The Author

Who I am

I do not write because I know everything. I write because these islands want to be experienced.

What I write looks different from the outside. Sometimes it is a collection of stories, sometimes a novel, sometimes a crime novel. To me it is all the same: I tell stories from here. The islands are not the backdrop. They are the reason.

I live on Lanzarote. An island of lava and wind, of black and light. Long enough to know that the Canary Islands cannot be explained — they demand time. The wind here is not background noise. It interferes, changes paths, demands a stance. The ground is dark, barren, resistant. Those who live here learn patience. And humility.

I am drawn to paths beyond the markings. To places where nothing is explained. To walls no one photographs anymore. To words that slowly disappear. History here is rarely loud. It lies in the everyday, in what is passed on, in what is left unsaid.

Even though Lanzarote is my starting point, the other islands sound different. Greener, more humid, softer. With their own rhythms, their own memories, their own fractures. Yet one thing connects them all: stories do not reveal themselves on command. You have to stay to hear them.

These stories came into being along the way. While walking, listening, returning. From conversations that never intended to be special. From moments when you realise that an island is more than its view. Some stories can be verified, others live through telling. Both are true in their own way. Especially in the Canary Islands.

I do not collect these stories to instruct. I collect them because otherwise they would quietly disappear. And because they explain why these islands are the way they are. Rough, welcoming, contradictory.