I spent yesterday walking through a rainy park in Seattle, watching people. Nearly every single person had something tucked into their ears. It wasn’t just music. You can tell by the way people move when they are listening to a story. There is a specific kind of stillness in the shoulders, a faraway look in … Read more
The screen glowed a bruised purple in the early hours of a Tuesday in Seattle, the kind of damp morning where the coffee feels more like a survival tool than a luxury. I was staring at a manuscript that had been sitting at eighty thousand words for three years, a dead weight on a hard … Read more
I spent the better part of last night staring at a flickering cursor, wondering if the traditional novel is finally hitting a structural ceiling. We have been telling stories in a straight line for centuries. Page one leads to page two, and the hero either dies or gets the girl, and the reader is just … Read more
There is a specific kind of silence that settles over a room when you are staring at a blinking cursor, knowing that the rent is due and the masterpiece in your head is currently nothing more than a collection of disjointed scenes and caffeine-fueled notes. For years, the myth of the solitary author has persisted—the … Read more
The sun was hitting the brickwork of a small coffee shop in Brooklyn this morning, and I watched a ten-year-old boy. He wasn’t on his phone. He was staring at a physical book, but his thumb was hovering over the page as if he expected it to react to a touch. It was a small, … Read more
I remember sitting in a cramped apartment in Chicago, staring at a spreadsheet of narrator quotes that felt more like mortgage applications than production costs. It was the winter of 2024, and the dream of turning my latest manuscript into a sprawling, cinematic audio experience was dying under the weight of per-finished-hour rates. Back then, … Read more
I spent most of last Tuesday staring at a cracked screen on the subway in New York, scrolling through a digital graveyard of half-baked thoughts. There were grocery lists, sure, but buried between the eggs and the oat milk were fragments of something else. Observations about the way the light hits the brickwork in Brooklyn. … Read more
I remember sitting in a small, cramped coffee shop in Seattle last October, watching a woman across from me unwrap a package. It wasn’t the usual rushed tearing of cardboard. She handled the book inside like it was a piece of vintage jewelry. It had a heavy, cream-colored cover with gold foil that caught the … Read more
I was sitting in a small, slightly drafty coffee shop in Portland last Tuesday, watching a woman at the next table ignore her cooling latte because she was so buried in a paperback. I couldn’t help but peek at the cover. It wasn’t the usual “murder at the bakeshop” with a cartoon cupcake on the … Read more
There is a specific kind of silence that follows a book launch on a major platform. You spend months, maybe years, bleeding onto a keyboard in a cramped apartment in Chicago or a quiet corner of a library in Seattle, and then you hit publish. The algorithm yawns. You are a drop of water in … Read more