I hate describing myself. Always have, always will.

If you ask me to write a traditional biography or tell you about my personality, my mind goes blank. I am infinitely more comfortable building entirely new universes from scratch than I am trying to summarize my own existence in a neat, digestible little paragraph. It feels unnatural.

But people always want to know: Who are you? Why do you make the worlds you make? Why do you write this stuff?

The truth is, if you really want to know what I’m like, you don't need a list of my hobbies or a summary of my background. You just need to look at the worlds I build.

I write what I do because the real world is too predictable and doesn't make sense, but the worlds I create do. When I write, I am building a place to process things—not just for my readers, but for myself.

I build worlds that are dark, gritty, dangerous, neon-lit, and chaotic. I make them this way because I want to explore fear in a safe place, and I am obsessed with the idea of survival.

I populate these places with characters who struggle with trusting each other, finding their found family, fighting broken systems, and seeking redemption. I put them through hell because it’s the best way I know how to figure out what they—and by extension, I—are actually made of. The fears, hopes, and questions my characters carry are often my own, just wrapped in armor, wielding 4th dimensional abilities, or alien physics.

When you read my work, you are getting the most honest version of me that exists. The themes I keep returning to, the atmospheres that bleed through the pages, the emotional journeys of the people who live there, that is my actual biography.

I make these worlds because I need them to exist. I share them because I’m hoping you might need them, too.

So, if you want to know who I am, don't ask me to describe myself. Just open the book. Step into the world.

I’m already in there, waiting for you.