I found that a sensitivity reader can be used in a lot of different ways for a lot of different reasons. Mostly, for marginalized and underrepresented communities, as a way to ensure that the diversity on the page authenticizes the experience of the individual who may be reading about a similar identity.

And, well, duhhhh. I know A LOT about wheelchair life, so it was really easy for me to hone in on the lived experience of wheelchair users in people’s manuscripts—mostly because I will always be the first to say that no two wheelchairs are alike. People who use wheelchairs are people above anything else, and people have different opinions about EVERYTHIN

G. SO, as long as I was willing to recognize that not everyone would feel or behave the same way as I do about my wheelchair, I was going to do great at this gig!

As a wheelchair user for nearly 30 years, I would say that I’m fairly even-keeled and don’t let things get to me often. I let go of the things that don’t serve me years ago, realizing that it’s just not worth it for me to feel marginalized—whether I am or not—that’s not the point.

I learned early on after my injury that it’s my job to shift my focus to the things that really matter in life, or else risk losing myself altogether. But I also know that this is my understanding of my disability, and not everyone shares those ideals. Because of this, though, I have worked to become a rather useful sensitivity reader for wheelchair users in general. But it is so much more than anything sensitive.

The term “sensitivity reader” is sort of scoff-worthy, in my humble opinion. As I edit a manuscript, I am not actively thinking about being sensitive to a group. I’m thinking only about being authentic. Authenticity is the key to a successful sensitivity read.

Yet, even more so, I’ve learned that including a disabled character into a manuscript is a bold and incredibly smart choice on the author’s part. Disabled characters are wildly rich in background and motivations. They have a clear sense of struggle and drive. They have a transparent look at life and what to make of it. But beyond that, disabled characters have the ability to teach the reader something they didn’t know they needed.

In every sensitivity reading I’ve done, the author has found holes in their characters that they didn’t know existed, but knew exactly how to fix them. The authors have been inspired by the very characters they’ve created, and have been able to develop a deepened storyline because of it.

Authors, I urge you to look at introducing disabled characters to your stories. Not only are these characters incredibly relatable, but they will also make your story richer and better in the end. The disability community is the only minority community group that anyone can become a part of at any time in their lives, and chances are (1 in 4, to be exact), they will.

If I’ve learned anything through publishing my own memoir and debut children’s book based on my experiences as a wheelchair user, it is that the themes are quite universal. EVERYONE knows what it feels like to struggle and overcome. EVERYONE knows what it feels like to feel different or an outsider. EVERYONE knows what it’s like to have to push harder to succeed.

And because of it, readers will keep going.

Not convinced? Just go ahead and try it. Introduce a disabled character to your story today. But as you do it, think about the character from the inside out, not the outside in. Don’t make the story about the thing they’ve lost. Make it about everything else they’ve gained instead. That is the only way to create an authentic experience for a character, whether they’ve got a disability or not.

Leave me a comment, and I’ll help get you started!

My publishing journey hasn’t been any different.

ON SELF-PUBLISHING
Prior to self-publishing my memoir, it took me a dozen years to admit to myself that I was actually writing it. Like 70,000 words of admitting. It wasn’t until I became pregnant with my second child and the risk of losing myself altogether felt relatively high that I actually began entertaining publishing it.

And when I finally decided to do it, I didn’t do my research. I didn’t know about query letters and literary agent gatekeepers. I didn’t know about book proposals and social media platforms. I just thought, “I want to do it, so I will.” Diving right in.

I found a local company that helps writers self-publish their works, and serendipitously enough, I even knew the owner of the company from back in my teaching days. So it felt like a no-brainer. I learned a bit about layout and editing, and even promotions and marketing. But I still knew literally nothing about the publishing industry, even after I published my book.

That was four years ago, and there is an overwhelming sense of “If I knew then what I know now,” but also, I am not going to dwell on the past. I am happy that I self-published my memoir, something so intimately tied to who I am–it gave me full control. It was truly my book baby.

However, I have spent countless uncomfortable hours trying to get that damned book in front of people. Trying to blind myself from the realization that I was taking this vulnerable, ever-so-raw journey and trying to put it to a megaphone. If I had reflected on it more, I wouldn’t have done it at all. But, lucky for me, I numbed myself to that errant self-promotion and gained Twitter followers and Instagram pals galore. That is where I learned wild vocab like “Save the Cat” and “interiority” and even “pitch event” and “Nanowrimo.”

ON TRADITIONAL PUBLISHING

While kneedeep in #WritingCommunity education, a moment of magic occured when a senior editor at a long-established children’s book publishing house came across this tiny self-published memoir on my Twitter account. She jumped into my DMs and told me that if I ever wanted to write a picture book based on my memoir, to let her know.

I wrote it that same day.

Unlike my self-published book, the timeline was obscure and out of my control. From the moment of inception to today, it was three plus years that that little book brewed. There was so much waiting and silence that I almost didn’t think it was going to happen. And, if I had it my way, it would have been out two years ago, max. But that’s not how the traditional publishing world works. It works like molasses on top of a sloth with a slo-mo camera filter.

VERSUS
So, you’re probably wondering about the comparison of it all. If I were to reflect on my two experiences thus far–self-publishing vs. traditional publishing–they are vastly different. Neither one, though, winning the race overall.

The one thing I know hard and fast about self-publishing is that it is a lonely, uncertain life. The biggest gripe I have about self-publishing my memoir is that there was never any confidence that the book was any good. No editor to offer praise, no agent to cheer you on. Sure, my family and friends love it… But they also love me, soooooooo…

Sure, it is a dream to now have a team to tell me they love my book and to work on that dreaded promo and marketing stuff–my local bookshop asked to host ME at an event and even purchased my books ahead of time, rather than having me bring my own–but, by no means, am I now super-human or anything.

Even as I type this, I realize that with my book I released this week, I still have a fair amount of imposter syndrome. I have a not-quite-fever of 99.9 about the fact that I still have NO IDEA what I’m doing. So even with the backing of a publisher, that self-doubt still exists. Isn’t that sad for all of us? To be making a lifelong career of something that we will never wholly feel 100% about?!

But just to say that I have a company with thirty-plus years in the industry saying, “Ya, you do good work,” that feels like something. Even though I know what I wrote three years ago certainly does NOT follow the “rules” of writing picture books that I know about now. 500 words, what?! 32 pages, ya, sure?! That simple acceptance from the publisher carries a ton of weight. Not to mention having the staffing to take care of things like searching for appropriate book awards to apply for and book reviewers with their feelers in social media pools.

