No Such Thing: A Memoir of ‘Mild’ TBI and How You Can Help

Almost every week for more than a year, I’ve been using this space to review and champion books by graduates of the prestigious Master of Fine Arts program in Creative Nonfiction at University of King’s College in Halifax, Nova Scotia.

Book cover of 'No Such Thing' by Lynne Melcombe, featuring a blue background and white text.
To read excerpts, click on the image.

I’ve been mostly absent for a couple of months, first because I was on a much-needed vacation, and since then because I’ve been devoting my time to a book project of my own.

I undertook the MFA program so I could learn to write, not just any book, but this book.

This book recounts my experience of and research related to a “mild” TBI (concussion) that I had over 20 years ago and from which I’ve never fully recovered.

My experience taught me that there is “no such thing” as a “mild” traumatic brain injury. That’s why I’ve called my book No Such Thing: A True Story of “mild” Traumatic Brain Injury and My Twenty-Year (so far) Recovery.

Most people recover from concussions in a few days—weeks at most.

But up to 30% of people don’t. Some go on having symptoms for months, even years. 

I’ve never fully recovered from my injury. I felt a need to write a book about it for a few reasons.

  • Brain injury is very isolating. The injury itself—pain, brain fog, memory loss—can make it hard to communicate. 
  • Many people—doctors, lawyers, co-workers, friends, family—don’t believe you. That makes the pain and isolation worse. 
  • The stigma against people who pursue legal measures based on ongoing misperceptions about brain injury add stress and emotional trauma that complicate a person’s ability to recover.
  • There wasn’t much to support people going through this experience twenty years ago. Anyone going through it now deserves better.

At the time of my injury, I often felt like I was going crazy.

Doctors kept telling me I should be better. Lawyers put my life under a microscope. Family, friends, and coworkers acted—and sometimes said—I was just looking for attention and I needed to get over it.

But as years went by and social media exploded, I began hearing other people’s stories of not-so-mild traumatic brain injury. I began keeping abreast of current research that supported what they were going through.

Gradually, I stopped questioning my own perceptions.

When I wrote my book, I was writing the book I needed at the time. 

I wrote it for the people who need it now, for those who love them, and for those who want to better understand this underestimated injury.

I finished my book a couple of years ago and, full of hope, I started looking for a publisher.

Every one of them responded the same way: timely topic, great story, well written, but I lacked enough of an audience to justify their investment in publishing it.

One of the things I learned in the MFA program was the necessity of building an audience while writing my book.

But while I was writing, I was coping with a divorce, navigating health issues, and rebuilding a freelance writing and editing business.

I was also managing the symptoms of my injury every day.

I lacked the ability to do it all.

At first, when I realized that no “real” publishers wanted my book, I felt like I’d failed.  

But I also realized that if I gave up and left my book sitting in a virtual drawer, that would feel like failure too.

So, I turned to Iguana Books.

Iguana Books is a hybrid publisher.

A hybrid publisher retains the quality controls conventional publishers rely on but with a requirement that authors cover production costs, as they would in self-publishing. 

Iguana takes hybrid publishing a step further by asking their authors to crowdfund production costs. This ensures costs are covered and allows authors to test the market and build an audience for their book.

Iguana recommended Kickstarter, a crowdfunding platform designed specifically for creators.

As I started building my Kickstarter campaign, an interesting thing happened.

I stopped feeling like I’d failed.

I realized that no matter how I publish my book, it will succeed based on same things as any other book—my research, my writing, and my promotional efforts.

That realization has renewed my confidence in my abilities, injected my efforts with energy, and restored my faith in the book I’ve written.

That’s where you come in.

I need your support to raise the $9,000 required to fund the production process—copy editing, layout, distribution. And I’m asking you to pledge whatever you can to help me get there. 

Please go to my Kickstarter campaign page and learn more about why I feel my book is timely, important, and necessary.

Then consider backing my project with a pledge in any amount you can manage.

What’s in it for you?

If you pledge $10 or more, you’ll receive a reward tailored to the size of your contribution—an e-book, a signed paperback with No Such Thing bookmarks, or a book club special for buying in bulk.

If you pledge less than $10—even only $1—I’ll give you a shout-out on social media and add your name to the acknowledgements in my book. 

If I don’t reach my $9,000 goal by March 15, my campaign will end and Kickstarter won’t collect any pledges. 

You have nothing to lose. 

What should you do next?

