The Art of Storytelling

My personal black hole, July 2025. One year ago this week, I was released to resume all activities after spending the summer and fall dealing with my very own personal black hole. The problem began in April when my neuropathy symptoms changed. I had been diagnosed with 'neuropathy of indeterminate cause' back in 2020. For me, that means my feet are numb. (Note: if you tell a doctor ( any doctor: family practice, neurolgist, cardiovascular specialist, orthepedic surgeon)that y

AI image of the spirit of fiction preparing for Halloween. In the project I'm working on now (working title Judas in Hell), one character points to a book someone is reading and says . “I just don’t see how you take something like that seriously. Like horror stories. They’re just not real.” The person reading the book replies “No, they’re fiction, the definition of which is ‘made up.’” With Halloween approaching, it's time to consider the wonder of horror fiction. I'm not a f

The Harvest Moon rises on Friday, September 25 at 7:30pm. I love the September full moon--the Harvest Moon--perhaps more than any other. September, in central Ohio, tends to be filled with clear skies and because of the closeness to the fall equinox it is visible overhead for nearly 12 hours. I am writing this at 7:30 a.m. Sunday morning and the moon is still high above the western horizon. As a storyteller, I love writing about the moon. Everyone is familiar with the lunar c

A rose from my garden. Last weeks' 25th anniversary of 9/11 was an emotionally difficult time for me. I still don't like to see images from the day; hearing the voicemail messages of those lost not only brings me to tears, they tear another hole in my soul. I could not even write this post last weekend because it was just too difficult. The experience makes me wonder if some acts are simply unforgiveable. There have been so many soul-crushing occurrences in the world in my li

An AI-generated image of two workers celebrating Labor Day. Should a Labor Day post be about the end of summer or a celebration about the value of workers? Neither conversation fills me with joy right now. There is something I love about the change of seasons, an anticipation of what is to come next, and something to look forward to as each new season approaches. That said, I never mourn the end of fall, winter or spring, only summer. There is a freedom to summer that the oth

Sunrise in Centerburg, Ohio. I slept in today; the dogs did not go outside until almost 6:30 a.m. Most mornings we are out by four. At four, it is still too dark to see without turning on the porch light, but if it is clear we get amazing views of the stars. I don't think the dogs notice, however. The sounds of insects surround us, so it is not quiet, but still. The only birds active at four are the barn swallows skittering across the yard, hunting. At six-thirty, the sun is

Monticello I recently returned from a family vacation. We spent several days at Carolina Beach outside Wilmington NC. During our time away we were able to visit a civil war battlefield, take a cruise on the Fear River, walk through a carnivorous plant sanctuary (who knew such a place existed!) and eat way too much good food. It is truly amazing that you can place four sixty-something men together in a house for a few hours and they quickly devolve into teenagers (or in some c

6am on a foggy summer morning in Centerburg, Ohio. I never realized before this morning that Poppy, our little red Boston Terrier, could tell time, but she can. On weekdays, I get up at 3:45 am so I have time for coffee and writing before work. Sometimes that means the dogs expect me to get up that early on the weekend as well. Today was one of those mornings. By 4 am Poppy was sitting on my pillow, her head resting on my face willing me to wake up. She is very willful and su

Celebratory Fireworks. I was 14 during the Bicentennial and remember that time with fondness. People seemed so excited and happy to celebrate together. I remember watching the tall ships sailing into New York City on TV--all the networks covered the Parade of Sails--and it impressed me enough that I immediately vowed I was going to live to be 114 so I could celebrate the Tricentennial. I wanted to be the old geezer in the long-bill hat telling everyone what it was like back i

Making my 150th blood donation on June 16, 2026. the serious look is due to trying to snap the selfie without moving my other arm and disrupting the donation! Yesterday, I donated blood for the 150th time. That's 18.75 gallons of blood. The Red Cross says one donation can help up to 3 people, so that's 450 folks I might have helped. My blood, donated in Columbus, Ohio has been sent as far as east as Boston, as far south as Salisbury, North Carolina and as far north as Petosky

