Why I write the strange, the quiet, and the beautiful

There’s a particular moment, just before the sun rises above the houses at the end of our street, when the light turns the treetops copper. The shadows stretch, the birds awaken, and for a breath or two, the world feels both ancient and oddly delicate. Like something could slip through a crack in the sky…

Why I write (writing vs philosophy)

PRE-BLOG WARNING: Hold on tight. Reading this post might feel like sailing a punctured life-raft along a stream of consciousness. Don’t worry. It’ll be over soon.   I’ve been thinking quite a bit lately about how authors label themselves. Authors. Artists. Creatives. Content Creators. Storytellers. Novellists. Poets. But I suppose the label that sticks to…