Genesis of a Novel: That Dirty Rotten Lousy Stinking No-Good Dog of a Man

People sometimes ask where I find inspiration for my books, and so far, my ideas have come from real life. The title of this blog post kind of gives away the events behind A CASE OF SOUR GRAPES, but I'll fill you in on some of the particulars.

It's been a busy time for cheating spouses in East Texas. Women cheat, no doubt. But lately, it's the guys who have been up to no good. The basics of the story are always the same, but here are some details:

One gal found out her husband was cheating when he called her to come bail him out of jail. The charge? Soliciting a prostitute. (What balls to call his wife to come rescue him. We're talking big ones.)

Another husband came home and told his wife he was involved with another woman and wanted a divorce. Come to find out he'd been cheating for months, lying about where he was and what he was spending money (several thousands) on, and opening secret bank accounts. The photos on his phone and his computer records were revealing. (It's important to have a friend who knows how to search his electronic devices should you find yourself in this situation.)

A third husband brought his girlfriend to the business he owns with his wife, and proceeded to flirt outrageously with the other woman. Right there in front of the customers and his wife. Midlife crisis, anyone? (It was the boobs that got him. Definitely the boobs. That is all.)

In each case, we're talking massive male egos and probably delusions of grandeur. In each case, we're talking women with financial and community resources. And in every case, divorce followed, along with divided loyalties among families and friends. The saddest part? My girlfriends were all devastated by his infidelity. They had no idea that their marriages were in danger. More importantly, they had no idea he was sleeping with the other woman while he was still sleeping with them. *shudder*

It's a helpless feeling watching your friends go through something like this and knowing you can do nothing to ease their pain.

Except plot a means of getting even, which is where I come in.

None of the women I know would actually do bodily harm to their spouses. (With one exception. You know who you are. Own it, girl.) So I decided to think about the whole revenge thing on their behalf. What would happen to a guy who cheated, once his wife found out about it?



It's an interesting question, isn't it? Hell hath no fury, etc. And then I wondered, given the massive egos above and the well-off women they cheated on, what would happen if that husband decided he could work two marriages at the same time. Double the sugar mommas. Or even three. (Talk about living dangerously.) That's what sparked the idea for A CASE OF SOUR GRAPES.


A husband who disappears but keeps spending his wife's money, a wife who's desperate to get him out of her life but can't find him, and an ambitious private investigator who hasn't a clue what to do about it all.

Wine, women, and song. What could possibly go wrong?

Only time can ease a broken heart, but maybe some imaginary revenge will help. Click on the cover to buy a copy of A CASE OF SOUR GRAPES and then tell me, did he get what he deserves?


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Genesis of a Novel: The Horrific Death of James Byrd Jr.

James Byrd Jr.

On occasion, an idea for a novel will spring fully formed into my mind. More often, it takes some time and several prompts for an idea to take hold and germinate. 

In the case of AVENGERS OF BLOOD, the tiny seed of an idea came to me when I read about James Byrd Jr.'s brutal killing. It took place in Jasper, Texas on June 7, 1998 and is a shameful part of our state's history.

Byrd was beaten, chained by his ankles to the back of a pickup truck, and then dragged to his death. The coroner believed it took almost three miles to kill him. This was as cold-blooded a murder as you'll come across.

Although Byrd's death caught my attention, what really grabbed me and planted the seed of the idea was his family's reaction. I cannot imagine the hell they must have lived through as they learned the circumstances of his death and sat through the trials of the three men eventually convicted of Byrd's murder.

But instead of responding to his killers with anger, with outrage, they spoke about forgiveness. When the Ku Klux Klan and the Black Panthers held demonstrations in Jasper, Byrd's family called for peace and tolerance. When two of his murderers were sentenced to death, the Byrd family spoke out, asking that their sentences be commuted to life, saying that was punishment enough for them.

I'm a little ashamed to admit that I couldn't get my head around this.

I'm a Christian. I believe in the power of forgiveness, for both the forgiver and the forgiven. The Byrd family has my respect, my admiration for their words and actions. But if what happened to James Byrd Jr. happened to someone that I love? I'm not sure I'd be strong enough to react in the same way, and I can only hope I could muster the courage to try and forgive.

As for the novel, the seed didn't germinate until I was sitting in church one Sunday, bored by a sermon. (Hey, all you preachers, it happens more often than you'd think.) Instead of paying attention, I was leafing through my Bible looking for distraction. And I found it in Numbers 35:20-21 (NIV):

And if he thrust him of hatred, or hurled at him, lying in wait, so that he died, or in enmity smote him with his hand, so that he died; he that smote him shall surely be put to death; he is a murderer: the avenger of blood shall put the murderer to death, when he meeteth him.

