An apology is not a CYA memo. But if CYA is all you do, you have two tone options. One is whiny, the other is humble. Do the humble. Instead of “you gave me no choice but to shoot the dog,” try “shooting the dog seemed like my only option, but now I see that was wrong.” (In this instance, the shooting and the dog are metaphors for errors that you resolved by crushing a soul instead of asking for help) Oh, but you did ask for help, didn’t you? You went across the street to the

I’m delighted to be participating in this bloghop event, but the theme-- “How does Washington DC inspire your writing”—is going to force me into a round about, beltway sort of approach, because even though I write regional fiction, I don’t write about the DC area. (Though I talk about certain content influences in a conversation with E. A. Aymar, Nik Korpon, and Colleen Shogan in an interview for The Thrill Begins.) My first published novel, Death Wishing, takes place in New

Last night after dark, a neighbor we haven’t seen in months came outside to light fireworks in the middle of the street. We call him The Man of Constant Sorrow, which was funny when he was 19. Now not so much. He's in his 30s, still lives "at home." It was a cloudy, humid night, and the smoke stayed low to the ground. He had an extensive collection of aerial fireworks as well as plenty of basic firecrackers—enough to put on a twenty-minute display of flash and bang with no si