I don’t usually write for myself. I’m not that “dear diary” type of babe.

But when I do, whew, it’s therapeutic in a way I can’t explain.

There’s something powerful about shaping people on a page.

I study real people a lot. Watch them, listen, store things quietly.

Then when I’m building characters, I ask:

“If this were the real-life version, would they actually do this?”

That’s how I build characters that feel real.

Messy.

Flawed.

Unpredictable.

Human.

Writing Is Where I Make Sense of the Madness

It gives me clarity and sometimes, closure.