Meet Touks.
Listen. It’s a long story…
But during a hypnotherapy session gifted to me by my mom the day before my 20th high-school reunion (normal), my “higher self” showed up as a tropical bird — sharp-eyed, slightly judgmental, impossible to ignore.
A toucan. Confusi-lovingly named Touks.
You can interpret that as metaphor, coping mechanism, creative breakthrough, or mild midlife unraveling. I’m fine with any of the above.
What matters is this:
Touks insisted I write my book. So here we are.
About the book.
After decades of optimizing herself into something polished and performative, a word-obsessed millennial hits the point where rejection finally feels safer than self-erasure — and detonates the maximalist, diary-soaked voice of her analog girlhood onto the most unlikely stage.
What it is.
a creativity CPR manual
a memoir about revisiting your original, uncensored creativity
a collection of dopamine-spiking (and deeply moving) essays with a strong narrative throughline
an almost-audible collision of heartbreak, cringe, nostalgia, sparklebombs, and the stubborn insistence that words still matter. maybe more than ever before.
Tone and structure.
Touks moves the way memory does — nonlinear, looping, occasionally obsessive.
It layers flashback with cultural commentary, pop metaphors with philosophical inquiry, confession with critique.
Some essays sprint. Others sit and ache.
The chaos is crafted. The sentences breathless but deliberate.
And the heart is so, so real.
Status
Manuscript in development.
Select chapters available upon request.
Words of praise again just go with it.
