Former competitive figure skater-turned attorney-turned bestselling author Wendy Walker brings a unique perspective to Blade. Drawing from her years of training as a young athlete and her legal career advocating for vulnerable children, Walker crafts a gripping thriller that exposes the emotional dangers facing young skaters in harshly competitive environments.
Dawn Gentle: Blade explores the dark underbelly of competitive skating culture. What aspects of this world did you feel were important to expose or examine?
Wendy Walker: Blade grew out of my desire to capture the dangers facing young skaters who are not given the emotional support they need to navigate this culture. When I was 13, I lived and trained in Colorado for nearly three years. What stayed with me most was not just my demanding schedule, but the perils that arose from being young and emotionally vulnerable in a harshly competitive environment. While my coach in no way resembled the cruel narcissist Dawn Sumner in Blade, combining the real sense of isolation with a fictional coach who preys on her students felt like the perfect foundation for a thriller, while also exposing the darker underbelly of elite sports for young athletes.
As both a former skater and an attorney, how did your personal experiences influence the story, and what was it like revisiting the emotional landscape of competitive skating through fiction?
This is the most personal book I’ve ever written. I realized that the only way to fully understand both my own trajectory and the path of my fictional character, Ana Robbins, was to draw from the two defining parts of my life: skating and the law. Ana’s work as an advocate for children grows directly out of the trauma she experienced at the Palace as a young skater. For her, helping vulnerable children isn’t just a career choice—it’s a way to find meaning in what she survived. Making her an advocate for child offenders also served the story, because it positioned her as the one person uniquely equipped to help Grace Montgomery when she’s accused of murdering her coach.
"This is the most personal book I’ve ever written."
Writing Blade allowed me to draw deeply on my understanding of how childhood trauma shapes adult identity. It was also unexpectedly cathartic. In revisiting my years training away from home, I had to carefully unpack experiences I had processed long ago and kept safely compartmentalized. Looking at them through the lens of fiction forced me to see them differently—and what surprised me most was rediscovering the joy. I remembered how much I loved the sport from the very first moment my feet were in a pair of skates, and that joy ultimately became just as important to the story as the darker elements.
Ana Robbins experiences a tragedy at 16 that forces her to leave skating behind. Without spoiling the story, what can you tell us about how personal trauma shapes her character 14 years later?
Ana Robbins is shaped in fundamental ways by what she experienced many years earlier at the Palace. Her trauma began almost the moment she arrived there as a young skater and culminated in a tragic event that caused her to leave skating behind and never look back. For many people who suffer childhood trauma, one path toward healing is to study that experience and devote their professional lives to helping children—whether through therapy, education, or the law. Those fields are filled with people who understand firsthand how profoundly a childhood can shape an adult life.
I made Ana a fierce advocate for children accused of violent crimes because she believes that even when a child has done something terrible, that behavior often grows out of the emotional fallout from earlier trauma. Shaping her career this way allowed her to be exactly the person Grace Montgomery needs when she’s accused of murdering her coach, while also letting me explore the connective tissue between Ana’s past at the Palace and the woman she has become.
The murder of Ana’s former coach is central to the plot. What was your process for creating a young defendant who claims innocence though their guilt seems certain?
From the outset, it was essential to the story that no one—neither the reader nor the characters—know the truth about Grace Montgomery’s involvement in her coach’s murder. Once I made that decision, I considered the possibilities for her refusal to provide a story that explained the evidence against her. Would she be catatonic following a trauma—something she did, or maybe saw? Would she be defiant and angry? Ultimately, I chose to make her deeply distrustful of the very people who are trying to help her—Jolene, her mother, and Ana, her new lawyer—both of whom were Palace skaters years ago.
"Because this book draws so deeply from my personal experiences—many of them painful—it was difficult at times to untangle my feelings from those of my fictional character."
