Why I’m Not Telling My Family That I’m A Published Author

+ 3 boundaries I’ll be setting as a debut author!

In the last installment, I dropped some lore on my upcoming novel — namely, how it took me seven years to get to the point of actually publishing it. Check out that essay here!

Disclaimer: I love my family to bits. Pieces, even.

Knowing that I’m penning a novel about a dysfunctional assassin family, it’s hard to believe, but truuuust me. I couldn’t live without them if you paid me to.

That being said, they have no clue that I’ll be published in a matter of weeks.

I refuse to tell them about my novels. Not yet, at least. Not for the foreseeable future, either.

Don’t worry, though! I’ve already carefully vetted you, friend. You are no snitch. My secret is safe with you ♥️ Thanks in advance, by the way!

Let me be clear: I’m not worried about my books. Digital footprint be damned. For the first time in my life, I actually want to be perceived for the things that matter: My art.

I feel like with the rise in pennames and online personas, the average reader assumes the author has some reason behind the mystery—usually, fueled by embarrassment.

According to Reddit, romance authors get this sorta flack a lot.

Who wants their coworker to know they write steamy minotaur romance, you know? So, understandably, authors reach for their trusty penname, shielding their identities behind something that their family couldn’t possibly trace back to them.

Lest they be banned from the family cookout, lose their jobs, or reveal kinks to the public eye.

Honestly, I get it. Kudos to them, too. Pennames are neat.

But, my genre isn’t the reason why I’m in hiding. Hell, I’m using my government first name for publication.

Amazon’s CS team removed my last name, thankfully! 🥹

If I were writing raunchy werewolf smut or something spicy, maybe I’d consider a penname. But, I’m not. I write vibes, not genres. What I’ve got in the works feels… tame, too. I have no reason to hide the fact that I write whatever I want. There’s no shame in my stories. Nothing to hide—nothing to shield.

So, why not tell my family?

We’ll get to that. But, first . . .

Some Boundaries I’m Setting as a Debut Author

1. Giving Myself Grace

The last few weeks are a prime example of what giving myself grace looks like.

I’ve been severely burned out since August. That’s when I finished the most recent draft of AVERY. Afterwards, I didn’t write—couldn’t write.

I started one WIP, got about 80 words in, and then closed Google Docs. Indefinitely.

And I could barely commit to posting daily on Instagram and TikTok. The only place I consistently showed up was on Substack, and that’s because I like doomscrolling on Notes.

Occasionally, I do a bit of venting.

This past week, I committed myself to writing twice per day. Most days, I didn’t. But, thankfully, I’m a night owl, and can crank out around 1,000-ish words by midnight.

Revisions have been slow and steady, and I’m here for it.

This is my debut—the first of many books to come. If I’m breaking my neck to show up for one book, I won’t have any bones left to break for all the other books.

Giving myself grace means romanticizing the process—no more non-stop grinding. No more crazy daily word counts. I’ll open the doc once in the morning, write a few words, close it, then repeat that process before bed.

I have to constantly remind myself that I’m a writer. No matter if I only write 2.5 words for the day. Or if those words won’t make it to the final version. Or, hell, if those words are pure shit. Writers write, and I’d be doing myself a disservice if I didn’t try to do that much.

2. Limiting My Readerbase

I imagine that reading AVERY VS THE CAIN COMPLEX is anything but therapeutic.

Dark themes, trauma-ridden child protagonists and triggering content… If I’m being completely honest, I couldn’t have chosen a worse book to debut with.

Reading is meant to be an escape. It’s a break from reality.

Here I come, though, toting my edgy debut thriller with a shit-eating grin. I fear that readers won’t be eager to pick it up.

In nearly every piece of content I post—be it a carousel, a snippet or a reel—I make an honest attempt to mention the trigger warnings. Sometimes, that’s in the post itself (like here where I highlight the antagonist’s many crimes).

Or, as the actual content: Shoutout to this TikTok about my trigger warnings.

No one willingly clocks out of work, opens their Instagram app, and actively searches for content meant to piss them off. By God, I hope not.

As artists—writers, authors and the creatives in-between—we owe the world a heads-up. Disclaimers and the like. Maybe that’s a “Check out my pinned post for content warnings” or “This might not be for you if you don’t like XYZ”.

As an author of heavy themes, I owe potential readers an immediate ‘out’.

I don’t want just anyone picking up this trilogy in particular, much less AVERY. Why? Because I don’t want this book in the wrong hands.

The type of hands that might tremble around it.

In terms of content warnings, AVERY is heavy.

Recently, I’ve seen that a lot of “dark” books are romanticized or romance-forward. And that’s fine! But, when my book shares tropes with some of the greats—and my tropes are written at face-value, without the glam and kinks—it feels like a disservice to potential readers.

