Sam, as they’re known, is a twenty-something-year-old writer with a thorn in their side. Usually found with their nose in some sort of book, they spend their time picking holes in a multitude of accepted ideas and assumptions.
When not teasing apart the fabric of reality and scaring temselves senseless, they enjoy escaping into fiction where the world is much quieter and free from all the things which irritate.
They’ve now finished their MA in Creative Writing, with distinction, and are currently working on finishing what they started: their first literary novel.
Still the antisocial cynic but continues to venture into the realm of ‘making friends’, which they’ve been relatively successful at as long as double-digits aren’t expected.
They continue to be paranoid about the ‘reality’ of reality, are no longer a slave to academia but have found a new mistress in writing serious literature and reading as widely as possible.
Rather than being quagmired up to the elbows in pies, They’ve decided it’d be better to just bury their face in one, thus eradicating the need to interact with the world and explain themselves, ever again.