If someone had told me a year ago that I was going to be a published author, I would have laughed in their face. Most days I can barely juggle my responsibilities as a wife and mother, and still show up to work on time, lol. But, the one thing I’ve always made time for was a good book. Being able to escape into a world completely opposite of my everyday life is the ultimate stress relief.

Like most folks, adjusting to my “new normal” over the past two years has been challenging. Right before the pandemic, I uprooted my family and moved to a new city. We made the move because my husband and I wanted a slower pace of life for our son. After a particularly trying year, in which I attended 4 funerals in the span of 6 months, my therapist made a suggestion. She said, “why don’t you try writing a book?” Her theory was that writing could be just as therapeutic as reading.

I brushed off her suggestion at first. Sure, I’d written a novel back in high school that my mom and all of her friends raved about. That’s what moms are supposed to do. But, later that night, I started thinking: what if more novels in some of my favorite subgenres centered Black and POC characters? An MC series, but make it “Urban”? Yes, please!! Chocolate-coated, regency romances? Hello, Bridgerton! 

*yes, I know Bridgerton is a TV series based on books, but you get the point, right?

I woke up the next day and started writing, Inviting Knight. Initially, I didn’t have a plan to publish. The book was meant to sit in my Google Drive. A source of cathartic release when reality was just too much. The thing is: representation only works if other people get to see the finished product. 

At the end of the day, I’m just a wife. A mom. A cog in the machine. But, I’m also a published author. I write the novels that I want to read.