Memoirist. Poet. Survivor.
I write stories that reframe trauma with truth, beauty, and myth.
Hello
Once upon a time, I worked in marketing. I hated it. (Nothing wrong with marketing, really—but it just wasn’t for me.)
Now, in quiet protest against all those wasted years, I’ve given it up completely. No personal brand. No curated pitch.
Just the writing.
So instead of a clever bio about why I’m amazing or why you should commission me, here’s a short poem that says it better.
​
I used to lie for a living
marketing paid big bucks
but now I write—for love, and fun
it’s better than working
with soulless f***s
My Story
(Spoiler alert: starts sad, ends healing)
Sometime around 1994, I was taken to Edinburgh by my Scout leader and led into a darkened basement, where I was gang raped by at least five men. The ordeal likely lasted for hours. It’s no surprise, then, that I developed complex PTSD.
For the next thirty years, I lived with buried clues—laid out by my subconscious in an elaborate trauma treasure hunt. When the memories began to return, I lost the plot a little (understandably). I spent a short time homeless and was retraumatised by echoes of what had happened in Edinburgh.
That was the shock that brought the butterfly and the mentor (see the boy becomes again) into my life—two figures who helped me take the necessary steps toward healing.
Now, I live in Amsterdam. I work two part-time jobs: unpacking books at Waterstones and cleaning floors at Albert Heijn. When I have the time (and the courage), I write fiction, poetry, and survivor stories—tales from one survivor, to all others.