life
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One thing I know for sure: I will never limit myself to one lane as a writer. Yes, I write emotionally charged stories rooted in identity, healing, and becoming — but that’s not the only world my imagination lives in. Not even close. I grew up loving the mystical, the magical, the spiritual, the unexplained.…
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People ask me sometimes if all my books will be as emotionally charged as the one I’m writing now. And the answer is simple: No — but they will always be real. I’m not interested in writing stories that float on the surface. I’m drawn to the layers — the identity shifts, the quiet battles,…
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People often ask why my book opens with a woman walking away from the life she thought she would have. Why I chose to begin with a departure instead of a beginning. Why I started with heartbreak instead of hope. The truth is simple:Her story, although vastly different from mine, was born from a place…
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As I write my first book, I’m learning that the characters who show up on the page are not random. They are echoes of the women I’ve known, the women I’ve been, and the women whose stories deserve to be held with tenderness and truth. They come to me layered, complicated, resilient, flawed, soft, and…
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There’s a particular kind of fear that rises when you start writing a story that lives close to your own wounds. It’s not the fear of being judged or misunderstood — though that’s there too. It’s something deeper. Something quieter. Something that feels like standing at the edge of a truth you’ve spent years learning…
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Writing my first book has stirred something in me that I can’t quite put into one word. It’s a mix of emotions that rise and fall, overlap and collide, each one reminding me that this moment is bigger than the pages I’m creating. There is pride — a deep, quiet pride in what I’m doing…
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For a long time, my life was built around survival. Not in a dramatic sense, but in the everyday way that mothers know too well — the kind of survival that requires you to keep moving even when you’re exhausted, to keep showing up even when you’re stretched thin, to keep choosing your children even…
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I’ve been writing for as long as I can remember. Before I knew what craft was, before I understood genre or structure or audience, I knew how to take a feeling and turn it into words. I knew how to pick up a pencil and make sense of the world by shaping it into sentences.…
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On the first morning of every month, I stand at my front door with a pinch of cinnamon in my hand. I pause, breathe, whisper a quiet prayer, and blow it across the threshold. It’s a simple act — soft, almost invisible — but it carries a weight that feels familiar. People might see it…
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There are moments in life that don’t look like much from the outside — a breath taken on a balcony, a hand resting on a railing, a pause before speaking — but something in them feels holy. Not in a ceremonial way. Not in a way that needs candles or rituals or perfect words. Just……
Leigh C. Mitchell 