Epic stories, in my experience, tend to start in quiet corners. My writing has lived in many places: a desk squeezed into a toy room, library study spaces with tall windows, and whatever quiet seat I could claim while finishing school abroad. The places change. The habit stays.

I studied elementary education and international studies, which shaped how I think about stories and the people who read them. I care deeply about clarity, rhythm, and the responsibility that comes with telling a story someone might carry with them long after they close the book. Words travel farther than we expect, and I try to write with that in mind.

I began writing The Septenary Saga in high school, without knowing it would follow me for years. It grew slowly, the way real worlds do, shaped by revision, doubt, and the stubborn sense that some stories don’t let go until they say what they mean. At its heart, the series is about land, balance, consequence, and people who never asked for power but are forced to decide what to do with it.

I’m drawn to outsiders and underdogs, to characters who would rather do the right thing quietly than be remembered loudly. I love fantasy that treats wonder seriously, that uses myth to make the world clearer instead of softer, and that lets hope be something chosen rather than guaranteed.