Walking the stage Summa Cum Laude was a moment of deep reflection, joy, and purpose—a signal that this story is far from over.
Read MoreChapter 3 rewrites, and developmental edits.
In honor of EMS Week and Mental Health Awareness Month, read a raw excerpt from The Quiet After the Sirens—a memoir about trauma, silence, and survival.
Read MoreThe Storm Within: Visualizing the Silent Struggle of First Responders
These haunting portraits of an EMT grappling with invisible wounds give voice to the untold stories behind the sirens, where pain, duty, and silence collide.
Read MoreWriting Memoir in Scenes: Telling Mental Health Stories That Heal
Memoir writing is more than memory—it’s a journey of healing. By telling our mental health stories in scenes, we create connection, meaning, and transformation.
Read MoreThe Weight We Carry: Mental Health in EMS and the Silence That Follows
We don’t talk about what we see. Not really. We joke, we deflect, we survive. But The Quiet After the Sirens is about what happens when the silence breaks.
Read MoreWalking Through Fire: A Warrior’s Reflection for Mental Health Awareness Month
The first of May rises not just with spring’s fragile bloom but with the tremble of a war drum echoing deep within my chest. Today marks the beginning of Mental Health Awareness Month, and for those like me—those who wear their wounds beneath the skin …
Read MoreThe House of Glass — Memoir Opening Scene
A house built of glass, fragile as my childhood. Cracks spread with every argument, shaping the person I’d become. This is where my story begins.
Read MoreThe Quiet After the Sirens
In The Quiet After the Sirens, Richard White—poet, veteran, and former EMS Lieutenant—offers an unflinching look at the silent battles that follow service. From the scorching deserts of Iraq to the heart-wrenching stillness of 911 calls, White confronts the toll of trauma, exposing the weight of PTSD, depression, and anxiety with raw vulnerability and unwavering honesty.
Read More“Her Final Breath, My Last Choice”
On April 20th, five years ago, I had to make the most painful decision of my life—from a Zoom call. My sister was dying, and I was her healthcare proxy. While my mother and niece sat at her bedside, I gave the word to let her go. That moment changed me forever. I carry it into every EMS shift, every sleepless night, and every word I write. Today, I remember her—not as the woman we lost, but as my sister. The one I tried to save, even from a distance. The Quiet After the Sirens began with her silence.
Read MoreThe Quiet After the Call
There’s a silence most people never hear.
It’s not peace—it’s the sound after the sirens, when the adrenaline fades and the ghosts start talking.
After years in the military, fire service, and EMS, I came to know that silence too well. It isn’t quiet. It’s noise turned inward.
In that space, the heart races, the mind replays trauma, and the spirit aches under the weight of it all.
Crowded rooms became unbearable. Joy felt dangerous. And I couldn’t sit still without my hands shaking.
But healing began when I finally stopped running and listened to that silence. I learned to name the things I feared. I started writing again.
This memoir, The Quiet After the Sirens, is a testament to survival—not just in the field, but in the stillness that follows.
It’s about carrying the weight, honoring the ghosts, and learning how to breathe again.
If you’ve ever known that kind of silence, this story is for you too.