Watch. Listen. Repeat.
Some songs are stories, some are just confessions with a chord progression. Enjoy the ride!
Shelter Dog
In this song I compare myself to a dog that’s had a series of owners and now sits in a shelter — scarred, cautious, and slow to trust. It’s not just about heartbreak; it’s about the emotional damage that lingers after being let down too many times. It’s a warning and a wish: if you’re going to love someone like me, you’ve got to be patient, gentle, and real. I’ve been through it
If you’ve ever felt like the damaged one in the story, this one’s for you.
Wisdom in the Waiting
This song was written for my son, but it’s also a letter to my younger self. It’s about what it feels like to be young, full of fire, stubborn pride, and chasing something—anything—that feels like purpose.
It speaks to that phase of life when your heart races ahead of your head, and pain feels like a rite of passage. And one day, he’ll stand where I am and maybe he’ll laugh at this moment!
Sugar Mama
After my divorce, my son and I were talking about the strange reality of dating in a small town. He looked at me and said, “Dad, take one for the team and just marry a rich old lady. I just want a swimming pool.”
That line stuck with me. Sugar Mama is a tongue-in-cheek take on what happens when your heart’s been through it and your kid’s just trying to make the best of it.
What the Songs Don’t Say Out Loud
Not every song starts with a melody. Some start with silence. Some start with a fight you didn’t want to have or a feeling you thought you’d buried. And some — the good ones — start with a line that hits you in the middle of doing something ordinary, like filling up your gas tank or folding laundry. That’s where most of mine live.
Why I Write Songs
There’s something about saying a hard thing out loud with a guitar behind it that makes it easier to feel — and easier to share. I write to understand what I’ve been through, and in doing that, I end up connecting with people who’ve been through something similar.
These songs aren’t polished pop or radio-friendly sugarcoats. They’re honest. Some are raw. Some are funny in a way that makes you wince first. All of them are rooted in something real.
What My Process Looks Like
It’s usually messy.
Sometimes I sit down with a hook in my head. Other times, I dig through voice memos or notes and start connecting dots. I’ve written lines in bars, in silence, in motion, and in breakdowns — both mechanical and emotional.
I’m not chasing perfect. I’m chasing the moment when a line makes someone say, “Yeah. That’s it. That’s how I feel too.”
Lessons I’ve Learned (That You Can Steal)
Start with the truth. If it scares you, you’re getting close.
Write it ugly. Fix it later. Or don’t.
Clever is fine. Honest is better.
If you cry a little while writing it, someone else might cry listening.
Save your scraps. Future you might know what to do with them.
The Struggles I Don’t Skip
I’ve played to chairs. I’ve played to half-listening rooms and drunks yelling for covers. I’ve forgotten lyrics, fumbled chords, and questioned everything. More than once I’ve wondered: Is this really worth it?
Then someone pulls me aside and says, “That line about holding back — I needed that.” Or, “That song about your son made me call mine.”
That’s why I keep going.
Why It’s Called ‘Stories’
Because these aren’t just songs. They’re snapshots. They’re scenes from a life that’s been honest, messy, funny, and full of detours. And I don’t think I’m the only one who’s lived like that.
So this is my place to unpack it — to tell you what the songs don’t always say outright.
— Don’t Talk to Strangers
— No Rain, No Rainbows
— Angels Are Demons
— Foot
— Maybe It’s Me
— Wisdom in the Waiting