The Chapter That Sat in my Throat There are chapters you write with your hands.And then there are chapters that write you. Chapter Three of Yours, Theirs, Still—“Dusted Paint and Come”—was the latter. It wasn’t the most explicit. It didn’t…
Desire as Revelation There’s a quiet ache that lives in all of us—some call it longing, some call it shame. I write toward that ache. When I’m writing sex that means something, I’m not chasing choreography. Not really. Where the…
Releasing My Debut Erotic Novel It’s hard to put into words what it feels like to hold the first copy of His, Theirs, Enough in my hands. To know it’s out there—real, breathing, waiting to be devoured. After all the…
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