Once upon a time, there was a little girl raised on the dew of creative nights and the blood of too many paper cuts from thick book pages. The universe lined up just so, allowing the mind of a splatterpunk author to press through the ugly birth canal of humanity.
It’s me, the pen behind the paper. The sense behind the scribbles. The lunatic behind the ramblings. The person behind the horror.
When I started writing the construction-paper novels of a three-year-old, I wrote about people with no imagination, prisoners, and children who fell from trees right onto their heads. As I grew up, my obsession with philosophy, darkness, and terror only increased. A concern for most school counselors, the content filling the lines of school journals never matched the intended class.
What I wrote about upset some teachers, most family members and friends, but intrigued a whole list of other misfits. Dark fiction centered on existentialism, death, and the raw truths of humankind. My poetry, short stories, and novels have raised the hackles on many a neck. My goal is to alter a mind, not just brighten it with happiness and falsities.
Why would a sweet, lovely, innocent little 23-year-old be interested in writing such obscenities? Such chaos? I feel at home here, writing various sorts of dark fiction whether it be strict splatterpunk, dark literary fiction, or twisted fantasy. Horror tells a story not just to tell it, but to explore the terror of the modern man. Dark fiction has the ability to break and build minds. My goal is to alter a mind, not just brighten it with happiness and falsities.
Who I am rests on the passion driving my life and my work. My entire heart backs anything I do. It always has. Who I am has never been one thing, one person. I am an amalgamation of juxtaposing experiences, thoughts, and beliefs. I am both the creator of my work and the byproduct of my work. I am who I am because it is who I choose to be.
How I write, as an added bonus, is one of two ways. I either scribble around in some journal using various fountain pens, Parker, Pelican, Cross, and many others including one handmade gift. If not this way, I sit behind the keys of a typewriter. My current beauty of choice is a 1929 Royal No. 10 that my husband gave me. I’m in love with the art and its various tools, the older the better.