My Story

I’m a writer and editor because I believe that stories change lives.

I know this is true because they’ve made a difference in my life.

I had always dreamed of writing stories that would reflect truth. But when I hit my teens, I found myself fighting to hold onto the foundational truths my whole life had been built on.

Nothing dramatic troubled my confidence. I simply became aware that the world was a lot bigger and more broken than I’d realized. How did I know the worldview I had been brought up with was the right one? What if I had missed out on the truth because I hadn’t explored all the options? If the God of the Bible was real, was he good? And if he was, could he ever accept someone who couldn’t imagine a future free of doubt?

I struggled for years under the weight of the unknown. Though the Bible appeared to stand up under logical and historical scrutiny, I was still afraid to fully commit. Peace seemed out of reach.

During that time, I found solace in stories. While some simply distracted me from my questions long enough that I could sleep at night, others—especially those by C.S. Lewis—spoke hope to my mind and heart.

In particular, Perelandra took the ideas I was processing and allowed me to experience them from a new perspective. Through science fiction, Lewis helped me reason through my biggest questions about the brokenness of the world and the goodness of God.

When my mind was too anxious and confused to be reasoned with, the Chronicles of Narnia reached my heart. The image of Aslan anchored me by stirring a longing for the reality I desperately wanted to be true—and would one day find to be even better than I could have imagined.

Eventually, peace came with the realization that knowing the truth was never about having all the answers. It’s about trusting Someone who does.

All my life, I had been looking forward to the moment when I would finally have all the right ideas collected in a tidy little box. But the longer I’ve looked at God, the more I’ve realized that exploring the depths of His character and beauty is a quest that will take me into eternity.

In the years since recommitting my life to Christ, stories have taken me farther along the journey. Through a thousand small awakenings, they’ve shaped the way I see the world and the person I’ve become. 

Fictional characters like George MacDonald’s noble heroes and the cast of The Lord of the Rings have drawn me to hunger for resilient hope, steadfast compassion, and Christlike humility. 

Biographies, films, and novels about history’s darkest moments have strengthened my hope that no suffering is beyond the reach of Christ’s grace. 

Stories have pushed me to think through difficult questions and consider what is worth holding onto no matter the cost.

The echoes of grace and glory in C.S. Lewis’s novels have continued to lend me courage, feed my wonder at the goodness of God, and deepen my longing for eternity.

These stories have directed my vision outward and upward to true realities and worthy desires. Since you’re here, I’m sure you’ve had the same experience.

This is why I’m an editor: Stories have made a difference in my life, and I believe that your stories can do the same for others.

After many years of developing stories in my head only to drop them when I matured faster than they did, I started seriously working on my first novel.

When I started out, I knew my story was going to make an impact. I knew had a message the world needed to hear. I had studied writing craft and critiqued other people’s stories, so I knew I was way ahead of the game. I knew what everybody said about first attempts at writing a novel, and I was going to prove everybody wrong. I knew the rules and assumed I knew how to break them. (I now know that thinking I know stuff is usually a symptom of a swollen head.)

I had no idea what I was doing.

It should have been obvious early on that something was wrong with the story’s foundation. My message seemed to shift every time I thought I had it pinned down. The plot was disjointed and refused to connect with the characters’ thematic arcs in a meaningful way. My main character was unrelatable and unlikable. I blundered headfirst into every rookie mistake in the book.

After a long struggle, I was forced to admit that I no longer knew what my story was about.

But I wasn’t about to give up. Eventually, a moment of game-changing clarity came from an unexpected place.

One day I caught myself asking a question I thought I’d heard before.

I had heard it before, though not in the same words. It was the question at the heart of my story’s main character. Until hearing her insecurities echoed in my own voice, I’d had no idea I shared them.

I had tried unsuccessfully for so long to teach my character a lesson, never realizing I was in the same boat (and not in the lighthouse.) Now, instead of viewing my character as an unenlightened student, I began to see her as a friend and fellow traveller.

Owning the gaps in my understanding gave me the freedom to seek answers. My story pushed me to confront lies I believed about God and sharpened my thirst for truth. As my storytelling came to revolve around my questions, my novel’s plot and theme began working together in pursuit of a common goal.

Instead of acting as a channel for teaching others, story became a safe place for me to explore and learn alongside my characters. My novel’s thematic questions were no longer defined by the answers I already had, but by the ones I was still looking for. My goal changed from sharing knowledge with my readers to inviting them to share in my own journey of discovery.

As I began this journey, I met someone who would continue to transform my understanding of what meaningful storytelling looks like.

I hadn’t been planning to start working on another story.

Until he sprang into my imagination.

This character was different. A sweet-natured sailor boy with a simple virtue that clashed with his rough surroundings, and a fearlessness born of his love for the thing that held his life in its power. He had a beautiful secret, a purity and wholeness I couldn’t help but be drawn to. I knew from the beginning that I would not be the teacher in this relationship.

Though he was on his own journey of discovery, this character was defined not only by his questions, but just as much by the foundation of trust and freedom he was already standing on. As I got to know him better, I realized that what set him apart was the longing he inspired in me. He made me yearn for the not-yet and drew me to dwell on what ought to be.

As this story has continued to develop, I’ve been introduced to several other people—both real and fictional—who have further shaped my perspective. A mentor encouraged me to value virtuous fictional characters’ potential to be fascinating when they reflect the compelling beauty of God’s goodness. I discovered the work of Harold Bell Wright, whose stories illustrate what the church is intended to be even as he unflinchingly critiques its failures. I met George MacDonald’s Sir Gibbie, whose purity and selflessness in a dark world paint a winsome picture of virtue as precious and desirable. I revisited C.S. Lewis’s Voyage of the Dawn Treader and found myself carried forward by a current not of dread, but of joy, wonder, and longing.

These writers and stories all had at their heart a deep, captivating awareness of beauty and truth. Their power lay not only in their thought-provoking illustrations of the consequences of different choices and beliefs, but in their capacity to stir up desire for the right choices and beliefs⁠—and for God Himself.

This realization revolutionized my perspective on how truly impactful stories leave their mark. Lasting change requires more than just recognizing that something is wrong. If we want to be freed from lies, we need to grow to love the truth instead.

As I began to seriously pursue editing professionally, I knew my approach needed to change. I used to base my evaluation of a story on the absence or presence of mistakes. Editing was about eliminating errors. Now, I saw that as an editor and writing coach, the heart of my calling was to help other writers draw out the best in their stories.

Though bringing issues to attention is an imperative part of the process, it’s only half of the picture. My greatest hope is to encourage writers to cultivate their strengths and to fan the flames of curiosity and longing that fuel their storytelling.