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Writing Samples and Publication


School Lit Mag.

Pathfinder Magazine 2021-22

Pathfinder Magazine 2023-24

Me in Paris circa 2012.jpeg

Little me at Rodin Gardens.

Paris, France. Circa 2012.

Picture sourced from my mom's facebook.

River Seine

PATHFINDER Magazine 2021 Scholarship Winner

My mother made me crepes one morning, and, with the smoke milling around the kitchen table, we shared a brisk morning of nothing, but the birds singing, sizzle of a hot pan in the rare quiet of the house, before anyone stirred. It reminded me of a memory in Paris when I was young, ambling along the river Seine, a quiet, foggy morning. Gentle white wisps tickling my red nose and the tips of my fingers shoved into the pockets of a coat I’d been bought just for this adventure with my mother. my childhood eyes aghast at a world out of a painting from the big museum we’d gone to yesterday. Like those painters, I imagined what it would be like to capture the subtle pink and grey waves into a bottle, not unlike one my grandfather would have picked up, the glass stranded on a beach somewhere, so I could live there after we returned. We could sit at our table and trade words on living on a boat—my mother insists a catamaran—I’d keep in the frosted purple bottle, on the waters of the Seine. A quiet sway as Monet’s water lilies drift lazily by.

Winter Like the dying star must have had

Reading included in 2022 live performance,
Crested Butte, CO:
Winter at the End of the Road 

The atmosphere is like winter Too hushed and barren for the bellow of a living being that breathes out— unequal to the perpetual gasp winter takes And takes until you make out the ribs of the deer shakily crossing the street where it thought it beheld bushes still clinging to warmth the sun has so little to give, if you saw the deer, not a speck of ghost floating in space, as all Winters are haunted by sounds that are muffled, like little shrieks of children concealed beneath castles of pillows and blankets, muting the whole world save rustling twigs swaying and howling wind that animals cower from. The rivers are still and coated in ice, as if they never existed. Snow, that great assassin forbids gravity to yell, and as you walk on the low rumble of compacting snow you venture across the gods’ new white canvas a single crow caws through dead air the last stain of life aside from you, your hot chocolate mug burning your fingers but clutching it close to keep warm, staring out the window at millions of snowflakes stark against the night sky, yellow through the light of a street lamp. Those snowflakes must look exactly how it looked when the world came together as stardust shone against black space, through the streetlamp of a dying star The world is not unlike you stepping into the single patch of sun the red skin of your face tingling from the warmth of the breath that was stolen from your lungs when you stepped out into the air the first moment of a morning where frost crystalizes on tree leaves, and instead of hiding the world, outlines it in brilliant white chalk. It is similar to feeling for the first time— the heat on your skin: like stumbling into love when you were alone in the sharp cold for such a bitter long time your eyes beginning to close, warmth seeping away into the snow and melting into the earth, where you hope it will reach its center.

crested butte.jpeg

Song of the Blackwood

Excerpt of a larger work in progress, and additional illustration and design. Print Version showcased at B.A. exhibition. Fantasy/Horror

In which the main character, Corvus, runs away from home following a mysterious humming sound. He ventures into the forbidden Blackwood in search of the source, and is met with eerie new discoveries, physical changes as the Blackwood rubs off on him, and meets with a bizarre guide.

Witches of Willowfen

Short story draft in progress done for Genre Fiction study. Fantasy/Mystery

A fantasy murder mystery about self-control and overcoming fear. It’s set both in a small community of witches called Beldam Den, and the enchanted forest of Willowfen. When a fellow witch is mysteriously killed in Willowfen, Sable fears her unstable magic might have been the unwitting cause. She and her best friend, Beth, venture into the enchanted forest to learn everything they can about the magic and the murder. With the help of a Willowfen witch named Andrew, Sable is able to break through her anxieties and discover her true powers, leading her to discover the culprit of the murder

Quartz and Coffee

Short story draft in progress done for Genre Fiction study. Romance

Estelle, a little off beat from the world, could never figure out how to do the whole "romance" thing, and was resigned not to. That is until she meets a boy named Nick at her local coffee shop, Lava Java.

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