New Project: Into Dust

A story about what we carry—and what waits for us when we stop running.

I’ve been working on a new book. A psychological thriller. Something slower, stranger, and more spacious than what I usually publish.

It’s called Into Dust.

At its surface, it’s a story about a woman on the road—movement, exhaustion, the feeling that life might finally be opening after a long period of holding everything together. It follows her through hotels, cities, conversations, and moments that feel almost right. Almost earned. Almost aligned.

Underneath that, it’s a book about what we carry for years without realizing the weight of it and what happens when we stop running long enough to feel it shift. It sits close to the tradition of dark literary fiction—work that allows beauty and damage to exist side by side, without explanation or moral instruction.

This project is still unfolding. I’m sharing pieces of it here not as a reveal, but as a record: fragments, visuals, notes from the margins. Think of this as an open notebook rather than a finished argument.

Nothing here will spoil the story. Nothing here will explain it away.

If you’ve been following my poetry, this will feel familiar in tone, even as the form stretches. The same preoccupations are here—fracture, endurance, recognition—but given more room to breathe.

I’ll mark posts related to the book clearly as Into Dust (WIP) so you can read along.