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If you’ve ever had a moment where something about your life suddenly made sense—and at the same time opened up a whole new set of questions—this conversation is for you.

In this episode of The Resilient Writers Radio Show, I’m joined by writer and memoirist Julie Green, author of Motherness: A Memoir of Generational Autism, Parenthood and Radical Acceptance. Julie shares the long, layered journey that led her to this book, beginning with her son’s autism diagnosis and eventually leading to her own, years later, in midlife.

Julie talks about what it’s like to be diagnosed later in life—and how that diagnosis sends you back through your memories: childhood, adolescence, early adulthood. It can be clarifying, emotional, and surprisingly tender, as long-held beliefs about who you are (and why certain things felt so hard) begin to shift.

We also talk craft, because Motherness didn’t come together by accident. Julie shares how she found what she calls the “container” for the story: a structure that allowed her to weave together parenting scenes, personal history, and research on autism without losing the heart of the memoir.

Each chapter explores a different aspect of the autistic experience—sensory differences, giftedness, eating and food, gender, special interests—layering her son’s experiences alongside her own, and showing both overlap and difference across generations.

A central theme of this conversation is radical acceptance. Julie reflects on how autism is often portrayed in extremes—either as tragedy or superpower—and why neither of those stories feels true to lived experience. Autism, she says, simply is. Some days are genuinely hard, especially in a world that isn’t built for neurodivergent people.

And there can also be humor, joy, and deep connection. Julie was intentional about holding the full truth of that on the page.

We also dig into how she integrates research in a way that supports the reader without overwhelming the story—moving from scene to context and back again—so the book stays grounded in lived experience.

Julie shares what her publishing journey looked like with ECW Press, including the courage it took to revise and resubmit after an initial “almost,” and what she’s working on now.

This is a thoughtful conversation about writing from lived experience, trusting stories that take time, and learning—again and again—to meet ourselves with more compassion.

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This week on The Resilient Writers Radio Show, Rhonda is joined by Robert Boyle and Joe Cimenti, longtime friends who co-authored Thai Hut Tuesdays—a collection of short, heartfelt stories that’s meant to be both comforting and genuinely funny.

They describe the book as “Chicken Soup for the Soul meets Nate Bargatze”: emotional, relatable, and light enough to make you laugh at the things that once felt overwhelming.

The idea for the book began years ago—around 2006—after Bob and Joe spent decades doing leadership and sales training together. Over and over, they heard the same feedback: people might not remember the bullet points… but they always remembered the stories. That insight became the seed for the book.

What started as a leadership-focused project (and even took on a spiritual angle at one point) eventually evolved into what it needed to be all along: real stories from real life—parenting, marriage, work, mistakes, growth, and the everyday moments that shape us.

The title comes from a weekly ritual: meeting at a restaurant on Tuesdays, with a mix of people across ages, swapping life experiences and wisdom in community. That spirit of connection runs through the whole conversation. Bob (a psychologist in private practice) and Joe (a corporate executive) share how life’s responsibilities didn’t make writing easy—especially with four children each—but they kept returning to the project year after year, recommitting whenever life allowed.

Rhonda also asks about the practical side of co-writing: how did they actually do it? Bob and Joe share that they split the stories (each wrote half), and they also made space for intentional writing retreats—sometimes literally setting up shop in the common area of a Courtyard Marriott, laptops out, writing, talking through drafts, and cheering each other on.

Their collaboration worked because their styles are different—but compatible—and because they built the book around a consistent element: the lesson learned at the end of each story.

A big turning point was getting support from book coach Meg Calvin, who helped the project finally materialize. Bob and Joe talk candidly about how powerful it was to have someone in their corner who could guide them, simplify the publishing process, and help them believe, “Yes—you can do this.”

By the end of the episode, what lingers is the heart of Thai Hut Tuesdays: these are bite-sized, 3–5 minute stories you can pick up when you’re spinning, stressed, or doubting yourself—and come away remembering that so much of what we go through is shared human territory.

