Well hello there.

I’m Grey (he/they), a Brooklyn-based writer, theatre person, occasional performer, professional wearer-of-many-hats, and lifelong general know-it-all.

I grew up in Nashville, Tennessee - and for the most part my Southern accent has been beaten into submission by years in New York. It does, however, remain available under certain -whiskey soaked - circumstances.

I studied Theatre and Gender Studies at the University of Tennessee at Chattanooga before moving north to study Writing for the Musical Theatre at NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts. The combination of which is probably where my tendency to make everything a little more dramatic than strictly necessary comes from.

These days, my writing trends toward fantasy, mythology, speculative fiction, and stories about people - and the occasional plant - becoming something they were never supposed to be. I’m fascinated by desire, beauty, power and inheritance.

Heroes behaving badly, Villains with excellent arguments, chosen family, queer desire, loyalty, transformation, and the occasionally catastrophic consequences of loving someone very much.

I love to build worlds made ancient bargains found written on the back of coffee sleeves, and complicated cosmologies on a crayon colored placemat. My favorite characters are emotionally compromised immortals in desperate need of a therapist, and at least one person who probably should not have been given that much power AND that much wine.

I am, in general, a believer that acts of creation should do more than help us escape the world. They should help us rearrange it. Change the rules. Ask who benefits from them. Hand the sword and crown to someone else and see what happens next.

Outside of writing, I remain incredibly passionate about fine arts, strong coffee, excellent music, unnecessarily specific opinions, and the true New York tradition of leaving the house with plenty of time and somehow still arriving fashionably late.

You can usually find me reading about mythology, listening to Florence + the Machine, wandering Brooklyn, thinking far too seriously about fictional people. If a book contains an impossible romance, or a morally ambiguous immortal, I will probably definitely be there.

A few final things you should know: iced coffee is appropriate in every season, Madeline Miller’s Circe has a permanent place in my heart, Nina Simone is the foundation, and no one does it like Clifford Prince King.