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Hold this date! While the final details are still being confirmed, I'm hoping to be one of the featured authors at the Book Fair at the Pearson Community Center on Saturday, October 4th, from 2:00 PM to 5:00 PM. This event is a beautiful collaboration with the amazing Carol Santiago and the Multicultural Bookstore Las Vegas, and it’s all about bringing our community together through the power of words.

This isn't just about selling books; it's about celebrating the stories that make us who we...

Calling all my broken-hearted bards, misfit survivors, and anyone who believes a well-crafted magic system is a form of self-care. For one afternoon, we're trading the mundane for the multiverse.

I am so excited to be a part of a special three-author signing event at the amazing Mad Red Books on Saturday, September 27, 2025, from 3:00 PM to 6:00 PM. This isn't just a chance to get your books signed; it's a celebration of the incredible local authors who are building new worlds right here in...

They told me I was a glitch in the system. So I'm building a new one.

And now? I'm taking it on the road. Literally. My partner, our pets, and I have embraced the nomadic life—not because we're running from something, but because we're building something that doesn't fit in a single zip code. We have deep roots all over the West Coast in many ways. Every place is a piece of home. My daughter gets to see her mom as living, huggable proof that you can rewrite the rules when the old ones were...

Well, you can’t make this stuff up. If my life were a novel, I’d have to file it under cosmic comedy. Or maybe tragedy. A few weeks ago, I wrote about having to cancel my first-ever book signing due to a professional values misalignment, and my defiant promise to make it happen elsewhere. I proudly channeled my Radical Resilience, found a wonderful new partner in XOXO, Book Boutique here in Las Vegas, and we planned what was shaping up to be a beautiful event for July 19th.

The team at XOXO,...

Let’s talk about crabs.

I just want these goddamn crabs around me to stop pulling me back down when I try to climb out of the bucket!

That’s what I wrote in my notes for this post, and it’s the rawest, truest thing I can say about the past year. I’ve had to make some hard choices. I’ve had to burn some things down to protect my own peace. As of March of 2025, I’m no longer on Facebook, Instagram, or TikTok. I wiped them from my life. If you’ve seen anything posted about me since then, it’s from...

I’m sitting here trying to write an update, and my hands are shaking a little. I feel like I’m vibrating with this wild and utterly terrifying energy. There's a part of my brain—the part that has seen too many battles—that is still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

This update is more than I ever let myself hope for. And I need to share it with you because you are the reason it’s happening. This universe we’ve been building, this community… it’s not just in my head anymore. It’s real. And if...

Life isn’t some serene journey. It’s a rickety, whiplash-inducing, terrifying and amazing rollercoaster, and most of the time, it feels like the safety bar is loose. You go up, you go down, sideways, and sometimes, completely backward. Every single day is a new adventure or a new disaster.

This week, my rollercoaster took a sharp turn through the tunnel of horrors. Several sharp turns.

The downs came in a cascade, a relentless series of drops that left me breathless:

• Another cardiac distress...

My book signing is in about a week. And with every day that gets closer, the water gets higher. I feel this pressure in my chest, this deep, soul-crushing weight of belief that I am a fraud. An imposter.

Who am I to write books? Who am I to ask you to read them?

This isn't a new feeling, but it's a powerful one right now. And I know where it comes from. It comes from the comments, the messages, the angry strangers who have made it their mission to tell me, in no uncertain terms, that the way I...

For nearly 48 glorious hours this past week, The Spaces Between Us hit the #1 spot on the Amazon Bestseller chart for Literary Sagas.

There. I said it. It feels weird to type. Audacious.

Part of my brain, the part conditioned by a lifetime of fighting, wants to downplay it. To add a million asterisks. It was a Kindle chart. The rankings change every second. It was just a brief moment.

And all of that is true. But for a moment that stretched into two days, we were at the top. And in that moment,...

Let’s talk about the terrible despair that hits when you feel like your own body has issued a termination notice on your life.

When every system designed to help you—healthcare, employment, social safety nets—looks at you and returns a 404 Not Found error. When you’re so bone-deep tired of fighting that even swear words don’t help anymore.

You’re not alone in that, my dear. I live there. And I wrote a map for it.

