Creative Modifications

"Surviving life’s plot twists with yarn, loud worship music, and a stubborn streak of hope."

About Me




Hello and howdy from Ontario, Canada — I’m glad you’ve found your way to this creative corner I’m building for my art and storytelling.

I hold diplomas in Visual Creative Arts & Design and Medical Office Administration, blending creativity with strong organizational skills while I continue seeking where God is leading me.

A lifelong maker, I knit, crochet, and explore fibre arts, support a Southern Ontario knitting group through communications, and volunteer creating social media content for Abbey Cats Adoptions.

My work is shaped by faith, resilience, and healing, and I’m currently developing a character-driven fictional world exploring identity, redemption, and hope in unexpected places.

  • What Do You Listen to While You Work & Live?

    Discover how people across the world use sound—music, nature, silence—to enhance focus, creativity, and emotional well-being during work. A deep reflection on the sounds that shape our work life.

    What Do You Listen to While You Work? | Music, Nature, Silence & Productivity

    The sounds we choose reflect our inner world, enhance productivity, shape our mental state, and affect our emotions. If you had asked me ten years ago whether I believed that, I wouldn’t have been so quick to agree as I am today. It’s not entirely because of my faith, but because of where my emotions and imagination go when I listen to different types of music.
    Music has the power to change how I feel far too easily—maybe that’s just a me thing. However, I’ve seen its effect on friends and at the churches I’ve attended. The lyrics and melodies can stir me into getting up, doing the dishes, tidying up—or even writing this. Right now, a fast song is playing on Spotify: “Numb” by Veridia. It has an upbeat rhythm and plays on a playlist called “Feeling GOOD Christian Mix.” It’s a pretty good playlist overall, though it’s not one of the EDM or Dubstep ones that affect me more intensely. I want to feel energetic and productive (I’m someone who always feels I need to be doing something useful), especially after a dull and long morning of classes—even if I did learn something new in MS Word.
    Certain songs by Crowder have brought me to tears and inspired me to rise like a warrior, ready to fight the enemy in the name of Jesus. When I put in my earbuds, the music becomes a part of me. I’ve been at worship nights at Mountain Park Church where a soft but moving song was playing. I leaned forward, resting on the chair in front of me, and in my mind’s eye, it felt like I was dancing hand-to-hand, chest-to-chest with Jesus. Music is powerful!
    At night, I fall asleep to the sound of crickets or distant storms—nature sounds without words or commercials. I loathe commercials and abrupt breaks. When my husband was around, we used a fan that mostly blew on him. But once it was just me and the cats, I quickly transitioned to a Spotify account. I’m confident I’ve listened to most of their chill playlists over the years. That calming music helps me let go of the day’s issues and eases me into sleep. On summer nights, with the bedroom AC running, the hum becomes a form of white noise. The night storms and crickets are sometimes drowned out by the AC’s gentle drone.
    I used to struggle with silence, but since starting my classes last September, I’ve greatly improved. My mind no longer spins into overdrive, racing through a hundred tasks or overthinking past conversations. In a way, silence has its own sound. It invites focus and presence—it gives space to breathe.
    I miss the days when movies had their own unique playlists that perfectly captured their essence. Over the years, I’ve made countless playlists for the worlds I’ve imagined, spending hours finding just the right songs.
    I can’t say I’ve experienced writing or working in a café all that often. I did go to the library last September, but I wasn’t fond of it. It felt too exposed—anyone could see what was on my screen. I didn’t (and still don’t) feel safe enough to fully enter “the zone” with people around. Maybe that sounds overly cautious, but I like to stay aware of my surroundings. I’m not particularly fond of wearing earbuds in public either. Music distracts me, and I worry I won’t hear if someone approaches from behind.
    Whether its nature sounds for work, music for productivity, or just ambient noise playing in the background, it’s wise to be aware of your emotions and mental state while listening. Being intentional with what you hear makes you more mindful and can offer comfort.
    Do you have music playing all the time, like I often do? Or do you prefer silence or podcasts? I used to be really into podcasts, but lately, I haven’t found any that hold my attention. What’s your go-to sound? I’d love to hear from you.

