Did you know that my passion for writing (and music) emerged from a disdain of talking?
My mother says I learned to read at two, and was writing from the time I could hold a pencil. Her story has never changed, so I have no choice but to believe her. Plus, I have fresh memories of making little books: from printer paper that I’d fold lengthwise, then in half and in half again, undo the folds, cut along the creases, punch two holes along the left edge, slip a piece of yarn through each hole, and tie them to secure the mini pages.
I got my first diary in first or second grade — a shiny black one, with lock and key. In that protected space, I wrote all the things I couldn’t say.
As a child, I was quiet beyond shyness.
Teachers loved me because I didn’t contribute to classroom disruptions. Terms like “selective mutism” weren’t in the zeitgeist; in those days, people thought PTSD was an affliction that only impacted war veterans like my dad. He’s in my thoughts on this, and every, Veterans Day.
Only after receiving a diagnosis of Complex PTSD in adulthood did my life, and childhood silence, make sense. Only then did I glimpse the ways in which the affliction had dictated my every decision.
In high school, I chose Model U.N. instead of Debate Club; the former allowed me to take on a research role and avoid the podium. In college, I majored in Journalism, with a concentration in print media because radio or television broadcasting were out of the question. A graduation was requirement was to give public reading of my thesis manuscript, a novel. I was medically excused from that requirement, skipped graduation weekend, and the college mailed my diploma: Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing. I enjoy composing and recording music, but have zero interest in performing.
Answering the call
So, when I learned on March 5, 2022, that Brittney Griner had been detained in Russia — after much consideration and obtaining clearance from the WNBA that doing so wouldn’t harm any behind-the-scenes efforts — I started this Change.org petition. As a journalist, I didn’t want to become a part of the story, but I knew that starting the petition was the right thing to do. During setup, petition-creators are asked if they’re willing to do radio or television interviews to support the petition.
My response to television was a hard NO; radio got a tepid MAYBE. But soon after the petition went live, I received a text message from someone at Change.org. “Jake Tapper wants to speak with you,” it read.
Over breakfast (probably an omelet with grilled veggies and feta, definitely not made by me), I showed the text to my then-fiancé, Dani, the Guru of Eggs and Sandwiches — and wept. I didn’t want to talk to Jake Tapper. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, and I didn’t want to be on television. I wanted to be in a writing shack somewhere: alone in my thoughts, surrounded by tools for creation. I longed for the kind of privacy that existed before social media. I lived in envy of the reclusiveness that the likes of Octavia Butler, Harper Lee, and J.D. Salinger had successfully achieved.
I wept over my gorgeous omelet as Dani delivered real talk. She reminded me of the values I choose to live by. I reminded myself that it was my moral imperative to act in accordance with those values, even when doing so would drag me far outside of my comfort zone. Dani also reminded methat I wasn’t acting on feeling alone.
For years, I’d been researching the geopolitical implications of WNBA players competing in overseas leagues. The world didn’t know this because editors rejected or ignored my pitches on this topic. Regular news outlets didn’t see the significance of anything to do with what they called a “niche” league; sports media editors just didn’t want to cover the WNBA.
“A consistent column focusing on the WNBA is not something I want to pursue right now,” one such editor told me in an email in early-2019. He wouldn’t devote one article per month to an entire league, but wanted to “talk in more detail about any NBA ideas you have.” If this man wouldn’t go for a monthly drilldown of top storylines, standings, and so forth, geeky reportage on the WNBA in a context of international politics would be a hard pass.
Some of my yearslong research ended up in COURT QUEENS: A History of the WNBA, which is tentatively scheduled for publication in Fall 2026 by Abrams Press.
Setbacks and ticking clocks
COURT QUEENS was originally meant to drop in 2022. That didn’t happen because so many things didn’t go according to plan — the biggest being that my editor bounced to another publishing house. To keep the project alive, I had to start over with a different editor.
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Media appearances in support of efforts to get BG back her family took some time away from the book. It was such a relief when the players’ union joined the petition in May 2022 and took over those duties. Also in May — two months to the day that I started the petition — Dani and I made an abrupt move.
