Why Fierce Exists

Here, boldness is not just branding—it’s a lifeline. Every design, collaboration, and offering works to reclaim voice, amplify truth, and crack open space for stories that refuse to be silenced.

Fierce Publications is more than publishing books or building websites. It’s about building boldness. We exist to give refuge to stories that deserve to be seen and heard. We create space for women to rise, to make, and to be fully known. That is the soul of the story.

This is where practicality meets poetry.
Where creativity meets courage.
Where your story becomes your legacy.

Fierce Publications grew from my own journey of reclaiming my voice, and it exists to help others do the same. Every offering here rests on the belief that your story matters. This is where craft meets courage, and creativity becomes a force for freedom.

Whether you are here to tell your truth, build your presence, or guide others with your words—welcome. You’re not just creating a book. You’re claiming your place in the world.

My memoir, Living with Conviction, began as an unflinching look at the moment my life unraveled—and became a testimony to the power of transformation. My poetry collection, You Are Not Your Worst Mistake, rose from prison journals, written in silence and solitude, and now stands as a witness to healing.

I served 27 months in federal prison, but I didn’t let it define me. I used that time to strip away every expectation, every mask, and to begin again.

When I walked out, I didn’t just want freedom. I wanted meaning.

That desire gave birth to Fierce Publications—a sanctuary for stories that break rules and break hearts wide open. Stories not polished for perfection, but powerful in their truth.

My story has been told on Dateline, 20/20, Anderson Cooper, Inside Edition, The Wall Street Journal, and more. It inspired the Lifetime movie Jailbreak Lovers and continues to unfold in unexpected ways.

Toby Dorr standing outside the Federal Bureau of Prisons building in Washington, D.C.

Standing strong outside the Federal Bureau of Prisons headquarters in Washington, D.C.—a reminder that no bars can define me, and no past can limit my future.