Hope was a dangerous emotion that more often than not led men into foolishness and peril, made them risk their lives and lose their wives and part with fortunes that they never recovered.

In real life, good people die all the time and a**holes can live long and happy lives. It's a crapshoot.

Most people are middle class. Most people do wish their lives were better than they are. And I think by making my main characters ordinary, average guys, it helps readers identify with their problems. It also helps ground the supernatural events that follow in a recognizable reality and perhaps gives some of my wilder scenarios a little verisimilitude.

Murder is an inherently evil act, no matter what the circumstances, no matter how convincing the rationalizations.

Real life was messier than fiction, and in it you didn't always have time to do or say the right things.

An enigma? That's not a bad persona to have. I should probably shut up and let the mystery continue! It's good for my career.

A light wind blew through here that carried with it scents of sadness and loss, not recognizable odors but smells that corresponded to nothing, chimerical fragrances able to evoke melancholic memories.