In every stage of life I have experienced, one singular trait has remained consistent. I have always harbored a deep love for literature. Consuming the words others have penned, and attempting to pen my own.

As a child I would write short stories or poems, and sometimes even take home a little medal or modest award if some local contest thought they were decent. I was enamored by library shelves filled with magical worlds to visit.

As an adult, I am finally chasing my dream and (hopefully) adding my own worlds to someone’s shelf.

But first, let me tell you how I got here.

I found myself at an unavoidable fork in the road, thanks to the struggle of being a present wife and mother while maintaining a corporate job where I juggled acting as all the jobs listed in the role's description plus being a terrified tight-rope walker every time the "powers that be" decided there wasn’t enough on anyone's already-heaping plate.

All this to say, I knew I needed to make a decision.

Did I choose to continue on with the endless cycle of paychecks that didn’t even begin to compensate for the emotional warfare of leaving such a stressful daily work environment to come home with only my absolute worst left to offer my family? Choose to accept that the only way I would ever move up and into a better position was if I committed whole-heartedly to accepting the miserable way I was feeling as "good enough".

Or, did I jump out of the plane with no parachute?

“I can’t live like this.” I told my husband in the latest of many nightly crying sessions after our pre-school age daughter was tucked in her bed, having seen her for a grand total of two awake hours that day. “I feel like I will have to sell my soul to stay there.”

“I know.” He usually offered more in reply, but tonight we both knew there wasn’t much left to say. “What do you want to do?”

“I want to be a good mom.”

“Then let’s do that.”

And so, in a staggering blow to my household’s monthly budget spreadsheet, I quit my job the next day.

My husband started working six days a week, 10–12 hours a day, so I could be a stay-at-home mom.

We were finally able to take the plunge and have Baby #2 since we suddenly didn’t have to consider a doubled daycare bill or a year long waitlist for an open spot at a safe facility.

The pieces were falling into place. Our life didn't seem stuck in limbo anymore. I was happy, fulfilled as a wife and mother.

And yet, somehow, still aching to use my brain more.

That was when I realized it — my husband didn’t just give me the opportunity to be the wife and mother I had always been striving to be. He gave me the gift of time.

Time to find myself again, something I had definitely lost when I started my first job two weeks before graduation. Something I had definitely lost when I was trying to fit the mold — “climb the ladder, chase the better paycheck!”

I woke up one day with an unshakable urge to write.

So I did all my mom jobs, ever the present parent, and then, when naptime rolled around… I wrote.

And then, when bedtime rolled around… I wrote.

In January of 2025, I started writing.

And by August of 2025, I had self-published two novels.

Are they perfect? Probably not. Am I incredibly proud of them? Absolutely.

They weren’t just fiction stories. They were the first time I was able to freely use my voice without fear of a “boss” stifling it.

With two completed manuscripts that I actually felt were worth sharing, I had researched the ups and downs of traditional vs. indie publishing.

And in the end, I didn’t even try to query. I was so afraid of giving up control. So afraid of someone telling me to change my voice, my story.

After years of feeling like I had to complete tasks to appease someone else, I wanted to do this for me.

So, I did. I did it all.

In the process of writing, I learned three incredibly valuable lessons:

LESSON 1:

I LOVED IT.

LESSON 2:

It was more difficult than I ever imagined to write with real intent; intent to complete a novel and have awareness the entire time that you will, someday, allow others to read everything that just spilled out.

LESSON 3:

I had the ability to create my own “work environment” and that would be dangerous if I don’t learn to manage it.

Lessons #1 and #2 weren’t all that surprising to me. But Lesson #3 sure was.

When the end of August rolled around, I found myself with one child off to school, and a baby who still takes decently long naps. This is grand, I thought to myself. I will have all the time in the world to write to my hearts content.

Spoiler alert: It has been “grand” about 30% off the time. It has been a steady stream of frustration and roadblocks the other 70%.

I still love writing. I still sit down and try to write every chance I get.