Yet without one, I wouldn’t have the other.

Without diving into self-publishing, I wouldn’t have landed a traditional deal. And there is absolutely nothing to say that I won’t make a U-turn and go back to it someday. Especially after learning so much in the last five years. There’s an incredible value to doing things yourself, for yourself–and that I will always be sure. And as the traditional publishing world continues to get rockier and tricker, the prospects that you can also accomplish it for yourself may just become the more useful way to go.

SO WHAT NOW?
I wish I could say that the rest is history, but that’s not entirely true. I proudly published my debut children’s book this week with that very publisher who reached out via the Twitterverse several years ago, and I couldn’t be more giddy. BUT, I still don’t have an agent (I had one for a minute, we have since parted ways), and I am more aggressively rolling up my sleeves, trying to make traction on a whole bunch of other books I’ve written. When I say “a bunch,” I mean it. I have written a middle-grade novel, a dozen more picture books, and even a full adult novel. I have beginning drafts of a chapter book series and am even trying my hand at a YA book, too. From the moment I let myself believe that I was actually a writer, stories just started pouring out of me.

So, I guess I am a writer. I have now published two books, but that doesn’t mean that I get a Gold medal or getting a book deal is going to be any easier. If anything, it only makes it that much harder. I truly believe there was a little bit of luck involved with my picture book deal, and I should not expect luck like that to strike twice any time soon.

But it’s not only about luck, it’s also about trying with all your might.

Right now in the moment, I know that if I want to publish more of my children’s books, I would like to do that with an established publisher rather than self-publish (at least that’s what I want this week, ha!) I think that getting kids in front of books will be done WAY easier if I had someone to guide that–in terms of feelers out to libraries, schools, and awards. I have yet to really run back into trying to find an agent to represent my kidlit stuff, and have mostly been focusing on smaller presses that allow submissions from unagented authors. But my feelings on that are fluid, and likely to change at some point. Maybe even after I finish writing this article.

As for my adult novel, I have been quietly, but actively querying it for about half a year now, to no avail. In the midst of this newish, well-known publishing crisis, I don’t think that my quirky disability rep, lyrical novel seems too enticing to the masses right now. Alas, I press on. Because what else am I supposed to do?!

Yet, if I’ve learned anything it is that all of those rejections only mean one thing: I am at least out there trying. I am putting yourself and my work out there and looking for that one person or publisher or agent that is going to help carry my stories and words. Submitting your work is hauntingly painful sometimes, but it’s the way. Eventually, those rejections may pile up to an uncomfortable level and I’ll say, “To hell with it!” and self-publish my adult novel. But for now, I’m content to let it live it’s life in limbo somewhere in between Google Docs and Word, and that’s okay. Because I’m a writer.

We are writers. We feel it in our blood and bones, and with every breath. We can’t help but continue to create, and don’t want to know a life without it. In writing this piece, I was hopeful to give insight into my experience from going from self-publishing to traditional publishing, but as I puke this out on the page, I realize I don’t know any more today than I did yesterday. Forwards is backwards and backwards is forwards.

I still have the same insecurities and the same worries. I still want more for myself and my dream, and because of that, I will continue to push myself into the most uncomfortable parts of being a writer. Because that’s what we do. Creating is different from publishing, and I think that is something we tend to neglect, because that publishing piece it what truly counts. But creating is a GIFT.

For diving in and reflecting later, I know this is the path I’m meant to follow. I don’t know where it is going to lead, and I don’t know how far it’ll take me. Or when. I know I will make mistakes. I also know that I’m beyond proud of what I’ve accomplished, but I haven’t won a Gold Medal just yet

.

Something that started as a simple question, "Would you ever want your memoir to be a children's book?" turned into a wild journey of self-reflection, connection, and possibility. Thank you to everyone at @barefootbooks for believing in my story. 

Written for kids, it explores natural emotions of what it's like to be different, and how those emotions can be the greatest champions for our lives. 

✨Vo wants to be a chair.✨

I am so honored to share this book with the world today. Along with the bold, yet whimsical art of @barryleeart, I hope readers find this book as meaningful and beautiful as it was to write it. 

✨Vo proclaims from the tippiest top of the highest hill, "WHEN I GROW UP I WANT TO BE A CHAIR!"✨

J u s t   l i k e   m e. 

And just like me, she proves to be so much more. 💜💜💜💜

Being a writer is an absolute dream, and I cannot believe this is my second book to publish. My wish of all wishes is to have the great luck to do this for the rest of my life. 

____________

🙏if you can, please take a moment to 

share, 

read, 

review, 

request it at your library, 

or just a quick smile in appreciation of all things different today. 

The first review from Betsy Bird at the School Library Journal writes, “This is a book unafraid to delve into the complicated relationship that a kind in a wheelchair has with their chair.” My fist pumps the air! Yes, she gets it! She doesn’t have to have a wheelchair or disability to understand that identities are complex, messy even. She could take my word for it and relate to the things that resonated with her as a human being. Hooray!

The original spark of this book came a little over four years ago when a senior editor approached me and said, “If you ever want to write a picture book based on your memoir, let me know.” I wrote the whole damned thing that very day. It buzzed out of my brain and onto the page as if it had been sitting there waiting my whole life for the chance. Sure, it’s a loose representation of my lived experiences, but it is wholly everything I have ever wanted a kid to know about me. It is real and vulnerable, it is quirky and inspiring.

However, that’s when the second review from the ever-prestigious Kirkus Reviews comes in and crushes my confidence in one single word. I wasn’t going to share this, I was going to be embarrassed and keep it all in. But that’s not how writers work.

The review simply states, “Well-meaning but muddled.”

Muddled.

1. To bring into a disordered or confusing state.

2. To make turbid or muddy.

3. To mix up; jumble.

I sat with those words and feelings in silence for the remainder of the day. My publisher and illustrator promised me that the book is good and it’s going to help so many people who get it. Who. Get. It. And that is all that matters.

That evening, I chose that very book, one of my advance copies, to read to my six-year-old as his bedtime reading. He’s heard it before, but my heart wanted to read it again to him and him only—partly to prove myself wrong, and partly to prove myself right. My son listened attentively and without criticism. He beamed when I closed the back cover and tucked him into bed. “Mommy, I love your book.”

He helped me get it. My book isn’t muddled. Being disabled is muddled.

