Raised in small town Ontario, it was normal to trudge to school in waist deep snow, and to come home when the street lights came on. While my parents ran a paint store on the corner of the local shopping plaza, I poured my soul into some sort of creative aspiration with every chance that I could. As a child I would create, and I’d read my writing aloud to my makeshift classroom (my bedroom) of dolls and stuffed animals.

For as long as I can remember I’ve loved how words and phrases that mesh together in writing and song can speak to people. Similar to how Frank Lloyd Wright’s vision could turn any implausible landscape into the perfect basis for his architecture.

As I began publishing my poetry online late 2024, I thought that I’m a bit of a late bloomer. (I’ve been writing for more than two decades—perhaps it’s more appropriate to call it journalling and scribbling.) Though I look at it now as there couldn’t be a sweeter time to share pieces of my life with you.

Some of my writing revisits my struggles through childhood. Some has been rewritten from different viewpoints. Some are important ideas that have made their way to the page (and screen). Some are now, written in present day. But all are raw.

I’ve felt ready in the most unready sort of way. I’ve always been sort of shy anyway.