But, I have one of those dangerous personalities that becomes obsessive about a project. Once I start, it consumes me. I cannot and will not stop until it is done.

A perfect example, two self-published novels in eight months time, while managing a household with a six-year-old and a newborn/infant.

Had I inadvertently placed myself right back into that same toxic work situation? You know, the one were I was stressed and hyper fixated on a job and spread too thin?

Yes (and this one wasn’t even paying well).

Now, the moment we have all been reading for…

How did I restructure my need to write (and my obsessive nature) to do what I love (without losing my love for it in the process?

RULE 1: Setting Boundaries

This was an obvious first step for me, as I could clearly see it missing in my “workflow”.

I forced myself to set clear boundaries on certain times/tasks I needed to block out to stay present with my family, and I work really hard not to break these. Morning coffee and breakfast before everyone heads off for their days. Cooking dinner together in the evening. Bedtime stories. Family movie nights.

I also use the boundary rule to feel productive in my home before I sit down to write, so I don’t feel any guilt creeping in. This can be as simple as making sure I empty the dishwasher and load it before I write, or folding one basket of laundry first.

At first, this was challenging because I am very much a “panster” type of writer. I have a loose plot mapped on a whiteboard, and then I just go. So when an idea hits, I want to drop everything and go write the scene RIGHT THEN.

Instead, I keep pens and notebooks stationed all over. I literally mean all over. Living room, bedroom nightstand, purse, kitchen drawer, diaper bag.

I hurry and jot my idea down, and then move on with my day peaceful in the knowledge that it won’t have evaded me when I can sit down to type it out.

RULE 2: Managing Goals

I have a word count goal for most days that I try to meet. It doesn’t have to happen in one sitting, but just before I rest my head at night.

But, sometimes, I have a “scene” goal instead.

And I have learned it is ok to be fluid with my goals. They aren’t carved in stone. I can assess my day and my life (and my mental state, if we are being brutally honest) and choose something for the day that achieves a healthy balance of challenging yet attainable.

RULE 3: A Healthy Pace

Let’s be honest, I burned myself out trying to rapid-release two entire books on my own.

I am giving myself more grace this time, and in the numerous times when that seems counterproductive, I remind myself that being so rigid this year with my writing and the need for speedy progress actually started to whittle away at the feeling of joy writing brings me; it was going to carve lines of stress and anxiety too deep for me to sand out later.

RULE 4: Variety

It is the spice of life, after all.

I chained myself to my office for the duration or writing, editing, proofreading, editing, formatting, and let’s be honest, even more editing, when I was working on the two novels I published this year.

I’m not complaining. I have a cute office. It’s comfy. My husband built me a giant floor-to-ceiling bookshelf that houses all my treasures. He built my desk. I have a deliciously clacky keyboard.

It’s superb vibes. Really.

But, it is also removed from the rest of my home, my family, my life.

So, I went on the eternal quest for a perfect solution. How can I be productive even on days when I am not chained to the ultimate “focused” space.

My quest led me down many paths, and ultimately to the perfect solution.

I created a “writerdeck” from an older model of a mini laptop. It has no software but my word processer and basic antivirus. It is 11" so ultraportable and light. Fits in most of my bags, but also boasts a comfortable keyboard size. It’s sole purpose in my life is to let me write anywhere and everywhere. It goes outside, in the car, and will definitely be stowed in my bag the next time we take our little 1969 camper out for another mountain adventure.

I won’t bore you with more details here. I already did that once, in this video.

It allows me write without giving up everything I was trying to save and experience more of why I left that corporate cell — er, uh, I mean cubicle.

It allows me write without missing life.

I am in pursuit of doing what makes me happy, and with any luck, being successful at it.

Although, I don’t think my success will ultimately be measured in digits behind a dollar sign.

I think it will be measured in joy. I think it will be measured in remembering how many nights I came home in tears from a job that destroyed my self-worth, compared to how many nights I can step away from my keyboard, happy and fulfilled, to have cookies and milk with my daughter after school.