Dear friends,
Whether you're new to Unfixed: A Memoir of Family, Secrets and the Currents that Carry You Home, or have been wading in its waters since the early serialized days, I’m thrilled to share something special with you today. Severance Magazine recently featured an excerpt from my memoir, a glimpse into the story before the book officially sets sail this October.
For those who never caught the serialized version, consider this a first dip beneath the surface. And for longtime readers, it’s a brief return to familiar currents, just enough to tide you over until the full story arrives.
And now, a small ask from the heart:
If you read Unfixed as a Substack serial and found meaning in its pages, I would be deeply grateful if you’d leave a review on NetGalley. These early reviews are vital. They help booksellers, librarians, media, and even algorithms decide what to pay attention to. Your voice carries more weight than you might imagine. Every thoughtful, well-written, incisive review builds the wave that helps carry Unfixed into the world.
It’s very easy, I promise. Just follow these steps:
Visit NetGalley.com and create a free account as a “Reviewer” (don’t worry—you don’t need to be a professional critic, just someone who loves books and wants to share their thoughts).
Once you’re signed in, search for Unfixed: A Memoir of Family, Secrets, and the Currents that Carry You Home.
You should see an option to “Leave a Review.” That’s it!
Thank you for being part of this circle. The ones who witnessed this book’s becoming and believed in its voice before it had a spine or a cover. Your early encouragement is the very reason it exists.
And huge thanks to
, founder and editor of Severance, for creating a space where those of us who’ve been severed from our biological narratives, whether through adoption, donor conception, or late-discovered parentage, can share our stories without explanation or apology. Her work makes space for complexity, for shifting truths, and for the ache of asking: Who am I now?Here’s the link to read the feature!
Tonight, I made a cup of tea and sat down to intentionally savor this, Kimberly. Your writing is always vivid and immersive. And in this piece, I feel your heart--strong and clear--in the love that you and your brother share. Your brother's obvious devotion warms, consoles, and softens the sudden jolt of finding out that you have different birth fathers. 22% shared genes. 100% shared hearts. I'm looking forward to October 14th when this beauty will land in my little black mailbox here in NC.
How did I miss this chapter! Immediately, like all the others, I am instantly drawn in ,emotions flying as quickly as your pain surfaced to reality. My own heart racing on as I read . Such great writing, Kimberly! Truly. I was reading and saying to myself, who was the fucking dumbass telling you to move out of the road. You seamlessly, brilliantly moved straight into Charlie. His hands, your hands…as I gasped and sighed. I knew you had a cycling accident, but never the details. Your description of impact and endorphin, albeit temporary superpowers are spot on. For many years beginning in the mid 90’s, mountain biking, like skiing, was one of my obsessions. Five times a week, before or after work, I joyfully drove to a local privately owned forest with an endless gnarly trail system. I would test my skills , climbing ridiculously steep pitches, practicing tight rock filled corners, sure I fell, but never more than a bruise. But it did not happen there. Paul and I drove 4 hours just to go to a nephew’s high school graduation, combining it with a bike trip on 50 miles of horse /mtn bike trail system seemed like an excellent idea. Suffice it to say, the story involved a wet bike tire slipping of a large log , falling 3 miles in, hearing and feeling the KLUNK and me yelling I think I broke my leg… being left there while Paul goes biking and running up the trail screaming for help, a coyote, a horse ride , ambulance, a plea to not cut my favorite shorts off of me (“save the shorts!”)and a tib fib/ spiral fracture, full cast to half and such=10 months later. But a fractured pelvis and a cracked helmet? ( I am letting out an audible exhale).
Congratulations on the magazine excerpt!