My novels Someone once asked me 'why don't you write trilogies?' At first I thought they meant why didn't I write fantasy (read The Ogre Prince) but as we talked it turned out they wondered why I did not write multiple novels about the same characters. I don't remember exactly how I responded, but I think it was some variation of either 'I wish I could but my brain doesn't work that way' or "I would grow bored with telling similar stories over and over." Or, if I had been fee

Rooster, our one-eyed Boston Terrier. When I used to conjure up an image of a one-eyed dog, I always imagine a grizzled, powerful, bad ass dog that would stand up to any threat, no matter how dangerous. Kind of an Ol' Yeller dog, who would attack the rabid wolf to save his family even though it leads to his own demise. (Writer's Note: I know that you are thinking: who does that? As a storyteller, my job is to imagine things. All kinds of things - even one-eyed dogs. Imagine h

A military cemetery. My Dad revered Memorial Day. Born in 1935, he grew up during WWII. His uncles served in European and the Pacific theatres (and all seven of them came home.) So many of the families he knew were Blue Star families, meaning someone was serving, but he told us, most often, about the Gold Star families. These were the families that had lost a loved one in the war, and the community acknowledge the ultimate sacrifice that was made. Memorial Day meant going to

An AI-generated image of flowers and candles. "Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude... Love never ends." Thanks to the industrial-wedding complex, these words from 1st Corinthians may be the best-known words from the Christian bible in the secular world. But are they true? They are certainly aspirational but more likely belong in a rom-com script than in a wedding ceremony. It does not surprise me that so many marriages end in a c

An AI-generated image of a person made from pencils. Readers frequently ask me a version 'How do you come up with everything?' They often get hung up on how seemingly minor details or conversations turn out later to be very important to the outcome of the novel. I always say something like I just got lucky or its magic, not wanting to give away trade secrets, but since this is a blog about storytelling, I'm finally ready to come clean. It is magic. I know writers who meticulo

A moment of stillness as the moon rises. The other evening I took our two Boston Terriers outside for a short walk before settling down for the evening. The sun had set, but it wasn't quite dark; the moon was rising into an incredibly clear sky. Only two stars--or maybe planets--were visible in the darkening sky. what made the moment memorable, however, was the absolute stillness into which we stepped. It was as if we had stepped into an entirely different world, or at least

The author and his bride, June 1982. Note the shoes kicked off into the grass. Someone recently asked me about my marriage. "You've been married forever," he said, "and I know you believe in love. So why did you have Ed take up with a married woman in your novel?" It's a fair question. I responded that Jane's marriage was over long ago, destroyed by her husband's many infidelities, even if the emotional hold had not yet severed completely. I said that two years of soul numbin

Jefferson and Denise at a concert, October 2025. Forty-seven years ago, in April 1979, I met the love of my life on a Greyhound bus outside Quebec City, Canada. We went to rival high schools that shared a French teacher. Every three to four years Mr. Burt organized a French club trip to Canada. We lived twelve miles apart but met 925 miles from home. Do you believe in love at first sight? I noticed her immediately, before the bus even pulled away from where we boarded. She wa

AI-generated image of a 'rafter' of wild turkeys. Typically, if you write a blog post titled 'Wild Turkey' people assume you are writing about bourbon. I'm not writing about bourbon. Its Easter weekend folks, have a little decorum. Plus, I find wild turkeys to be fascinating. There is a flock--actually called a rafter--that lives about a mile from my house. The term rafter goes back to colonial times, when early European settlers would see turkeys roosting in trees at night.

An AI-generated image of a writer with Imposter Syndrome. College campuses serve many students who might not actually believe they belong on campus. They might be the first in their family to go to college or lack role models with whom they share an identity or just feel like they are different than the other students around them. This is known as Imposter Syndrome. It doesn't stop with college and can follow professionals into their careers. I see it frequently among striver