I 

scribble, nearly incoherent lines, on the first page. “I have this weird, quirky, complex, often complicated, tense, unorthodox family and I am completely in love with all of it.”       

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              I fought, with every got-damned bit of my rebel soul, against surrendering to a love and idea of family that was, and often still is, terrifyingly foreign to me. Some nights (more than I wish) I am awake while the house hums its 

way toward dawn, deep in reflection over all the questions and all the answers that only lead to more hefty questions. During this time, I confront. I forgive. I pray. I weep. I remember that I spent a stretch of years emotionally broken and toxic, afraid and desperate to be wanted-desperate to find salvation in the eyes and arms of others. We have all been addicts to various forms of escapism, right? My drug had been books and their promise of a world greater than my own. Later I lost myself to the relentless and ravenous addiction to belong. I lied to myself. I morphed into whatever I thought was required to be wanted-to be seen worthy of claim. I needed, so badly, for someone to call me theirs-to see me, in a way that I had never known was possible to see myself. 
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             “It is impossible to accept anyone’s want of you without owning your worth, first.” A journal entry I wrote after running for my life 7 years ago. I knew that if I stayed where I was (internally) I’d surely go mad(der) and grant my active wish for death. Writing, my first surrender, saved my life. Not to sound whimsical, but there is certainly God between the stacks, on the blank page, and in the outpouring of thought. Writing is, for me, the only practical assurance of divine existence. Church is an honest and earnest story arc and the editing pen is a good and perfect gift. I am still learning to be good to myself in all the ways that I support my commitment to be a great son, brother, father, uncle, partner, friend, and writer. I am changing the narratives every day. Every night that calls me up to reflect and pen through this revisionists life-a life of love and evolving forgiveness and acceptance, helps to answer the question:

 I'm just trynna' write a better story than the one I wrote yesterday.

 and lived 

 and live

I write stories to examine the "why" of life-to document the journey of being human, that is to say, to stumble about in the dark searching for light. My work seeks to honor and unpacks the grit and grace of that story, which is a lot like most of our stories. I ain't got answers, only earnest questions. This site is under construction. The full website will be up soon. 'Till then, hang out with me at the links below.