My horror work explores what it is to be exiled, shunned, adrift, spellbound, and feral. That is, it speaks to the wild instincts we repress so that we might be allowed to participate in our brutally performative, modernly constructive culture. My pieces are casually spooky and flippantly dour. I suspect that a form of Lovecraftian horror lurks and festers inside every corporate boardroom.

My horror novel, One Morning, turns an ecologically decrepit corner of Western Pennsylvania into a center of folk horror gravity. The weft of the story is the ever-increasing societal pressure to earn a living (a phrase that is, itself, deeply uncanny) while the warp of it is the relentless ecological destruction (humanly but not humanely instigated, of course) that erodes all living cells. Between the fibers, heat is trapped.

My films (How to be Lucky and Doomstruck) investigate feelings of being both attached-to and adrift-in a culture that demands perpetual, performative conformity while offering nothing in return for that subservience of spirit. In both of them, feelings of absurdity infuse the fog of dread.