Freelance writer. Feminist. Sex goddess. High-brow gossip. Mama of two. Vancouver. Lucky charm.

Need more?  Brace yourself.

I wish I was the bizarre love child of Hunter S. Thompson and E. Jean Carroll and possibly I am, but without the street cred – and honey, I could really, really use the press – and with the vigorous denials of my apparent birth parents, Mr. and Mrs. Diels. Dream crushers.

(Also without the drugs  – which I hope my real parents Hunter S and E Jean did a lot of, enthusiastically, in the good ol’ bad ol’ days – and that is only because I am already way too sensitive and my own life is a trip and my natural nightmares already keep me up at night. Plus I have kids and Big Brother frowns on the raising of kids whilst high on LSD. Or so I’ve heard. I think this is why Mr. and Mrs. Diels keep insisting that that I am their biological love child, which is true, because I was born only four months after they were married.)

I use humour to be real but also to be really elusive. I’m sassier in text but sexier in person. For this I am grateful.

When it comes to living a passionate life, I’m like a terrier with a tug toy – relentless and napoleon. That being said, I want to own and seize and share my wild unabashed life-joy without actively or indirectly oppressing anyone else, and what’s more, I want to ensure that everyone has the raw clay and basic context they need in order to sculpt their own life according to their own vision except if it is Cubist which, news flash, has been done.

Ah, art. I’m torn about run-on sentences, sentences that are paragraphs and give you migraines, and sentence fragments. I can’t decide which travesty I like better, so I use them all frequently, with the naked conceit that I am breaking the rules in service of my art, and yes my love I am completely aware of it and do it on purpose.

Then I drop the f-bomb.

A hot man once told me that there is nothing sexier than an intelligent, polished woman who knows how to swear like a sailor. I believe. I believe. I digress.

I am also capable of straight writing and tend to do that sort of thing when enticed by promises of paycheques. So put away the grammar book. I KNOW.

And just in case I have to hit you over the head with it – I was trying to show, not tell, as per the teachings of many a creative writing class (note the mention of the creative writing class, this is called foreshadowing) – I am a WRITER. So please hire me as your freelance wordsmith/genius because the garrett is growing tiresome.

I am also accepting patrons a la Gertrude Stein at this time.

That was not a come-on. Thank you.

PS But this IS a come-on: you can reach me on Twitter, Facebook or by e-mail and please do.

PSS please subscribe to my e-mail updates. I give good copy. Promise. mwah.