I’ve been writing since I was eleven years old when I began receiving visions—vivid scenes that arrived like prophecy. I didn’t know it then, but they were stories asking to be written.

Every day from that moment forward, I wrote. Poetry. Stories. Crafting an inner world of creativity, beauty, well-being and fulfillment. Not to be seen, not to be praised—but because the stories refused to stay silent. In high school, a substitute teacher read my work and found me later in French class to gift me a fountain pen. The note said only this: Don’t stop writing.

There were signs all along the way that this was more than a hobby—it was my lifeline.

Writing steadied me through the hardest chapter of my life: caring for my father for three years while he was in a vegetative state, and the heartbreak of losing him.



When everything else dissolved, writing remained. It became more than expression—it became a mirror. 
A healer. A home.

I stopped compartmentalizing my gift and made the choice to live in it fully. To honor it as vocation. To build a career where writing was no longer a background hum—it was the entire symphony.

I write to bear witness to transformation. From the very beginning, I understood that stories held power—not just to entertain, but to awaken.

To show a woman what she’s capable of.
To restore agency to characters who were written small.
To heal timelines—both imagined and real.

This is who I am.
A writer—not by trade, but by calling.

Fantasy Author. Story Architect. Creative Force.

about sharez Bardot

2001

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I’ve been writing since I was eleven years old when I began seeing visions—vivid scenes that arrived like prophecy. I didn’t know it then, but they were stories asking to be written.

Every day from that moment forward, I wrote. Poetry. Stories. Crafting an inner world of creativity, beauty, well-being and fulfillment. Not to be seen, not to be praised—but because the stories refused to stay silent. In high school, a substitute teacher read my work and found me later in French class to gift me a fountain pen. The note said only this: Don’t stop writing.

There were signs all along the way that this was more than a hobby—it was my lifeline.

Writing steadied me through the hardest chapter of my life: caring for my father for three years while he was in a vegetative state, and the heartbreak of losing him.

When everything else dissolved, writing remained. It became more than expression—it became a mirror. 
A healer. A home.

I stopped compartmentalizing my gift and made the choice to live in it fully. To honor it as vocation. To build a career where writing was no longer a background hum—it was the entire symphony.

I write to bear witness to transformation. From the very beginning, I understood that stories held power—not just to entertain, but to awaken.

To show a woman what she’s capable of.
To restore agency to characters who were written small.
To heal timelines—both imagined and real.

This is who I am.
A writer—not by trade, but by calling.