Some words arrive unexpectedly—unattached to any story, yet too vivid to be left unwritten. Over time, I’ve found myself collecting these fragments of poetry, pieces that don’t belong in my novels but still deserve a life of their own in the world. My blog has already welcomed one of these wandering verses, but  Fragments of Frost and Fire  is a home for these untethered creations. A space where fleeting thoughts and deeper reflections take form, shaped by ice and flame, stillness and fury, life and loss. Some will stand alone, while others may one day find their place in larger works, but all will linger here, waiting to be felt. Wounds That Won't Heal  You flinch, As It cuts deep, Opening you up, Exposing the nerves, Every wisp of air, Flowing over the wound, Triggering those exposed nerves, Ramping up that pain.   But it’s only for a moment, You hope, As you close up that wound, Wrapping it tightly, So no one can see it.   Someti...

Introducing: Fragments of Frost and Fire Some words arrive unexpectedly—unattached to any story, yet too vivid to be left unwritten. Over time, I’ve found myself collecting these fragments of poetry, pieces that don’t belong in my novels but still deserve a life of their own in the world. My blog has already welcomed one of these wandering verses, but Fragments of Frost and Fire marks the beginning of something more—a home for these untethered creations. A space where fleeting thoughts and deeper reflections take form, shaped by ice and flame, stillness and fury, life and loss. Some will stand alone, while others may one day find their place in larger works, but all will linger here, waiting to be felt. The first poem under this theme is The Slow Bloom of Ice , a meditation on death not as a sudden force, but as something that seeps, grows, and takes hold from within. The Slow Bloom of Ice  It flows in all life, A pure, primordial element, From which life emerges, The sus...

 When I set out to write "The Life of Phi" (coming April 22nd), I didn’t expect to find a hidden poet inside me. But as I explored the themes of the environment, AI, and humanity, I found myself drawn to the voice of water as my narrator. Water became my storyteller—fluid, ever-changing, and deeply intertwined with existence itself. While the book itself is not poetry, water's perspective emerges at the beginning of each chapter in the form of a poem. The words spilled onto the page in a free-flowing form, refusing the confines of rigid structure. It was as if this voice demanded to be heard through poetry. This unexpected discovery stayed with me as I moved on to my next work-in-progress. I thought I could weave this poetic voice into the fabric of my new story, but it resisted. It belonged elsewhere, in its own space, with room to breathe. That’s when I realized these poems—this series I’ve come to call "Whispers Between the Worlds"—deserved to stand on their ...