About the author

My neurodivergent ass spent a lot of time and energy in life trying to pass as neurotypical.

But I’m just not.

I’ve got a brain that’s wired a little differently, thanks to my 2e autism, but you know what? Different is my middle name! (Okay, not literally, but you’re picking up what I’m putting down.)

My unique perspective on the world may cause me to see things from a different angle than most folks, but I’ve come to embrace my quirks.

Who wants to be normal anyway?

I was the kid that was weird and different growing up.

I was bullied for my niche interests (like reading and storytelling) and for not giving a crap about the social things most maturing humans spent so much energy on (make-up, climbing social rank, having a large social sphere, partying and drinking).

My idea of fun was watching movies and documentaries, reading books, playing games (board or otherwise) and talking about them!

As a child I was sent to psychologists to have my “anti-social behaviour” evaluated, because I had ✨really✨ deep focus and loved books and movies that made me feel like I left my body and my life behind to become someone else for a little while.

Apparently that was cause for concern. I was just having fun 🎉🪅🎈💃🥳

Of those evaluations, I remember being given paper and pens and being told to draw while the psychologist would ask me questions. But the fact that I got to draw made me happy (I loved to draw) and, so, I was always happy to go to the psychologists as long as I got to draw.

I still love to draw. It’s one of the best things I know.

Getting to draw and have an intimate conversation abou the things I thought about was an awesome thing with a brain that’s like a little thinking factory, pushing out strings of thoughts 24/7. (Yes, falling asleep is a challenge!)

As I got older, school got harder.

I started struggling to appear normal when the workload got really big and the emphasis shifted from learning to memorising.

My stark distaste for false authority didn’t help.

Like when I ended up dropping out of uni after I asked my teacher what edge the school I was in would provide upon graduation, over other schools pumping out the exact same professionals, she had no answer. I walked out of that class and never went back.

But I digress.

Before I dropped out of uni, I dropped out of college (that’s high school to any Americans reading this). I’d gone into college after being pressured by student councillors, parents and society at large, to apply to a school – any school – rather than get a job.

I applied to graphic design school. I tanked the entrance exam and didn’t get in.

So, I went to college despite knowing it wasn’t what I wanted to do. I did fine in most subjects, excelled in languages and literary studies, and struggled with my old arch nemesis, maths.

My Spanish teacher abhorred me because I skipped every class I could without failing the course and then came in to ace the exams. “How?!” she’d shout. “How is this possible? Do you know what you could do if you only applied yourself?!”

One fateful afternoon I walked into a physics exam and, after looking through the questions on the exam paper, walked out of the exam. I didn’t know the answer to a single one of those questions and had better things to do than spend two hours sitting in that exam trying to pull creative-but-incorrect answers out of thin air.

Eventually, I ended up in performing arts and found a second home on the stage.

Though, not before my academically achieved step-grandmother had a chance to look down on me for not going to a “real school”. When I excitedly told my grandfather I’d gotten into a performing arts degree, my step-grandmother leaned in (we were in a rowing boat when this conversation took place, but that’s another story) and gave me a disdainful look, “So, what will your title be when you graduate this… school?”

“My professional title will be ‘dancer’,” I replied, feeling embarrassed, so I tacked on, “And I’ll be majoring in contemporary dance and modern ballet,” as if that was going to somehow convince her it was a meaningful pursuit.

Crickets. Or well, the buzz of the little motor attached to the rowing boat and the prow of the boat cutting through the water. But the woman was silent for a heavy moment.

Then she leaned back with a dismissive, “Hmph” and said nothing more on the topic.

Embarrassed, but undaunted, I loved school.

In performing arts school I finally found something that challenged me and where I could apply myself. It never got boring. And working for the good grades was meaningful.

And it allowed me to explore storytelling on a whole other level. I still remember the final work I did in my second year, which was a collaboration between a dancer (me) and an actor about how a person goes insane.

Or appears to go insane to the rest of the world, but to herself, it’s the rest of the world that’s spiralling into insanity. And during that whole process the woman was haunted by the ghost of her “sane” self – chiding her for not being as young and beautiful and obedient as she once had been – as well as the ghosts of the people she had loved and lost.

I did the sound design and was the one who insisted on including a scene where the audience sat in total darkness for 3 minutes listening to the sound of a heartbeat.

Even in rehearsals, it was jarring. Haunting.

It made people cry because it hit deep. From remembering a dying grandmother’s last hours to the memory of a miscarriage to having a return-to-the-womb-like experience, it brought out all kinds of feelings in our audiences.

I don’t recommend trying it unless you’ve got some serious mental fortitude and are in a good place mentally.

It wasn’t for the feint of heart.

I’m still not, so if you don’t like someone going on about seemingly unconnected topics that turn into granular deep dives that occur at random, or dredging up feelings you thought you’d forgotten about, don’t read my stuff. It’s not for you.

I love reading, watching, and listening to stories. And I love to talk about them.

I also like to take all the thoughts my brain, that’s working at 120% at any given moment, comes up with and distil them into stories.

I love writing capable and confident characters that thrive on finding their agency.

And obviously have a long, convoluted journey getting there!

Slow burn is the name of the game, and I’m a research heavy writer because it’s important to me to get things not too hot, not too cold, but juuuuuust right.

Nothing aggravates me more than when a beautiful character is done dirty (looking at you Modern Family and Game of Thrones 👀).

Fantasy and sci-fi are my main jam, though I do have some forays into contemporary settings as well. I’m not a pulpy writer, so you can expect me to write many frowning reviews about pulpy books I read.

My characters are sex-positive pansexuals, so consider this your warning: my content is mature, explicit and gay (in both meanings of the word).

With her gift for language and written expression, she injects her stories with a sense of beauty and poetry. Her writing is deeply emotional, and she never forgets to have fun.

– Elise, one of my readers who is also a writer herself

So, what do you want to read?

After having spent the last two decades in marketing, I’m only getting started with this creative journey into writing stories in book-form.

If you wanna keep in touch, sign up for my emails. Pick a free goodie from below and let’s become inbox frens!

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You can also see my books and I’ve got some shorts and things available for Patrons.

TL;DR Author Bio

S.T. Arsheep was a copywriter (writing fiction only in secret, shhh!) long before trading slinging ink in marketing for wordsmithery in book writing. As an industry veteran with over two decades of experience crafting captivating copy, she brings a masterful command of voice to her evocative prose.

Known as the Slow Burn Queen of gritty speculative fiction, this LGBTQ+ author reigns supreme in creating character-driven, slathered-in-feels sci-fi and fantasy that simmers with delicious tension. She loves pairing grumpy heroes with sassy, self-assured heroines, and savouring every longing glance and accidental touch until you’re screaming “Kiss already!!!” at a book. Expect steamy scenes, witty banter, and happily ever afters that’ll leave you smiling through tears of hard-earned joy.

A Scandinavian descended from Vikings and one Polish horse thief, she’s an autistic elder millennial who loves a sinfully moist tiramisu. When not writing, you can find her at the stables with her kiddo, in the kitchen with her husband, learning a new craft, chaos gardening, dreaming of countryside living, and doing the same thing she does every night; plotting how to take over the world. (No, not really; just how to start an alpaca farm.)