In a bizarre moment I had long forgotten, I once hired a private investigator to sweep an office for bugs. Hidden microphones, not insects.

My love for—no, my need for—the great outdoors led to an unusual rain date last week.

My father taught me the importance of using people’s names, but did I learn the lesson?

Tropical Storm Fred hammered us with rain, forcing rivers out of their banks. One frantic plea hit me more than others – left or right?

With the name of my next novel announced (Liar’s Table), I’m preparing for the liars, liar’s, and liars’ debate.

This time last year, we were dealing with the aftermath of Hurricane Isaias—fallen trees, flooding, alligator burglars, and social media scorn.

When a creative idea hits, I need to remember it. When I forget how I remember, though, I know my memory fails me.

You would think someone who makes his living writing wouldn’t have a problem with hard words, but this will convince you I do.

Walking the dogs is challenging enough in our ever-changing weather, but the weather app I use for guidance is all wet.

A regular encounter with a communication barrier taught us something the dogs already knew – you can find joy in any language.

I have a ridiculously over-sized, over-built, and over-weight workbench that has made two house moves. I’m happy to report the bench is back.

Too many story ideas and too many distractions mean my editors have imposed deadlines on me. That’s good — and painful.