The following is my set of belief systems I’ve concocted, that is ever evolving, upon which my artistic process has been founded. I think about this list before sitting down to write. In fact, I have a sticky note with these beliefs scrawled on, stuck on the window above my desk that I love looking out of while I write to see the row of Philly townhouses before me. These are not literal in the classic sense, but are nevertheless wholly, and undeniably true. Reading them before my writing practice allows me to focus on the essence of the statements, making sure that I approach my work with an utmost sense of integrity, and a whole lot of play. Currently, my beliefs are as follows:

I believe in forest green. I believe in forest fires. I believe in the power we hold as storytellers. I believe in the mythical being made real. I believe that if we can dream something up in our minds, then it holds the limitless potential to exist right in front of us. I believe that if talking about events makes them less powerful, then writing about them makes them more powerful– not as in the power it holds over you, but as in the power it holds to ignite, awaken, illuminate something in someone else (or yourself). I believe in big elephants in tiny rooms. I believe in leaving no word left unsaid, alone in the mind. I believe in holding space for silence, both my own and others’. I believe in thought, vigor, and soft hands. I believe in bones, both yours and mine. I believe and know that each individual is vital. I believe I am vital. I believe in equity above all things. I believe in that which we choose, that which is bestowed upon us, and in the absolute muscle and will it takes to get where we want to be going.

With all this in mind, I write. I write primarily about neurodivergence, lesbianism, and the inextricable link between death and memory often experienced as a neurodivergent person. I write about ghosts, bloody and traumatized ex-catholic school ex-girls, and planets that collide because they have no idea how else to exist if not on their set path. I write queer elders that don’t know they’re queer, I write lesbians attempting to find more life amongst their survival.

I love being a lesbian. I love being non-binary. I love being neurodivergent. I don’t love trauma, or addiction, or financial insecurity, or memory loss, or death. And so, I write about them all. I write to figure these things out, that which I love and that which I don’t. I write to help someone else figure these things out, and maybe faster than I ever could. I write for smiles and for laughter. I write for the breaths that get held real tight upon realizing that in this world— which can be so dark, challenging, and infuriating— we are never, not ever alone in anything. And, I write for my little brother. Always for him. And I refuse to ever stop writing.