And after I closed his door, I got over this word. I even embraced it. Yes, it is muddled. Because so is disability. This whole stinkin’ world is muddled too—our relationships are muddled, our roles are muddled, our dreams are muddled, and even our identities are muddled on top of muddy mud. Because that’s exactly how life works. So when you add a disability to the agenda, all of the confusion and messiness becomes amplified even more.

The protagonist in the book, Vo (proudly named after the initials of both of my kiddos), proclaims to the world that she wants to be a chair. But when the world around her doesn’t listen and can’t understand, she vows not to speak anymore. She doesn’t think anyone even notices, so she climbs to the highest hill she can and yells her dreams from the tallest point. But when she falls out of her chair on the way back down the hill, she begins to truly understand. She doesn’t actually want to be a chair. She needs her chair, and it is a part of her identity and experiences, but Vo is so much more. She needed to fall so that she could get back up.

So as much as I could wish for glowing raves about this new book of mine, I know that not everyone will feel that way. Even more so, I know that there may be some lost in one’s own translations. I suppose it is always the price we pay as creators. We string words together from the beats of our hearts, awaiting the next review to tear them down. But right now in this very moment, I will rise tall, hold my head high, and be muddled.

I’m invested in writing, and I’m invested in writing characters with disabilities. Most of my stories feature a wheelchair user protagonist, not only because it is what I know, but also because someone should be doing it.

After sustaining a spinal cord injury in my teens and being forced to learn to relive my life from the seat of a wheelchair, I often wonder how things might have felt different if I had been exposed to characters with disabilities in my younger years. That was the age of Zack Morris and the California Raisins, and if there was a character with a disability, THAT was the plot. I wasn’t going to learn what I needed to from that.

I suppose it, in and of itself, was my fuel to begin creating stories.

As quickly as I could type, I explored writing picture books all the way through adult novels, and what I found was that, even though I maintained my focus on wheelchair user protagonists, my span for disabled characters was boundless. I wrote characters with visual impairments, characters with limb loss, characters with hearing impairments, and other less-defined disabilities, like it was my damn job.

Because of my disability, I have learned to have a keen sense of accessibility AND inaccessibility. I have felt discrimination and pity and even the converse— I have, too many times, unearned the title of “Inspiration.” I think this is why it became easy to incorporate creating characters with varying disabilities, both visible and invisible. There are often unifying factors within the disability community that rarely have anything to do with the actual disability.

I have met many brilliant people in this world with disabilities, both similar and uniquely dissimilar to my own, which has helped me mold characters with disabilities unlike mine. I think the key to creating authentic characters with disabilities is to understand the psyche of someone who is disabled.

THAT’S where I start to write a disabled character—from the inside out.

The emotional, psychological, and social development that occurs with disability is staggering. When I write this, I want you to be sure to read: I AM BETTER FOR IT ALL. My own emotional, psychological, and social journeys have been so much richer because of my disability. I have grown to be a champion for myself in a way I would have never known existed without my paralysis. And because of this, there is an unyielding fire for me to create characters and stories that access this sort of thinking, both for people with and without disabilities.

Create those characters that are multi-layered and complex beyond what they even recognize. And by being able to write about them from the inside out, I am able to create an authentic version of disabilities in the world. Too often, creating a character with a disability is misguided, unknowingly, when there is too much focus on the outward circumstances and extrinsic values of disability. The character falls flat, and the disability does too.

The focus MUST be on the character and what the disability has done for them. What struggles do they face? What changes have they made in their lives? How have they risen above what they imagined for themselves? How have they learned?

Perhaps you’re looking to create more inclusive stories. Perhaps you are looking for a new creative challenge. Or maybe you are just out to write a story that’s yet to be done. Whatever the case, begin creating characters with disabilities from what’s inside of them.

Authenticity will always be found when you take the time to look inside.

That same notion should go for how we feel. We are so quick to find the word—the problem, the syndrome, the diagnosis—that we often neglect the fact that words can create barriers.

Say it with me (especially my writing community friends): Words can create barriers.

I know, I know. It’s hard to swallow, because what in the actual hell are we supposed to do otherwise? If we can’t put a word to an emotion, we can’t properly communicate and often can’t address it when there might be a problem.

But what if we simply reframed how we are feeling?

As a swim coach, I don’t know how many kids tell me that they are “scared” before their race at a swim meet. When I press them about the word, most times they admit that they aren’t really scared after all. We talk about how they aren’t truly afraid of racing—they don’t think that spiders are going to come crawling out of the drains, or sharks aren’t going to swirl around them as they swim—but they are definitely on to something. And I always appreciate that open door and thoughtful communication.

We usually settle on the word anxious or nervous, as those are better ways of encapsulating their feelings. That’s when I remind them of something: They only feel that way because they care.

That’s when I see it.

Their eyes shift from fear to control, and if I could tell you how many times I’ve seen it happen, I don’t think you’d even believe me. But it’s the truth, and I didn’t do a single thing other than reframe the emotion they were having.

I did absolutely NOTHING to change the emotion itself. I’m not a wizard for damned sakes. I simply took an emotion that someone was feeling and offered a different word to give it life.

Okay, look at how powerful words are now. We went from fear to control in a matter of seconds, just because of that simple idea of reframing. But back to my original point—not every emotion has a word. And let’s be honest, there are probably A LOT of emotions that don’t have words—especially the achingly deep ones, the ones that may only be felt once or twice in your life ever.

So what if we can take the words we know and try to do our best? Being mindful

of those choices makes all the difference. Recognizing that sometimes we won’t be able to hit the mark in explaining how we feel, yet doing our best with what we have.

And the best way to start is by choosing positivity.

Going from scared. . .
to anxious. . .
to just caring.

How will you reframe your emotions today?

But querying gets old. It breaks us down. Rejections or passes or whatever you want to call them today, pile up. The silence from the rest is deafening.

Time goes on, day after day of telling yourself that this is “normal." This is just the way that publishing goes. And then even more rejections come in. . .

You’ve convinced yourself that your story has no brain. It has no heart. And don’t even get started about courage.

It’s as unfair as it is daunting, because you are the one who’s birthed an 80,000+-word book of dreams and fears and loves and losses. You’re skipping down that yellow brick road, and no one has the right to put a halt to that step. The road becomes a roadblock because it’s easier said than done.

It’s now more important than ever to bring you back to what matters most here.

