What happens when someone who has spent his life thinking in systems, processes, and logic decides to make room for something much less predictable: writing? In this conversation, I sat down with author Kent Schwendy to explore the writer’s journey, not the mechanics of publishing, but the internal shift that happens when you finally give yourself permission to call yourself a writer.

Kent began writing as a child, initially as part of therapy for an auditory processing disorder. Over the years, writing remained a constant, even through his military career, engineering work, and corporate life. But he never thought of himself as a writer. He was simply “someone who wrote.” It took a career transition, a conversation about what might come next, and one simple question, “Why wait?” to make him reconsider what was possible.

Kent and I talk candidly about the fear of failure that can keep writers from beginning, the danger of worrying about publishing before there are even words on the page, and the importance of aligning your goals, expectations, and willingness to do the work. For Kent, the breakthrough wasn't writing more. It was taking the writing he was already doing and giving it a direction. His advice is deceptively simple: start where you are, take the next step, and don't make yourself solve tomorrow's problem today.

I went to Anna Maria Island for two weeks with a very specific goal: write. I had a book in progress, a solid outline, 20,000 words already on the page, and a beautiful place to work. I fully expected to come home with another 20,000 or 40,000 words. Instead, I spent much of my time walking the beach, reading, resting, talking to strangers, journaling, and letting my brain do whatever it apparently needed to do.

And something important happened. I realized the writing was happening, just not on the page. Conversations with people I met on the beach gave me stories and insights that connected directly to the book I’m writing. A conversation with a woman who had been trying to finish a book for three years, and another with a man who had started six novels but finished none, became reminders of the stories writers tell themselves about why they can’t write, finish, or share their work. As my friend Andrea reminded me, the writing often happens long before we sit down at the computer.

This episode is about giving ourselves permission to step away from the word count, the productivity goals, and the pressure to produce and allow our lived experiences to feed the work. Sometimes the best thing you can do for your writing is to stop writing for a while. Let the story ferment. Let it percolate. Go for a walk. Pay attention. Then sit down and see what comes out.

In this episode of The Signal, I unpack the heavy, sacred decisions every writer faces when stepping into the realm of memoir and narrative nonfiction. Moving far beyond basic craft instructions, I dive into the core intention behind telling your story—and why writing a powerful memoir isn't about collecting field notes of every detail that occurred, but about serving the emotional heart of the narrative.

I open up my own vault to share the deeply personal story behind my award-winning first book, 14 Days: Loving Life with the Love of My Life. Written after the passing of my husband, Chuck, the book was birthed after I discovered 14 raw entries in his forgotten journal. I explore the painful, necessary choices I made while tucked away in Taos, New Mexico—from protecting privacy to intentionally leaving out peripheral relationships—so the narrative could remain an unbroken, sacred love story that resonance could flow through.

Whether you are wrestling with how far to go when detailing past wounds, worried about libel, or simply wondering who belongs on the page, this conversation will help you step off the battlefield of self-doubt. You will learn how to transition from a detached witness recording events to an empowered storyteller uncovering how an experience truly impacted your soul.