Well, she writes and edits. In 2011, after leaving Kentucky for grad school in England, she started Red Pen, a proofreading and editing business for ESL (English as a Second Language) grad students. She read thousands of essays in every field: physics, medicine, policy, finance, film…
Then, in 2018, she snapped—one misplaced comma too many—and turned her focus to creative writing.
As an author, she treats good horror like a hot romance: you need chemistry before the kiss.
Her studies influence her creative work too. In Ireland, she studied The Troubles and storytelling. In Paris, she studied the symbolic beheadings of crowned stone statues in Notre Dame during the French Revolution. In England, she was all about death in 19th-century poetry—now, in writing horror, she makes that MA in Romantic Poetry sweat.
Today, she resides in Lima, Peru. If you think another country has better food, she’ll fight you. (It’ll be a cook-off, and she’ll bring the booze.)
The BLOG shares some basics: reflections about her writing process, thoughts on the brutal endeavor of pursuing traditional publishing, celebrations of fellow writers’ talents. But unique to her blog are her bite-sized horror, fantasy, and sci-fi “seeds.” Nightmares, memories, ghost stories, strange handfuls of history—often, her posts simply seek to inspire more of what she loves.
Ok, now really tell me about the author…
Jessica loves the silvery bark of birch trees, the words skuttle and skitter and gurgle, and the sound of old metal hinges creaking shut.
She grew up in Kentucky in a big, brick house. Woods in back. She misses the winter sunsets: black trees against a hot pink sky.
She helped search Death Valley for a man’s thumb once (he’d shot off with a cannon)—she didn’t find it, but thinks someone did. She’s been clotheslined off a horse. Bourbon.
Vacations in Michigan put her a short dirt road down from a cemetery. Her great-grandpa was a gravedigger.
Catholic school left her with a deepened love of the macabre and not much else.
Her coven of a writers’ group in Peru stokes her heart with the kind of bare-breasted zeal only ever found among groups of women whispering their most difficult thoughts to one another.