​Safe Haven follows a fallen Chicago news anchor who retreats to a crumbling farmhouse and finds redemption among strangers learning to live with their own brokenness. What inspired you to center Safe Haven​ around rebuilding after loss?

I love writing stories with broken characters—individuals struggling with grief, loss, and regret. People whose wounds run deep, whose silence often speaks louder than words. Yet within this brokenness, they somehow find a thread of hope, a quiet courage, a stubborn perseverance that keeps them moving forward. If they push through the pain, they come out on the other side changed in a way that makes them view the world in a different light. And when their eyes are open, they start to see the silent battles others are fighting. That recognition—that deep, soul-level understanding—is empathy. Empathy is not a character weakness. It is strength wrapped in softness. It is the heartbeat of humanity. To feel deeply is not to be fragile—it is to be brave. In my writing, I strive to illuminate the power of empathy, compassion, and hope for humans and animals alike.

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The relationships in East Haven feel real. Were any of the characters or their struggles drawn from people you’ve known?

They didn’t come from any one person, but from a collection of individuals. People who have endured pain and carry wounds that don’t always show, but shape the way they move through the world. I’ve known people who have been through unimaginable tragedies, who have suffered physical, mental, and emotional abuse, and have found a way to heal those wounds through faith, hope, and love. Not in a religious sense—although many people find healing that way—but in a spiritual sense: in the presence of someone who cares deeply, in the quiet of nature, in the soul of an animal. Those are the kind of people I love to write about. The kind I find strength in. The kind that endures and transforms.

You write grief with so much restraint and honesty. How did you find the right emotional balance without tipping into sentimentality?

​Finding that balance was incredibly difficult for me. I’ve always been someone who feels deeply, so stepping into Michael’s point of view—a man who struggles to name, express, or even acknowledge his emotions—was a struggle. His tendency to shut down or get angry felt foreign to me. But what started as a challenge became a blessing. It was a character fault that didn’t just serve the story—it shaped it. Michael’s silence, his internal battles, became a starting place for the growth he’d experience throughout the novel. Two things helped me keep the portrayal raw and honest. First, I created Mac—a character who became a mirror and a guide for Michael. Mac wasn’t just a sounding board; he’d done his own emotional work and could recognize the pain Michael was trying to hide. Through their dynamic, I could give Michael space to stumble, to resist, and eventually to speak. Mac helped him find language for the things he’d buried, and in doing so, helped me stay true to the emotional arc without forcing it.

Second, I had a writing partner who acted as an emotional compass. Doug wasn’t afraid to tell me when my own feelings were bleeding too heavily into the narrative—when Michael’s voice started sounding more like mine. That feedback was invaluable. And I learned that emotional truth doesn’t always mean emotional intensity. Sometimes, it means restraint. Sometimes, it means letting the silence speak.

​What is the next book that you are working on, and when will it be available?

I’m currently working on the sequel to Safe Haven​ and, if all the stars align, hope to have it published sometime next year. I am also looking at publishing a collection of short stories.

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