When I was a child, my father read Asimov and Zelazny to me. As a teenager, I gravitated toward the likes of China Mieville, Charles Stross, and Tad Williams because they wrote jaw-dropping, gear-turning science fiction, (future) fantasy, dystopian, and occult novels without a romantic element. I was there for the story, after all, not tales of love.
I create worlds that surpass the reality of our own; places where miracles are rooted in the logic of the supernatural or divine. My characters experience what remains of a person when circumstances strip away all they thought they were. Through them, I allow my readers to explore what it means to be human when humanity is no longer a given.
I write the stories I wish my father would’ve been able to read to me: riveting tales with a kick-ass heroine who happens to be gay. To the amazing and developing body of lesbian fiction, I want to add the weird, the gritty, and the uncomfortable. My love stories are messy, chaotic, glorious experiences that add flavor to the plot but which are not the plot itself—just like it is in life. To the mainstream body of work within the genres I write, I want to add stories where women turn to women once they stop the apocalypse—either global or personal.
Come find me!