When Fiction Gets Too Fucking Real
I started revising a story in Undertow because I'd written something that was a little too close to reality and not nearly fictional enough. So I decided to explore what could have happened instead of what actually did. That led me down a rabbit hole researching what happens to transgender women in New Mexico's criminal justice system. And holy fucking hell. What started as an exercise in creative writing turned into something deeply personal, frightening, and infuriating. Sometimes fiction forces you to confront realities you'd rather not think about.
What the Fuck Am I Trying to Say?
I'm finally getting serious about publishing Undertow, my collection of short stories. But somewhere between thinking about cover art and waiting for my fucking omelet, I started questioning what the collection actually says. These stories are fictionalized versions of very real experiences from my life as a transgender woman. They're painful, uncomfortable, and not particularly happy. But does a collection need a happy ending to have meaning? After dying three times in 2022 and nearly dying again in a motorcycle crash in 2025, I've become obsessed with impact and legacy. I'm not writing simply to publish another book. I'm writing because I need my life, and my words, to fucking matter.