“I don’t invent darkness. I just listen to it more closely than most.” — C.W. Hime
Every story I write begins with a single fracture—somewhere a person has bent too far, stayed too silent, or inherited a secret they can’t bear. I’m drawn to the unspoken: the heaviness behind polished smiles, the manipulation tucked inside love, the bloodlines that bind us even when we want to run.
My inspiration doesn’t come from plot twists. It comes from pressure points—those invisible places where a person begins to unravel. I build characters who walk willingly into shadow, not to be consumed by it, but to reveal what the light was never honest about.
This is where my stories live: at the threshold between power and consequence, silence and survival.
My Story
C.W. Hime is a retired critical care and trauma respiratory therapist who spent 34 years walking alongside people in their most vulnerable moments—many in their final hours. That experience shaped how he sees the world: with clear eyes, a steady hand, and a deep understanding of the human condition, particularly its darkness.
Now writing full time, C.W. Hime crafts psychological thrillers and literary crime fiction that explore what lies beneath the surface of polished families, quiet towns, and controlled appearances. His debut novel The Glovemaker unflinchingly examines legacy, psychopathy, and the cost of secrets within an aristocratic family whose reach spans continents and centuries.
Bill—known to family and friends by his given name—lives with his wife, Sateash, who is a therapist and has her own private practice. The two share a life of creativity and quiet purpose. He’s a high-functioning autistic thinker with a gifted ability to hyper-focus, drawing from both intuition and meticulous research. He comes from a line of carpenters, is a lifelong artist, and builds historic wooden ships by hand. Everything he creates—whether with pen, word, or blade—is a work of depth and precision.
Bill doesn’t write to escape the world; he writes to hold a mirror to it. His characters are complex, often dark, and always human.
Many readers describe his stories as "unsettling," "beautiful," and "impossible to forget."