I’m Gen X—part of that feral generation raised on unsupervised afternoons and hose water. For me, that meant long days exploring creeks with my dog or getting lost in books. You know—avoiding people.

But even then, I told stories. To my dog, my friends, and my long-suffering little sister who just wanted to draw in peace. Eventually, I started writing them down in longhand on whatever paper I could find. At eleven, I wrote a 50-page epic involving dragons and unicorns called The Unicorn Wind—which I thought sounded poetic at the time. Now it mostly sounds like a magical bottom burp.

It didn’t stop there. If my English assignment called for 200 words, I’d turn in 1,500. At sixteen, I handed my English teacher a short story—about 10,000 words—and she told me she couldn’t put it down. That I should consider writing as a career. (Thank you, Ms. Whydell. That meant more than you knew.)

Of course, my guidance counsellor disagreed. Writing wasn’t a “real” job, apparently. So I spent 25 years in animal welfare. Empathy is easy for me; people, not so much. But I kept writing—in the background, in notebooks, on old laptops.

If I couldn’t find the kind of story I wanted, I wrote it: fantasy, fanfic, horror. But urban fantasy is where I found my voice. A world full of monsters and magic and misfits—a world that felt like home.

I’ve always believed that monsters aren’t automatically bad. Some can’t help what they are. Some fight to protect. And some, well—some earn the title. In my stories, I get to explore that idea: to show the difference between monsters by nature and monsters by choice.

For a long time, I kept those worlds to myself. I’m an introvert with a knack for overthinking and a crippling case of impostor syndrome. The idea of chasing traditional publishing—bracing for rejections—felt like too much.

Then self-publishing came along. It felt like an open door I didn’t know I was waiting for. With encouragement from friends, I finally worked up the nerve to share my stories.

I still wrestle with self-doubt, but these days, I remind myself: the monsters in my head aren’t there to scare me. They’re there to protect me—and maybe, if I’m lucky, to entertain you.

So welcome to my weird, wonderful world. Stay awhile. Look around.

I hope you find something you like!