Before I ever put pen to paper, music shaped the way I experienced the world. As a musician, I learned to listen, not just to the melody but to the silence between the notes, which can often hold more sway. Think of the dramatic pause, the side-eye, or a subtle half-smile. These signals can change the meaning of the words they introduce.

I like to think that awareness of subtlty carries into my writing, where cadence, contrast, and stillness all inform my word choices. Whether in the frenetic pace of a tense moment or the quiet impact of a single reflective line, I strive to leave impressions that resonate long after the story ends. 

Perhaps that sense of space is why the sea has always spoken to me. There’s a rhythm in its restless motion and a challenge in its unpredictability. I often find refuge in its boundless expanse. For these reasons, sailing has been my lifelong passion, not merely for its freedom but for its lessons. Sailing not only teaches on how to read the winds and trust one’s instincts it forces us to embrace the unexpected.

Most of my writing is set in Provincetown. There is so much to love about the place: its ramshackle old houses, miles of beaches and dunes, the creative energy within its galleries and studios—the stories of those who came seeking refuge, reinvention, or simply the freedom to be. And, of course, the ever-present ocean. (Check out my “As I See It” page for some images.)

At home, my greatest joy is my dog, Dori, who, in her quiet wisdom, reminds me to savor every moment, whether finding contentment in a sun-warmed patch of yard or a morning walk along the beach. Our wanderings help me to appreciate the creativity, history and unique nature of the town while reminding me to take some “me time,” keep my heart open, and cultivate my joy.

I hope my writing reflects this attitude along with the wonder of found family, the power of resilience, and the undeniable truth that life—like the ocean—is both challenging and full of infinite possibility.

Thanks for reading!

A. C.