
My nickname is EB and I’m a public health veterinarian. What that means is while I don’t see patients, in the past I’ve helped with containing disease outbreaks and teaching folks about food safety. I can share wild, poignant stories about three years of COVID-19 response, but that’s not why you’re here.
You’re here because some months ago, I started daydreaming on a conference call. I set myself on mute and poured words out on a notepad for a story that’s been knocking around in my head for years. That spark has grown into a series of books, a NaNoWriMo win, and now I’m finishing the draft of Night Gods, the first book.
I drink tea, make miniature scenes (and the occasional TV prop!), grow fig trees, and tend a flock of very spoiled bantam hens. I’m married to a wonderful and supportive soul who lets me dive into any interest that strikes me.
You can reach me here.

Hanna bore the name of the hurricane by which I came to know her, and was a tempest in her own right. She’d been found hiding under a bush at the coast during the storm and brought inland as a rescue. It’s tradition to adopt your first surgery patient in vet school, and I’d just said goodbye to another wonderful bunny. So, this spotted menace snuck into that empty burrow in my heart and promptly expanded it.
Hanna knew five different addresses in twelve years of being the roommate of newly-wedded grad students. She binkied during thunderstorms and stole candy canes. Like any queen, she craved an audience but didn’t give her own lightly.
And anyone who has been around rabbits knows books are never truly safe from bunny edits. Han was a master sculptor with paper. If you look closely, she trimmed the box to precisely fit her fluffy dimensions.
Her silhouette in the logo also reminds me to never take my writing too seriously.