There Are Few Times That I Feel

The Ugliest Truth, In The End, Was Still Better Than The Prettiest Of Lies.

If I Had, Say, A Tall, Amateur Male Lead Living On The Campus Of A Rural College (six Years), The Next Book Might Feature A Short, Cop Who Lives In The Heart Of Manhattan (missing You).

This Is The Price You Pay For Having A Great Father. You Get The Wonder, The Joy, The Tender Moments - And You Get The Tears At The End, Too.

That's What A Good Crime Novelist - Any Good Novelist - Should Do With You: Play With Your Perceptions While Showing You Everything In Plain Sight.

An Hour Before His World Exploded Like A Ripe Tomato Under A Stiletto Heel, Myron Bit Into A Fresh Pastry That Tasted Suspiciously Like Urinal Cake.