“Life is pain, anyone who says otherwise is obviously selling something!" — The Princess Bride William Goldman, 1973 Stories found me early. Looking back now, I think books were teaching me how to survive long before I realized that’s what they were doing. Some taught me imagination. Some taught me grief. Some taught me sarcasm, resilience, longing, friendship, or how dangerous power can become in the wrong hands. The stories that stayed with me weren’t the ones pretending li

Author’s note: This post is not directly about my books or my writing process. It is about the life those books are written from. As a disabled, self-published author, my work exists inside a body and a system that shape every part of what I am able to create. I believe that context matters. I also believe the realities of living with disability matter. If you live in similar shoes, I hope you find some comfort, recognition, and a sense that you are not alone here. I am o

Met a young aspiring writer at my Morrow Arts Center signing—his excitement reminded me ofone of the reasons why I write.

A raw confession of living in the tension between triumph and collapse—publishing a book, building a life, yet drowning in illness, loss, and disappointment. This is the truth behind the mask, the cracks I can no longer hide.

Admitted for severe back pain, I expected compassion and care. Instead, a surgeon dismissed my pain, my weight, even my career. Here’s the truth about my diagnosis, the bias I faced, and why I refuse to be invisible.