Four Weeks: A Reckoning in Motion

Right now, I should probably feel something—excitement, fear, pride. But truthfully? I feel a little numb.

Maybe that’s just the survival part of me taking over. The part that kicks in when I’m close to the end of something big, something meaningful. I go into “keep going” mode. One task at a time. One deadline at a time. Emotion, I assume, will come later. Probably in the least convenient moment—the kind where it ambushes you mid-sentence or while folding laundry.

This release—Moons and Shadows—it’s not just a book going into the world.

It’s a piece of me that had to be earned, healed, fought for.

Someone asked me, why July 4th for this book release?

Let me be clear: July 4th wasn’t always a day I celebrated. At 21, I was sexually assaulted. That date once represented a before and after.

Through years of counseling, movement therapy, EMDR, sitting in quiet, and journaling, I eventually made a choice: to layer something good over something that had broken me. To plant light where darkness had claimed space. 

That’s how July 4th became Jaxie’s birthday. (Technically, he was born in May. But when he became part of our life, I needed that day to mean something else. Something better.)

And now, it’s also the release date for Moons and Shadows.

Another layer. Another light. Another breath.

That same person asked, what happens when it doesn’t feel “Big Enough”?

Everyone expects a flood of emotion before a milestone like this. But I don’t do scripted emotion. I’ve never been good at responding the “right” way to emotional things. That’s part of the reason I struggle with being on camera.

My humor? In all transparency, I didn’t even realize I had it. My husband, Chris, calls it beautifully natural.

My heart? Raw.

But rehearsed? No thank you.

I don’t want to do anything anymore that doesn’t feel intensely real, human, and honest.

I’ve been “appropriate” for far too long. And I’m learning to open up this new part of myself—where I color outside the lines because someone earned my trust, not because someone told me to.

So if I don’t cry on release day, please know it’s not because I don’t feel it.

It’s because I do—too deeply, in ways that don’t always show up in tears.

What I want you to understand is this: I am learning how to feel. How I feel about something. No one else. Just me. And I have to—HAVE TO—be honest with myself. This book has been my tether. And once it’s released into the world, the next set of tasks will begin: audiobook production, narrator selection, connecting with new readers.

But before all that—I just want to pause and acknowledge what this really means.

What This Book Holds

Moons and Shadows isn’t just a fantasy story.

It’s a container for healing.

For transformation.

For understanding the shape of darkness and the weight of light.

Runa’s journey is threaded with the kind of survival that doesn’t look like screaming—it looks like stillness.

It looks like someone showing up again and again, even when no one’s watching.

And while your story may be different from hers—or from mine—I believe you’ll find pieces of yourself somewhere in the ink.

Maybe in Mama D’s quiet strength.

Maybe in the softness behind Diesel’s edge.

Maybe in the unspoken grief of becoming more than the world expected of you.

And You, Dear Reader…

Here’s what I’m most excited about:

Seeing you with this book.

Not in a performative way—but in the quiet ways.

The ways that show connection.

A photo of you holding it at the beach.

On a back porch. In a patch of sunlight. Tucked into a blanket.

A page folded. A passage underlined.

Maybe you’ll connect with a character.

Maybe you’ll see yourself for the first time in a long time.

Maybe you’ll simply remember that you’re not alone.

Because you’re not.

You are never alone.

You’re sitting right there—on the metaphorical couch next to me, next to Runa, next to all of them.

And it’s not just my story anymore.

Once you hold it, it’s ours.

Thank You—But Bigger

“Thank you” feels too small.

I want to say more than thank you, but the words haven’t quite arrived yet.

So I’ll leave you with this:

If you’ve ever felt lost…

If you’ve ever felt held back…

If you’ve ever stood on the edge of becoming something more—

You, my friend, are bound by faith.

And you are very much not alone.

I can’t wait to meet you in Starlight this 4th of July.