They call me The Pulp Writer General.
I remember who coined it — that drunk at the drive-in. I remember when I first wrote it — scrawled in red ink on the inside cover of a prototype paperback I had printed on demand, back when self-publishing wasn’t cool.
I’m a product of the tail end of Generation X, raised on VHS rentals and dog-eared horror paperbacks. I fell in love with motion pictures and the typewriter at an early age, always leaning into the shadows—monsters, murderers, midnight matinees.
My work lives somewhere between grindhouse cinema and gothic literature. I write with atmosphere, heart, and a twisted sense of fun. It’s horror with soul. Pulp with purpose.