I write because the echoes in my mind refuse to be silent. I do not craft worlds; they whisper themselves into existence, demanding to be known.

Ink is my reckoning, paper is my confessional. My hands chase ghosts of forgotten lovers and destinies undone. Perhaps I am nothing more than a collector of fleeting moments, stitching together what time tries to erase. If my words linger in the quiet, if they haunt you just a little then I have done what I came here to do.

On-going stories.
ESPERANZA SERIES
THE HEARTS TAPESTRY: QUESTIONS UNANSWERED
Do we ever return to who we were?
If love never left, why did we?

ALTITUDE: UNKNOWN
Map of the stars

Stand-Alone stories
Welcome to my mind--no refunds