When an investigative journalist opens her eyes in 1876, she finds herself inhabiting the body of Lady Adelaide Blackwood, daughter to one of Victorian England's most prominent dukes. Her modern mind, trapped in the past after a riding accident, bec...
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As an investigative journalist, I've learned that the truth rarely fits into neat little boxes. Sometimes, telling the story as it truly happened means walking through dark corridors and peering behind doors others would rather keep shut. When I sit down to write, I don't ask myself if the story is palatable or if it will please everyone. I ask myself only one thing: Is this the truth? The raw, unvarnished reality of what I witnessed?
People often say the truth will set you free. What they don't tell you is that sometimes the truth is a double-edged sword – it might cut you even as you wield it. But I've made my peace with that. Because at the end of the day, I'd rather be cut by the truth than suffocated by silence. So I'll write these stories as they are, with all their jagged edges and uncomfortable revelations. Even if it costs me my reputation, my career, or worse. Because some stories demand to be told, and some truths refuse to stay buried.
The moment you start softening the edges of reality to make it more digestible, you're no longer a journalist – you're just another storyteller selling comfortable lies.
