Books &
Writing

Those who know me closely know this well, I was never someone who could sit and read for long, and writing a book was never even a consideration. I wrote songs. I wrote letters. I wrote poems. But a book? That was never the plan.
The reality is, I spend most of my time observing the world around me. A large part of my waking hours is spent reflecting on what I’ve seen, and my nights are filled with dreams that I often wake up revisiting. All of that builds up. It needs an outlet. But the way it exists in my head - as fragments, observations, patterns - can’t simply be passed on as is. It wouldn’t make sense. So I started writing.
At first, just for myself. And then, for anyone willing to sit with it long enough to see what I see.

The ideas don’t arrive quietly, they insist.
And writing became the only reliable way to stay with them long enough to understand what they are. My books exist at the intersection of personal inquiry, practical insight, and the occasional uncomfortable truth.

I’m not interested in being agreeable. I’m interested in being honest.
The truth is, at one point in my life, I held a world record for fastest typing on a non-QWERTY phone. My typing speed on a computer is still fast. But none of that is how I create. When I write, I rarely sit at a keyboard. Most of my thoughts come through in cursive handwriting, or through voice, often with my eyes closed, sitting in a meditative state, simply following the thread as it unfolds. I speak it out fully, without interruption. Later, I return to it, sometimes listening back using tools like Speechify, sometimes shaping it on paper.
I can type really fast, like I’m typing this right now. But the flow required to write a book doesn’t live there for me. It lives in stillness. In voice. In uninterrupted thought. This is also how I compose most of my music.
It may not be conventional — but it works for me. And it has allowed me to write three books in two years.