  • Prologue

    The Bible says in Psalms 5:4–6: “For you are not a God who is pleased with wickedness; with you, evil people are not welcome. The arrogant cannot stand in your presence. You hate all who do wrong; you destroy those who tell lies. The bloodthirsty and deceitful you, LORD, detest.”
    I’ve killed more times than I can count—stolen, shattered families, destroyed companies, marriages, possessions, even buildings. All for pleasure. Because I had the power. And, unfortunately, I enjoyed it.
    I should have died that night on the back of my parents’ land—that is to say, stayed dead. In the traditional sense. Not slammed into a world that I—and most of you—had no idea even existed.
    The truth is, I was masking the pain and furious anger I had toward both of my fathers. I was no better than the abusers I often tortured and toyed with for hours before finally killing them at one of our clubs.
    I am damned. Beyond sinful. Saturated with sin. I deserve complete isolation from all that is good—and I contain none of it. Never mind the fact that, as a race, my kind shouldn’t exist in the first place. And yet, we’ve infiltrated every corner of human society and government.
    The other races—at least are alive. Breathing. Of nature. They have no idea how crucial that simple state of being alive is. Their nature is… friendlier. More alive—even as animals. Even the avian community can get gruesome.
    I don’t care what you think or say. When you’ve endured centuries in this dark world, there comes a point when it’s no longer just a phase. No longer a game with outsiders. No more chances to reinvent yourself. There comes a day when you’re utterly and completely done. Finished. Time has taken its toll, and I am but a remnant. A hollow shell of former days. At the end of my tether. At my wit’s end.
    You wake up in the morning—the actual morning you humans refer to, not my version—because you can’t fall back asleep. You’re a professional at running on autopilot. You’ve faked it so long you’ve made it… until you’ve done it all, been there, bought the T-shirt—and the ashtray.
    I’ve reinvented myself. Moved across provinces, states—even centuries. I’ve spent at least $3,000 on U-Haul trucks and movers. And I knew the moment I first saw those four sixteen-year-olds that they would be the end of me, one way or another.
    There was something about them that caught my attention, intrigued me enough not to just move on after they graduated secondary school. My dead heart screamed loud and clear during their first year at Niagara College to get away from them—all of them. But I’m stubborn. Bullheaded. Territorial. I wasn’t leaving.
    Not even after I ran into him on campus. I could smell his particular scent—distinct, different from the rest of the wolves. They had no idea what he was capable of.

  • Concerning Placement

    I heard back from CT, the Placement Coordinator for Barrie, and I need to complete 125 hours. My schedule will be discussed directly with my host. Scrubs are dependent on the host’s preferences, and Lord, oh my, do I hope and pray they’re not strict about it. I’ve ordered grays, a green shade, dark gray, and black scrubs from Scrub Canada using the funding provided to me by Better Jobs Ontario.

    Sadly, veterinarians are refusing placements for MOAs—that one stung a bit. CT has been cold calling places, and I give her lots and lots of props, prayers, and well wishes. Not only is she doing this, but she’s also enrolled in a hairstyling program at a sister college. That’s no small feat.

    I’m currently working on filling out a form for Niagara Regional Sexual Health for an Unpaid Student Placement Request (Children’s Services).

    My placement runs from August 4th to September 5th, and I’ve been told I’m there to learn and listen. But try telling that to my mind—it just spins and ping-pongs to twenty other thoughts and concerns. Thankfully, it’s only twenty things now; it used to be a far greater number.

  • Where Ideals Come From: Behind the Curtain of Creative Modifications

    Ever wonder where stories come from? Sometimes it’s a dream you can’t shake off. Other times it’s a passing shadow that makes your brain whisper, “What if?”

    For me, the idea of monsters hiding in plain sight came from my own family—specifically from watching how they chose not to address certain topics and traumas that shaped my early life. Childhood abuse, the sudden loss of my mother, and complicated relationships between relatives were all swept under the rug. I began to wonder: How would people react if the emotional truths they buried were something much darker? Something of legend? What if the secret wasn’t just an unspoken family issue, but a supernatural danger?

    Music was a huge part of my life growing up. In the early ’90s, there was always a soundtrack playing in the background. I still remember the bottom drawer of the nightstand, stuffed full of cassettes, and the big grey stereo with the detachable speakers that sat to the right of our mustard-yellow fridge. My mom would flick it on the second she stepped into the kitchen. I also remember getting scolded for changing the radio station—usually when my little sister, too small to reach, dragged a dining room chair over to the fridge just to twist the dial herself.