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What happens to creative writing—and to us as writers—when artificial intelligence becomes part of the conversation?

In this solo episode of The Resilient Writers Radio Show, I share why I'm introducing video to the podcast in 2026, and then dive into a thoughtful, deeply human conversation about AI and creative writing.

This is not a how-to episode on using AI to write your book. Instead, it’s an invitation to slow down, think critically, and decide—intentionally—how (or if) AI belongs in your creative process.

I begin by acknowledging that many writers are curious about AI, and that some are already using it to help finish their books. I also share a resource, from my friend Ana Del Valle of The Novelists Studio, for those who feel strongly that AI is right for them, pointing to tools designed with ethical and copyright considerations in mind.

But I want to be very clear: when it comes to my own creative work, I choose not to use AI—and I explain why in this episode.

At the heart of my perspective is this belief: in an age of rapidly advancing technology, human creativity matters more than ever. We come to books to feel less alone, to understand what it means to be human, and to experience the world through another person’s voice.

👉 No large language model can replicate lived experience, imagination, or the emotional truth that comes from a real human mind wrestling with language.

I also share research suggesting that reliance on AI tools like ChatGPT may erode critical thinking skills over time. Writing is a “use it or lose it” practice. Brainstorming, problem-solving, and shaping language are muscles—and if we stop using them, they weaken. That’s why I still reach for my favorite brainstorming technology: a notebook and a pen.

Beyond creativity and cognition, I also want to raise ethical and environmental concerns. From hallucinated information and unreliable outputs to troubling experiments showing unethical behavior by AI systems under pressure, I just want writers to think carefully about what we’re participating in.

I'm also very much concerned about the environmental toll of large-scale AI infrastructure—energy use, water consumption, and resource extraction—especially in a world already facing climate crisis.

Finally, I circle back to what matters most: your voice. Your way of seeing the world. Your metaphors, rhythms, and instincts. Whether you write fiction, nonfiction, or poetry, your work is needed—not despite the rise of AI, but because of it.

If you’ve ever wondered, “If AI can write books, what’s the point of me writing mine?” this episode is your answer. The point is you. And the world needs your very human stories now more than ever.

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If you’ve ever wondered whether that wild, complicated story in your family could become a novel, this episode is for you.

I’m joined by award-winning author Barbara Sibbald, whose latest book, Almost English, began as a family legend, became a genealogy project, then tried to be creative nonfiction—before finally settling into the form it needed all along: a historical novel.

Barbara’s great-grandparents lived in Quetta, on the Northwest Frontier of British India (now Pakistan) between 1885 and 1912. Growing up, she’d heard half-true tales about an Indian princess and a pet elephant, but it wasn’t until her mother spent nearly two decades compiling a detailed family genealogy—and shared boxes of letters and photographs—that the real story came into focus.

In this conversation, Barbara walks us through how she turned that wealth of material into fiction, while still honouring the lives at the heart of it. We talk about:

• How her mother’s meticulous genealogy and bundles of family letters sparked the idea for Almost English
• Why the story first appeared to be creative nonfiction—and what made Barbara realize it actually had to be a novel
• The moment she understood she needed access to her characters’ inner lives, thoughts, and conversations, and why that pushed her toward fiction
• The central question that finally unlocked the book:
  How could her great-grandfather, Stephen Turner, a quarter Indian man, ever be accepted into the racist power structure of the Raj?
• How Barbara used that central question as a compass for cutting thousands of words and tightening the narrative
• The research she did into the Raj, the Durand Line, household life, women’s work, and even period undergarments (!), to bring the world to life
• Her use of real letters versus invented ones, and how both helped her build an emotionally resonant narrative

We also talk about the book’s unusual structure. In addition to the main historical storyline, Barbara includes short nonfiction pieces she calls “interstices”, where she reflects on her own search for belonging as the child of an itinerant military family—and how that parallels her great-grandparents’ experience.

