Neve Foster

erI began my writing life as a different person in more ways than one. Raised to believe and do certain things, I believed and did those things. Or at least I tried to. But the rules and roles never fit.

I was and am a quiet rebel—always asking why, always leaning into the unknown, always pushing boundaries, not just for the hell of it, but because I want to find out how big, how wide, and how deep this existence goes. Not knowing ignites my imagination.

My rebel ways and my own life journey put a few kinks in my publishing career. Then a series of difficult events brought everything to a halt. Diagnoses, a pandemic, struggles, and medical uncertainties buried my family.

I couldn’t write. The thing that made me feel most myself evaporated. It was devastating, and at the same time, it was profoundly okay. (Hardship will teach you to wrestle a paradox with nothing but your bare hands and teeth. Or it will break you. Or both.) All I can say for sure is, I was where I needed to be during that time, present for the ones who mattered most.

Then, very slowly at first, the spaces within me began to open and clear, making room once again for stories and characters and questions. I limped my way back into the creative life, and the joy of returning still makes my chest ache. These days I wake before the sun to wrangle a few words onto the page before heading to my day job. I live on daydreams and steal scraps of time on weekends. It’s excruciating, and it fills me with gratitude.

Right now the world is in upheaval, and my life remains messy at best and at worst, terrifying. But the words and stories have returned, and while they’re with me, I’ll record them. Somewhere amid the chaos, the idea for UIW sprang up and insisted upon itself, and now I get to share these visiting stories with other rebels and wanderers, questioners and boundary-pushers. If that’s you, thank you for joining this part of my journey. Your company is most welcome.