There are stories you consume.
And then there are stories that stay with you.
The kind you think about days later. The kind that return unexpectedly while you’re driving, or sitting in silence, or staring at a ceiling at night. Not because they were loud. But because they were honest.
That’s the kind of fiction I’m trying to write.
Not fast fiction.
Not trendy fiction.
Not fiction engineered to chase algorithms or attention spans.
I’m interested in stories that ask something of the reader.
Stories...
