No one understands a writer like another writer.

We’re kindred spirits with a strange obsession for the sound of words. We hate it when our participles dangle. We speak our dialogue out loud while grocery shopping. We start plotting a book in the middle of a movie because we’ve figured out a better way to end it. We hunch over a keyboard to only surface for coffee. We call our family members by our character’s names. We alarm people sitting at the next table in a restaurant by discussing how best to dispose of a body.

We’re completely different individuals, yet are all alike because of the unquenchable passion that burns inside us . . . that forces us to get up early even when the covers are warm, to burn the midnight oil until our eyes blur, to miss out on parties and lazy weekends, to have our hearts broken over an editor’s demand for yet another revised synopsis, then finding the determination to go back to the computer. Because we simply cannot imagine doing anything else.

Because we’re writers.

What’s wrong with us?

Ah, but that’s another story . . .

Enjoy some of the things I’ve learned along the way during twentysome years of ups and downs and sideways, but always onward. Because I can’t imagine ever doing anything else.