That blending of historical fiction, biography, and autobiography made the book hard to categorize—and hard to sell. Barbara shares candidly about the seven drafts, nearly three years of querying, and 48 approaches to publishers before the book was finally acquired by Bayeux Arts in Canada, and then by Vishwakarma Publications in India.

If you’ve ever struggled to decide whether your story should be memoir, creative nonfiction, or a novel, you’ll find so much reassurance and practical insight in Barbara’s journey with Almost English.

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Welcome to another episode of The Resilient Writers Radio Show!

My podcast editor is in sick leave this week, so thanks for your understanding with this unedited episode. 🥰

The stretch from Thanksgiving through New Year's can feel like a creative black hole for writers. Between holiday preparations, family gatherings, and end-of-year obligations, that precious writing time often disappears completely. In this episode, I offer a powerful mindset shift to help you protect your writing practice during the busiest season of the year.

The reality many writers face is stark: you enter the holidays hoping to finish a chapter, complete a draft, or prepare your manuscript for querying in the new year. Instead, six weeks vanish, and by early January you wake up exhausted, guilty about not writing, and disconnected from your project. When you've been away from your manuscript that long, the characters feel distant, the plot grows hazy, and climbing back into a consistent writing rhythm becomes another mountain to scale.

The goal isn't to write a novel in December—it's to stay connected to your creative identity and maintain momentum.

Whether you choose to take a guilt-free break or carve out intentional writing time, the choice should be yours, made consciously rather than surrendered by default to holiday overwhelm.

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If you’ve ever felt like your novel is taking far too long—or wondered whether you can keep writing through big life challenges—this conversation with novelist Melanie Schnell will speak straight to your writer heart.

Melanie is the author of While the Sun is Above Us, which won both the Saskatchewan First Book Award and the City of Regina Award and has been part of the ELA A30 curriculum in Saskatchewan schools.

Her new novel, The Chorus Beneath Our Feet, began with a single, vivid image: two women standing on a tree branch in the middle of a violent storm. That image stayed with her for 15 years, slowly growing into a story about siblings, war, grief, and everything that lies hidden beneath our feet—and beneath our lives.

In this episode, Melanie shares how that first image evolved into the fictional city of Ravenswood, a Regina-inspired setting anchored by a central tree. She talks about how research into unmarked graves at the Regina Indian Industrial School, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, mass graves in Ireland, and the history of the British Home Children all fed into the novel’s themes of buried histories, family bonds, and unseen networks—like fungi and tree roots—running under the surface.

We also dig into her unforgettable characters. Jes, a grief-stricken soldier returning from Afghanistan with his best friend’s body, and Mary, his ethereal, elusive sister, form the emotional core of the book.

Melanie describes the challenge of getting Jes’s voice right, balancing his trauma and anger with real vulnerability, and how early reader feedback helped her deepen both siblings until they felt fully alive on the page.

Melanie is candid about what it took to finish this novel over 15 years while raising her son as a single mother, navigating a demanding academic career, and living with chronic illness.

She talks about losing the ability to read and write for stretches of time, the frustration of feeling like the book was always moving ahead without her, and the moment an editor helped her finally “see” what the story needed structurally—especially around Mary’s voice and the ending.

If you’re a writer living with chronic illness or other big life constraints, Melanie offers gentle, hard-won encouragement: you are not your illness, and your story is coming from a central, lit-up place inside you that doesn’t disappear, even when you can’t reach it every day.

If you’ve been wondering whether it “still counts” if your book is taking years to finish, I think this conversation with Melanie will remind you that deep work takes the time it takes—and that the story is still there, waiting, even when you have to step away.

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If you’ve ever wondered whether self-publishing is “worth it,” or felt overwhelmed by all the moving parts—editing, design, distribution, marketing—this episode is for you.

I’m joined by Leanne Janzen of FriesenPress, the author-services arm of Friesens Corporation, a century-old Canadian printer trusted by traditional publishers and indie authors alike.

