Good Girl

I write the books I needed and could not find.

By day I am a corporate girlie, climbing the ladder and figuring out, in real time, how to work with people who do not communicate the way I do. How to keep the lists when the lists are the only thing standing between me and a forgotten meeting. How to ask for the thing I need without apologizing for needing it. Some days I cannot remember the word for Google. If you know, you know.

Good Girl is the book I started with. Dyslexia and ADHD are in it, not as a lesson tacked on at the end and not as the whole of who the characters are. They show up the way they show up at work and at home: in a skipped line, a lost word, a brain that will not sit still, and a person who is still very much in the middle of a life.

That matters to me because it is my life. These are the things that shape how I move through a day, how I do my job, and how long it took me to stop treating my brain like it was broken. For a long time I did not see that on the page. The stories I grew up with either left people like me out or turned the diagnosis into the only interesting thing about them. I got tired of looking for myself and coming up empty. So I wrote the representation I wanted: ordinary, specific, and already inside the story.

I also care about how the book feels in the hand. Good Girl, and the books I hope to keep writing, are laid out in a dyslexia-friendly way. Extra space. Clear type. Room for the eye to land. Because for some of us the words do not sit still. They float. They run together. A line gets skipped and you do not notice until the sentence stops making sense.

If that is you, at your desk or on your couch, you are welcome here. These books were made with you in mind.