1. Your story has a brain.

Just like that Scarecrow, he’s gone a while, thinking there’s nothing but straw and fluff guiding his decisions. But we all know better. The same goes for you. If you are a plotter, you’ve got a detailed outline and you’ve checked all the boxes for the rollercoaster structure of your story. You may have spreadsheets and color-coding. Heck, you may even have a dedicated wall in your house that displays all of your juicy plot details. If you fall on the other side of the spectrum, pantsing your way, chapter after chapter—you’re nailing your structure and your pacing, but doing it all astonishingly in your beautiful mind. There is NO way your story has no brain. You’ve worked too hard to question that part of your work.

1. Your story has a heart.

Just like our Tin Man, he’s emotional and raw but doesn’t even realize it. He wears his heart on his sleeve and reacts with equal intention. He is great because of his heart. Without the heart of the matter, you would have never finished your god-blessed manuscript to begin with! There are loads of people who have the goal to write a book, but let’s be real here, there are only a very slim number of people who go on to actualize it. You’d never complete your book AND be willing to go back over and over and over it again through revisions if it lacked heart. Both for the story and for yourself.

1. Your story has courage.

And just like the cowardly Lion, he was no coward at all. When it came to the things that truly matter in this world, he stood up to fight for them. If you’re reading this far, it’s likely that you are in the torrid position of

querying your work, and that means you have courage. It’s one thing to have the heart to finish, but it’s entirely another thing to be willing to create a query letter explaining just why someone needs your book. To be a writer in this phase takes a lot of bravery, big guts, and thick skin. And don’t you ever forget it.

Let’s face it, people, querying is hard. But if you can mindfully and meaningfully keep yourself in check, you just might make it out alive. Please remember that you are where you are at because you have it all, and you are ready to shine. Hold tightly to your true self and those Oz friends when you need them most. You can’t expect someone else to champion your work if you aren’t doing cartwheels first. You owe it to your stories, but most of all you owe it to you.

There was a time when the creatives ruled the world.
The painters.
The sculptors.
The composers.
The writers.

We’ve thought so highly of it that we call it romantic. Renaissance or “rebirth” even. Yet, all we want to do is make a c-o-m-p-u-t-e-r that does those things for us. We want to type a phrase into a Chatterbox and have it create an image, a sentence, or even give us relationship advice. We want things, not only to come easy, but we want them to come «NOW».

After all, we are superior human beings who once created.
Who once knew art.

(But we aren’t that anymore.)

We are a society of mass production.
“You get a toaster, you get a toaster, everyone gets a toaster!”
We are a society of mass information.
“Alexa, what’s the weather like in Cairo right now?”
We are a society of superior intelligence and fortitude.

(So there’s no room for art anymore.)

In history books, we study the Michelangelos and da Vincis of the world. We take notes on the Kafkas and the Hemingways. But who are those creatives that we are yearning to learn about today?

Okay, okay, okay. I’m not fully willing to believe that no one cares about art. I care about art. But, if I’m being honest, I didn’t know just how much I cared about art until I felt I was l o s i n g it myself. . .

As a writer, I have found a whole-lotta-bit of myself in words. My heart beats for the rhythm of soft-handed, yet punchy prose or uncharted, yet reliable syntax. And it wasn’t until I realized that my style of writing doesn’t lean into the commercial feel that I realized it is seen as problematic.

So, wait. Writing isn’t about writing? It’s about selling? Okay, well. . . Gotcha. What the hell do I do with that?!

But it’s not just the writers. Art is (becoming) lost in all of us.
Even our children.

Technology is a marvel and can be praised for so many things in our everyday. It allows me to type this wistful plea for art and hit SEND out to the world for any eyes that choose to read it literally the instant I click it. It allows creatives to explore new avenues and reach broader admirers. Yet, with all of its vastness, technology is a dark and deep
h
o
l
e for art.

However, there are those brave souls grabbing the reins of the future and its technological advances. They hold on tight and learn to code or render a computer-drafted image. They explore like it’s space, and we are among the stars. But I can’t help but feel that those stars are slightly dimmer than they once were. They’ve dulled to the constraints of today’s world. [Squinting eyes]

But, WAITTTTTTTTTTT. It’s truly not too late for art. It can’t be. I feel it in my bones. I talk to other creatives and am reenergized by the power that’s held within others’ art. Sharing others’ art.

Those artists are bold,
and they are fearless,
and they are always ready to break free.
For this, I know that art will come back

around again.

It’s time to make art. Pick up a magic marker. Or a sketchbook. Or a god-damned tuba. Pick up a two-step. Or a stanza. Or a flippin’ potter’s wheel.

One day, we will all return to the value of art. We just have to—we are human beings who think and dream higher than anything else. Because we need it to survive. If we can learn to embrace the progression of technology without sacrificing the heart of creativity, we will find an amazing union of mind. I’m here for it.

In the meantime, I will continue to create.

I will write,
and I will paint,
and I will express myself in a way that may be too feral for you,

and that’s okay.

Because that is art.

She read it. She read my memoir. My little ol

’ self-published memoir.

And not only did she read it. She liked it too. So much to drop into my DMs and let me know that if I ever had the desire to write a children’s book, to reach out.

Lucky for both of us, I had been writing picture books for my own kids for years. It was a tradition of mine to write and even illustrate full books just for them on their birthdays. They have a big bookshelf. So I had a lot of practice.

After reading the message, I sat down that afternoon and wrote the first draft of a children’s book based on—and even with the same title as—my memoir.

That draft sat in publishing limbo for god-knows how many months. I nearly forgot about it completely. Then out of the blue, I got a call. It was that same senior editor. With that same full-bodied excitement about my work.

She was frank with me, however, and explained that she didn’t completely love my story, so she went ahead and made an outline of her own solely based on the first chapter of my memoir. (The chapter where I was sixteen and had just broken out of the hospital with a friend to take the bus to the mall—read more HERE.)

She took both drafts to an acquisition meeting, and the publishing team wanted BOTH. TWO BOOKS!! I was floored, but was still so new in the publishing world that I don’t think I fully grasped what a lucky game of happenstance was at play. I was blissfully along for the ride. Until I decided I needed to buckle down and get serious about this picture book writing gig.

So, I got an agent—in hindsight, I realize now that it was because of the deal—and so I eventually lost an agent. It didn’t slow me down. I wrote an adult novel, and a middle-grade manuscript, and a few more picture books. I wanted to set the world on fire with my passion for writing characters who are like me.

