Originally published at Writers Who Kill What could a test match at Lord’s Cricket Ground in London and a NASCAR race at Alabama’s Talladega Superspeedway possibly have in common? Me! Despite my complete lack of knowledge of both cricket and stock car racing, I coincidentally found myself in both places in the past few months. Needless to say, the experiences differed widely in some respects. At Lord’s, there were Veuve Clicquot champagne and Hendrix gin stands. Dega (as I now know to call it) offered a lot more beer. At the cricket (as I now know to say), I could choose biryani or a Cornish pasty for lunch. At the race, the options ran more to burgers and bbq. The Lord’s spectators erred on the side of blazers, while the NASCAR crowd favored t-shirts and trucker hats. And while cricketers run back and forth, drivers endlessly loop. One thing both

Originally published at Writers Who Kill Like all writers, I love words. A new favorite is a Korean one I recently learned–umchina. Its literal translation is “mother’s friend’s son,” but it means something much more. It refers to the hypothetical perfect child to whom a mother is always comparing her own offspring. Her friend’s son is so academically high-achieving, so good at his sport, so respectful of his parents. You get the idea. The way in which a word or phrase like this can so perfectly encompass a larger concept sent me searching the world for other examples. The French expression l’esprit de l’escalier translates literally as “stairwell wit.” It means the clever retort you think of only after it’s too late. Perhaps when you’re heading down the stairs on your way out. The phrase is French, but the experience is universal. I’m not the only one enamored of such words. Grammy-nominated singer

There’s a special end-of-summer thrill when the school supplies hit the shelves. The pristine packs of perfectly sharpened colored pencils. The siren song of shiny new folders. The seductive swirl of black-and-white marble composition notebooks. That excitement still lingers for me, even though I no longer buy such supplies or know how to use a protractor. A new school year always carried the whiff of possibility. A blank page both literally in those notebooks and figuratively in the opportunities to learn, grow, and achieve. And I still get that sense of anticipation from a blank page, only now it comes when I open a document to start a new story.  I start every short story with high hopes, just as I used to start all those school years. I think I know what’s going to happen but I’m open to twists and turns and occasional disappointments. Sometimes the plot doesn’t

This is the story of a journey.  Travel with me, if you will, to October 2015 in Raleigh, North Carolina. I am at my very first mystery conference—Bouchercon. The conference name itself is a bit of a mystery at first. Anthony Boucher was a mystery writer, editor, and reviewer and for over forty years mystery writers and fans have gathered in his name to celebrate the genre. The fact that I was able to drive to that first conference and stay with friends eliminated enough of my apprehensive excuses that I couldn’t talk myself out of going. I didn’t know anyone. I only knew I wanted to start writing mystery fiction. But once the conference started, I met people. I got inspired. I scored some free books and gained some confidence. I came back and joined a critique group. I wrote and wrote some more. And I got published. I’ve