Ronel Holtz is a recovering overthinker, part-time mystic, and full-time emotional stunt driver. She has whispered curses into tea mugs, lit candles for broken printers, and spent an alarming amount of time arguing with the Divine helpdesk.

Her writing blends spiritual absurdity with metaphysical customer service, and she firmly believes that sarcasm is a sacred language.

Ronel currently resides somewhere between a stack of half-finished notebooks and the last three text messages she never replied to. She accepts blessings, coffee, and editorial miracles in equal measure.