Stories from Silence

I didn’t grow up dreaming of writing books. I spent years turning wrenches, working as a mechanic in the Army, fixing what could be fixed and learning through what couldn’t. Out there, everything had a manual. A process. A reason.

Switching out a diff at NTC.

But when I got out, the silence was louder than the engines ever were. The structure I had relied on was gone. And I was left trying to figure out who I was without the mission, without the uniform, without the noise.

Writing started as a whisper. A way to cope. A way to understand the ache that came with the transition. I didn’t know if I was any good, only that it felt right to put something on the page and see what it became.

Somewhere along the way, I found comfort in characters. In giving them a second chance when I wasn’t sure I deserved one of my own. I write stories now filled with heartbreak and healing, where people learn to love again after loss and rebuild from the broken pieces.

Always beside me is Quill, my Rottweiler and shadow. He’s curled up behind my chair or watching me from the couch, as if he knows when I need to keep going and when I need to breathe. He’s a steady kind of love, the kind that doesn’t ask questions but always stays.

Quill kisses on a much-needed fresh air break.

I may not have planned for this life, but I’m grateful for it. Writing taught me that even after the hardest chapters, there’s still more story to tell.

And I’m just getting started.