Leanne has worn multiple hats—from publishing specialist to leading a sales team—and she’s passionate about demystifying today’s publishing landscape so writers can make informed, confident choices.

We start by clearing up an old term—“vanity publishing.” In 2025, it’s out of date. Leanne breaks the indie space into two practical paths: DIY self-publishing and service-provider self-publishing.

With DIY, you’re the project manager: you learn what you can, hire freelancers (editor, formatter, cover designer), and quarterback the whole timeline. It can be empowering—but also time-intensive and overwhelming, especially for first-timers. With a reputable service provider, you still retain creative control (yes, you can reject a cover or choose your price!), but you also get a dedicated project manager, pre-vetted editors and designers, and quality checks at each stage so you don’t miss critical steps.

We dig into costs and transparency. Expect a range: a basic path without editing at FriesenPress sits around $2,200, while a premium, all-in “masterpiece” path (specialty cover, three rounds of editing, promo coaching, social planning, promos) can reach $15,000.

Industry-wide, a commonly cited average to produce a quality book is $5–6K—and if you’re spending in that zone with a service provider, Leanne says at least one round of editing should be included.

👉 The big lesson: clear pricing pages, plain-English agreements, and upfront explanations of scope matter. If a company won’t share a contract before you pay—red flag.

Leanne also flags common author pitfalls: designing files before checking trim sizes and distributor specs; assuming one print file fits all platforms; and underestimating the time cost when you try to save cash. Her advice: if you’ll eventually want help with distribution, talk to potential partners early and get their external design specs before you commission files.

We also touch on resources and funding. FriesenPress offers free guides (author’s publishing guide, crowdfunding, writing templates). Crowdfunding (think Kickstarter) can bridge the budget gap, and in Canada, arts councils and provincial/federal grants may help—worth exploring.

Finally, we clarify service provider vs. hybrid presses: they differ in distribution channels, royalty formulas, and sometimes rights. Read agreements carefully, especially around content ownership. And if your dream requires strong creative control (like a specific cover), indie publishing is often the better fit than traditional.

If you're looking for more information on self-publishing, grab one of these free guides from FriesenPress:

Author's Guide

Writing Guide

Crowdfunding Guide

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If you’ve ever wondered how a writer turns the messiness of lived experience into a story readers can’t put down, this conversation with Shani Mootoo will light you up.

Shani—novelist, poet, and visual artist—joins me to talk about her newest book, Starry Starry Night, a work that took root more than 35 years ago and slowly transformed from raw, private pages into a fiercely crafted novel.

Shani shares how, in her early years, she was primarily a visual artist and video maker with zero intention of writing. Still, she found herself “brooding,” jotting things down that troubled her. Those notes eventually turned into about 65 pages—never meant for public eyes—until a mentor quietly slipped them to a publisher.

What followed was a career of nine books (including one of my all-time favorites Cereus Blooms at Night!), poetry, awards, and the long apprenticeship required to write this book the way it needed to be written.

We talk about the slippery line people call “auto-fiction” and why that label can be too reductive. Shani describes the deliberate choice to keep the narrator’s point of view rooted in childhood—from ages four to twelve—without letting her adult intelligence step in to explain.

That decision demanded astonishing restraint: a child doesn’t analyze; she perceives, and those perceptions must carry the weight of the story. Shani also reflects on the power (and difficulty) of “becoming every character,” including the abuser in Cereus Blooms at Night, to portray complex human beings rather than one-note villains.

You’ll hear how attention to language—word choice, sentence placement, even a single comma—reshaped Shani’s understanding of the story over time. We touch on family, secrecy, memory, and the tender urge to honor the child we once were.

There’s a beautiful moment about her father’s final encouragement—“Don’t censor yourself”—and what that permission unlocked. We also talk about epigraphs, photographs (yes, there are real family photos in the book), and how visual art and writing cross-pollinate in her creative life.

If you care about voice, point of view, and truth-telling on the page, this episode is for you.