I didn’t start writing fiction because I thought I had some big creative gift. I started because I had something to say, and fiction gave me the space to say it without getting interrupted. People assume stories like The Shattered Shield or Broken Shadows are about the action. They’re not. They’re about what happens when the action stops—when the war ends, when the uniform comes off, and you’re still carrying everything that came with it.
Each of these books came from somewhere specific, and if you’ve read my post on Why I Write, this won’t surprise you. I write to deal with what I’ve seen and felt. I write for the people who’ve been there too, and I write for the people who haven’t but are willing to listen.
The Shattered Shield
This book is the most personal. It came out of the mess of thoughts and emotions I’d carried around since leaving the Navy. It started as fragments—scenes, conversations, arguments I never had out loud—and it became a way to make sense of things that never made sense when they happened. I wasn’t trying to tell “the veteran story.” I was trying to tell a story—one that looked like what it really feels like to come home physically intact but mentally wrecked. One where no one’s handing you a guidebook on how to live with the weight you came back with.
It’s not a book about heroes or villains. It’s about real people. Flawed. Angry. Numb. Lost. And trying.
The Shattered Shield: Ghost Track
Ghost Track came next, not as an afterthought but because I realized there was more to tell. If The Shattered Shield is about what happens after everything falls apart, Ghost Track is about how it starts breaking. It’s a short prequel, but it’s where the emotional damage begins—small decisions, overlooked moments, the kind of stuff that only looks obvious in hindsight. I wrote it because sometimes to understand why someone is the way they are, you need to see them before the damage fully sets in.
This wasn’t about building a timeline or expanding the lore. It was about answering a question I kept hearing from readers—and asking myself—how did it get this bad?
Broken Shadows
This one’s different. It’s not part of the same world or storyline. But the themes? Still there. Broken Shadows came from a place of needing to write something honest about trauma and grief that wasn’t tied directly to military service. I’d said a lot about veterans already—I needed to say something about people who don’t wear a uniform but still fight every damn day to stay afloat.
It’s darker. Slower. More psychological. Less about what’s happening outside and more about what’s unraveling inside. I wrote it to challenge myself, but also to prove (to myself, mostly) that these kinds of stories matter even when they’re not about war. Trauma doesn’t need a battlefield to be real.
So What Ties These Together?
- I write to deal with my own experience.
- I write to represent the people who don’t have a loud voice.
- I write because sometimes fiction is the only place where the truth makes sense.
- I write for the people who’ve hit bottom and still need to get up the next day.
None of this is about preaching. I’m not trying to deliver some big inspirational message. I’m trying to show what survival actually looks like. Not clean. Not pretty. But possible.
If you’ve read the books, you’ve probably picked up on all this already. If you haven’t, this might help you understand what you’re walking into.
And if any of this sounds familiar to you—if you’ve lived anything like it—you’re not alone. You’ve never been alone.