At the moment, the only fiction writing I have available is my novelette: A Night Alone in My Dread . You can learn more about it (and read the first chapter for free) by reading this post .

Or you can go order it on Kindle or in paperback right now.

A Night Alone in My Dread
Available on Kindle / Or in Paperback

A freelance videographer spends a lonely evening obsessing over his past after a visit from the NYPD reveals his involvement in a shocking and tragic crime.

Here’s a review !

Fiction writing offers a unique space where storytellers can step outside their own lives and explore the inner worlds of characters who think, feel, and react in unexpected ways. For a creative mind drawn to film, art, and the messy process of being human, crafting short novels and stories becomes another way of asking the same questions that drive a camera lens or a journal entry. The result is a quiet experiment in empathy, shaped by the same curiosity that fuels a weekly blog post or a conversation with a fellow artist about life and craft. Reading fiction can feel like sitting across from someone in a coffee shop, listening as they slowly piece together a memory they have not fully understood yet. A good story gives readers room to bring their own experience into the scene, to recognize a feeling, a regret, or a small hope that has been sitting just beneath the surface. This kind of writing is not about tidy answers or polished lessons. It is about the slow, honest work of paying attention to what it means to be a person in an ordinary moment, and letting that attention carry the reader somewhere new. For filmmakers and other creatives, fiction can serve as a kind of sketchbook for the bigger projects still taking shape in the imagination. A short novelette allows a writer to test a voice, to follow a character through one long evening or one difficult choice, and to see what the story teaches in the editing process of revision and restraint. The form is forgiving enough to experiment with tone, but demanding enough that every paragraph has to earn its place. In that sense, fiction shares a rhythm with filmmaking itself, where time, patience, and the willingness to cut away what is not needed often matter more than any single dramatic moment. Turning to fiction is also a way of staying grounded in the practice of storytelling when other projects are between stages or waiting for the right season to begin. Writing a chapter by chapter, scene by scene, mirrors the slow accumulation of a film or video project, where the work is built one day at a time. Readers who follow a blog about creative life often appreciate seeing that process unfold in a new form, watching an idea grow from a single image into a complete narrative. In the end, fiction becomes another way of walking the same path the writer has always been on, simply with a different pair of shoes.

Fiction writing offers a unique space where storytellers can step outside their own lives and explore the inner worlds of characters who think, feel, and react in unexpected ways. For a creative mind drawn to film, art, and the messy process of being human, crafting short novels and stories becomes another way of asking the same questions that drive a camera lens or a journal entry. The result is a quiet experiment in empathy, shaped by the same curiosity that fuels a weekly blog post or a conversation with a fellow artist about life and craft. Reading fiction can feel like sitting across from someone in a coffee shop, listening as they slowly piece together a memory they have not fully understood yet. A good story gives readers room to bring their own experience into the scene, to recognize a feeling, a regret, or a small hope that has been sitting just beneath the surface. This kind of writing is not about tidy answers or polished lessons. It is about the slow, honest work of paying attention to what it means to be a person in an ordinary moment, and letting that attention carry the reader somewhere new. For filmmakers and other creatives, fiction can serve as a kind of sketchbook for the bigger projects still taking shape in the imagination. A short novelette allows a writer to test a voice, to follow a character through one long evening or one difficult choice, and to see what the story teaches in the editing process of revision and restraint. The form is forgiving enough to experiment with tone, but demanding enough that every paragraph has to earn its place. In that sense, fiction shares a rhythm with filmmaking itself, where time, patience, and the willingness to cut away what is not needed often matter more than any single dramatic moment. Turning to fiction is also a way of staying grounded in the practice of storytelling when other projects are between stages or waiting for the right season to begin. Writing a chapter by chapter, scene by scene, mirrors the slow accumulation of a film or video project, where the work is built one day at a time. Readers who follow a blog about creative life often appreciate seeing that process unfold in a new form, watching an idea grow from a single image into a complete narrative. In the end, fiction becomes another way of walking the same path the writer has always been on, simply with a different pair of shoes.

Stories have a way of reaching the parts of us that ordinary conversation cannot. When a writer sits down to build a scene, they are really mapping the inner weather of a moment, the kind that lingers long after the last sentence is read. This blog treats fiction as a place to slow down and pay attention, to give shape to feelings that often feel too tangled to talk about directly. Readers who find themselves drawn to character-driven work that explores loneliness, memory, and the strange gravity of the everyday will likely feel at home here.

Writing a novelette is its own particular kind of challenge, somewhere between the brevity of a short story and the sustained world of a full book. It asks a writer to trust the reader enough to leave space open, to let silence carry as much weight as dialogue. The process of drafting, editing, cutting, and rewriting becomes a long conversation with oneself about what the story actually needs. Sharing that work publicly, whether as a first chapter offered freely or a complete piece available for purchase, is part of the ongoing path of learning how to be heard without losing the quiet center that drew you to write in the first place.