Well, you can click away to another page, if you want.

Or you can go to my campaign page, read more about my book, and consider making a pledge.

If you think my project is worth backing, click the button for a reminder when my campaign goes live on February 16. Then, if you still feel so inclined, pledge whatever you feel is right. 

If you change your mind before my campaign ends, you can change or withdraw your pledge. No questions, no obligations.

All I ask is that you think about it.

With gratitude,
Lynne

How Punk Music Saves Lives

I live with depression and anxiety. I do All The Things to reduce the extent to which they affect my daily life but, regardless, they are my companions. So, I know, on a personal level, what it is to look for a community where I feel accepted and understood as I am.

Cover of the book 'Scream Therapy: A Punk Journey Through Mental Health' by Jason Schreurs, featuring a microphone with a tangled cord and the book's title prominently displayed.

Jason Schreurs (class of 2022) wrote Scream Therapy: A Punk Journey Through Mental Health (Flex Your Head Press, 2023) to reach out to his community. Schreurs lives with bipolar disorder. Depression and anxiety are not fun, but the roller coaster ride of bipolar disorder? As my mother used to say, “Thank the lord for small mercies.”

Scream Therapy is what Schreurs promises to be: a message to people who, at some point in their lives stumbled into punk music, often by way of skateboarding, and found their community. Punk concerts are always screaming loud, the mosh pits are nothing I could ever trust, and sometimes the live performances are improv’d by musicians who assembled just that evening, for that evening only.

I’m the first to admit I don’t like hard core music. The heaviest metal bands I’ve ever enjoyed are the likes of Steppenwolf, Rush, and the Doors—easy listening compared with punk. But the thesis of Scream Therapy is not that everyone should like punk. The thesis is that an inordinate number of punk rockers feel strongly, as Schreurs does, that punk music saved their lives. Without the community they found in punk—a community that gave them a sense of belonging for the first time … well, ever—they would have ended their own lives. 

Consider this passage about a man named Brian, now a middle-aged husband and dad with a day job that wouldn’t suggest anything about him as a person, much less how deeply he relies on punk music and the punk community for his mental health:

For Brian, leaving his parents’ house for a more stable environment allowed him to focus on turning his pain into positivity. Brian poured all he had into screaming in bands and organizing shows. At age 16, he booked a West Coast tour for Ashes, his first serious band. At 17, he went to Europe with Battery, the straight edge hardcore band his name became synonymous with for the next eight years. Between tours, Brian moved to Boston when he was 18 and set up one of the most popular recording studios of the ‘90s and ‘00s….

But depression creeped back into his life after opening the studio. He buried his internal turmoil and poured everything into the music, surrounding himself with a support network of bands like Gainesville, Florida’s Hot Water Music—unwavering rays of positivity with members that would do anything for him. It was the most amazing time of his life, but he kept his struggles hidden, stifling his inner doubt and emotional pain. “I was one of the most sought-after record producers for bands all over the world, and I felt like a failure.” Brian digs deep for the right words to make sense of that time. “The thing about depression is it’s not fucking reasonable. It doesn’t make sense.” 

(Boy, do I understand that sentiment.)

Years later, Brian’s nervous system refused to hold back his depression any longer.… “I remember my wife saying to me, ‘You need to be doing music. You need to be writing.’ I had to force myself to think about my issues and acknowledge them and not let them grow and become corrosive.” One evening, Brian picked up a guitar in his basement. Less than 10 minutes later, he had the first song he’d written in 20 years. I picture his song as a battering ram, bashing the pain trapped inside. “I can’t express to you the weight that came off my shoulders.” Brian sighs and tells me singing and songwriting for his new melodic hardcore band Be Well is his daily therapy….

“I don’t know that I’ve ever felt such gratitude as I feel toward punk and hardcore,” he says. “It gave me a family and an avenue to find myself at multiple times in my life when I needed a community to hear me, and see me, and appreciate not only my strengths but my weaknesses.” Brian chokes up and pretends to clear his throat. I do the same. His words could be mine. 

Not every type of music, or any art form, is for everyone. (I look at Jackson Pollock’s paintings and think What?) But there is a body of research on the importance of community to mental health, some of which Schreurs cites in Scream Therapy. It doesn’t matter what bring people together around as long as the community they create provides its members with a feeling of belonging, a feeling they have people to turn to as much to celebrate their victories as to seek support and reassurance when life sucks. 

