Thriller

I was introduced to Dean Koontz in a paperback picked up at a yard sale while on family vacation in eastern Washington. I spent that evening binge-reading Watchers in our tent trailer, barely looking up to drag Fritos through a sour cream and salsa dip. The taste of greasy corn and spicy tomatoes will forever be the flavor of terror. And the scent of the arid desert in which we spent the night will always call to mind a murderous mutant monkey hiding in the shadows.


Shirt, One Star (thrifted). Skirt, Forever 21 (consignment). Tights, Target. Shoes, Chelsea Crew. Necklace, Taneesi. Belt and bag, thrifted.

I still have a penchant for the thrilling tale, whether it be imaginary or true. I have to ration my story podcasts or I’ll listen to them all at once.


When I’m not driving, I’m reading The Cheechakoes: the true story of a family homesteading in southeast Alaska in the mid-40’s. Thankfully, there are no scary monkeys. Just vicious bears.