I can’t remember how my fascination with trains began. My brothers and I used to watch for smoke from the steam engine that pulled train cars along tracks that made their way just beyond the hills to the southeast of our farm. On a clear day, you could hear the train chugging its way between
Last week I was in a beautiful old farmhouse on the Choptank River where I focused entirely on writing. The first few days were rainy. The river ran high. I loved the wet mornings, watching the mist rise from the river. Carl Sandburg talks about how mist moving across the valley carries everything with
I have better things to do than fill your inbox, but I will update you on news, such as Sid Johnson and the Phantom Slave Stealer’s nomination for an Agatha Award. It was one of five finalists–an incredible honor.
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