Writer. Author. Midlife Mortification.
narrative-driven romantic with an unhealthy fixation on fictional men in black shirts.
I’m Izzy. Born in ’85, fuelled by white wine, questionable life choices, and an ever-growing collection of cat hair on my clothes.
Wife. Mother. Writer. Photographer. Chaotic music addict with zero genre loyalty.
One second I’m sobbing to Cinderella, the next I’m neck-deep in funeral doom-induced existential dread. Consistency? Never heard of her.
This blog started as my unfiltered journey through the world of metal (and whatever else my brain hyperfixates on at 5 a.m.). Rants, deep dives, a little photography, and possibly too much information about my undying love for Peter Steele.
But somewhere along the way, more started leaking through.
The feral bits.
The fragile ones.
The part of me that spirals, grieves, and writes anyway.
Somewhere between band reviews, breakdowns, and bad decisions, a full novel clawed its way out of me.
So now it’s not just music—it’s everything that moves me.
Every photograph that stares back.
Every half-poem that won’t let me sleep.
Every moment I try to make sense of by screaming into the void and calling it a blog post.
If you’re into riffs, feelings, stories that won’t shut up until they’re written, and beautiful noise—welcome to the madness. Grab a drink.
And if you're here for the tragic backstory, this is where I trauma-dumped it.
Why I write
Because it’s not just words. It’s how I stay alive.
The music I can’t stop hearing. The romance that won’t let go. The late-night ideas that demand to be written.
It’s chaos.
It’s catharsis.
It’s mine.
Stick around for feral blog entries, unhinged writing updates, and probably too many emotional rants about men who don’t exist.