I don’t imagine I’ll ever care for punk music. But if Schreurs and his peers find in the punk community what they need to get through life, more power to them. And more power to Jason Schreurs for reaching out to whomever he can reach through his book as well as his podcast, also called Scream Therapy, and letting them know there are people out there that they, too, can turn to for support, laughter, joy, reassurance—or maybe just to have a really satisfying scream. 

October 10 is World Mental Health Day. Here are some other books by MFA grads relating to mental health and the role of community in maintaining it: 

About mental health and its impact on one family:

Run, Hide, Repeat: A Memoir of a Fugitive Childhood, by Pauline Dakin.

About the importance of building community around almost anything:

The Fruitful City: The Enduring Power of the Urban Food Forest, by Helena Moncrieff.

Just Jen: Thriving Through Multiple Sclerosis, by Jen Powell.

The Heart of Homestay: Creating Meaningful Connections When Hosting International Students, by Jennifer Robin Wilson.

About the power of community, as well as the challenges it can present:

The Minister’s Wife: A Memoir of Faith, Doubt, Friendship, Loneliness, Forgiveness, and More, by Karen Stiller.

Must-Read Books from Recent Canadian Graduates: Part 2 of The List So Far

So many new authors on this list! (For comparison, see the first list here.) Congratulations to all the newly published authors (at least since the first list), to all the authors who were published long before I reviewed your books, I’m reading as fast as I can, and to all the authors who’ve been published that I still haven’t got to … I’m reading as fast as I can! And to anyone reading this, if I’ve missed anything, gotten any details wrong, or in some cases don’t know the year you graduated, please let me know. And the winners are:

(Edited to add: Apparently I missed quite a few books that should go on this list. I’ve added them at the top of the list so you won’t miss them. There have been several more deals but the books aren’t out yet and I’m unable to find complete information about them.)

Barone, Rina (class of 20??) Art Always Wins: The Chaotic World of Avant-garde Pioneer Al Hansen, (press and year?)

Jaffer, Taslim (class of 2022) with Omar Mouallem, Back Where I Came From: On Culture, Identity, and Home. Book*hug Press, 2024.

Kierans, Kim (class of 2025), Journalism for the Public Good: The Michener Awards at Fifty. Bighorn Books, 2024.

Kuzmyk, Emma (class of 2025) with Addy Strickland, This Wasn’t On the Syllabus: Stories from the Front Lines. Simon & Schuster, 2024.

McKay, Lori (class of 2020) Searching for Mayflowers: The True Story of Canada’s First QuintupletsNimbus Publishing, 2024.

Moore, Chris (2024) The Power of Guilt: Why We Feel It and Its Surprising Ability to Heal. HarperCollins (Canada), BenBella (US), August Books (UK), 2025.

Moscovitch, Philip (2019) Adventures in Bubbles and Brine: What I Learned from Nova Scotia’s Masters of Fermented Foods—Craft Beer, Cider, Cheese, Sauerkraut and More. Formac Publishing, 2019.

Simpson, Sharon J. (class of 2021) The Kelowna Story: An Okanagan History, 2nd Edition. Harbour Publishing, 2025.

John Larsen’s (Class of 2023 I think) book is not out yet–due in 2026 I think. 

Book cover of 'Black Cake, Turtle Soup, and Other Dilemmas' by Gloria Blizzard, featuring a colorful abstract background with wavy lines.
Book cover for 'Press Enter to Continue: Scribes from Babylon to Silicon' by Joan Francuz, featuring an image of ancient scribes on a laptop screen.
Book cover for 'The View from Coffin Ridge: A Childhood Exhumed' by Gwen Lamont featuring a black and white photograph of a corridor with scattered leaves.

Book cover design for 'The Fruitful City' by Helena Moncrieff, featuring colorful illustrations of leaves and flowers, with the subtitle 'The Enduring Power of the Urban Food Forest'.
Book cover for 'Overrun: Dispatches from the Asian Carp Crisis' by Andrew Reeves, featuring various species of fish against a light blue background.
Book cover of 'Peace by Chocolate' by Jon Tattrie, depicting the Hadhad family by the sea, highlighting their journey from Syria to Canada.

Understanding Disability: A Journey Through Parenthood (and other essays)

The closest I can come to understanding what it’s like to have a child with a disability is that all three of my kids, when they were very young, were in and out of hospital with asthma, and felt like they stuck out at school because they were the only ones with food allergies, some of them life-threatening. 

