Spoon-fed Addiction

I wrote Spoon-fed Addiction to shed a version of myself I couldn't carry anymore. The novella came out of that impulse—catharsis disguised as fiction. The screenplay took longer because I had to figure out what the story was actually saying, not just what it was purging.

What it's saying: unresolved trauma doesn't stay contained. It spreads to the people we let in, even without intent. Adiran doesn't target Angela. He reaches for one last moment of meaning, not knowing what he's passing on. She builds a mythology to fill her own emptiness. The story doesn't offer catharsis because the consequences don't. That's the point.

I keep writing about broken people because I recognize them. The search for significance when you're not sure you deserve it. The persistence that doesn't guarantee a win. The CW Chronicles works different territory—space opera, not horror—but it's still about pushing forward against futility, even when forward doesn't mean victory.

Spoon-fed Addiction is the first project I'm bringing to the screen. It challenges audiences with a downward spiral that doesn't redeem anyone. But the core message matters now more than it did when I wrote it: unchecked apathy destroys the people closest to us—starting with the ones who were never taught to protect themselves.