Creativity has always been my default setting. I started writing short stories in second grade—usually because I was convinced I could fix the endings of the books I read. (Spoiler: I probably didn’t.) Over the years, my writing evolved from angsty middle school poetry to something resembling actual stories, though I’m fairly certain teenage me thought she was the next literary genius. (Spoiler #2: she wasn’t.)
My first art “masterpiece” was framed and hung in the prestigious halls of House Roberts—otherwise known as my grandmother’s hallway. A third-grade sketch of a bull, placed in prime kitchen-adjacent real estate, proving that even back then, I had a flair for the dramatic.
These days, I spend my time spinning stories, taming my to-do lists, and proving (mostly to myself) that AI can be a useful sidekick without stealing the spotlight. Spoiler #3: I write all my own stories, but my to-do lists have a little robotic help.
When I’m not writing or organizing my life into tiny color-coded boxes, I’m wrangling my eight ferrets—one of whom, Flips, has declared herself my permanent sidekick, despite having a heart condition, adrenal disease, and a general air of unbothered mischief. You’ll see her frequently on my Twitch streams, where we collectively ignore productivity in favor of chaos.
I also juggle chronic migraines and OCD, meaning life is a constant game of “How much chaos can I juggle today?”(Spoiler #4: The answer is always “all of it.”) If you ever catch me making oddly rhythmic hand gestures or twitching my face evenly on both sides, that’s just my OCD keeping things symmetrical. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.
Basically, I’m out here trying to turn chaos into stories—one migraine-y, twitchy, coffee-fueled moment at a time.
