Short fiction
Dark, atmospheric crime that shares a border with literary fiction — stories about the quiet unraveling before a life changes shape.
For a long time these stories only existed in my head. Now I'm putting them on the page.
My work sits at the border of dark, atmospheric crime and literary fiction — though I've never really believed the two are separate. Whether a story turns on a mystery or a quiet moment between two people, I'm usually chasing the same thing: the emotional truth of how people live with one another, fail one another, and sometimes find their way back.
I keep returning to the same handful of preoccupations — silence, guilt, memory, love, and the way a place can work its way into someone's inner life. Crime, for me, is less the subject than the pressure that reveals character. I'm less interested in what happened than in what it exposes.
When I'm not writing, I'm usually on a long walk by the water, working out a knot in a draft, before coming home to a book and a flat white.