It’s been raining cats and dogs my entire life. Not the cute kind. The kind that turns the ground to mud, floods the gutters, and leaves you soaked before you’ve even stepped outside. I’m burnt out. Not temporarily, not seasonally. Chronically. I haven’t slept well my entire adult life. I had four children in five years, which meant I was basically pregnant from nineteen to twenty‑four. Then came raising my adorable mob.

How many of us grew up crushing on the bad boy? I did. Through my teen years, I gravitated toward jerks—boys who objectified me, pushed boundaries, and treated me like a challenge instead of a person. I even spent years hopelessly in love with a stoner who dropped out of school to pursue a career in… being a pothead. Meanwhile, when I met my husband—a genuinely kind, respectful man—I instantly friend‑zoned him. He couldn’t possibly be my missing piece, right?

I’ve been thinking about one of my favorite songs of all time: The Sound of Silence by Simon & Garfunkel. Every time I revisit it, I’m struck by how ancient it feels. Like scripture written for a world that didn’t exist yet, but somehow predicted ours perfectly.

There’s a moment in Last of the Mohicans that has lived inside me for decades. The younger daughter stands on the edge of a cliff, the music rising like a heartbeat. She looks at the man who intends to take her. His hand outstretched. Then back at the chasm behind her. She hesitates. She chooses. She jumps. That scene carved itself into me. That breath‑held, soul‑splitting moment is my benchmark for a great story.

“My name is Karen,” she said, standing slightly to introduce herself. “And yes, I am a Karen.” She didn’t smile when she said it. In fact, she didn’t smile at all, which was refreshing. Women were conditioned to smile, as if the fate of humanity rested on their positive attitude. If that were the case, then Karen was single-handedly wrecking the world.

Self‑correcting stops so many people from ever expressing themselves. I’ve known people who desperately wanted to write but couldn’t bring themselves to put down a single sentence out of fear of criticism. And honestly, the world encourages this. We worship materialism. Only things that make money are considered valuable. Creativity becomes a commodity instead of a calling. But this is exactly when you have to dig deep, awaken your inner rebel, and do it anyway.

Everywhere I look, I see assimilation: on social media, in churches, in institutions across the globe. People becoming like each other to fit in, smoothing out their edges until nothing unique remains. I’ve never understood how they do it.

Soul‑divergent writers create from emotional truth, lived experience, and inner rhythm. Learn what it means to stay authentic in a world pushing for sameness.

I can write for 16 hours straight all weekend long, churning out 10k words a day. No problem. I can write a 90,000k word novel in two and a half weeks. I can pen and then edit project after project with ease. But the moment I have to construct three sentences about who I am, I am stumped! I can write about anything—but me. I imbue so much of myself into my stories that there isn’t much left, and what remains are the parts I don’t want anyone to see, not even myself. i wish I

Writing fiction is not just a simple task; it's an emotional journey. Many writers pour their hearts into the stories they create, sharing narratives that entertain and reveal their vulnerabilities. In my experience, however, I discovered that connecting with my creative spirit while keeping an emotional distance was crucial for developing my authentic voice and maintaining my sanity!

Books I read as a kid I have been thinking about my influences lately. Going back to the very beginning. As a poor, home-schooled kid growing up in the eighties, these were my only books to read at home—a gift from my grandmother. Authors Martha Finley (1867-1905) and Grace Livingston Hill (1887-1947). Great drama never goes out of style. This last week, I wrote two stories and submitted them to a 2025 Writing Contest. It's always nice to have an excuse to write a new story!

It's time to put the pen down and do the other hard part: share my books with the world.

I have done nothing but write all summer. I have finished my romance trilogy: A Daughter to Die For, A Lover to Live For, and A Future to Fight For. Now, I need to get these stories out there, as in published.

This has been a long time coming. I have created content for years but never found the impetus to share it. Now I want to share my music and my stories. This is a huge hurdle to overcome. But I am now actively seeking publication for my new novel, The Mother Tongue, and I hope to make a go of a dream I've had since childhood. For anyone willing to support me, I thank you. Wish me luck.