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I'm April and most of the things in my life… I did not set out to do.
I didn’t set out to be a firefighter.
But I did learn that in rural counties, you could leave school to go on fire calls… which felt like a system flaw worth exploring.
So one day, driving past the firehouse, I saw cars outside and just… turned into the parking lot.
Turns out, they’ll let just about anyone be a volunteer firefighter.
And just like that, an unhinged plan to skip class turned into a 25-year career in fire protection engineering.
That wasn’t the plan either.
I originally wanted to be an aerospace engineer like my dad—very respectable, very on purpose. But someone pointed out that since I was already a volunteer firefighter, I could switch majors and get partial tuition reimbursement from the state.
And that’s how one tiny, questionable decision rerouted my entire life.
There is no decision too small to completely derail—or redefine—your future.
Starting the podcast was different.
That one I meant to do.
I love true crime, and I figured my background in fire science might bring something new to the genre. What I did not anticipate was accidentally becoming a social media manager, audio engineer, tech support department, and general chaos coordinator on top of the research and writing.
But at this point, unintended consequences are kind of my brand.
My writing background was… less exciting.
I write for industry publications.
The kind of articles that are deeply informative… and also excellent if you’re struggling with insomnia.
Sprinkler system design. Fire alarm technology. Performance-based egress modeling.
See? You’re already yawning.
I never planned to write fiction. I love reading it—but writing it? That seemed like something best left to people who didn’t have a toxic relationship with punctuation.
And then… Ralph showed up.
Who is Ralph?
Wrong question.
The correct question is: what is Ralph?
Ralph is what I lovingly refer to as my brain worm.
He started as a story idea and quickly evolved into a full-blown, productivity-destroying, ADHD-fueled hyperfixation. I could not stop thinking about this story. It followed me everywhere. It absolutely refused to be ignored.
And at some point, I realized… I had to deal with Ralph.
Given my lack of neurosurgical training, removing him was not a viable option.
So I turned to a more realistic solution:
kill the idea with effort.
Because if there’s one thing ADHD hates, it’s tedium.
So in November 2025—the Friday before Thanksgiving—I sat down to write.
No outline. No plan. No structure.
Just vibes.
For those of you familiar with writing lingo: this was a full “pants” approach. As in, flying by the seat of them.
My entire strategy was to hit a wall—some awkward dialogue, a plot hole, something frustrating enough to make the whole thing feel like work—and let that be the end of Ralph.
The plan was simple.
Make it tedious. Kill the obsession.
It. Never. Got. Tedious.
Two weeks later, I had a full draft of a novel.
Which was… unfortunate for my original plans.
So I did what any rational person would do.
I walked away from it for a month.
When I came back and read it again, I had two immediate thoughts:
And the good news is—bad writing is fixable.
So I started rewriting.
And slowly, this chaotic, unplanned, objectively messy draft started to feel… big.
Not polished. Not perfect. But important.
Which, to be clear, is not the same thing as good.
So I brought in beta readers.
And their feedback?
Honestly… the kind of thing ego is made of.
Not perfect—there were notes—but they loved the story. The characters. The potential.
So then I did what any completely unprepared person would do.
I started figuring out what you’re actually supposed to do with a book.
I discovered that authors have agents.
That querying is a thing.
Researching an industry I'd never intended to infiltrate is a humbling experience.
This whole process is new, chaotic, and mildly terrifying.
There is a very real chance I never see my work in print.
But Ralph?
Ralph is still here.
Even when things did get tedious.
In fact, Ralph has gotten bigger.
And somehow… I’ve gotten attached.
As of March 2026, I’m about halfway through my first major rewrite. I’ve found a developmental editor, figured out how to fund it, and I’m just going to keep going until I either make this work… or run out of ways to try.
Because at this point, this story has its own consciousness.
It’s everywhere.
It’s in everything.
And I owe it to Ralph to finish it.
(Not that he’d let me stop at this point anyway. That’s kind of how this works.)
So that’s how I became a fiction writer.
Completely by accident.