In conversation (a few questions)

When I knew I was a writer: There wasn’t a defining moment, so much as an identity I’d never had to choose: that I grew up in a small California beach town, that I have two brothers, that I’m a writer. The most memorable confirmation arrived at thirteen, when my notoriously stern English teacher read my short story about a fictional Alpine war aloud to the class and stopped mid-passage to retrieve a box of tissues from her desk. (Apologies, Mrs. V—I did write it with the intention to make readers cry. I just didn’t expect it to happen in public.)

Books I love: Too many to choose. I lost my whole collection during the 2025 Los Angeles fires, and have been slowly regathering them since. A few titles (among many) that I’ve cherished over the years: A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini for the resilience of its dual female protagonists in Afghanistan; The Life Impossible by Matt Haig for themes of grief, forgiveness, and conservation; The Martian Chronicles by Ray Bradbury for a science-fiction depiction of colonialism and human nature; My Absolute Darling by Gabriel Tallent for its gorgeous environmental prose despite heavy subject matter; Reincarnation Blues by Michael Poore for comedy and cosmology and strangeness in the same breath; Brave New World by Aldous Huxley for the cost of technological convenience and the erosion of what makes us human.

Films and shows I love: 1883 and Yellowstone for spectacular cinematography, land-as-a-character, and rugged depiction of the American West; Maestro in Blue for a beautiful island setting with honest portrayal of modern Greek culture; In Search of Fellini for the dream world intertwined with the everyday; Lion for its illumination of real-world crises and themes of identity; 11/22/63 (the series) based on the novel by Stephen King for its meditation on the butterfly effect and the order of reality; The Terminal starring Tom Hanks for the sentimentality of liminal spaces; Hulu’s Paradise—because who doesn’t love a propulsive doomsday thriller?

Where I write best: For deep drafting, California’s coastal mountains. For inspiration and ideation, a café in Athens. When I absolutely need to focus, parked in the car somewhere scenic with zero WiFi, a takeaway coffee, and my laptop propped open on the center console.

A meal I could eat forever: Gavros marinatos (marinated anchovies) and taramasalata (creamy salted and cured fish roe) with freshly baked bread for dipping. Lightly fried red mullet with a drizzle of olive oil and a squeeze of lemon. Ideally seaside, surrounded by family and long conversation.

What I carry with me everywhere: A notepad, my FujiFilm camera, and whatever I’m currently reading. My rule of thumb: if a handbag isn’t big enough for a novel, it’s not the right bag. (Also a Tide pen, because I have an indiscriminate love of sauces and no faith in my ability to keep them off a white linen shirt.)

A sign, in retrospect: Even as a kid, I was always circling the big existential questions, though I couldn’t tell you where I got it. I blame the GATE program, a religious upbringing, and a steady stream of speculative fiction well above my grade level. In elementary school, a teacher quietly pulled me aside, concerned a fourth-grader was reading Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials. I’ve never lost the habit of seeking out big stories for big, universal questions, especially ones that cross countries or, in Lyra Belacqua’s case, dimensions.

What I’d be doing at 3pm on a perfect day: Swimming in an empty cove somewhere in the Aegean, then maybe basking on some warm pebbled shoreline with a packed lunch, completely unaware of the time.

If I weren’t a writer: If not telling stories through written word or another creative medium like filmmaking, I’d be telling them through land and spaces, perhaps in sustainable architecture, interior design, or regenerative agriculture.