I am not a smart man, particularly, but one day, at long last, I stumbled from the dark woods of my own, and my family's, and my country's past, holding in my hands these truths: that love grows from the rich loam of forgiveness; that mongrels make good dogs; that the evidence of God exists in the roundness of things. This much, at least, I've figured out. I know this much is true.

I try to stick with what moves me or teaches me about myself, same thing I hope the novels do for others.

The seeker embarks on a journey to find what he wants and discovers, along the way, what he needs.

I grew up in a household of women, they ran the show, they kept it all together. I credit my ability to write in female voices, as well as male, with having grown up with older sisters in a neighborhood largely populated by girls.

Take what people give you. Drink their milkshakes.

I work hard, do my best and send it out to the world hoping that people can relate to it. I accept any reaction and hope they think it is worth reading.

But what are our stories if not the mirrors we hold up to our fears?