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A lot of days, I spend feeling like an outsider. Looking in on a community that seems to be thriving, but that I do not exist in. I recently saw a post by Author Calvin Naraghi, where he stated that "Perks of Being a Wallflower" by Stephen Chbosky was his favorite book of all time. And I can truly relate to that title. That's what makes it so great. Not all of us fit in, because we've all had our own unique experiences in life. Our hardships do shape who we become, but we get to choose in...

Today I wrote a two-page letter,

Draft after draft after draft, I cried. This letter was the hardest thing I have ever written—a letter to the judge presiding over my brother's case.

I can write novels, no problem. Because while my life still manifests within those pages, it's not real. It's very real content and very real emotion in a made-up scenario that is not my own. But putting together a string of sentences that speak about my brother's character is the hardest thing I've ever done,...

So, it happened again.

I received yet another message from someone who read "The Road to Ezra" stating that after that ending, they were really not okay. (This was followed by, I can't wait to start book two! So no actual damage had been done, I promise, haha)

But anyway, I'm telling my boyfriend about it, and he says, "Hey, miss indie author, stop messing with people's minds."

Followed by a mocking text message, "My book is 'Trauma ReCoVeRy'."

Well, it is, smartass, but in order to heal, we...

Today, my five-year-old little girl asked, "Momma, you wrote two whole books, right?"

She tucked her little arm under mine, pulling it to her chest. Her gaze met mine as she waited patiently for my response. Smiling down at her, I responded, "Yes, baby. Momma wrote two books, and now she's working on her third."

She sat for a minute, and I could tell there was more she wanted to say. It was my turn to wait, but after a few minutes, she still hadn't said a word.

Suddenly, she held her hand up...

Today I published my second book. Everyone keeps saying congratulations, as if this moment should be filled with something other than dread.

My thoughts are getting jumbled; I'm excited, proud, anxious, and incredibly nervous. That's what it's like living with AVPD. I wrote this fantastic book, and I can't enjoy it, because I'm worried it isn't good enough.

I want to go out and celebrate, but I'll probably sit at home instead, hitting refresh a million times on my laptop. I'll watch the icon...