It's Time to Move On
Another rejection landed in my inbox this week. That's okay. The stories still matter. At some point, continuing to chase acceptance starts feeling less like persistence and more like procrastination. The collection is coming, whether the gatekeepers approve or not.
The Bravest Thing I Haven’t Done
For twenty-five years, I've fought battles at work, protected my team, challenged bad decisions, and pushed back against corporate nonsense. But lately I've realized something uncomfortable: the bravest thing I may ever do isn't standing my ground. It might be walking away.
Are You Still Watching?
My sleep schedule has become absolute chaos. Couch naps turn into fake responsibility, fake responsibility turns into sleeping with the bedroom light on, and somewhere in the middle of all that nighttime nonsense I somehow manage to write a few pages before dawn drags me back into the world.
I Hope They Get This In Time
The proof copies for A Survivor’s Guide To Survival finally arrived, and for the first time since the accident, this chapter feels complete. This book was designed for people waking up in hospital beds after trauma: scared, hurting, disoriented, and alone. If these words help even one person find their way back to themselves, then the book has already done its job.
The Ones Who Find You Again
Sometimes the people who matter most aren’t the ones who are always there. They’re the ones who disappear for years and still find their way back. The ones who check in without being asked. The ones who remind you that you were never as alone as you thought.
Chasing the Horizon
We all want the same thing. Not control. Not obligation. Not someone to consume our time or reshape our lives. Just someone who shows up. Someone who sees you, knows you, and chooses to be there when they’re there. And somehow, in a world full of people looking for that exact thing… nobody seems to find it.
Pollen, Pain, and a Published Book
I can’t breathe. Not metaphorically, literally. My nose is wrecked, my face is stitched back together, and Albuquerque pollen decided to show up like it had a personal grudge. But somewhere between the pain, the irritation, and the sheer stubbornness of it all… my book went live. And honestly? I’ll take that win.
Cut, Stitch, Publish
On the same day I hand my face over to a surgeon’s knife, I’m waiting for something else to be born: my first book. One stitched back together. One finally set free. Either way, something changes today.
It Is The Way
There is no middle ground. There is no “later,” because now is later. When something takes hold of you, really takes hold, you don’t get to ignore it. You either answer the call, or it drives you fucking insane.
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.
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.
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.
Some Days the Words Don’t Come, But the Ride Does
Some days I wake up with stories clawing to get out. Other days, my wrist hurts, my foot protests, and the words stay quiet. On those days, I ride. And somewhere between cold air, torque, and movement, my soul remembers who the fuck I am.
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.
Fifty Days In
Fifty days in, and I’m not where I was, but I’m not where I was told I’d be either. I can stand. I can move. I can lift, even if it’s light and ugly and slow. My body is battered, stitched, numb, leaking, and missing pieces, but my mind? My mind is on fire. Somewhere between broken bones and stubborn refusal, I finished the work. And that counts for something. Maybe everything.
A Good Day
Recovery isn’t linear. Some days you live too far inside your own head, spiraling through thoughts that don’t always land somewhere warm. And then—sometimes—the universe throws you a bone. A good day. A real one. A day where the words flow, where purpose snaps back into focus, where unexpected kindness reminds you that life is still happening. Yesterday was one of those days. And those days matter more than people realize.
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.