This world is wild and wavy. Most times, it isn’t linear, and it rarely makes sense, so why would my publishing journey be any different?

I am so grateful for every moment and ready for another surprise around the corner for me as a writer. Maybe it’ll happen and maybe it won’t, but I’ve left that door as wide open as I can. I’m on the top of the hill screaming to the world that I want to be a writer.

I just wanted you to know.

But more than the damage, or the complications, or even the coping… there lies something so rich and meaningful. It’s the root of the celebration. It’s AWARENESS.

Now, I don’t mean awareness in the literal sense of naming a whole month so that people stop and think about the thing dedicated to the month. I mean awareness as a holistic journey from where we started to where we are now. Awareness is a mirrored prism, facing itself over and over again until there are too many reflections to even count. And for me?

Awareness that life isn't fair.
Awareness that there are things that I can't do.
Awareness that I've had to learn to be creative and resilient.
Awareness that I can't control how others feel about me.
Awareness that sometimes I get special things when I don't deserve them.
Awareness that sometimes I get shitty things when I don't deserve them.
Awareness that life is fluid and ever-changing, and there's no one answer for any of it. Awareness that my disability makes me stronger.
Awareness that others don't think my disability makes me stronger.
Awareness that it is all so important.

If not Spinal Cord Injury Awareness Month, then one of the other various National Months or Weeks dedicated on the calendar. Or find an awareness keen to you only. It doesn’t matter. Yet what does matter is the inspiration behind that guided dedication.

It’s awareness that becomes our catalyst for doing. And with doing comes living

.

1. Swimming can save your soul

2. Kids will love you even when they say they don’t

3. Everything is better with a bit more color

4. Having the willingness to try is the best sort of start

5. Tomatillos are like little magical lanterns of goodness

6. You can always find a coupon

7. If you don’t know what to choose, flip a coin— the result will let your heart know what you truly want

8. Sunscreen is a must

9. Time only matters when you feel like you don’t have any

10. High-fives and fist-bumps will get you a long way

11. It’s important to smile when no one else is around

12. Reading is a privilege

13. Teaching your kid sign language before they can talk always pays off

14. Don’t be afraid to have a purple door

15. Your friends are the ones you don’t feel pressured to call

16. Sometimes chocolate and poop look the same

17. Color-coded paper planners are always the way to go

18. There’s no replacement for water

19. Work hard during the day and you’ll sleep well at night

20. Don’t be afraid to say it when you mean it

21. Boys like dolls, too

22. Nothing happens when you don’t do anything

23. Your health is what matters most; everything else is second

24. Treat your plants like friends and they’ll grow

25. People matter more

26. Homemade gifts are the best

27. Making time to stretch and move is key

28. A messy home is a sign of happy kids

29. Not everyone else follows the rules, and that has to be okay

30. Maternity leggings are the way to go, even far after that last baby is grown

31. Writing something by hand every day is a great connection for your mind

32. Aloe plants don’t need water, like ever

33. Hugs heal

34. Your eyes will get worse, your skin will get worse, your hair will get worse, but none of that matters to your family

35. Books can give you the space you need

36. Let yourself be vulnerable more often, because that’s where you grow your strongest

37. Extra pillows for everything

38. Never discredit a child

39. Find a way to appreciate things you hate

40. Drive less, unless it’s a road trip

41. Give moments to strangers, as our reliance on phones has taken some of that from us

42. Think of that one person you really admire, then ask yourself how to be that, too

43. Dark chocolate makes everything better

44. It’s always okay to start over

45. This world is only as good as the love you have for it

    

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One time I received a comment on a social media promo post of my memoir that said she woukdn’t read my book BECAUSE it was self-published. No comment on the subject matter or genre. Nothing about the back blurb. No indication that she’d even looked at it.

She woulsn’t even go that far.

There are so many people who are quick to quite literally write off (pardon the pun) authors who self publish and I found this tremendously frustrating when I first released my memoir.

People have different reasons for taking the self-publishing path and mine was quite simple: I wanted to get my book out in the world on my own terms. After all, it was my damned memoir. My story.

I didn't query agents. I didn’t seek independent publishers. I made the choice to self-publish, and I did it with pride.

I created my own LLC to house my book. I was the sole employee to create marketing and promotional materials. I was responsible for the sales and book signings and awards won. I was responsible for all of it.

It’s been a difficult and exhausting road, but I cannot imagine having done it any other way.

So, why all the hate on this journey?

There is such a stigma that I never knew existed. I’m that kid sitting alone at the middle school dance while everyone busts a move to The Electric Slide.

I’m a self-published author, so no agent or publisher is going to sit at my table or ask me to dance. At least, that's what everyone says.

Yet, I’m here to tell you that it's actually just not true.

I recently announced my debut picture book debut with Barefoot Books and I owe ALL OF IT to my self-published memoir.

A senior editor at Barefoot actually read my memoir and reached out to me to see if I had any interest in turning it into a chikdren’s book. After I swept myself off the floor, I got right to work and sent her a draft almost immediately. The rest is history.

In fact, I am actually lucky enough to be working on TWO deals based loosely off my memoir, both kids picture books.

I have also since landed a tremendously ferocious and vivacious agent to champion all my work. She didn’t bat an eye at me being self-published, and even said she took a look at my memoir prior to offering representation to help her get a better idea of my work. My self-published book gave her insight into my writing and my life. What more could an agent ask for?

This is all my experience and I cannot speak to others’ journeys, but I wanted to be a voice to dispel the rumors that self-published authors are sub par, or that self-publishing seals your fate as someone not worth reading.

Self-published authors are some of the gutsiest, hard-working, gifted writers I’ve ever met.

And to that overzealous, anti-self-published-reader-poster: Perhaps you’ll open one of my picture books one day, and perhaps you’ll remember my name. Perhaps you don’t even remember posting how you wouldn’t read my book. But maybe, just maybe, you’d like it.

One of those gems that I’ve hung on to for over a decade of parenting is that teaching a kid to be proud of themself is far more beneficial than all the “I’m proud of you”s in the world. It’s a simple twist of words to say, “Are you proud of yourself?” rather than the former, and I do agree that there’s a lot to behold in that.

So, I turn the lesson onto myself.

Admittedly, it is far more difficult to be truly proud of yourself. It’s much easier to formulate your own sense of pride and worth from the voices of others. But to madly, deeply look in the mirror and feel the same pride in your reflection as you do, say, your children or spouse, or HECK! even your dog… now, that’s much trickier. But why?

