I went to Stanley, Wisconsin, to film a piece for A State of Healing—my anthology-in-the-making, born from the bruises and breakthroughs of our lives here in this land. But the town had more to say than I expected.
Fandry Park holds a silence you can feel. There, parked still as time, sits an M60A3 Patton tank, a machine once made for war, now guarding peace in a place that knows what it means to lose and to keep going anyway. It’s part of the Stanley-Boyd Veterans Memorial, which honors the spirit it takes to endure anything.
Stanley’s history is something you stand on. This town survived the great fire of 1906, when flames took buildings, lives, and the breath of a generation. But Stanley rebuilt. The people here know how to keep walking forward with ash still on their boots.
The soil here is a diary of generations. Farmers walk their fields with reverence, each furrow a line in their family’s ongoing story. But when the land falters, so does the spirit. The emotional toll is immense, yet often unspoken.
That’s why this visit mattered.
I picked up the Dairy Star—a local paper that reflects the heart of the people. It read like a letter from neighbor to neighbor, a gathering of souls across columns. On one of those pages was an ad for an organization called TUGS—Talking, Understanding, Growing, Supporting.
A mental health mission created by someone who knows firsthand how heavy silence can become. Founded by Jeff Ditzenberger, TUGS is a lifeline wrapped in real talk and truth.
That ad; a seed of hope.
And it reminded me why I’m doing this.
So, I’m calling out now—across counties, cities, townships, and every rural road in between. If you’re from Wisconsin, if you’ve lived here or loved someone who has, I want your words.
I’m inviting submissions from writers, farmers, students, poets, veterans, parents—anyone with a story of healing, resilience, or hope.
Let your truth take root.
A State of Healing is about presence. It’s about the moments you almost didn’t make it, and the ones where something or someone helped you through. It’s about the land we live on and the lives we build from it. The cracks we cover, and the light that still finds a way through.
You can learn more, submit your story, or just follow the journey at homemadeauthor.com.
Submissions open May 27th.
Let’s bring this state together.
Let’s tell the stories that matter.
Let’s make sure the next generation knows what it means to hold each other up—and never let go.
Because healing doesn’t happen alone.
It happens in community.
It happens here.
In Wisconsin.