Cover of the book 'I Don’t Do Disability And Other Lies I’ve Told Myself' by Adelle Purdham featuring a blue background with artistic illustrations of leaves, a bird, and a horse.

It doesn’t begin to compare to learning the child you’re carrying has Down Syndrome, or to waiting many extra months for your child to figure out a pincer grip. Where it does compare is the understanding that your child is your child and they are absolutely perfect the way they are (even though it doesn’t always feel like it when they’re in the middle of a raging tantrum).

In the series of essays that comprise I Don’t Do Disability and Other Lies I’ve Told Myself (Dundurn Press, 2024), author Adelle Purdham (class of 2022) walks us through the emotional wreckage of finding out that your unborn child has a disability, the prejudices we are likely to uncover within ourselves when that happens, and the fierce protective instincts that then compel that parent to become a disability activist, advocate, ally. 

But that’s not all she walks us through because these essays also cover the terrain of love and marriage, of being a mother/writer who feels guilty when she’s mothering about not writing and when she’s writing instead of mothering (boy, do I know that one well), and who tries in every moment of her life—okay, as many moments as possible—to be a good person. In a deeply touching and achingly honest essay called “A Thin Line,” she writes about an encounter with a homeless woman. 

I see her as I drive past, stumbling down the street, decrepit. Please, I think, I don’t want us to run into her. She is a mess. I’m Ronald from The Paper Bag Princess …

We are on our way to the cottage. The SUV is packed full. The girls have their cupholders folded down in anticipation the bottles of iced tea I will be buying them to go with their dinner. …

I park the car and notice the Freshii on the corner. “What about Freshii? You girls can get bowls.’

While these girls have not yet been exposed to the ways of the world, the underworld, they are well versed in the vernacular of a privileged life. They speak the dialect of healthy takeout well. As do I. … the girls and I can afford to cruise around until we find an open takeout place that suits our tastes. This idea of accessibility to food as an immense privilege will sit with me and my uneaten burrito, afterward, when I find I no longer have an appetite.

As we cross Hunter Street, directly in front of us is the woman, doubled over …

“Please, can you help me?”

She asks for money, and I immediately reach for my wallet and pull out a loonie, the only coin I have. Why have I not pulled out a bill? Is it because I believe she will use it on drugs or alcohol instead of food? Yes….

“I need help,” she repeats. “I’m scared.”

With the enunciation of her fear, that is it. The thin sheath between us slips away and the world stops for her and me. Our lines cross, her path and mine, like asteroids colliding, and intergalactic even. I feel the presence of the girls over my left shoulder, standing stone still, watching. If I turn my back on this woman and hurry the girls away, it will be like turning a shoulder on myself, on my daughter, on my daughter’s friend, on the very stardust I am made of.

“Do you need to go to a shelter?” I ask her. Clearly, I think she needs to go to a shelter. She can’t stay here … 

On my iPhone, I quickly google the number for the shelter. …

“It’s so good to see kids,” she says, squeezing her eyes shut, then opening them. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen any kids.” …

Springing into action is what privileged women like me know how to do. We ascertain the problem and create a plan. My plan is to call the shelter. Make sure this woman is safe. Show my kids that I care, that we should all care, that a person in need is a person in need. That we don’t turn our backs on a person in need, no matter how destitute, forgotten, and discarded they seem. Especially when that is the case. Why is that the case? And why do I need to remind myself of this?

I won’t spoil the outcome for you. I will just say that this is some of the best literary writing I’ve read in a while—clear, compelling, compassionate. Purdham’s voice pulls me in; I could be standing next to her, watching the scene in each essay unfold, whether it’s at the lake listening to the loons, in a rocking chair nursing an infant, or on a street trying to help an unhoused woman through a state of extreme distress.

July is Disability Pride Month. Add to your pride in knowing a bit more about disability tomorrow than you did yesterday by reading this book.

Here are some other books about disability:

Just Jen: Thriving Through Multiple Sclerosis, by Jen Powley.

One Strong Girl: Surviving the Unimaginable—A Mother’s Memoir, by S. Lesley Buxton.

Scream Therapy: A Punk Journey through Mental Health, by Jason Schreurs.

University of King’s College MFA Program in Creative Nonfiction: Books Published So Far

If you’re already on this list, congratulations! You’re in terrific company. If you’re not on this list, keep putting yourself (and more importantly your book) out there. Meanwhile, in case you’re curious, here’s what (I think) the list is so far. If I’ve missed anything, gotten any details wrong, or in some cases don’t know the year you graduated, please let me know.