The root of that pride grows far underneath the ground. It’s made up of things like self-confidence and acceptance—both of which don’t come easy, my friends.

But then I continually go back to: If you can’t be proud of it, then what the hell is the point?? Life is too fleeting and finite. Life can shatter in the moment of a sneeze, and so don’t we truly owe it to ourselves to be proud more than anything else in this world?

PRIDE. It’s an umbrella word. It holds a lot of other words.

Respect
Joy
Accomplishment
Determination
…

I could go on, but you get the point.

If we chose to focus more on the pride within each of us, we’d undoubtedly get more from it than we could’ve ever imagined.

Take Disability Pride Month. Thank you, July. This celebration is something I embrace fully, as without pride for my own disability, I, myself, wouldn’t be whole.

It took me a while to understand that having pride for my wheelchair (and my very visible disability) also meant finding love for the things that I never wanted in the first place. Acceptance is a huge piece of this. Accepting myself, first and foremost. But, also accepting others and their acceptance of me might have been a more difficult feat. However, once I was truly able to accept my disability, I was able to open the door to love and ultimately to pride.

My wheelchair has given me the utmost perspective in this world. I have a tremendous amount of resilience and motivation to push beyond what is possible. I know what it feels like to have things taken away, which is exactly what allows me to accomplish more than I ever imagined for myself. Regardless of my disability.

I have great pride.

I am proud of who I am. To my very core.

And I owe it all to being brave enough to see it in myself first.

Here’s where I challenge you: Go look in the mirror, right now. Do it. Tell yourself out loud and straight-faced, and eye to eye with your reflection, “I am proud of me.

”

A car full of teens crashed into another vehicle, head-on, in the middle of the night on a fast and dark highway road. Two people were killed, the rest would have scars for the rest of their lives. I flew out of the car and landed an estimated 75 feet away. I endured broken bones, road rash, collapsed lungs—but the one thing that would always remain would be the damage to my spinal cord. I was forced to learn how to live my life from the seat of a wheelchair.

Yet, this is the very thing that shaped my zest for living and would carry me through beyond the greatest heights and deepest valleys.

A few months ago, I sat down to put to words that very intention of living, and I came up with my 5 Ps.

Passion
Perspective
Patience
Positivity
Perseverance

I wrote about it here.

But today I want to apply those things to my writing life. (Writing life is just as convoluted as real life, only messier.)

For my writing life, I would mix up the order of the 5 Ps—as I typically reorder them for different experiences and circumstances anyway. I would still start with PASSION.

Because what is a creator without a deep sense of passion for their work? Beginning with a specific passion—why do you write?— is key. Do you write to share a certain value with the world? Do you want to touch a unique audience? Do you simply want to make some middle-aged mom smile? Or a popsicle-stained 7-year-old giggle?

Next, I’d apply POSITIVITY and PATIENCE together. If you are a writer who is querying agents or have a book on submission, you can completely understand. Writing a book is sometimes the easy part. Getting your book the attention it deserves through an agent and/or publisher takes a lot of positive reinforcement and (often) a lot of time. You have to remind yourself regularly that the business is subjective and acutely specific. It doesn’t necessarily matter if your book is the best thing ever created if there isn’t a current market for it. I have a middle grade book that has been on submission now since Valentine’s Day. I continue to keep my chin up and my confidence high, because I know this book is special and can reach a wide range of kids, but I also know that the market for middle grade books is desolate right now, especially for books geared towards the younger end of those kiddos. Yet, I remain positive that my work is good.

That’s when PERSPECTIVE kicks in. Maintaining the belief that your work is good, even if the market isn’t embracing it right now. It’s hard sometimes to witness the success of others and wonder if you aren’t good enough. That imposter syndrome is a sneaky virus that attacks your whole body, if you let it. Of all the Ps, this one might be the most difficult to maintain, but it is so crucial. The perspective that you maintain for your creativity and your process helps keep the door open to your experience and allows you, not only to remain content, but also allows you to continue to create. Without a keen sense of perspective, all of the work you’ve managed to do to get there disappears into a dark abyss of self-doubt and stifled creativity.

Finally, we’ve come to PERSEVERANCE. Perseverance is key to having a true career as a writer. Learning to use rejections as stepping stones—making your words and voice stronger and truer along the way. For every publishing win out there, there’s an iceberg underneath full of rejections and passes and “just not for me”s. Yet, if you want to manage anything worth it in this world, you have to keep trying. This may be the hardest one of all.

I’m a true believer in living my life fully. Life is messy and awkward. Life is tangled and uncertain. Those bumps in the road give you a push and a pull. They take you where you need to go. And writing is no exception.

Writers are brave and bold, and wildly passionate. Writers have guts and grit that most people can’t fathom. Writers put their hearts on a page, just to have it rejected over and over again. And it’s those intentions for living that keep it all going.

For me, those 5 Ps.

What about you?

Yet after I sustained a spinal cord injury from a fatal car accident and had to move into our bottom-level walkout basement, I never saw that journal again. I often wonder what happened to those words. Do they still live inside of me?

While I was in college, I studied biology. There were loads of math and calculations, and chemical equations. So many diagrams and keywords. But it was always those lab report assignments that I reveled in. I should have known how much I loved writing back then, but back then, I didn’t want to love writing.

I think I was still very much processing my accident and injuries, and denying myself the opportunity to write about it allowed me to continue to ignore how much I had changed. How much I hurt. How much I had learned. How much I really could have used those teenage inspirational quotes.

After college, while working as a high school biology teacher, I found myself keeping blogs about my travels and personal journeys. I thought I was blogging valid information to the masses, but I was truly just keeping a digital journal that, looking back, was really mostly for me. I traveled to India for stem cell treatment, for which I truly felt it my job to create a new blog each day. To educate the world about my journey and somewhat pioneer experience. And years later, when I became really sick and was forced to endure an eight-month-long bed rest, I created a new blog once I was well enough to get out in the world again. I really felt it my job, back then, to try something new each day and write about it. I wrote in a fury, like my life depended on it. And, on some level, it did.

In my late twenties, I impulsively wrote down stories—the things from my past that felt important. The things I continually shared with my students and athletes. I didn’t put much thought into those events that I clacked out into my laptop at the time, but they would all later become part of my memoir.

But it wasn’t until compiling all the stories, over a decade later, and deciding to self-publish it as a memoir, that I realized so many things about myself. About my life. Writing those stories down gave me such a keen insight, not only into the actual events that happened in my life, but also how there were so many recurring themes of love

and loss

and growth.

