Welcome to the Author Q & A

Here you’ll find answers to some of the questions readers most often ask about my work, including both my novels—Unbound and Frontier Kindred. Be advised: spoilers ahead, as these answers may reference specific characters, scenes, or plot points. With Frontier Kindred beginning a trilogy, some questions may also touch on what lies ahead.

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Unbound:

Is Unbound based on your real life?

Unbound is a work of fiction inspired by my lived experiences. While some characters and events are drawn from real life, they've been fictionalized, dramatized, and adapted to serve the story's emotional arc. I changed names, created composite characters, and focused on a specific chapter of my journey--one of escape, identity, and love. It's not a memoir, but it is deeply personal.

Why did you choose the title Unbound?

I wanted the title to reflect what Andy’s life ultimately becomes—and to capture the core theme of the book: freedom. I’ve always been drawn to bold, one-word titles, especially when they’re used in unexpected ways to express something deeply personal. The original short story that inspired this novel was called Breaking Free, but I wanted a title that felt stronger, more timeless. Unbound means not just free, but unconfined, unrestricted, and emotionally unshackled.

After choosing the title, I realized there were other books out there with the same name. Rather than change it, I added a subtitle—not only to help differentiate it, but also to include the other major themes explored in the story. In the end, it was the perfect solution: the title remained powerful and personal, and the subtitle offered clarity. It felt like a win-win.

Are the characters in Unbound based on real people?

Yes, most of the characters are inspired by real people from my life. That said, every character in Unbound was fictionalized to some extent—names were changed, details adjusted, and scenes dramatized to serve the story. This allowed me to honor the emotional truth of my experiences while respecting the privacy and complexity of the individuals involved.

The Kramer family, for instance, reflects a very real and formative part of my journey. But even their portrayal was written with care, intention, and a blend of truth and fiction that allowed the narrative to unfold honestly without becoming a memoir. Unbound is, at its core, a fictionalized story rooted in my lived experience—not a literal account.

If Unbound is fiction, how much of it is actually true—and does that blur the line between honesty and storytelling?

That’s a question I’ve been asked a lot—and I think it’s an important one.

Unbound is fiction, but it’s fiction inspired by real emotion, real moments, and real growth. I’ve always been upfront about that. I chose to tell this story through a fictional lens because I wanted the freedom to explore the truth of my experience—not just the facts of my life. That’s the heart of what fiction can do: it lets you capture the emotional reality, the internal battles, and the personal truths in a way that sometimes pure autobiography cannot.

Every scene in Unbound was crafted with intention. Some moments are drawn closely from life, others are dramatized or reimagined to serve the narrative arc. But the emotional core—the struggle for identity, the fear, the longing, the hope—that’s all deeply real. That’s mine.

Fiction gave me the space to process, reflect, and create something that I hope resonates with others who’ve faced similar questions about who they are, how to escape pain, and how to find love. I don’t claim this story is the only truth. But it is my truth, told in the way that felt most honest to me.

One review on Amazon and Goodreads accuses the book of being dishonest. How do you respond?

Unbound is my truth--told through my lens, shaped by my experiences, and rooted in my emotional journey. I've never claimed it to be anyone else's story. Like many works of fiction inspired by real life, it reflects how I processed and survived difficult moments, not how others may have seen them.

Every memory carries perspective. What we choose to share, what we leave behind, and how we interpret the past are all part of personal storytelling. That doesn't make it dishonest--it makes it human.

No one gets to tell you how to tell your story.

This story was written with honesty, care, and deep introspection. It's not meant to offer an objective record, but rather a heartfelt reflection of identity, healing, and growth. For anyone who's ever struggled to live openly and authentically, I hope Unbound offers comfort, connection, and courage.

Why did you choose to leave out certain parts of your life, like your marriage or having children?

That's a thoughtful question--and a fair one. The short answer is: Unbound was never intended to tell the full story of my life. It's a deeply personal, emotionally driven narrative that focuses on one very specific journey: my path to escape, self-acceptance, and love. It's not a memoir of everything I've lived--it's a story about the emotional and psychological transformation I experienced.

Yes, my marriage and children were part of my life during that time. But thematically, they belonged to another chapter--another arc entirely. Including them would have added layers that didn't serve the story I was telling here. I wanted this book to stay focused on one central truth: what it felt like to live in silence, to slowly find the courage to live authentically, and to finally experience a kind of love I'd long denied myself.

I chose to write Unbound as fiction based on my lived experiences, which gave me space to craft the emotional arc without the burden of documenting every fact. That's not avoidance--it's storytelling. And I stand by that choice because it allowed me to go deeper into the heart of the journey I was ready to share.

Don’t you think your journey was a selfish one, especially since you admitted to leaving a marriage and children?

