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For almost thirty years I was a web consultant. For at least that long, I was also a writer pretending not to be one. Turns out they were the same person the whole time — I’d just kept them in separate rooms.

The web consultant launched in 1996, five months pregnant with our first kid, after I got laid off and decided to freelance. I built sites in Notepad. There was no Google, no Amazon, no blogs, no classes. The internet was small and weird and had no rules yet, and it fit me to a T — I could dive down every rabbit hole I could find and grow up alongside it. I never finished a degree. I never wanted to. The work itself taught me what I needed, and the questions kept coming.

The writer was there the whole time. I just thought writing was for other people, the way some kids decide early that they’re not the ones who get to play music or do gymnastics. Looking back, that’s almost funny.

Here’s what’s true today. I write thrillers — the Murder Dots trilogy is out in the world. I’m building a sci-fi universe called Crows in Space, same intimate voice, much further from home. And I write Unhidden on Substack, which is where I work out the craft, the slow business of un-hiding what you’ve been keeping quiet, and how to do the work when there’s no clean playbook for it.

B Unlimited is still here too. It’s where I wrote Digital Coherence — the book, the framework, and the audit practice I now run with clients whose website, social profiles, and actual offers have quietly stopped telling the same story. Same problem I’ve been working on in myself, scaled out. Almost thirty years in, the consultant didn’t retire — she just stopped pretending she was the only version of me that counted.

That’s the shift, the thing that’s actually different now. I’m done compartmentalizing. The novelist and the consultant and the woman who walks the beach every month and the one who feeds the neighborhood crows — they’re all the same person. They always were. I just got tired of dressing them in different clothes for different rooms.

My husband and I have been married thirty-seven years and we have two kids, both grown now. We worked together, mostly from home. People still ask how we don’t drive each other crazy and we still don’t have a good answer. It’s just how we work.

And the beach. I still go at least once a month, year round, weather makes no difference. Off-season is better. The wrack tells you what kind of week the ocean’s had — bottle caps, dead crabs, sea beans if you’re lucky, sometimes a whole shoe. Salt air doesn’t fix anything, but it makes everything the right size again.

So — if you’re here, here’s what to expect. Honest writing about the things I’m actually thinking about: the craft of fiction, the long work of integration, the books in progress, whatever thread I’m pulling on at the moment because I still can’t help myself. New beach photos when I have them. No same old same old.

If that sounds like your kind of thing, subscribe to Unhidden. That’s where most of the actual writing lives.