Readers who are used to this trope, yes, but not used to this trope in its entirety.

Besides the controversial romanticization issue, I’m also limiting my readerbase to protect potential readers.

I’d feel horrible if my book triggered someone who’s endured the things I highlight in this trilogy. Things like gr00ming, child ab^se, neglect, and so on.

I’m all for creating my pretty moodboards and posting random quotes for AVERY. Seriously, these posts get so much love, it’s unreal. Buuuut, I can’t exactly ignore the elephant in the room: These are entirely out of context, and give damn-near zero insight into what the book entails.

I want all the accolades that come with publishing AVERY, but I want to earn them.

Money and clout be damned. I’d rather have a single, trauma-loving reader than a thousand readers who were better off DNF’ing the book.

3. Hiding My Book(s) From My Family

Let me just reel that disclaimer back here for a second: I love my family.

But man, dear God, are they some of the most inquisitive, worrisome people I know.

Matriarchs are like that, I suppose. Women spend so much of their days bogged down by the weight of expectations and day-to-day grief, that it’s hard to leave that kind of baggage at the door.

Instead, they haul luggage full of despair into the common area, piling boxes and boxes of doubt as high as the curtain rods. They don’t allow themselves to dream too big—or to dream at all—and the idea of anyone else dreaming is cause for concern.

Matriarchs—the very women I love, and who love me—are prone to worry.

Problem is, that worry is often misplaced… if not a touch off-putting.

I’ve been a good kid all my life. Boringly so, I’ll admit. I brought home good grades, stayed out of trouble, and kept my dreams close to my chest. Lest they take my dreams for what it truly was: A reminder that theirs had been placed on the backburner, all but forgotten. Relics from their youth—when they were my age, still bright-eyed, with juuuust enough light left in them.

I was a good kid, but I wasn’t them. I still do things differently. I’m sure I’ve disappointed them—despite all the good, despite all the great—but the books alone won’t further that disappointment.

They’ll have questions for me. I’m sure of it. But, those are questions I can’t (and won’t) answer.

Now that I’m nearing twenty-five, it’s finally dawned on me: I shouldn't have to justify my each and every whim. A girl can dream. And dream she will.

So, yeah, my family won’t know that I’m an author. The simplest answer to why is that they just wouldn’t get it.

Hiding my books from my family is the equivalent of entering an empty elevator and pressing the doors closed as soon as you step in.

Yes, there’s enough room for half a dozen people. And, yes, you heard someone calling from over your shoulder to “hold it”—to keep that space for them. But, sometimes, you need to have that metal box for yourself. I use my silent elevator rides to collect my thoughts or catch my breath or exist.

The relationship between myself and my books—much like a lonely elevator—is for my own sanity. I’m allowed to ride it on my own.

I’ve Set My Boundaries… Now What?

Well, now I gotta hold myself accountable.

2025 has been a year of delusions for me. For fuck’s sake, I’m gonna be a published author soon! I have no time or patience to justify what I’m doing—and why I’m doing it—to people who’d never really get it.

The thing is, I have a pretty close relationship with my family.

I tell them every silly dream I have. Their laughter is a recurring echo when I think back on it—back to all the times when I should’ve kept my damn mouth shut. It ends here, though. I’m working on it.

I’ll continue to give myself grace as I build up this writing habit.

I’ll continue to share trigger warnings (even if it means no one reads the book).

And, above all else, I’ll continue to work towards publishing AVERY. Privately, might I add.

Speaking of AVERY VS THE CAIN COMPLEX, revisions are underway! I have until October 5th (about 3 weeks) to tighten this final draft up before I start edits.

I’ll also be revealing the cover here exclusively on Thursday. Stay tuned for that!

In the meantime, I’m all for transparency—as seen by this very vulnerable piece—so here’s an unedited snippet from Chapter One:

If Avery Valdis were to pick any one of his siblings to kill him, it’d be his little sister.

Not that he believed she wanted to—and Avery sure hoped she didn’t—but because of a revelation far more morbid.

Avery figured she’d get away with it.

Be it their age difference—her being four years shy of his fourteen—or those big, brown eyes, Era Valdis was unassuming enough to catch him off-guard. Lure him away. Ice him. And, with Father’s love for her growing by the day, she’d likely get off scot-free.

To everyone who’s already preordered AVERY, I genuinely can’t thank you enough!

It’s been seven years since I first created this concept and it’s been a grueling (but rewarding) experience to write, rewrite, scrap, save, and all the other author-ly stuff.

I don’t expect to become a bestseller. But, at the very least, I want you to feel like AVERY was worth the read. Again, thank you.

This Novel Took Me 7 Years: Project Avery Update

If you haven’t already, consider pre-ordering AVERY VS THE CAIN COMPLEX here (or sharing it with someone who loves assassins, toxic family dynamics and pain)!

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