WRITER UNDER FELINE SUPERVISION
This space was never meant to be tidy. I started writing under a pen name to think more freely, to slip past my own internal censors, and to give shape to thoughts that don’t fit in professional bios or perfectly formatted posts.
Here, I write like no one’s watching—which is a lie, because Molly is always watching. She disapproves of most things: my pacing, my punctuation, my coffee choices. Still, she stays. So do I.
Hello, come on in!
There’s tea on the stove and chaos in the margins. This is a quiet corner of the internet where I write things that don’t quite fit anywhere else. If you’re here, you’re already part of the story.
Read
Browse the blog for essays, characters, and odd thoughts that wandered too far to keep to myself.
Support
Leave a comment, share a post, send a message—or join me on Patreon if you’d like to help keep the kettle on.
Enjoy
I hope you find something here that sticks, stings, or makes you smile. Preferably all three.
Writings
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Happy low
A friend invited me to a movie in what can only be described as the least Hallmark way possible. The Facebook message read: “If you’re sitting around your flat feeling fat and your husband’s working, why not tag along for a movie?” I stared at it, blinking. Then it clicked, ah, yes. Pregnancy. I’m used…
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Time holds its breath
Time holds its breath in the neonatal intensive care unit — Ward 316 at Queen Silvia’s Children’s Hospital. Not even the dust dares to stir. Every shadow, every fold of fabric, every sterile surface is steeped in one single yearning: a mother’s prayer, whispered to anything willing to hear her. A plea for grace. For…
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The Trainee
Title: The Trainee Pitch: Ken is a brilliant but jaded programmer, deep into building his own virtual reality simulation when he’s unexpectedly assigned a trainee. The trainee drinks his Jolt Cola, asks unsettling questions, and seems oddly fascinated with how Ken handles glitches and stubborn NPCs. Then comes the reveal: the trainee is God. Not…
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My family tree
Hulda Andersson was, by all accounts, not a beautiful woman. At least, that’s what I’ve heard, and the few photos I’ve seen do little to contradict the claim. She lived on a farm outside Blomstermåla at the end of the 19th century. Her husband passed away while she was pregnant, and she gave birth to…
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Misplaced Hardys
The books arrived on a rainy Thursday, which felt poetic in a way that was mostly irritating.The FedEx box was in fine condition, the kind of box that suggested someone had cared enough to pack it, but not enough to pack it correctly. Inside were seven volumes, all in matching cloth-bound severity, smelling faintly of…