The Colors That Haunt Us is finally published, and I'm somewhere between relieved, proud, and terrified. From three proof copies to wondering who's reading it, here's what life looks like on the other side of my first book release.

For months, there was always another task between me and finished. Now The Colors That Haunt Us is almost out of my hands, and I’m learning that being ready to publish a book feels very different from being ready for other people to have it.

What I want most from a reader is not one specific emotion or interpretation. I want a story to give them enough room to feel something of their own, see themselves somewhere unexpected, and close the book with an opinion worth carrying with them.

A personal reflection on writing queer stories for queer readers, representation, acearo identity, complicated characters, and making room for queer lives that are strange, messy, beautiful, and fully alive.

A core part of my life has been learning how to be myself. That has not always been easy, and for a long time it did not even feel possible. Because of that, I think I am always writing toward the places people are told not to look too closely: pain, loneliness, longing, uncertainty, desire, change, the parts of a self or a life that others would rather flatten, fear, or dismiss. I am interested in finding beauty there, not because suffering is noble, but because even difficu