About Kate

I write.

Not because it’s cute or therapeutic or because I always dreamed of being an author.

I write because death kicked the door in—three times—and when I crawled back through the rubble, I realized the universe wasn’t asking me to write.

It was daring me to.

So I do.

With urgency. With teeth. With the full weight of a woman who has run out of reasons to hold back.

This is my impact. My meaning. My legacy. If the world remembers me, it will be through my words.

I’ve lived a hard, strange, beautiful life—submarines, factory floors, federal agencies, leadership, loss, reinvention. I learned to work until my hands shook and laugh anyway. I learned to keep stepping forward even when the world tries to knock me flat. And after one lifetime and three deaths, I finally learned to live for myself.

The accident in 2025 didn’t change my course—it clarified it.

Pain stripped away whatever hesitation was left. When I woke with metal in my wrist and new scars along my body, the only thing I wanted to do—the only thing that made sense—was to write harder.

So I do.

When I’m not writing, I work.

When I’m not working, I ride.

Sleep comes when it wants. Inspiration comes when it feels like a fight. And when neither shows up, you’ll find me on the streets of Santa Fe wrapped in the roar of whichever motorcycle is carrying me forward that week—Lilith, Aurora, or whatever machine comes next.

I’m not here to fade quietly.

I’m here to leave a mark deep enough to outlive me.