Kevin Snell

In my head... he just walked away. Not that he won't go back later—it's just what he needed to do in the moment. The weight of things becoming too much, so you stop, make a decision, and just... do.

Thank you!

Thank you!

My first chapter is up if anyone is looking for Sunday distraction. Hope everyone is having a great weekend! How We Became Ourselves ❤️ - KS

The letter arrived on a Tuesday, which Oliver would later consider appropriate. Not because Tuesdays held any significance in the taxonomy of the week, but because they were the day most likely to pass without being remembered. Thursdays carried the gravitational pull of Friday. But Tuesdays were administrative—the day the council collected recycling, the day his dentist sent appointment reminders, the day, apparently, that a marriage could be confirmed as finished and the confirmation could fee

Oliver's marriage ends and his job disappears on the same Tuesday. So he flies to France, straps on a pack, and starts walking. Somewhere in the French Alps he meets Julien, a man carrying his own weight, and the two of them figure out—slowly, carefully—whether they've got room for each other. Two grown men, a lot of hills, and the slow business of letting someone in.

I don't trust men who fall into bed by accident. In fiction or here in Medellín…especially here in Medellín. Accidents are cheap—a look held too long, a hand that lingers, the narrative equivalent of tripping into intimacy so nobody has to be responsible for wanting it. There is a scene that I wrote for years. It let my characters stay innocent, and it let me stay hidden. Here's the problem—readers can smell drift. When two men just sort of end up tangled together, nothing was risked, and nothing was won. But when one of them sets down the coffee, crosses the room, and says the true thing out loud—that costs. Especially for men who spent decades turning desire into something survivable. Intention is the whole plot. Not the kiss, the decision before the kiss. So write the man who meant it. Then make the bastard mean it.

Thank you everyone! Working on getting my first book up as we speak!

I'm Kevin. I'm usually better at joining a conversation halfway through than starting one. I write books, move around more than is probably reasonable, take too many photographs, and live in Colombia with a golden retriever who's already decided he runs the place. I'm here to meet interesting people, share my writing, read what everyone else is working on, and occasionally say something useful.