Downriver shares your story, starting with your childhood in Florida and continuing through the invasion of Iraq, the collapse of your marriage, and the aftermath of a Wall Street crash—all woven together with heartfelt prose and stirring poetry. Why was this an important book for you to write?

Downriver began as something deeply personal—a collection of journal entries and poems I wrote over the years to process grief, trauma, and the disorientation that came with life after war. At first, I wrote it for myself. It was never about creating a book; it was about survival. Writing became my way to navigate the emotional terrain that followed combat, heartbreak, and the collapse of what I thought life was supposed to look like.

For a long time, the manuscript sat untouched. But as I watched more veterans take their own lives, I felt a responsibility to finish it—not just as a form of personal closure, but as a way to contribute something honest to the conversation around healing, identity, and hope. I waited until my youngest child reached adulthood before publishing. I needed the time and distance to share something this vulnerable with the world. In the end, I wrote Downriver because I had to. I’m sharing it now because I believe it might help someone.

What was the most challenging part of writing your memoir, and what was the most rewarding?

The most challenging part was learning to shift from writing for my own catharsis to crafting a story that others could truly connect with. In the beginning, I was still working through many of the emotions tied to my experiences, and that made it difficult to shape a clear narrative. It took time—and distance—to move from simply processing events on the page to telling a story with structure, rhythm, and emotional accessibility for the reader.

The most rewarding part has been the connection it created—first with friends and mentors who read early drafts and offered honest feedback and encouragement, and now with a broader audience. Knowing that my words might resonate with someone else, especially another veteran or anyone navigating loss or identity, gives the project purpose beyond my own healing. If Downriver helps even one person feel seen or less alone, that will be the greatest reward.

How has writing your memoir impacted or changed your life?

The writing process has unfolded over decades—it’s been a companion through the many seasons of my life. In revisiting old journal entries and poetry, I could see not only how my writing evolved, but how I evolved as a person. Writing Downriver gave me the space to reflect on where I’ve been, what I’ve endured, and how my perspective has shifted with time.

It taught me to embrace life’s unpredictability—to see it less as a straight path and more as a river, full of twists and turns that shape us along the way. More than anything, it helped me reconnect with what truly matters: family, purpose, and peace of mind. Writing this memoir didn’t just help me make sense of the past—it helped me let go of it.

What do you hope is one thing readers take away from your story?

In writing Downriver, I tried to “show, not tell”—to invite readers into the story rather than prescribe what they should take from it. In that way, the book often feels like a kind of Rorschach test: what you see in it may reflect where you are in your own journey, or where you’ve been. Everyone brings their own lens, and I welcome that.

That said, my hope is that Downriver prompts readers to reflect on their own lives—to find moments of connection, resilience, or healing within the story. And if it helps even a few readers deepen their sense of empathy—for veterans, for family members, or even for themselves—then I’ll consider the book a success.

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