My ninth book, Love, BestieBot: A Benevolent Technothriller, is one of the most...

Have you ever felt like your life is a story being told in two different languages at the same time? One is a scream, and the other is a whisper.

That’s what it’s like for me. My music is the scream. My novels are the whisper.

For a long time, I thought they were separate things. The songs were the raw, chaotic, often painful data dumps from my own internal battlefield—the place where my body feels like corrupted code and my brain feels like it’s broadcasting on a frequency no one else...

Let’s talk about that specific, gut-twisting flavor of disappointment.

You know the one. It’s when you pour your heart, your time, and your own hard-earned money into a professional partnership you believe in, only to realize the foundation you’re building on is actually quicksand. It’s the sickening lurch when you discover that the trust you extended in good faith has been… misplaced.

I’ve been so excited to tell you all about my upcoming book signing here in my own backyard. I’ve spent the...

I’ve always said that I write stories about found families and unlikely heroes, about the beautiful, messy business of being human. I pour my own experiences of resilience, trauma, and the quiet strength it takes to face down demons onto the page, hoping that they resonate, that they find a home with you, my readers.

But every so often, a piece of feedback stops me in my tracks and reminds me why I do this. Recently, I received this online review:

"Wow. Some books entertain. Others echo. Yours?...

Let's clear the air. Do people think I don’t know that I’m a shit show? That I need help, that I struggle all the time, that I’m awkward and uncomfortable?

Of course I know. Honey, I’m me. The one and only Mariah Tyler fuckin’ Moore. I annoy myself more than I annoy anyone else. I'm the one who lives with the constant, grinding internal monologue that I ruin everything I touch. I see the "oh great, this shit again" look on people's faces before they have a chance to hide it. I know what it’s...

Have you ever gotten to the end of the day, taken off your “work face” or your “polite family dinner face,” and felt so goddamn exhausted you could sleep for a week? That’s the soul-crushing weight of wearing a mask. It’s the psychic cost of contorting yourself into a shape you think the world will find more acceptable than the real, messy, magnificent you.

Let’s be brutally honest: faking it is a full-time job with no pay and terrible benefits. But what if you could just… quit?

Authenticity...

There’s a narrative out there, a ghost story that gets told about authors like me. It whispers that because I use AI to help me write, my work isn't my own. That I’m letting a machine do the hard part, that I'm somehow cheating the system. I’ve gotten the flack, seen the digital pitchforks, and felt the sting of being written off by 90% of the world for it.

Let’s get one thing straight: that’s a bullshit story.

My use of technology isn't a shortcut. It's a goddamn survival mechanism. It's the...

Have you ever felt like you’re just playing a character in your own life? Smiling when you want to scream, saying "yes" when your soul is yelling "hell no," and generally performing a version of yourself that you think the world wants to see. It’s exhausting, isn't it? That feeling isn't just you being "dramatic"; it's the psychic friction of your authentic self trying to claw its way out from under the pile of bullshit expectations you've been buried under.

I’ve been there. Oh, honey, have I...

Have you ever stared at a medical bill and had to choose? A choice between the medication that keeps your body working correctly and the rent that keeps a roof over your head. Between the physical therapy that might let you walk without pain and the electricity bill.

This isn’t a hypothetical for some. This is the silent, grinding reality for millions of us living with chronic illness. It's a full-time job with no pay, terrible hours, and a benefits package that includes anxiety, despair, and...

Let’s get one thing straight. The world is designed to break you.

It will serve you platitudes of "positive vibes only" while it quietly sands down your edges, dismisses your pain, and demands you wear a mask just to survive. You know the feeling—that soul-crushing weight of performing a version of yourself that feels like a stranger. That’s not a personal failing, honey. That’s the psychic friction of living in a world that wasn't built for your glorious, messy truth.

I’ve been there. As a...

Eight surgeries deep, and my heart is most likely giving out, they tell me with that practiced neutrality that makes you feel like a case study instead of a person. I'm 28 years old, and my body is a battlefield I'm losing. POTS makes the world do its shitty grayscale Instagram filter trick every time I stand up. Some days, I can't tell if it's anxiety or my potentially failing heart that's making my chest feel like it's caving in. The physical pain is almost a relief compared to the mental—...