Kimberly Elaine Brown Blaine

I attribute my success to returning to writing deliberately and with purpose, rather than through a sudden burst of inspiration or a perfectly timed opportunity. After years devoted to raising my children and putting my own voice on pause, I picked up the pen a little more than a decade ago—not to chase recognition, but to tell the truth. My earliest work was published under the pseudonym Elaine Broun, not out of vanity, but out of necessity. The subject matter—rooted in my family’s experiences abroad, involving the Uruguayan military and CIA protection—required discretion. At the time, anonymity offered safety. What I didn’t anticipate was how deeply the story would resonate or how it would draw me back into the literary world. That journey culminated in Carrasco ’67, a book born from trauma, survival, and the long shadow of events that refuse to stay buried. As a first-time author building a public profile later in life, I was unprepared for the reception it received. The book went on to win multiple awards, including four categories at the International Impact Book Awards, and I narrowly missed Author of the Year—a detail that still makes me smile. That experience reminded me that publishing is both an art and a conversation: part expert evaluation, part reader connection. Since then, my work has taken me to places I never expected—Hollywood, Phoenix, and Canada—where I was honored with the Women of Inspiration Award. These moments are affirming, but they are not the point. The point has always been impact—helping readers feel seen, understood, or less alone. Writing about trauma carries responsibility. I’ve witnessed the consequences of silence firsthand. The same events that shaped my work also altered my family forever; my brother developed early-onset dementia linked to untreated PTSD. Those experiences taught me that tragedy can inform a life without defining it, and that resilience is not about erasing the past, but choosing how it shapes the future.

Write what you would enjoy reading yourself. Write because you love doing it and take enjoyment by doing so.

I’m often asked what advice I would give aspiring authors, and my answer is simple, though not easy: develop a thick skin. Publishing is a slow process, algorithms are unpredictable, and reviews—especially from peers—can sting as much as they uplift. Success rarely comes all at once. If you write solely for validation or sales, the industry will quickly wear you down. But if you write to say something that truly matters, you’ll find the endurance to see it through.

One of the biggest challenges in publishing today is finding ways to gain visibility while staying true to your work and your integrity. Authors are often expected to have a certain social media following, yet algorithms don’t measure courage, and sales don’t reflect significance. If you lose sight of that, the industry can quickly break your spirit.

The values most important to me in my work and personal life are resilience and perspective. I’ve learned not to let terrible or unexplainable events define who I am. Life presents moments of trauma and difficulty, but I’ve learned to acknowledge their significance, find the lesson or meaning in them, and then turn the page in order to move forward. This approach allows me to be an effective author, sharing my family’s story with honesty and care. When I released my first book, some family members reached out, wondering why they hadn’t been told certain experiences before. I explained that the stories had been kept private to protect them at the time—but now, sharing them allows for healing and prevents the trauma from holding us back. It’s about transforming pain into understanding and purpose.