    Back then, life seemed simple on the surface, but inside me, a quiet war of hurt and betrayal brewed—much of it rooted in my relationship with my grandfather. Despite all that, I loved to make up stories. I’d act them out with my Barbies, begging my sister to join me so I could have that sense of shared fun.

    My mom always had the radio on low while she did chores or got us ready for school. Those songs stayed with me. As I’ve grown older, I realize now how much music soothed me, helped me process feelings I didn’t know how to express, and kept me connected to moments I thought I’d forgotten.

    Through mental health workshops at the hospital and church, I’ve learned just how much I absorbed from my family about pushing emotions aside. That made me curious about my characters: What happened to them? How do they deal with their pain? How does it shape who they become?Your workspace can be anywhere you are, and inspiration strikes.

    A common theme for me is faith and acceptance—especially within family. In my daydreams, I often imagine a world where I give back lavishly to my father and sister, where my niece and nephew’s college funds are set for life, and where my sister finally talks to me on an equal level. In those worlds, I’m not an afterthought. I’m not beneath anyone. I’m my dad’s favorite daughter.

    I’ve daydreamed for as long as I can remember. Sometimes it’s an escape from life. Sometimes it’s about awakening a dormant gene that lets me shift into something else. Other times, it’s about surviving an attack that marks me forever—physically, spiritually, or emotionally. I often wonder: How would faith fit into those stories? How do morals and values survive in a world filled with monsters?

    A trusted friend once suggested that instead of escaping into daydreams, I should turn to Jesus. And I do. But daydreaming has also been my version of TV—I can skip the intimate scenes or fast-forward through the fights. I focus on the characters, the stories, and especially the conflict. The battle between sin, nature, and one’s own beliefs has always been the core of my creative world.

    Sometimes a line of dialogue, a scene from a show, or a conversation I overhear slips into my daydreams. I ask myself: How would that moment play out in my fictional universe?

    One thing that always makes me laugh is this: Why are vampires and werewolves always stuck in high school? Like they’d really be fixated on the teenage years for centuries! That’s not how my worlds work.

    Creative Modifications isn’t just a catchy blog title. It’s my way of seeing the world—tweaking, adjusting, and adding my own “mods” to the stories we tell ourselves every day. Whether it’s imagining secret societies like the Inxieriea hiding among us or reworking old myths into something modern, the goal is the same: to create spaces where creativity can breathe.

    Writing and world-building aren’t about sitting at a desk with everything perfectly planned. For me, it’s about grabbing inspiration whenever it strikes—usually when I’m nowhere near a notebook, of course!

    I’m notorious for overthinking the worst-case scenario, though I’m happy to say that’s improved a lot over the last ten years. I’m also a perfectionist—or maybe a lazy perfectionist, since I have a specific way of doing things that feels “right” to me, even if it’s not the fastest path.

    Writing this world has been hard. It’s been crawling around in my mind since the early ’90s. Characters like Secret and Jason have changed dramatically as I’ve grown, gone through college, gotten married, and lived life. You’d think that growing up would make writing them easier. It hasn’t.

    I’ve had random dreams about Secret for decades—so vivid it feels like they’re sitting beside me. Waking up and realizing it was only a dream is heartbreaking. It’s like losing someone you never really had. But that’s also why I write. Being consumed by characters is one of the few things that makes me feel less alone.

    Writing pulls me out of my own head and into The Zone. Honestly, that should be the name of an energy drink for artists and writers! Finding the right place to land a story can feel like trying to skate on oil—one slippery patch after another. But I’m determined, in Jesus’ name, to finish a first draft I’m proud of. Until then, my characters will play. Scenes will be taken out of context. I’ll gather my notes, slips of paper, and spiral notebooks, and get organized. Lord help me.

    I want to encourage other writers and readers to be brutally honest about their creative process. Where do you find inspiration? How do you work through creative walls? Could you share it in the comments? Writing clears the mind (and your phone notes) and lifts the spirit. You’re not alone in this—I promise.

    Creativity isn’t about perfection—it’s about play. Remember that next time you hit a wall. Stay curious, make stuff, and don’t be afraid to mod your own world along the way.

Creative Modifications

"Surviving life’s plot twists with yarn, loud worship music, and a stubborn streak of hope."

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