A belief in words, courage, and the quiet power of sharing
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I believe stories are not meant to stay hidden in drawers, documents, or half-finished folders on your laptop.
Stories are living things. They are made to be read, held, and felt.
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I believe your story matters—not because it will win awards or sit in a bookshop window (though it might), but because it carries truth, imagination, and connection. And connection is what stories do best.
As a novelist, I know the longing for traditional publication—the dream of validation, the agent call, the contract, the sense that someone has said yes, you are good enough.
As a book coach, I also know that this dream can sometimes keep writers waiting… and waiting… and waiting.
And as a teacher, I know that growth comes not from waiting to be chosen, but from doing, sharing, reflecting, and learning.
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I believe that traditional publishing is a worthy dream.
I also believe it is not the only measure of success.
If traditional publication hasn’t happened yet—or if the path feels slow, uncertain, or closed for now—I believe there is deep value in getting your work into the world anyway.
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Because sharing your work:
🌱 Builds confidence. You stop writing in isolation and begin to see yourself as a real, practicing author.
🌱 Creates momentum. A finished, shared book teaches you more than a dozen half-written drafts ever could.
🌱 Develops resilience. You learn to receive feedback, reviews, and responses without letting them silence you.
🌱 Strengthens craft. Writing for real readers sharpens your voice, clarity, and storytelling instincts.
🌱 Connects you with readers. Your words find people who need them, see themselves in them, and feel less alone.
🌱 Clarifies your identity as a writer. You begin to understand what you write, who you write for, and why.
🌱 Keeps the dream alive. Sharing now does not close the door to traditional publishing later. In many cases, it opens it.​
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I believe publication is not the end goal—connection is.
I believe courage grows when stories are shared.
I believe unfinished dreams deserve compassion, not abandonment.​
Most of all, I believe this:
Your story does not need permission to exist.
Whether your path is traditional, independent, or still unfolding, you are allowed to take up space. You are allowed to call yourself a writer. And you are allowed to let your words bloom where you are planted.
This is the work I stand for.
This is the work I guide others through.
And this is why I believe—deeply and without hesitation—that your story is ready to be shared.