Hello from the warm side of the window.

I moved to Tucson with two boxes of books and an ambitious plan to become a morning person. The books have done well. My mornings remain a work in progress. I make a living arranging information into readable pages, and spend my unhurried hours looking for sentences that make familiar things feel strange again.

The city has taught me to notice edges: the sharp line of shade under a wall, a mountain fading into dusty light, the moment the air changes before rain. Those observations follow me into fiction. I am interested in the physical rules of imaginary places, but even more interested in how people learn to live with them.

At my desk, I keep three notebooks. One holds passages described in my own words. Another is for rough diagrams, usually drawn in coral pencil. The third is the untidy one, where shopping lists share space with questions about moons and doorways. The untidy notebook is almost always the most useful.

This site is deliberately small. I would rather return to one thoughtful paragraph than maintain a shelf of hurried opinions. There are no ratings here and no race to finish a reading list. If a book makes me walk around the neighborhood thinking about its ending, it has already given me something worth keeping.