The great French poet Paul Valery once said “A poem is never finished, only abandoned.” The same holds true for murder mystery novels written by perfectionists.
For years, people have been asking me if my book, “Painting With Fire,” is done yet, and now it is. At least, it's as finished as it can be.
The strange thing is this book started as a poem about the hissing radiator pipes in my apartment. The poem just kept going and going until it formed a story. It took me four years to assemble the puzzle pieces and craft this mystery. I have read this book a hundred times and each time I find something new to change. But now it’s time to release it into the wilderness. Enough. The story has got to live and breathe on its own.