Category: The Heart of the Story
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The male gaze could never survive my pen
The male gaze never stood a chance. Not in my books. Not in my characters. Not in a single sentence I’ve written for as long as I’ve been conscious of my existence. Because I don’t write women to be admired. I write them to be understood. To be messy, contradictory, overfeeling, unlikable, unforgivable, sacred, wounded, and sometimes dangerous. I don’t dress them up for male approval. I write them how they live inside of us. Fully. If that makes some people uncomfortable? Good. Women, but for real So many “strong female characters” were clearly written by men who think our…
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Let’s talk about violence (in fiction)
These stories aren’t dark for the sake of it. The violence isn’t spectacle — it’s language. It speaks of silence, shame, and the quiet ways people undo each other. If it makes readers uncomfortable, that’s the point. Fiction isn’t meant to soothe all the time. Sometimes, it’s meant to confront.
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Can a murder be poetic?
In my books, no one dies for fun. They die for love. Or shame. Or because silence turned into something sharper than a knife. Murder, in fiction, isn’t about shock — it’s about what it reveals. And if written right, it doesn’t glorify death. It asks you to sit with it. To feel the quiet ruin it leaves behind.