My Name is (Not) K.T. Carlisle

And this is part of the story of why I started a Substack.

You ever have one of those moments where you just think to yourself, Something has to change. Now.

That’s kind of where I’m at right now. Truthfully, that’s where I’ve been for the past several years. Back in 2023, when I felt my creativity waning into an all-encompassing fog of drugs and alcohol, I took control and started writing again. One hundred days later, I had my first book (which I naively thought would skyrocket me to NYT bestseller superstardom).

Spoiler alert: It didn’t.

But even though the constant stream of rejections from agents who “didn’t connect” with my work and who felt I “wasn’t the right fit” for their lists hurt, they weren’t the real reason why I still felt so lost and hurt and scared.

My abuser was to blame for that.

When I finally got the courage to accept that I was in a loveless, abusive marriage and needed to get out, I formed a plan to escape before I became another domestic violence statistic (which, by the way, in case you’re curious, are even more terrifying than you can possibly imagine. One in four women is a victim of DV—and that only counts physical and sexual abuse. It doesn’t account for verbal, emotional, financial, or spiritual abuse.)

It wasn’t long after I made my great escape that I ended up meeting the love of my life. Within a few short months, we were engaged, living together, and planning our wedding. My divorce went through without any issues. I increased my rates with the client I’d had for over eight years, which they happily agreed to. I self-published another book that became a top new release on Amazon and a #1 bestseller on IngramSpark. I wrote another book that’s slated to release later this year on Halloween. I was happier than I’d ever been. Everything was going perfectly.

Until it wasn’t.

In April, the same client who agreed to pay my increased rates suddenly decided to cut all ties with their freelance team, effectively eliminating my sole source of income. The news sent me spiraling. I stopped writing the book I was working on. I had to tell my editor that I could no longer afford her services. I had to cancel my wedding to the only man who’s shown me what it means to be truly loved. It’s been a difficult adjustment, to say the least. And I’m not really sure where to go from here.

So, it looks like I’m having another one of those moments: Something has to change. Now. Until it does, I’ll have a lot more free time on my hands—and what better way to spend it than commiserating with a fellow group of creatives on a platform where I’m just another nobody shouting into the void?

For better or for worse, that’s me in a nutshell. Just another lost soul searching for meaning in life’s constant storm of massive letdowns. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my thirty-two years on this earth, it’s that creativity (not time) heals all wounds.

Maybe that’s the real reason I’m here. To share some of that with you. To find my footing. To change something.

Now.

---