Because the forward motion of the novel unfolds over two short days, I was able to make Grace a near-total enigma. No one understands why she won’t be more forthcoming when so much is at stake—her freedom, and the Olympic dream she is so close to attaining. That mystery crystallizes in the opening chapter, when Grace unexpectedly leans across the table and whispers to Ana, “It’s not safe here—and it’s all your fault.” In that moment, past and present collide, propelling Ana to uncover what happened to the dead coach—and to Grace—at the Palace, but also what happened to Ana and the other Orphans 14 years ago.
Julia Whelan delivered an incredible performance for Blade. Did any aspects of her narration exceed your expectations or bring something special to the story?
I’ve been fortunate to work with Julia Whelan on multiple projects, and she consistently exceeds my expectations in every possible way. She has a rare ability to understand a character’s personality and motivations across the entire arc of a story, even as those motivations shift and evolve with the plot. In Blade, her performance beautifully captures Ana Robbins’s emotional unraveling as she returns to the place where she suffered profound trauma, while also conveying the moments when Ana regains her composure and reveals the parts of herself that are healed, grounded, and deeply strong. Being able to toggle convincingly between those two aspects of Ana was challenging, and Julia handled it masterfully.
The novel also includes chapters of Ana 14 years ago, performed by a wonderful actress named Bebe Wood, and scripted interview chapters performed by a range of trained actors and voice performers. Julia listened carefully to their work and mirrored their personalities, vocal tones, and even inflections within her own chapters, which gave the story remarkable consistency and helped fully bring those characters to life. I write in many different formats—novels and Audible Originals alike—and I always love having Julia involved. No matter what’s thrown her way, she knocks it out of the park.
What was the most challenging aspect of writing Ana's return to a place filled with painful memories?
The most challenging aspect of writing Ana’s return to the Palace was separating my own emotional history from hers. Because this book draws so deeply from my personal experiences—many of them painful—it was difficult at times to untangle my feelings from those of my fictional character. Ana faces situations and makes choices that were not part of my own story, and I worked very deliberately to ensure her reactions were true to her journey rather than a reflection of mine. In many ways, that made this book more difficult to write than stories set in worlds that hold less of my history.
On a technical level, the balance was equally challenging. The murder investigation is the engine of the plot, so I had to be careful about how much time and space to give Ana’s memories and emotional unraveling versus the forward momentum of the crime itself. When past and present collide, the past provides the emotional stakes, but it’s the present-day story that must drive the action and maintain the pacing thriller readers expect.
What do you hope listeners take away about the price young athletes pay in pursuit of excellence?
While Ana’s experiences at the Palace are dark, her larger story is one of resilience and change. That was intentional, and it mirrors my own life in important ways. Pursuing the dream of becoming an Olympic figure skater consumed most of my childhood, from my earliest memories until I was 16. The final three years—spent away from home in an isolated and vulnerable environment—were also the period when I began to understand that I wasn’t going to reach the highest levels of the sport, the dream that had become inseparable from my self-identity. Having this realization at such a young age was deeply formative. I learned that dreams don’t always come true, no matter how hard you work or how badly you want them. But I also learned something just as important: There are many other dreams to have.
"In sports like skating, the message is clear: You are only as good as your last performance."
Like Ana, I walked away from skating and didn’t look back. I moved forward—into academics, a career on Wall Street, then the law, and eventually writing novels. With each new pursuit, I brought the same dedication, but also an awareness that outcomes don’t always align with intentions, and that sometimes what we think we want isn’t what ultimately fulfills us. Since leaving skating, I’ve lived with an open mind and heart to new possibilities, friendships, and sources of joy.
When I watch elite skaters today, especially through social media and interviews, I recognize the devastation they feel after one poor performance when it matters most. Not reaching the podium, possibly losing a seat on the Olympic team, becomes their defining narrative—even after decades of success. In sports like skating, the message is clear: You are only as good as your last performance. That’s a dangerous lesson for young athletes, and really for anyone. No person should be reduced to what happens under extreme pressure in a matter of minutes. It’s the sum of our lives that matters. If Blade leaves readers with one message, I hope it’s this: You are more than one jump, one performance, more than your sport, and there is a whole world waiting for you beyond it.
