Most stories are trained to behave.
They follow structure. They stay in their category. They resolve in ways that are easy to understand and even easier to sell.
Mine never learned how.
For years, I wrote in the quiet hours—late at night, when everything else was done. I wasn’t thinking about genre or audience. I was writing what wouldn’t leave me alone.
What came out didn’t fit.
Not quite literary. Not quite speculative. Not quite romance. Not quite dark fiction.
But carrying pieces of all of it—...
