Sometimes I feel like I didn’t arrive in this world at the right time. Not because I don’t belong — but because my voicekeeps reaching into places people aren’t ready to go yet. That’s why when I think about myself as a writer, I don’t see just an author. I see Phil of the Future.

Phil walked through a world that wasn’t built for him. He carried knowledge from a time people couldn’t imagine yet. He saw systems, habits, and “normal” behaviors for what they really were — outdated. That’s how my writing feels. Like I’m holding up a mirror to today and saying, This doesn’t have to stay this way.

As a young Black woman, I’ve learned early what it feels like to stand out in rooms where you weren’t expected to shine. In fashion shows. In church spaces. In conversations about trauma, sexuality, faith, and power. I’ve been told — directly and indirectly — to quiet my questions, soften my truth, and make my story more “acceptable.”

But Phil didn’t do that. He didn’t shrink himself to fit the past. He lived fully in who he was, even when it confused people, even when it made him stand out.

That’s what my book became for me — a time machine made of words. A way to speak from the future version of myself who healed, who unlearned, who refused to carry shame that was never hers to hold. I write for the girl I used to be, and for the woman I’m becoming. I write for the people who feel like they’re always “too much” for the world they’re in.

Being an author like Phil of the Future means this:
I’m not just telling stories. I’m interrupting timelines.

I’m asking readers to imagine a world where faith doesn’t silence victims.
Where young Black women aren’t assumed before they’re understood.
Where families listen instead of punish.
Where truth isn’t treated like rebellion.

Maybe my words feel uncomfortable now. Maybe they feel “ahead.” That’s okay. The future always does.

So if you ever read something I write and think, This feels different… this feels bold… this feels like it came from somewhere else — it did.

It came from the version of us that hasn’t fully arrived yet.