Fire, Fracture, and the Finish Line
My book is so goddamned close. And So, She Rose didn’t come together in a straight line. It came together through death, through failure, through pain, and finally, through fire. Turns out, sometimes the ending of your story doesn’t come from inspiration… it comes from impact.
I Accidentally Built a Publishing Team
I accidentally assembled the most incredible team to push my memoir, And So, She Rose, across the finish line. In three days I went from draft cover concepts to final layout, bought my first batch of ISBN numbers, and learned more about publishing than I ever intended. Turns out writing the book might have been the easy part.
So Fucking Close
After years of recovery, reflection, and writing, my memoir And So, She Rose is finally approaching the finish line. And along the way I’ve discovered just how much work, and how many incredible people, it takes to turn words into a real book.
Memento Mori, Memento Vivere
I died three times in 2022. When I came back, I stopped fearing Death and started honoring it. The Reaper isn’t my enemy, he’s my reminder to live urgently, honestly, and without apology.
The Lonely Things I Choose
I get lonely sometimes. But I’ve also gotten ruthless about who gets access to me. When you build a life around riding, writing, and leading, you don’t have room for everyone, and that’s both the problem and the point.
You’re Fucking Welcome
Pride wasn’t born out of comfort. It was born out of survival. This is about Michael. About blood. About hiding. About violence. About what it actually cost to make today safer. And about the complicated gratitude that comes with inheriting freedom.
Don’t Fall Back Asleep
It’s easy to fall back asleep. Not literal sleep, the slow kind. The creative kind. The “I’ll do it tomorrow” kind. And one missed morning can turn into a year if you’re not careful.
It’s Never Fucking Done
I’ve called And So, She Rose “done” three different times. Broken wrist. Proofreader hired. Names changed. BFF feedback incorporated. And now the cover artist is working, which means “done” isn’t done until I say it is and publish the damn thing. Welcome to the chaos of self-publishing, where the writing ends and the real work begins.
RIDEST is Live
RIDEST is live. Born out of a crash, recovery, and a refusal to accept unfair systems, this initiative is about making New Mexico biker-friendly and biker-safe — with fairness, accountability, and freedom at the center.
Reclaiming MY Normal
After months of hospitals, recovery, and forced stillness, I finally felt like myself again, not because I was healed, but because I was seen. This isn’t a story about rushing back or pretending nothing happened. It’s about reclaiming the version of “normal” that keeps my mind alive, my sanity intact, and my life moving forward.
Between Sleeps
I fall asleep early, wake up in the middle of the night, write until dawn, ride through cold Santa Fe mornings, then do it all over again. It wasn’t the routine I planned, but it’s the one that’s healing me. Writing has become the thread that stitches my body, mind, and spirit back together, and right now, I wouldn’t trade this strange, quiet rhythm for anything.
When The Universe Says “Hold My Beer”
Sometimes the universe doesn’t wait for you to ask. It looks you in the eye, cracks a grin, and says, “Here, hold my beer.” Then it grabs the wheel. Today, instead of rage-writing about healthcare or bureaucracy, I wrote queer short stories. Two of them. And when the words come like that—unforced, urgent, necessary—you don’t argue. You get out of the way and let them land.
When The Universe Takes Over
I don’t write on command. I write to stay ready. Because when inspiration shows up, it doesn’t ask what you planned to work on that day, it takes the wheel. Yesterday, it dragged me out of one project and dropped a whole new book in my lap. All I could do was let the words fall out.
That Too Is Legacy
A late-night ride, a wave of doubt, and a message from an old Navy friend—reminding me the seeds of legacy were planted long before I knew I’d need them.
Servant To Self
The life of a writer is lonely—by choice. Solitude isn’t about shutting people out, it’s about diving deep into worlds and characters that demand every ounce of focus. This is why I disappear, and why I had to choose me.
Me and My Watch
Schedules are my kryptonite. Creativity is my fire. The problem? Writing for a living requires both—and nothing makes me want to curse humanity more than penciling “Thursday at 5” into my calendar.
Bees Knees, My Ass
Writing lights me up, but building a writing career? That’s a whole different kind of work. Between submissions, day jobs, and the deep pull to create, I’m chasing the dream one keystroke at a time—while cursing bees for their simplicity.