Creativity has always been my default setting. I started writing short stories in second grade, usually because I thought I could fix the endings of the books I read. (Spoiler: I probably didn’t.) Over the years, my writing evolved from angsty middle school poetry to something resembling actual stories, though I’m pretty sure teenage me thought she was the next literary genius. Spoiler: she wasn’t.
My first art “masterpiece” was framed and hung in the prestigious halls of House Roberts—otherwise known as my grandmother’s hallway. It was a bull I drew in third grade, and yes, it had a place of honor right near the kitchen. Prime real estate for a kid with a pencil and dreams of greatness.
These days, I’m focused on telling stories, wrangling a busy life, and proving (mostly to myself) that AI can be a helpful sidekick without stealing the spotlight. Spoiler: I write all my own stories, even if my to-do lists have a little robotic help.
When I’m not writing or organizing my life into tiny color-coded boxes, I’m hanging out with my eight ferrets. One of them is an albino with a long-term injury as well as adrenal disease and a heart condition who’s taken up permanent residence as my sidekick. You'll see her often on the Twitch streams! I also manage chronic migraines and OCD, which means life’s often a game of “how much chaos can I juggle today?” (Spoiler: The answer is usually “all of it.”) And if you catch me making oddly rhythmic hand gestures or twitching my face evenly on both sides, that’s just my OCD keeping me in line. (It’s fine. Everything’s fine.)
Basically, I’m just out here trying to turn chaos into stories, one migraine-y, twitchy moment at a time.
