Too queer for church, too churchy for Pride?
Me too.
Let’s get one thing straight: I am not.
Not straight. Not mainstream. Not here to make anyone comfortable. If you’ve ever felt too queer for church and too spiritual for the queer community, pull up a seat, my hearts. You’re in the right place.
I grew up in a church that taught me how to color inside the lines—and I had questions before I could even spell hermeneutics. That red-letter Bible they gave me in first grade? I wanted to know why Jesus got color-coded and everyone else got the Times New Roman treatment. By my twenties, I was deep in Jewish theology books, scribbling in margins, collecting translations like they were tarot decks. I wasn’t trying to “pick a side”—I was looking for something older than doctrine and wider than dogma.
Spoiler: I still am.
Then life cracked open. I lost my dad. Got divorced. Moved to L.A. in a blaze of heartbreak and coffee-fueled chaos. And like any good bisexual spiritual seeker, I responded by calling the American Jewish University and asking how to convert.
(It’s giving main character energy. It’s also giving “I needed answers and ended up with more questions, and honestly? That’s holy too.”)
Later, I found myself walking the halls of Yad Vashem in Jerusalem, wrecked in the best way. That day, I learned the phrase “righteous gentile,” and something in me broke open and never went back.
I’m not righteous. But I am devoted. To asking. To listening. To showing up for the people I love. To telling the truth, even when it doesn’t fit the narrative.
These days, my truth sounds like this: I’m bisexual. I’m spiritual. I write books where both are allowed to breathe.
Holland, My Heart hints at queerness with a bi FMC.
When Ivy Met Adam goes full throttle—trans main character, bi+ heroine, lots of angst.
And the still in-progress Three’s a Charm? Baby, it’s a polyamorous rom-com murder mystery that says “what if the divine lives in messy threesomes and ethical nonmonogamy?” (Spoiler: she does.)
I don’t write queer romance because it’s trendy. I write it because I had to. Because there weren’t enough stories that held all of me. Because I believe your queerness and your faith can hold hands and even flirt a little. Because I know you’ve been craving a place where you can light a candle and say f*ck in the same breath.
So yeah. If you’re sacred and spicy, grieving and growing, queer or curious—welcome home.
This Pride, I’m not asking permission to belong. I’m claiming space and writing my name in every margin they told me to skip.
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