I tell human stories the way they actually unfold—awkward, funny, complicated, and sometimes beautiful in spite of themselves. I grew up between borders, beliefs, and budgets, which made me fluent in contradiction and allergic to pretense.

Today I write from a 1976 Airstream parked on an island, where 274 square feet keep my sentences honest and leave little room for flattery.

If you’re here for polished façades, you’re at the wrong campsite. But if you’re here for the raw stuff—grit, grace, and the jokes we tell to survive—pull up a chair.