Born and raised in sunny northern California and later turned Nevadan after a desperate need to leave the nest at just shy of 26. If I knew then what I know now, odds are I’d still end up in the desert.
For over 20 years I’ve called myself a writer. Despite countless seasons of not writing (plus an existential crisis or five), I have always felt that need to put thoughts to words. It started late one night in my early teens, a time when I was naive about the world and thought my scribbles were brilliant.
I’m in my late 30s now and still have yet to figure out who I’ll be when I grow up. Assuming I ever do. I believe growing up is overrated, as is being normal. I’ll adult when I have to, but I’m better suited to silly shenanigans and living life on my terms.