My future mother-in-law, who I alone called Susu, had lost some of her vision to brain cancer. She could no longer drive, and while undergoing chemotherapy and then radiation, needed to rest, so while Dani took her to appointments, I did the shopping for groceries, prepared meals, cleaned the house, and helped her with some personal care. Our priority was to provide for her comfort and healing.
Susu would return from appointments, and without fail, ask two questions: 1) Any update on BG? and 2) Did you get your chapter finished?
My answer to the second question was often yes, despite sleeping just four or five hours a night following busy days that revolved around helping Susu, supporting Dani, and working with BG’s team and Change.org on the petition. I was cranking out pages and submitting them to an editor who went radio silent. Promised feedback never came; we were later informed that she was moving to another publishing house.
It was a gut-wrenching blow, but a bigger one followed. A relative visiting Susu brought covid into the home. We all got it, but for Susu, the virus presented an insurmountable challenge to her cancer recovery. The clinical trial she’d been preparing for had to be postponed. Her immune system was already compromised by the cancer treatments; covid led to secondary and tertiary infections. Susu needed to recover from all of it before she’d be cleared to undergo the trial.
This was not to be. Susu took a turn for the worse, and in early July entered at-home hospice care. Her earthly journey ended on July 18, 2022. COURT QUEENS: A History of the WNBA is dedicated to Susu. She badly wanted to read it, and was sad to learn that she never would. Knowing this compounded my grief. When Nikki McCray-Penson lost her battle against cancer one year later (to the very week that Susu had entered hospice), I was inconsolable, because Nikki also wanted badly for COURT QUEENS to exist.
In fact, she’d been instrumental in helping me to secure the book deal, back in 2020, writing the following for my book proposal:
“There is an incredibly rich and storied history of women’s basketball and the WNBA. The league has witnessed some of the greatest players the game will ever see, and the game continues to get bigger, better and more exciting. We owe it to the sport to tell these stories.”
Clocks. Delays. Fragility of life. These are things I cry over still and struggle to reconcile. My mother is in her late-70s, my father in his early-80s, and I wonder if they’ll be alive next year to read this work that has consumed my life for the better part of five years. A two-month, bedridden battle with covid pneumonia in 2024 left me pondering my own mortality. And the delays, because the monetary advance from the publisher that was meant to last through a 2022 publication date, long ago ran out, thrusting me into destitution.
Surviving the institutions
Publishers don’t give more money if a project gets delayed, no matter the reason. Even if the delay necessitates writing three more chapters to keep the book current, additional money isn’t given. If there is any mercy in the universe, the book will be a success when it finally hits the market and I’ll be able to breathe again. But in this moment, I’m suffering from the consequences of the sacrifices I’ve made to get COURT QUEENS into the world before the 2026 WNBA season — if there is one. To make it happen, I had to take an unpaid leave from my teaching job at a Boston-area college; the department chair then fired me.
So many people are struggling right now under the strain of our nation’s failing institutions. I happen to be one of them.
The good news about the prolonged process of getting COURT QUEENS to print is that I got to add chapters on the 2022, 2023, and 2024 WNBA seasons, plus a short epilogue on the 2025 season. This means I got to add an entire chapter on BG’s ordeal, including the efforts of the 405,610 people who signed the Change.org petition that helped to secure her release. It was rewarding to balance in that chapter the tension of BG’s detainment in Russia against the Aces’ triumph of winning their first WNBA title.
This is the additional work I’m trying to finish as unpaid bills pile up. But if things do happen for a reason, perhaps it’s because COURT QUEENS was meant to have these additional chapters. To get this book into the world without further delay, this destitute author could use your help. In exchange, you’ll get nifty rewards, including a personalized and signed copy of COURT QUEENS when it’s released, a personalized and signed thank-you card, or … YOUR NAME in the Acknowledgments!
Time, as you know, is ticking, and in this case, I have less than two weeks to fund a Kickstarter campaign, or bust. Your support will help me to meet basic financial needs. It also just might convince me that my life has meaning, this work has purpose, and I’ve fulfilled my human potential while living a life of service.