Beyond the Anchor

I grew up in a family where humor wasn't reserved for celebrations. It showed up during our hardest seasons, around hospital beds, kitchen tables, and long road trips when we were exhausted and running on hope.

This year, as America marks its 250th anniversary, a milestone honoring a nation forged in sacrifice and hope, I cannot think of a more fitting moment to pull back the curtain on what I have been quietly working on behind the scenes.

Nine months ago, this process began at a place called Ohme Gardens, where my son dropped down on one knee in front of the "Moment in Time" waterfall. From that second on, my life has been pure chaos with a sprinkle of joy.

A quiet reflection on remembrance, sacrifice, and the difference between honoring service and honoring the fallen.

Most people have a general picture of military deployment. Phone calls with bad connections. Care packages. Video chats that freeze at the worst moment. They know it's hard. What most people don't know is that there is a corner of the military where none of that exists.

There is a version of RV life that exists on the internet, and then there is the version that actually happens to you.

A prenatal diagnosis can feel like a verdict before the first breath is even taken. When doctors start handing you pamphlets focused on grim statistics, they are often sketching out a limited version of your child’s future. But what if they’re wrong?

AI has become one of the most debated topics in creative spaces, and for good reason. But somewhere between the extremes, there’s a quieter reality that doesn’t get talked about as often: how it’s actually being used by writers trying to tell meaningful stories. This isn’t a defense of AI, and it’s not a warning either. It’s simply an honest look at how I use it in my own work, the good, the bad, and the ugly.

People often ask writers why they write. Some will tell you it's about creativity. Others say it's about expression, or the simple joy of storytelling. For me, it's deeper than that. For me, it's an escape.