Behind the Book Festival: A Long Day, A Full Heart
We got up at 5:00 a.m.
We pulled out of the driveway at 7:34 a.m.
We arrived at the Fort Henry Mall by 9:30 a.m. to set up for an 8-hour event that stretched me to my physical and emotional edge in the best possible way.
Misty and I walked back through our door at 7:29 p.m.—a 14-hour day, and I feel every minute of it in my bones. But it was worth it.
Today, I participated in the Behind the Book Festival as both a vendor and a panelist on the Genre Fiction discussion. And let me be blunt: I was nervous. This was new territory. I'm still figuring this whole author thing out.
When they asked what made me choose my genre, I gave them the honest answer—I didn’t.
I don’t write with a checklist of tropes or follow any genre formula. I don’t even fully know all the terms people throw around in author circles. I don’t write to fit into a box.
I write because I have to.
I write what claws its way out of me, what burns in my chest and refuses to leave me alone. I live the story first. I figure out how to label it later.
The panel was asked what advice we’d give to a writer trying to break into genre fiction.
Here’s what I said:
Just start.
It doesn’t matter if you don’t know what you’re doing.
I didn’t.
I didn’t think I was capable.
But I started anyway. I made a thousand mistakes and kept going. I didn’t follow the “rules.” I didn’t know the roadmap. I wrote a story that mattered to me and I saw it through to the end.
And somehow, in 2025, despite being a total newbie without a clue about the “proper” path, I did it.
My book is now in the Library of Congress.
It was named Best LGBTQIA+ Fiction in the 2025 National Indie Excellence Awards.
So no—don’t listen to anyone who tells you you can’t do it.
You can.
You just have to begin. Whether it’s messy, awkward, terrifying—it still counts. You’ll find your footing along the way.
Today, I watched readers from the LGBTQIA+ community stop at my table and grab my book with excitement in their eyes. One of them told me, “Stories like yours need to be heard—especially now.”
That’s why I keep doing this.
That’s why I push through the exhaustion. Why I sit on panels even when I feel like the odd one out. Why I share my truth, even when it's vulnerable.
Because representation matters. Because our stories deserve the same spotlight. Because queer lives aren’t a subgenre—they’re real, and they deserve to be front and center.
Thank you to everyone who showed up today—to buy a book, to ask a question, or just to say “I see you.”
Thank you to the ones who said, “This story feels like mine.”
You reminded me why this work matters. And you reminded me that I belong here—exactly as I am.
With love, with fire, and with unrelenting truth,
—Maya