Each new draft, every new edit, I was connecting with myself with words. Putting emotions onto a page, seemingly for others to read and enjoy, but so much for myself to reflect even more.

Nearly every day since I published my memoir, I have found myself in writing. Whether it’s a new personal essay I’m trying to pitch, or simply just a nonsensical rhyme on the Notes app of my phone, it’s all so important. Those words keep me moving. Those pieces keep me learning and yearning.

I have found so much of myself through writing. Even when I write about the hard things, the traumas and chaos of living, I feel happy. Being able to throw down words for my experiences and my everyday wonder, encapsulates the moments in such a remarkable way. I am truly blessed to have found myself in my writing.

How about you?

2 diced unfiltered differences

1 small sense of imagination

1 Tbsp laugh

1 cup of innate stubbornness

¼ cup of pure cane confidence, sifted gently

¼ cup of beautifully blatant empathy

3 Tbsp of frozen time, for thought and reflection only

A pinch of self-reflection, to taste

1. Combine all the stubbornness, confidence, and empathy in one large bowl.

2. Stir all ingredients well

   until no lumps or bumps in the road are found.

3. Separate mixture into two equal halves. NOTE: Be careful to split the dough exactly into two parts, as the remaining steps will not work if you do not have equal halves.

   Being able to meet someone in the middle—a family member, a lover, even a child—is crucial in any relationship. Just recently, a rather benign-seeming realization of mine, when I finally stopped yelling at my oldest kiddo for not hanging his sweatshirts in the closet, could be easily solved by giving him a basket to keep them in instead. The torment and yelling have stopped, and his sweatshirts all have a place to go. I met him halfway. No one is too young to practice this sort of compromise.

4. Roll two parts into balls and set the oven to 350 degrees. The only way to truly meet in the middle is to do so with a warm, open setting and mind. It’s so much more than compromising. It’s more than settling for something you don’t quite want. It’s about truly seeing the other person in all of this.

5. Let the two mixtures rise for as long as necessary. Time is a wonderful catalyst for growth and contemplation of all kinds.

6. Bake until golden brown, allowing the dough to rise and expand beyond its container. After all, that’s where true living occurs, beyond its own self.

I don’t have an umbrella, and I’m not ready for this storm.

Having been a classroom teacher and now raising two kids of my own, I’ve been witness to a lot of changes in technology over the last two decades. I’ve also noticed a large parallel to academic proficiencies, declining attention spans, and an increase in (the yuckiest of terms) general malaise.

“I wish I were an iPhone because then Daddy would play with me more.”

“I don’t need to know how to spell, Siri does it for me!”

“Can’t you just order it on Amazon today?”

There are so many instances that we wholly rely on the technologies of today. Having an eleven-year-old and six six-year-old, those technologies and their privileges are all they know. For better or worse, this is the age we live in.

Things get delivered fast. You don’t have to work hard to get what you want. Your best friend is a social media app.

A few months ago, I heard a piece on NPR about how our mobile devices are essentially robbing us of our own dopamine and isolating us further from other human beings. We are scrolling incessantly, at all times of the day, and no longer have any energy left over for real connections in our world. Because after all, our value is made up of how many likes we have, isn’t it?

Now, if we are screwing ourselves from connecting and having moments of creativity and exploration, what can be said for the future of our kids? We are literally modeling this sense of cyber isolation to them daily, and I just can’t.

Working as a para-educator these days, I’m a witness to that growing storm overhead. Students can’t spell because Google Docs corrects it for you. They can’t even remember to capitalize a sentence or finish it off with a period, because those things are autocorrected as well. The internet is at their fingertips, and that instant gratification is something they fully take for granted. They want everything right now and shouldn’t have to work for it.

Additionally, kids are growing up trusting the internet to parent them. They play endless games and troll down deep, dark holes within cyberspace. Hours upon hours every single day.

But, I’m a hypocrite, right? I’m literally sitting here typing an essay on a sort-of-social media platform in order to engage with YOU. That’s the strangeness here.

Our world is so engulfed in technology that I don’t think we can thrive anymore without it. So, what is the balance?

There has to be some sort of balance.

As a writer, I find myself constantly leaning into social media platforms to try to help sell my memoir and upcoming titles. However, I can’t disregard that I’ve made some surprising connections and learned a lot about the publishing industry along the way. I’m not sure where I’d be professionally without technology.

In fact, I owe a recent book deal to a connection via social media. (That story will come later.) But, back to balance. . . I understand the value of technology in being able to connect with far-away people in a more intimate way. But where do we draw the line?

When you used to have to send a letter and hoped someone would write back a month down the road, today you can just slide into someone’s DMs. Though do those connections have any true value? I can’t hug those people or look them in the eye. Those likes on my Twitter feed don’t count for much when I’m old and gray, lying on my deathbed.

And don’t get me started on AI. Thinking of college professors who are sifting through essays and trying to discern if the work was human-made or not, while creating their own assignments using ChatGPT, is utterly mind-boggling. Years from now, is college simply going to be a cat-and-mouse game of technological skill? Is that our new sense of creativity? Goodbye, romantic Leonardo da Vinci, hello, thoughtless robots taking over the world.

I want more for myself and more for my kids. I want them to struggle through an encyclopedia set just to find one rare fact. I want them to be in charge of their own creativity and not rely on AI to spit out essays and artwork and and and and. I want them to be able to hug their friends.

But in this age we live in today, am I just insane for thinking there’s a way and a purpose to hold the reins a bit on technology? Do I let go to the breeze and set sail blindly, hoping to make it downstream with the rest of the world?

I really want the best for my kids. And I’m just not sure we’ve got it to offer to them anymore.

ecause of your lack of insight into your mastication calamity, you are smiling and carefree. You’re enjoying life as it’s meant to be.

Meanwhile, your friend is horrified. They can’t listen to you. They can’t possibly think of anything other than that giant piece of glowing broccoli stuck in your teeth. They should tell you, but they don’t want to risk hurting your feelings. They should ignore it, but it’s so blatant. That broccoli is so damned loud.

You continue to talk, to carry on about your day. Your lack of awareness of your dental faux pas doesn’t deter your happiness. Yet, everyone else is aghast.

This is what it feels like to have a visible disability.

Welcome to my world.

