that carry more weight than they appear to and the quiet accumulation of details that eventually add up to something meaningful.

Bramble Gap came out of that perspective. It’s not a place built around spectacle—it’s one that reveals itself slowly, depending on how closely you’re willing to look. Some things are better left exactly as they are—noticed, maybe, but not chased down or proven. I’ve always liked things better that way.

Outside of writing, I keep things fairly contained. I love my little home here in North Carolina, working with my hands, and I tend to collect more ideas than I can reasonably keep up with. There are always animals nearby (including a very judgmental Norwegian Forest Cat), and usually something in progress that I may or may not finish. My garden may not always be in bloom, but I do usually have some dirt under my fingernails.

I don’t think a story needs to be loud to stay with you. In most cases, the opposite is true.

If that’s the kind of story you’re looking for, you’ll probably feel comfortable here.