the triad

Plath • Dickinson • Woolf

Three ghosts I’ve invited into my work—politely, and with snacks.
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Why them

Dickinson taught me the power of a small room. Plath taught me the honesty of a sharp edge. Woolf taught me that a mind can be a coastline—beautiful, dangerous, and absolutely not here to be simplified.

My work lives in that triangle: intimacy, intensity, and the quiet bravery of naming what happened.

What I stole (lovingly)

Dickinson: compression, slant truths, the electricity of restraint.

Plath: image-driven confession, clarity that doesn’t apologize for being bright.

Woolf: interior weather, time folding, sentences that feel like waves.

note I return borrowed tools cleaner than I found them.