He is at work on his first novel.
Photograph by Kyle Serrano, 2023
His fiction is preoccupied with loneliness in its less photogenic forms—the loneliness of voyeurs, of people who have rehearsed their lives until the rehearsal became the life, of protagonists whose isolation has begun to do strange, slightly monstrous creative work in them. He writes about queer longing, about the small cruelties domesticity hides, about inheritance that arrives as a habit rather than a possession, and about the bodies his characters live in without quite occupying. His stories tend to be set in rooms—coastal cottages, walk-in freezers, sublet apartments, the back row of a movie theater—where the surface is so familiar that any small deviation registers as seismic. He is interested in characters who would rather sit still than confront what's asking to be confronted, and he is not interested in writing the version where they learn the right lesson by the last page.
He is also the founder of The Table Review, an independent literary magazine published twice yearly from Brooklyn. Writer-led and volunteer-run, the magazine publishes fiction, poetry, nonfiction, and interviews from emerging and established writers, with a particular commitment to voices historically underrepresented in publishing. The premise is simple: that stories, like meals, are best shared across a table, with time.
He now manages a large independent bookstore in Manhattan and writes in the hours around it. His first novel is in developmental edits with an editor he trusts. A second is in the outlining stage. The short stories continue to return to the same psychological territory from new angles, the way one keeps walking past a particular house in a neighborhood, never quite sure what one is looking for.
He lives in Brooklyn with his fiancé and Ranger, a nearly six-year-old white Gerberian Shepsky to whom he is, by his own admission, entirely subordinate.