Brutal, eh? It's Old Testament, and I like it. This reaction would be more true to who I am than offering forgiveness. (I did say that I'd like to have the courage to forgive, but I'm giving you honesty.)



And there it was. The idea for a story about vengeance for a crime that was so unimaginably horrible, made even more intolerable because justice was denied, that no punishment other than death would do. That led me to the tag line for AVENGERS OF BLOOD:

A horrific triple murder; a crime without punishment; and memories that will not be silenced.

This is not the story of James Byrd Jr.'s killing. No piece of fiction could come close to portraying the nightmare of his death. Instead, it explores the opposite of the Byrd family's courageous reaction to their loved one's murder: the desperate need for resolution, for a price to be exacted in payment for a terrible wrong.

Read AVENGERS OF BLOOD and then tell me: which is closer to your heart? Forgiveness or vengeance?


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Genesis of a Novel: A Dirty Old Man

Readers sometimes ask where I get ideas for my novels. I'd like to say that there's some sophisticated process of pondering, gestation, and - some time later - voilà, a novel is born.

Alas, no. Ideas for my books come from seemingly random events that my little brain manipulates and interprets into evil motives and actions. Take, for example, the spark for THE DEVIL OF LIGHT. It ignited shortly after I was groped by a horny octogenarian.

Yes, you read that right. A dude in his 80s fondled me. Not what I expected from a respected member of our East Texas community. But excellent fodder for a crime novelist's brain...

In fairness, I guess the spark didn't fully flare until he groped me the second time and I realized that the old fart hadn't just lost his balance and grabbed my right breast and left ass-cheek to stabilize himself.

[How did this dirty old man even have the opportunity to grab said breast and cheek? During one of those polite 'hello' and 'good-bye' hugs that characterize greetings in Texas, and perhaps in other parts of the South. Simple as that.]


In truth, the idea for THE DEVIL OF LIGHT crystallized into a flammable substance as I listened, between gropings, to this old man describe the joy he experienced as a young buck, when he chased blacks and Hispanics ('nigras' and 'spics' - his words) through the East Texas woods. This would've been in the 1930s or so, when he was in his teens or twenties. Such was his glee in describing the chase that I didn't dare ask what happened when he caught these people. The chase was chilling enough.

But full-blown ignition occurred after Groping #2, when I realized that the old man believed that playing grab-ass with women he barely knows and chasing scared people through the river bottoms was perfectly acceptable behavior.

No. More than acceptable. It was his right.

And then it hit me that he probably wasn't alone in this belief. The dirty old man was merely acting on what many people believe to be true: that certain folks are "less than" and therefore, undeniably gropeable. The definition of those who are "less than" in THE DEVIL OF LIGHT is simple: anyone who is not white, wealthy, male, and / or holding certain positions of power in the community.

My little brain went into full-blown event manipulation mode, and the idea behind THE DEVIL OF LIGHT, the old man, and The Church of the True Believer was born. Detective Cass Elliot had been knocking around in my conscious and subconscious for a while, waiting for a meaty mystery to dig into. Cass is a wounded woman for whom justice is not just a concept - it's a physical necessity. The cruelty and arrogance of the old man, his Church, and his sadistic killer were just her ticket into existence on the page.


On its surface, the novel is about the hunt for a multiple murderer. But beneath that thin veneer THE DEVIL OF LIGHT explores what might happen when the gropers of this world unite and decide to 'control', to 'mold' their communities into a preferred state of status quo. Where those "less than" are forced into their place and kept there through a mix of blackmail, violence, and bastardized religion. It's about corruption for the sake of a tiny bit of power in a narrow slice of the world. The story is brutal at times. Violent. Gritty.

And powerful, given the reviews the book has received to date.

And maybe, just maybe, THE DEVIL OF LIGHT is my way of poking a metaphorical finger in the octogenarian's eye. My initial reaction to his gnarly fingers squeezing my body was to bop him in the nose. A bit of broken cartilage, some blood, perhaps a fall and a fractured bone. But that would've ended badly for all of us. Me, especially.


A novel is a much safer outlet. Delightfully satisfying to write and hopefully, an enjoyable break from reality for my readers. 

And there you have it, the Genesis of THE DEVIL OF LIGHT - a dirty old man with wandering hands and a sense of entitlement, and my little brain seeing opportunities for evil everywhere...


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