Book cover of 'The Heart of a Superfan' by Nav Bhatia, featuring a smiling man in a Raptors jersey and a black and red jacket, with a white turban, against a purple background.
Book cover for 'Run, Hide, Repeat: A Memoir of a Fugitive Childhood' by Pauline Dakin featuring a vintage roadside scene.

Cover of the book 'Murder on the Inside: The True Story of the Deadly Riot at Kingston Penitentiary' by Catherine Fogarty, featuring an image of the penitentiary.

the Eiffel Tower with the book title overlaying it

cover of book No Place to Go with image of empty toilet paper roll.

Book cover of 'Heartbroken: Field Notes on a Constant Condition' by Laura Pratt, featuring a stylized image of a rose with a smoky effect and the word 'Canadian' in the top right corner.

Book cover for 'How to Share an Egg' by Bonny Reichert, featuring an illustration of an egg on a blue background with the title and author's name displayed.

Book cover of 'Still, I Cannot Save You' by Kelly S. Thompson, featuring a person in red walking on a sandy shore with a vast landscape in the background.

Enhancing Access to Public Toilets for All

Continuing my meander through the 50+ books published out of the MFA program in Creative Nonfiction at University of King’s College …

If you’re a parent, you know what it’s like to be out somewhere, anywhere, when your young child suddenly needs a toilet … and there are none to be found. This was the repeated experience Lezlie Lowe (class of 2016) had when she had young children, and it was what she chose to write about when she undertook her master’s degree in creative nonfiction.

cover of book No Place to Go with image of empty toilet paper roll.

An easy-flowing read replete with really good bathroom humour, No Place to Go: How Public Toilets Fail Our Private Needs (Coach House Books, 2018) was an eye opener for me. I’ve raised three children, but I’d never thought of all the reasons people need public restrooms. The text on the back of the book mentions some of the people being failed by a global lack of attention to one of people’s most basic needs. People like “the homeless who, faced with no place to go sometimes must literally take to the streets,” a problem that became even more pronounced during the Covid pandemic. And “people with invisible disabilities, like Crohn’s disease, who stay home rather than risk soiling themselves on public transit.” 

That one got me. I have Crohn’s disease, which flared up right around the time I started the MFA program. It was embarrassing having to get up and go to the toilet several times during morning lectures and mentor groups, but at least we were in a building with toilets nearby. If I’d been at home … let’s just say I would have stayed at home all morning. 

But public restrooms fail a lot of people, like girls who need a bathroom right now when their period suddenly gushes through their pad or tampon. And trans people, who face bigotry every time they use a public restroom. Women are habitually underserved by bathroom stalls that are equal in number to men’s urinals. Several studies calling for “potty parity” argue that, considering clothing differences, menstruation, and anatomy, women’s washrooms should have twice as many stalls as men’s have urinals. 

Parents of children still in diapers become very aware of the need to find a clean and dry place to lay a child down for a change, especially if it’s a messy one. And don’t get me started on pay toilets. I thought these monstrosities were things of the past until I went to Scotland during the summer of 2024 and found myself without the appropriate coinage to answer nature’s call in a public mall. 

There are solutions, and Lowe writes about one of the best: “The Portland Loo is a vandalism-proof, twenty-four-hour flush-toilet enclosure. An anti-tech fix for on-street public bathrooms. The Loos are simple, oval-shaped rooms with a toilet. They’re spacious enough to fit strollers, wheelchairs, and even bikes. In contrast to the high-tech entrances, timers, and air-conditioning systems at work in conventional APTS [automatic public toilets] like those in Toronto and New York, Portland Loos are naturally lit and ventilated and completely off grid. They also happen to be an example of the successful use of crime prevention through environmental design—louvred sides allow people on the outside to see that there’s someone inside while maintaining privacy, and exterior handwashing sinks get people right out after they use them.” Best of all, they’re designed for everyone. Free to use, taxpayer supported. A true public service. 

Bathroom sign for men and women

It may just be the phenomenon that once you become aware of something, it seems to start popping up all around you all the time, but it seems to me that the tide toward more and better public toilets is slowly turning. And Lowe’s book might very well have had something to do with that. I can’t think of a better reason to be a writer. 

