The first time I read 1984 in high school, I knew I was going to write a book.

Only it took me a while to land on writing. In my youngest memory, I wanted to be a Disney animator. I even entered a villain design contest in Disney Adventures magazine, though I didn’t win.

Then, technology took over, and animation changed. The magic that drew me to the craft was different, and I didn’t really want to be an animator anymore.

Instead, I studied fine arts to translate that creative urge into painting. But my work was dark, and I wasn’t ready to explore why yet. If I couldn’t recognize what my art was really trying to say, how could anyone else?

So, I shifted to a creative outlet with more structure: fashion design. A design job led me to meet Betsey Johnson and receive a compliment during Fashion Week on a handmade dress. But I was turned off by the wastefulness of the industry. Of all industries, in fact. Now, I was becoming an environmentalist.

So, I went back to school. This time to change the world. After a failed attempt to open a community-based restaurant that I though might achieve something worthwhile, I determined I needed to get into the belly of the beast if I wanted to make a difference. I studied political science and, after a recent trip there, decided to double major in Latin American studies. That learning experience taught me uncomfortable truths about what it could mean to work for the U.S. government.

So, I ran away.

Sure, there were other decisions in there: I went back to Costa Rica, volunteered as an English teacher in a remote village, met a guy, became a TEFL teacher, married a guy, opened an indigenous art gallery, got left by a guy, went to Brazil, Portugal, Germany, India, Thailand, nearly went to China in December 2019, and ended up in Haiti for two months before landing back in North Carolina. But basically, I was running away from the corruption I saw and the helplessness I felt to stop it.

In some small way, I feel that sharing my speculative stories is how I was meant to contribute.

Shortly after reading 1984, I had my first vision of the SkyWorld: A conveyor belt of people in drab navys, greys, and beiges being pumped up and down the veins of a city, like cables feeding energy into a massive machine.

But ten years would pass before I started to write my first novel, plus another four years to finish to finish it, then another two to finally self-publish in 2020. I had little writing experience to my name, had never tried marketing, and was averse to using social media. So, unfortunately, I left the book on its own, unpromoted.

Instead, I decided to build a career that could fund my work as a sci-fi writer and ended up ghostwriting for corporate executives. But in March 2026, I walked away from it all. Now, sci-fi writing is my focus, and my job is finding readers. I hope that starts with you.