How I Accidentally Became a Web Designer (and Lived to Blog About It)

So I did a thing. Again. And as usual, I had no idea what I was doing, at least not at first.

Let’s rewind: when I Never Knew I Needed You came out, I had this delusional burst of confidence and thought, "You know what? I’m gonna build a website. Like a real one. Like a grown-up creative person." And I did—technically. What I actually launched was a one-page, no-navigation, anxiety-riddled dump of content that looked like I made it in a Word doc and converted it to HTML via vibes. Just one endless scroll of "here’s the book," "here’s a photo of me that doesn't really look like me, at all," and a few sad, off-center links I couldn’t figure out how to wrangle. It had big "student project I forgot was due" energy. The traffic stats were humbling: dozens of visitors, half of whom were probably me, refreshing compulsively and wondering if the site was actually live or if I had somehow launched it directly into the void. In short, it was total bomb city and in no way reflective of a place where my stories and ideas and nonsense ramblings should live.

So yeah, it was total bomb city. So I let it die.

But here’s the thing—if I want the worlds I’m creating to feel real, like actually real, they need a proper home. Not just a holding tank. A home. So I built one. With way too much trial and error, lots of late-night design spirals, and the ever-patient help of Chad G. Petey, I'm telling you, that guy might actually have some usefulness after all.

So, let this serve as your official invitation to the new, and way more improved, room223.com. It’s a real thing now. And it’s not just functional—it actually came out kind of sweet.

Here’s what’s inside:

Andy’s Blog
This is the part where I try to write like a normal person and almost never do. It’s where you'll find ramblings about writing, storytelling, weird creative rituals, pop culture obsessions, or why I still think about something someone said to me in passing in 1993. At this point there’s no schedule or "content strategy." Although I should probably come up with one. If Dr. Leo Marvin taught me anything, it's all about "Baby Steps". For now it'll be just me, typing too fast and hoping something sticks. If you've ever wondered what the inside of my head sounds like when it's not filtered through fiction, this is probably the closest you'll get aside from standing next to me as I continually struggle to find the off switch connected to my mouth.

Fiction
This is where the books live. The actual published stuff. I Never Knew I Needed You, Becoming Boone, and whatever comes next—because yes, more is coming. You’ll find blurbs, links, some context, and the lightest possible attempt at being professional. It’s the part of the site that says, "See? I really did write the thing."

It’s clean. It’s useful. It’s the place you send your friend when they say, "Wait, didn’t you mention that book that one time?" Yes. Yes, I did. It’s right here.

Extras
Okay, this one is my favorite. This is where the stories expand and get weird. Extras is the section for anyone who finishes a book and starts asking, "But what about…?" It’s where all the voices I can’t stop hearing get to speak up. It’s fast, it’s messy, it’s sometimes too specific. But it matters.

Inside, you’ll find:

• Character blogs—maybe you'll find a few stolen pages from Dennis Winston's trapper keeper, or a review of what was featured in Killer Kowalski's latest movie marathon.
• Torn-out pages from Jeremy's journal, or Nathan Boone's anxious ramblings. (The first one is already up.)
• A few mixtapes and playlists posted from Huxley and NCSU's key players, with much more on the way.
• Scanned photos, fake artifacts, maybe even a note someone passed in class once.

Think of it like opening a secret shoebox under the bed—one that the characters didn’t mean for you to find but secretly hoped you would. Think of it as companion media with a pulse.

The Shop
Let me be blunt: I made a shop because I wanted to make stuff that felt like the stories I was telling and the characters I couldn’t let go of. I didn’t want generic book merch. I wanted design-forward, story-charged, emotionally-resonant gear that could stand on its own.

So I started with the basics: the books, of course, some stickers, a few tees and sweatshirts with the Room 223 brand which I honestly designed just so I could personally rock them myself. I think it's pretty cool stuff, and if you think so too, grab something.

I’m already playing with new ideas—stuff inspired by specific characters, moments, or just the general aesthetic of the Huxley universe. The plan is to keep growing it with pieces that feel wearable and personal, like a souvenir from someone else’s memory.

It’s not just a merch table. It’s part of the world.

Oh, and there’s a Photo Dump section, which is exactly what it sounds like. Just a loose pile of snapshots from my less-than-wild adventures—me attempting to peddle my stories at events, chasing down vibes, or just pointing my iPhone at things that feel like the inside of my head.

Also, yes, there’s an About section. Is it necessary? Probably. Is it helpful? The jury is still out on that one. But it exists. It’s where I try (and fail) to talk about who I am without sounding like I’m writing a dating profile while concussed. If you enjoy secondhand embarrassment or want to witness a grown adult spiral in paragraph form, go ahead and read it. Just maybe don’t tell me you did.

So yeah. The new site’s up. It's still pretty lean, but it doesn’t look like a MySpace page anymore, which feels like real growth if you knew where we started. There are actual sections, working links, and not a single autoplay music widget in sight.

Come check it out. There’s more coming soon. And hey, if you want to be in the loop when new stuff drops (and by "stuff" I mean blog rants, character chaos, or merch drops I definitely overthought), I'd really appreciate it if you subscribed. It's totally free and I promise not to flood your inbox or send weird daily affirmations. Just the good stuff. I promise.

room223.com

It exists. And it kind of rules.