Jump.
Travel.
Risk.
Love.
Fail.
Forgive.
Go.
Then write about it.
DO IT FOR THE STORY
Playing with words is one of the first things I ever discovered I was actually good at. Before I could write, I was one chatty kid. As a teen, I got pretty good at mouthing off, my words directed at my mom most of the time. It wasn't until my junior year in high school that a teacher suggested I spend less time talking and more time writing.
My parents had told me the same thing when I was nine years old. They thought when I won a Father's Day essay contest held by our local newspaper, it was obvious I'd be a writer someday. But they didn't know I had plagiarized the last line from Leave It to Beaver, and that was the line I was convinced clinched the win.
"He may not sound interesting to you, because he's not your dad... just mine."
For years, I thought I was a fraud.
a relationship with words.
Then in college, a professor announced that no one had ever gotten an A in his class — and if someone ever did earn one, that student would never have to go back to class.
Did I get the A?
Pff, I wish. Dickhead gave me an 89 on my first paper and told me he wanted to "mold my talent."
A few months later he invited me to dinner at his house, which creeped me out enough that I stopped going to class.
But I didn't stop writing.
Twenty years later, I started a monster of a project. The manuscript — Bad Catholic: A Memoir — took four years to write. But what unfolds in its pages is a lifetime of mistakes and lessons.
My mess has included divorce and a few other choices I'm still not always proud of. Some of what I've survived, I didn't choose at all. I've also lived a blessed life, full of extraordinary experiences.
Each time I faced a decision that felt weird, dangerous, or completely outside my comfort zone, I thought the same thing:
F*ck it. Do it for the story.
BAD CATHOLIC
A Memoir
the project
It's the story of the twenty years I spent trying to control my way back into God's good graces—and the 500 miles across Spain that finally broke that habit for good.
I spent four years writing Bad Catholic. Why? It took that long to tell the truth.
The first drafts weren't necessarily dishonest. They were simply incomplete. I softened the edges. I protected other people. But more than anything, I protected myself. I wanted readers to understand me, but I wasn't yet willing to let them truly see me.
Eventually I realized something. If shame was the very thing I was writing about, I couldn't let shame edit the story.
So I started over.
Bad Catholic isn't just the story of my faith. It's the result of finally finding the courage to tell that story honestly.
Today, Bad Catholic is in the hands of literary agents.
Whether it becomes a published book, that part is no longer mine to control. I'm leaving it in God's hands. And for someone who spent a lifetime trying to control everything, that may be the biggest plot twist of all.
So until the fate of the memoir becomes clear, I'd love to share the stories that didn't fit neatly into the manuscript.
Join my monthly newsletter here:
Before Bad Catholic was finished, I felt God asking me to step away from it and write something else.
I didn't fully understand why, but I obeyed. I felt called to preserve not only my own stories, but my mother's. She was hesitant when I approached her, but after prayer and counsel from our priest, she agreed to write the book with me.
At first, I had no plans to publish it. I believed the act of writing it together was the assignment.
Then I realized we were approaching the twentieth anniversary of the Christmas miracle that changed my family's life and unknowingly shaped the next twenty years of my own. On Christmas morning, palm trees bent beneath a rare South Texas snowfall—the very sign my mother had asked God to send if my father's heart had been healed. Suddenly, the project felt urgent.
BENDING PALMS
Over the next six weeks, we wrote, edited, designed, and self-published Bending Palms. The process challenged every perfectionist instinct in me, but I kept returning to the same conviction: God was asking for faithfulness, not perfection.
Within months, God made His purpose unmistakable. I found myself giving the book away at speaking events, including it with the rosaries I made, and placing it into the hands of people who simply needed hope. What began as an unexpected act of obedience became part of my ministry.
If my mother's story and mine help even one person draw closer to Christ, every imperfect page was worth writing.
A Mother and Daughter Share Their Stories of Faith, Resilience, and the Miracle That Changed Everything.
the project
"Navigating separate and scary paths, burdened with unthinkable secrets, mother and daughter—Toni and Trisha—each fell into muted relationships with God. Yet at the depths of their true-life struggles, God used astonishing miracles and Godwinks to draw both of them back into His arms… perhaps so they could share their uplifting stories with you in this compelling and beautifully written book."
- SQuire Rushnell
New York Times Bestselling Author, Godwink Book Series
the story
LETTERS FROM A BAD CATHOLIC
For anyone who's ever wondered if they're doing enough, being enough, or believing enough. Letters from a Bad Catholic is a monthly letter about learning to live as an imperfect disciple, keeping Christ at the center of everyday life.
LETTERS FRom A BAD CATHOLIC
For anyone who's ever wondered if they're doing enough, being enough, or believing enough. Letters from a Bad Catholic is a monthly letter about learning to live as an imperfect disciple, keeping Christ at the center of everyday life.