The moment I said “Mouthy” out loud, it felt like the air cleared just a bit, like the room acknowledged its own corners. Naming a book is a little like naming a cat. You want it to come when called but also retain some mystery, some potential to surprise you on a Tuesday morning.
Mouthy isn’t about shouting from rooftops or shaking the walls just to prove a point. It’s about the delicate art of letting your voice fill the spaces it naturally wants to fill. I spent years, decades even, meticulously editing myself at the door—like a bouncer for my own thoughts.
Too much, too little. Too loud, too quiet. It’s like Goldilocks, but with identity. My voice had been on a diet for so long it forgot it was supposed to be hungry.
So, here we are—Mouthy. It’s a collection of poems and reflections born from those moments when silence felt like betrayal. When holding back cost more than the truth. It’s not about seeking attention; it’s about honesty that refuses to wear a tie.
There’s vulnerability here, the kind that makes your palms sweat while your heart feels strangely lighter. I think that’s when you know it matters, when pride and fear dance a waltz and you’re not sure who’s leading.
The book and this new creative endeavor—The Many Channels of Cable—are not just projects; they’re expansions. For years, people wanted to put my creativity in a neat little box with a bow, but boxes have lids and I’m not interested in closing them anymore.
If you’ve ever been told you’re too much, too little, or just wrong in some ineffable way, Mouthy is for you. It’s for everyone who’s ever swallowed their voice just to avoid the echo.
In the end, this isn’t about a new start. It’s about permission to keep going without asking for it. And whether that’s loud or soft, it’s still unapologetically you.