What have you been reading lately?

Lately, I’ve been revisiting a mix of James Patterson, Edgar Allan Poe, and the poetry of colleagues and fellow writers. I enjoy moving between familiar voices and contemporary work—it keeps me grounded in craft while also reminding me why writing still feels alive and communal.

What first sparked the idea for the book, and how did it evolve from that initial moment of inspiration?

The Fragments of Shadow & Sound was originally meant to be the title of a music album—something tied to compositions I had been writing. Over time, I found myself revisiting poetry from my years at Hofstra, lyrics that never quite became songs, and pieces that felt too poetic to stay confined to music alone.

Then I fell deeply for someone who didn’t feel the same, and the aftermath of that experience became unavoidable to write through. All of this eventually evolved into a reflective, dark, and symphonic poetry collection—one that lives somewhere between sound, silence, and emotional reckoning.

Can you describe your writing routine—where, when, and how you tend to write best?

My writing routine is fluid. I’m grateful to have my phone as a place to capture ideas, stanzas, and fragments whenever they arrive. Inspiration is a bit like lightning in a bottle—it can strike while walking around town, sitting in nature, or even during my day job chatting with customers in the middle of a lunch rush.

I’ve absolutely written poems on blank receipts when that’s all I had in front of me.

Are you a pantser or a plotter? In other words, do you plan your stories before writing them?

Even though the question doesn’t quite fit poetry, I’d say I’m a hybrid. Poetry usually begins in fragments—images or emotional moments—so I write instinctively at first. Revision is where structure starts to emerge.

I’m also working on a longer-form project that requires more plotting and world-building, which has made me appreciate how valuable structure can be. Across forms, I try to balance discovery with direction and let the work reveal its shape over time.

Was there a particular part that proved especially challenging to write?

If there was a challenge, it was resisting the urge to force the words onto the page. I was constantly trying to find a balance between musical lyricism, emotional intensity, and a natural poetic flow—without leaning too heavily into any one of those.

Two examples would be “Tessellation of Two,” with its dense alliteration, where I had to avoid rambling while still allowing complexity and meaning to unfold over multiple readings; and “Crave,” which required unveiling an intimate moment without crossing into something gratuitous. I wanted the reader to quietly inhabit the scene and take from it what they will, rather than be told how to feel.

Which authors, books, or artistic influences (literary or otherwise) have shaped your voice the most?

Much of my voice has been shaped by music—choral work, musical theatre, film scores, and even video game composition. Shakespeare, cliché as it may sound, has also been influential in my love of rhythm, near-rhyme, and meter.

Beyond that, fantasy, dark romanticism, and gothic horror have deeply informed my aesthetic. Reading the work of my peers has been just as impactful—some of their writing has even inspired me to set their words to music.

What do you most hope readers feel or think about after finishing the book?

I hope readers feel invited to return—to reread, to sit with poems that may not have resonated at first. Some lines are intentionally dense or deceptively simple, and often reveal more with time.

More than anything, I hope readers recognize the journey. I begin at the top of a tower—yours may be miles high or only inches—but we all fall. We learn to love, to rise again, and to carry what we’ve survived. Like kintsugi, we repair ourselves—not with literal gold or silver—but with experience, resilience, and truth. Eventually, we learn how to live inside our fragments.

What advice would you give to other aspiring indie writers?

Keep writing. Keep discovering your niche. Listen to conversations around you, save quotes that resonate, and write things down wherever you can. Creating a book—especially on your own—is difficult, but it’s worth it to hold something that is unmistakably yours.

As someone with multiple disabilities, I could have allowed many things to stop me—but I didn’t, and I won’t. Don’t let anything convince you that your voice isn’t worth finishing.

Anything else you’d like to add?

If there’s anything I’d add, it’s this: fragments are not failures. They’re evidence that something mattered enough to break—and to be rebuilt.

You can get your copy of The Fragments of Shadow & Sound here!