I understand why it may appear that way. And I don’t run from that perception. But the truth is—staying in a life where I was emotionally buried and living inauthentically would have caused more harm than good, not just to me, but to my family as well. I wasn’t leaving them—I was leaving a version of myself that was breaking down, quietly and painfully.

That decision wasn’t made lightly. It was made after years of inner conflict, reflection, and heartbreak. And as difficult as it was, I believed— and still believe—that choosing to live truthfully was the best path forward for everyone involved. Sometimes the most loving thing you can do is stop pretending.

From the moment I walked out of the family home, my children and I maintained an unbreakable bond. That connection has only deepened over the years. In fact, my kids have often said how lucky they feel to have had four parents after their mother and I each remarried. But what’s stayed with me most is something they’ve echoed time and again: their lives are happy because their parents were happy. And that, to me, says everything.

Were there any scenes that were especially difficult to write?

Absolutely—several scenes forced me to pause, reflect, and push through some very raw emotions. Writing about Andy’s childhood, especially the abuse he endured from Daniel, was particularly tough. Many readers—including some of my own family members—commented that they were surprised I chose to tone down the abuse in the book. That was a deliberate decision. I wanted to focus more on the emotional and psychological toll rather than the physical violence, which, while very real, risked feeling gratuitous on the page.

The opening scene is a good example. It was heavily fictionalized to soften the physical intensity of what actually happened. The real-life incident that marked my breaking point at sixteen was far worse than what’s portrayed. Revisiting those memories was painful, and writing them—even in a toned-down form—was a challenge.

Other difficult scenes were the ones involving heartbreak—particularly Andy’s experiences with Bobby and Noah. Those chapters tapped into some very personal memories of loss, confusion, and longing. While they were fictionalized, they carried emotional truths that hit close to home.

How did you decide what to fictionalize and what to keep close to real life?

I chose emotional truth over literal retelling. That meant blending real events, feelings, and relationships with fictionalized scenes or composite characters to serve the story’s arc. This allowed me to protect privacy while still honoring the essence of what I lived through.

Was there a particular moment in Unbound that you knew you had to stay with exactly what happened in real life?

Absolutely. From the beginning, I knew that everything about Jason needed to stay true to life. How Andy and Jason met, how they fell in love, and how their story unfolded—those moments are real. While I fictionalized certain scenes for pacing and structure, the heart of their relationship was never altered.

One of the most pivotal moments I stayed faithful to was how Andy and Jason made the decision to leave the Air Force. The scene with Andy’s email to his commander, the subsequent meeting, and even the quiet, emotional moment with his boss in the hallway—those events are presented exactly as they happened. The email itself is word-for-word the one I actually sent my commander that morning. It marked a turning point in my life, and I didn’t want to dramatize or dilute it.

The only creative liberty I took in that sequence was the location. In real life, I was on temporary duty at Ramstein Air Base in Germany when I sent that email. But in the book, I adjusted the setting to better serve the narrative flow. Still, the essence of that scene—the courage, the vulnerability, and the finality—remains exactly as it unfolded in my life. I wanted readers to feel that authenticity because, for me, it was one of the most defining and truthful moments in the entire story.

Have your loved ones read the book? What has their reaction been?

Some have, and their reactions have varied—just as you’d expect with something so personal. Unbound was never meant to speak for anyone but me. My intention was to tell a specific story from my own lens, rooted in emotional truth. Those who understand that have shown incredible support and compassion.

What do you hope readers take away from Unbound?

More than anything, I hope readers feel seen. Whether you’ve struggled with identity, felt trapped by expectations, or longed for a life that felt more true, this book is meant to hold space for that journey. If Unbound helps even one person feel less alone or more courageous in their truth, then it’s done its job.

Will you write a follow-up to Unbound—one that includes other parts of your life?

I’ve thought about it. There are certainly more chapters to explore—including family, parenting, and finding peace after the storm. But for now, I’m focused on telling different stories that still echo those same themes of identity, love, and resilience. Never say never, though.

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Frontier Kindred:

Frontier Kindred blends western grit with LGBTQ+ themes. What inspired you to bring those two genres together?

The inspiration actually came from my husband, John. He thought it would be really powerful to see a western built around a gay romance, with all the conflict that would naturally come with it. I took that simple but striking idea and ran with it, shaping it into the story that became Frontier Kindred.

The novel explores love, resilience, and survival in the face of prejudice. What do you hope readers take away from Nate and Jack’s story?

At it’s heart, I hope readers embrace the theme of resilience in the face of prejudice. I wanted this story to inspire people to hold fast to their identity and truth, no matter the hardships they face. That’s why I chose this particular setting—because if these characters can endure and still find love and belonging in such a hostile environment, it reminds us that anyone can.

