How Upheaval Became Story

When people ask me how The Shaking originated, I usually smile and say something simple like, “Oh, it grew from an idea I couldn’t let go of.” That’s true—but it’s only a fraction of the truth. The real origin of this book lies in my own seasons of upheaval, those private storms that rattle the bones of a life and demand either collapse or resilience. For me, writing has always been both compass and confession. The Shaking rose from the rubble of change, doubt, and a relentless desire to climb over every obstacle placed in my path.

Life has a way of pressing on our tender places until we either break open or build stronger muscle. In my case, upheaval forced me to confront old fears and stubborn insecurities. Strangely, the process of writing a novel mirrors this exact battle. A book, after all, is nothing more than the writer’s willingness to show her own fault lines. Draft after draft becomes a transparent lens into the author’s hidden chambers—her insecurities, her history, her ache to be understood.

And along with this exposure comes the possibility of rejection. The silence of editors, the sting of

bad reviews, the inevitable comparison to authors with bigger platforms and more awards. If you’re a writer—or really, anyone who dares to create—you know the dread I’m talking about. That whisper that says: You’ll never measure up. You’re not good enough. Why even try?

I’ve wrestled with that voice more times than I care to admit. It crouches beside me at the desk, shakes its head as I type, points to shelves crammed with books by “real” writers. But here’s what I’ve learned, both from my life’s upheavals and the process of birthing The Shaking: that voice is a liar.

The truth is, each of us carries within us a treasure that cannot be replicated. We may not recognize its shape right away. It may look humble, even ordinary. But it’s there, waiting to be shared. The comparison game blinds us to it, convincing us that our offering is smaller, less valuable, when in reality it’s precisely our scars, quirks, and peculiar angles of vision that the world needs most.

When I was stumbling through personal chaos, I believed I’d lost too much ground to move forward. But writing The Shaking taught me otherwise. Every detour, every disappointment, every moment of faltering became material. Nothing was wasted. My lived upheavals, once burdens, transformed into story fuel, shaping characters who fight, fall, and rise again.

So yes, The Shaking is fiction. But it’s also my heart on the page—my insistence that perseverance matters, that silence can be broken, that none of us is as small as the doubting voice insists. I offer it as proof that even in the rubble of upheaval, we can build something lasting.

And maybe that’s the deepest truth of all: the world doesn’t need a perfect version of us. It needs the authentic treasure only we can bring.

Discover more about book five, and the sizzling conclusion to the Olivia Callahan Suspense series here!