About

I was born on Christmas Day, 1990, in Romania—the kind of day that feels stitched together from forgotten myths, full of magic and irony. It's been a good metaphor for my life, really. I write because it's my way of unraveling the tangled threads that make up this strange, beautiful, brutal world.

Every week, I put out a new short story—little windows into different worlds, quick snapshots of what it means to be alive and messy and human. I write novels and serialized fiction too, always pushing, always trying to snap the mold. Because the mold is comfortable, and comfort is the slow, sticky death of anything worth living for. Art, as far as I'm concerned, is the ultimate act of rebellion. It should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable, waking them up from the dull lull of a life unlived.

If you've ever had a moment where something you've read made you put the book down and just breathe—where words cracked something open inside you, made you laugh or cry or feel just a bit less alone—that's the kind of thing I aim for. I want my stories to grab you by the throat, or maybe whisper in your ear, to shake you out of yourself or wrap around you like a shield.

Here, you won't find stories that fit neatly into boxes. I write for the outliers, the ones who have stared down the void and lived to tell the tale. Every story is a little act of creation and destruction—a shot of truth, a bit of light in the darkness. Stick around if you're into that sort of thing.