In 1997, I was involved in a car wreck, flying out onto the highway pavement and crashing my spine. Beyond the road rash and the fractures, I had sustained a spinal cord injury. I was to never walk again. But I was alive.

Among everything else in my upside-down world, I was forced to make friends with a wheelchair. I did everything in my power to make it so tiny, unobtrusive in the hopes that maybe no one would notice. I got the smallest backrest and the darkest shade of shadowy paint. How would anyone notice that teenager in a wheelchair?

Call me foolish.

Not did just anyone notice.

Everyone noticed.

It took me so many years to not only realize what was true about this scenario, but also how to make peace with it.

Every single time I enter a room, me and my wheelchair, things are thought. Now, don’t get me wrong, I know it doesn’t come from a negative place, I’ve lived long enough to learn that most humans are good by nature. However, there are certain things that are just unmistakable about inference. The quiet nature of knowing what you don’t know.

My wheelchair says it all.

My wheelchair says that I’m different from most, so, in turn, I’ve had to deal with adversity. It says that I can’t walk or have trouble walking—I need some sort of assistance. This tells you that I’ve struggled and I’ve lost. Even before I open my mouth to introduce myself, you already know far more about me than I’ll likely ever know about you. You know the intimate stuff, and there’s no hiding it. That wheelchair is so damned loud.

But now I’m too old to care and too wise to feel upset because of it. This is me. This wheelchair is me. It defines me just as much as it doesn’t. I’ve learned to lean on my vulnerabilities—I now know that there’s great power within that feeling of raw uncomfortability.

Now, when I enter a room, knowing what I know about my own broccolied teeth, I use it. I allow myself to be more open than most, and, believe it or not, I often get the same back. A desert horizon of beautiful vulnerabilities spread across miles and miles of sand and the setting sun. A moment shared between friends or even strangers.

The more real we can be with ourselves, the more we can share with others. My visible disability makes it impossible not to share, but I promise you it’s the best way to live. Having overcome so much in my life, I’m honored to share how I’ve struggled and how I’ve achieved, because in my experience, those things are one and the same. They are wonderful, enchanting, delightful things—even when they outwardly are not.

Adjusting myself with good posture, I am sitting here for you now. Showing you all of my strengths and all of my struggles. All of my dreams and all of my failures. I’m showing you exactly what I can do and not hiding what I can’t.

It’s not a visible disability to me anymore. It’s life. It’s showing up.

These are those books that are more substantial than picture books or even early reader chapter books, but geared specifically for a younger population of readers. The ones who arguably need reading most. This baffles me.

I know this because I have two of them.

I have two boys, one is now eleven, and he has always been a voracious reader. Reading Charlie and the Chocolate Factory at seven and Mouse on A Motorcycle at eight.

From there, he got sucked into the worlds of the naughty boys-- Big Nate, Greg Heffley, and the like. He often read about hating school or parents, or both.

This is what got me started on my own middle grade series. I wanted to write stories for younger readers with a softer message of positivity. I wanted to not only empower those young readers, but those young minds as well.

I wanted, too, to include disability representation because I know so well how important it can be for young kids to learn. My kids are so compassionate, resilient, and strong because of growing up with their wheelchair-using mama.

Rutabaga's Don't Build Treehouses has been on submission now for four months, and I'm learning that there is a big draw for publishing books on the other side of the spectrum. Books that lean heavily into YA, books that push the envelope of some very mature topics. Editors are eating that stuff up.

But what about my way-above-reading-level six-year-old? He's trying out early middle grade books as we speak, and will soon be reading those same ones his older brother started with. But those books are still shockingly so few and far between. Don’t we want to give these fragile readers a chance to fall in love with books in a more inclusive way?

The market seems to favor those older readers, but I'm going to keep fighting for the little guys. They are the ones who are at a vast precipice of true readership. They’ll either learn appreciation and confidence with literacy, or they won’t. Those six, seven, and eight-year-olds could glean so much from books. No thank you, iPad. Don’t need you, Nintendo. Sayonara, endless TV.

They are our future readers, and they are begging for more.

In the meantime, I'll keep growing skin as rough as nails as the rejections continue. Although editors seem interested, it's ultimately not what they are looking for. Yet I'm hopeful that there is someone out there brave enough to give Rutabaga a chance. I'd be a fool to think my book is the best work of literature to ever exist, yet I still know it has value. There is a place for it, even if that place is ever so slight. Because I believe in my own words. Because I believe in the younger reader. Because I believe wholesome stories of inclusion can exist.

But if not mine, then someone else.

We've got to give these kids a chance to love reading, grow with life lessons, and ultimately feel valued. Three cheers and fingers crossed for lower middle grade everywhere!

Don’t let this genre die. Kids don’t know it, but they’re begging you.

INGREDIENTS

2 cups of light positive thinking

1 cup of organic intuition, packed well

¼ cup of guts, room temp and softened

¼ cup of salted awareness

1 tsp of forward momentum

A pinch of fate

DIRECTIONS

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees, allowing for warmth to penetrate your surroundings before even attempting to create anything.

2. Combine the first three ingredients in a large glass bowl, allowing for a true vision of the mixing through the transparency of the glass. That transparency is crucial for the mixture to fully combine. You cannot have more positive thinking than guts in any given part of the dough.

3. In a separate, equal-sized bowl, cream together the remaining ingredients until there are no lumps or bumps, and certainly no hesitation. In choosing the right path for yourself, it is important that you fully trust it. Keeping a keen eye on yourself and the world around you will enhance your ability to move forward with confidence and ease. If you can't fully trust the path, if there are lumps and bumps in the way, claiming that path becomes nearly impossible.

Note: The pinch of fate is NOT OPTIONAL. In fact, without it, the dough won't rise and everything will fall flat.

4. Add the second bowl's mixture to the first and fold until well combined. You will know when the dough is ready, as it will be smooth and compact, scraping clear away from the transparent bowl. You will see it all if you are willing to look for it. Always keep your eyes open to the possibilities that lie within your own experiences, and you will be able to trust the path you move down.

5. Spoon dough into balls and place in equal rows on a baking sheet. Keeping a sense of order while you trust an unyielding path will help your confidence to continue down it.

6. Bake for as long as you need, as each batch (and path) will be different. No two experiences will be the same, and no two paths should resemble one another. Put your faith in the fullness of life and the constant journeys that make and shape you.

7. Remove from the oven, allowing things to cool. Taking a step back is sometimes the best way to measure all you’ve accomplished and the work you’ve done to get there

   . Bon appétit!