How did you balance historical authenticity with telling a story that resonates with modern readers?

I made a conscious effort to ground the story in authenticity at every level—whether it was the setting, the characters, or the emotions they carried. When it came to the romance arc, I didn’t want it to feel forced or stylized. Instead, I let it unfold in the same way modern love does: with hesitations, discoveries, vulnerability, and courage. Because of that, the relationship between Nate and Jack flowed naturally, even with the challenges of their time. And I think that dynamic resonates with modern readers.

Nate is introduced as a young schoolteacher burdened by responsibility. How much of his character reflects your own experiences?

Quite a bit, honestly. While Nate isn’t me, I did draw on some of my own experiences when shaping him. Like Nate, I’ve always felt the pull between personal dreams and the responsibilities life hands you. He’s a young man who had to give up a career path he loved in order to support his family, and that sense of sacrifice is something I deeply connect with. I also poured some of my own introspection into him—the way he second-guesses himself but still finds the courage to keep going. In that sense, Nate is both his own character and a reflection of parts of me.

Jack’s guarded, rugged nature contrasts with Nate’s sense of duty and hope. How did you approach writing their relationship?

I saw Jack’s guarded, rugged presence as the perfect complement to Nate’s earnestness and sense of duty. They’re different in many ways—Jack carries himself with caution, while Nate tends to look ahead with determination—but I wanted those differences to highlight, rather than divide them. At the same time, I built their connection on shared human qualities: compassion, loyalty, and the capacity to love deeply. Those similarities allow them to meet in the middle. In the end, their contrasts bring balance, while their shared core makes their bond unshakable.

The supporting cast—Lillian, Eleanor, Abel, Ben—adds so much depth. Did any of them surprise you and grow larger than planned?

Absolutely. Eleanor was the biggest surprise and probably my favorite creation. At first, I had a completely different direction in mind for her. Then one morning, it just clicked—I realized the story needed a special, unshakable ally for Nate, someone who could anchor him in a way no one else could. From there, the idea of a maternal figure took shape, and Eleanor fit perfectly. She became so much more than I had planned, and I absolutely love the role she plays in the story.

Silver Creek feels like a living, breathing frontier town. What kind of research did you do to capture its details?

I did a ton of online research—and honestly, it was one of the most enjoyable parts of writing this book because I learned so much along the way. I dug into everything from the layout of 19th-century frontier towns to the clothing people wore, the way schools operated, and the social norms of the time. Even dialogue—I wanted the way people spoke to feel authentic without being too stiff. Every little detail helped bring Silver Creek to life, and I loved weaving those discoveries into the story.

Historical touches like the U.S. Centennial and references to events like the Grasshopper Plague ground the story. How did you decide what real history to weave in?

There’s actually a funny story here. When I was a few chapters in, I was about to write in a Fourth of July scene as if it were any other year—then it hit me: oh my gosh, it’s the Centennial year. So, I had to backtrack and weave in a proper celebration to honor the occasion, which turned out to be one of my favorite historical details in the book. For other touches, like the Grasshopper Plague, I did extensive research into events that could have impacted farms and ranches at the time. At first, I thought I might have to rewrite parts of the story to reflect widespread devastation—but then I discovered something fascinating: the plague didn’t strike every farm equally. Some were completely wiped out, while others just a few miles away were spared. That simple fact gave me the freedom to acknowledge the event authentically without derailing the plot I’d already built.

Which scene was the most emotional and challenging for you to write?

That’s a tough one because there were several moments that carried a lot of emotional weight. But if I had to choose, it would be the scene where Samuel dies. Writing his death—and capturing Nate’s and Lillian’s grief in a way that felt raw, believable, and deeply human—was incredibly difficult. I wanted readers to feel the devastation of that loss right alongside them. There were other scenes that challenged me on an emotional level too, but Samuel’s death was by far the hardest to bring to life.

Frontier Kindred is the first in a trilogy. Without spoilers, what can readers expect as the story continues?

When I finished writing Frontier Kindred, I realized there was still so much left to tell about Silver Creek and its people. Nate and Jack’s journey was just beginning, and I wasn’t ready to leave them—or the town—behind. The next book will dive deeper into their relationship while also exploring the bonds within their circle of friends and the wider community. Readers can expect new faces, new challenges, and of course, conflict and tension that will test both love and loyalty.

Will Ryder the dog return in future books?

Absolutely. Ryder is an important part of the entire trilogy. He’s based on my real dog, Ryder, who also appears on the cover of Frontier Kindred as a tribute to my faithful companion. My cover designer even incorporated an actual photo of him into the artwork, which was such a special touch. So yes—readers can look forward to Ryder being a steady presence as the story continues.