Photo by Possessed Photography on Unsplash

“I never would have thought of that” books:

Craigdarroch Castle in 21 Treasures, by Moira Dann.

The Fruitful City: The Enduring Power of the Urban Food Forest, by Helena Moncrieff.

The Worst Songs in the World: The Terrible Truth about National Anthems, by David Pate.

Just Jen: Lessons in Resilience and Inclusion

Today, December 3, 2024, is International Day of Persons with Disabilities. This year’s theme is “Amplifying the leadership of persons with disabilities for an inclusive and sustainable future.” If anyone embodied the leadership traits required to ensure inclusivity of people with disabilities, it was certainly Jen Powley.

Jen was another author in my class (2015) for the master’s program in creative nonfiction writing. I remember arriving a day late for second-year summer residency. My daughter had gotten married on the first day of the residency, so I hadn’t left Vancouver until after the reception and had only arrived in Halifax in the wee hours of the morning. 

The next day, we had our mentor groups in the morning. Exhausted by my very late arrival, I took a nap on the lunch break and overslept. So I arrived late to the afternoon large group session and proceeded to go around on the break to say hello to people I hadn’t seen since the previous year. 

When I got to Jen, she didn’t recognize me. This wasn’t a surprise. She hadn’t been in my mentor group the previous year; her quadriplegia (caused by MS) prevented her from socializing much; and my social inhibition never helps with anything. So, I don’t know if I’d ever introduced myself to her.

Approaching her to say hello, I explained that I’d missed the welcome reception the previous day as I’d been at my daughter’s wedding. Without missing a beat or cracking a smile, she said, through her assistant, “And do you think that’s a good reason?” 

Jen was famous for her dry wit. Introducing her at a conference I later attended where she sat on a panel talking about disabilities, her first-year mentor, Lorri Nielsen Glenn, talked about her remarkable ability to, among other things, say a lot with very few words. I suspect Jen had an ability to zero in on the absurd long before she developed MS, but having difficulty finding the breath to speak honed her ability to “level a room,” as Glenn put it, in just a few syllables. 

Powley’s memoir, Just Jen: Thriving Through Multiple Sclerosis (Fernwood Publishing, 2017) takes us from her diagnosis at age 15 through her adult life, boyfriends, difficulties finding work, activism in the disability community, quadriplegia, and finding the love of her life, not to mention earning several academic degrees in her spare time. (The first time I met her, she dryly described her decision to embark on yet another degree as “much to my parents’ chagrin.”)

In a chapter called Engineering Families, Jen wrote: 

“Having hired twenty-seven assistants over eight years, I was accustomed to saying goodbye. Many of my assistants were students who didn’t stay for more than the years they were in school. Others simply moved on. Working one-on-one with my assistants, I came to know them well, but they usually only knew each other through the emails they typed for me. Some of my assistants met at shift change, but if one worked on Fridays and another worked Sundays, it was doubtful their paths would cross. Occasionally, I hosted barbecues for everyone who worked for me. Introducing themselves, they would say ‘Oh, you’re blah-blah at gmail.com. I’ve read your emails.’ The barbecues were meetings of the Jen community. I would say ‘knees’—to signal that I needed to be repositioned—and four people would get up to adjust me. 

“I engineer families out of strangers, and in the time my assistants spend as part of my family, I hope they see how strong someone who appears so fragile can be. I want them to go into the world as doctors, marine biologists, academics, librarians, and artists who know that differently-abled does not mean dumb or ill-tempered. I want them to raise their children with compassion, and if their mother or brother ever needs assistance, I want them to know they’re strong enough to step up and give it.” 

This book should be required reading for high school graduation because it helps readers learn some fundamental life skills: courage, humility, generousity, humour, compassion. At the least, I hope it’s used in some certificate, diploma, and degree programs for people who wish to work with those living with physical challenges. As Glenn wrote of her former student, “Trust this writer; she’s the real thing.” 

Published in 2017, two years after our graduation from the MFA program, Just Jen went on to become a finalist in the Atlantic Book Awards. Jen Powley died on September 17, 2023, leaving an incredible legacy of warmth, wit, and wisdom. I didn’t know her well, but I know she’s missed. 

Other books on disability:

One Strong Girl: Surviving the Unimaginable—A Mother’s Memoir, by S. Leslie Buxton.

I Don’t Do Disability: And Other Lies I’ve Told Myself, by Adelle Purdham.

Scream Therapy: A Punk Journey through Mental Health, by Jason Schreurs.