Be the Lisard!
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.
But if you subscribe to my substack newsletter, you’ll get little nuggets on random observations sent to you on equally random occasions.
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.
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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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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. It felt like appropriate weather for reading.The FedEx box was in good condition. Inside were seven matching cloth-bound volumes, smelling faintly of mildew. I had expected the complete works of Thomas Hardy; tragic novels, windswept moors, the temporary nature of existence. What I got instead was an extremely…