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Neighborhood Watch

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Four missing college girls. Three possible suspects. Two bodies pulled from a lake. One audiobook. The streetlights and moon cast eerie shadows on my morning walks. My dog doesn’t care. Darkness doesn’t dull scent, if the number of times he tugs on the leash is any indication. Each fallen leaf and signpost is worthy of sniffs. I get lost on these walks. Not literally. I’ve lived in this neighborhood for eleven years. But I do get lost in books. My AirPods are basically bodily appendages at this point. In the time it takes to walk the two-and-a-half-mile loop, I have traveled years through time, flown across continents, invested myself in the lives of people who don’t actually exist. Though sometimes I read nonfiction. The exercise is good. My dog’s breed is prone to heart disease, and my body is prone to high cholesterol. These morning walks add steps to our lives. Except when they don’t. On this particular morning, I’m in a thriller. The plot isn’t original. There are dead girls, susp...
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The Flight to Collaboration

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Siblings are better known for clobbering than collaboration. So when my oldest brother, Donald, approached me about writing a book together, I wasn’t sure how to react. We’d just survived one of the worst years of our lives. Within nine short months, we lost a sister to cancer, buried our elderly mother, and experienced the horror of our nephew’s sudden death in a car crash. Was I even emotionally healthy enough to take on a massive writing project? The answer: definitely not. But Donald has one of those persuasive personalities. He’s a finagler. Filled with big ideas, optimism, and enthusiasm, it’s hard not to get swept up in the tailwinds of possibility. And as the youngest sibling in the family, it’s hard for me to say no. Before I could fully comprehend what I was getting myself into, I was typing the first chapter of what would become  Where We Land: A Pilot’s Reflections at Altitude , a memoir of flight and a humorous look at the underbelly of the aviation industry. I had no ...
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When Songs Bring Us Home

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Songs have undeniable power. Though we can hear the same song hundreds of times, magic can travel through the lyrics hitting us with new meaning. The songs don’t change, but people do. I think the same can be said for stories. Words written on the page stay the same, but our life experiences shape and mold our responses to them.  Musicals, which combine the power of song and story, create an alchemy of emotions that can penetrate deep into the soul.  My family recently saw The Wiz performed on a professional stage. For those not familiar, The Wiz is a retelling of L. Frank Baum’s The Wonderful Wizard of Oz , but with a soulful twist in the context of African American culture. The main characters are easily recognized by fans of the original 1939 movie, but the songs are a combination of R&B, funk, gospel, and disco.  In both productions, Dorothy’s deepest desire is to be home. And truly, is there a deeper desire in all of humanity? But for most of us, home is not so e...
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Letters to God

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If you rip enough paper into tiny fragments and toss them out the window of a car traveling down a Nebraska highway at 55 mph, for a brief moment, it can resemble a blizzard. It’s mesmerizing how the wind practically sucks the papers from your hand and carries them around the contour of the car. Then for a moment, they swirl and dance, like snowy confetti, before littering the road and the ditch and leaving a brief, but beautiful blight on the environment.  I don’t recommend doing this. And not only because of the damage it causes to Mother Nature. Don’t do it, because you might get caught.  True, my friend, Melissa, and I had already performed this destructive act half a dozen times, but now we were down to our last notebook. Our previous attempts were a paltry two or three pages at most. But what if we used an entire notebook this time? Could we release it just as another car passed by on this two-lane highway through the Sandhills of Nebraska? Would the driver believe they’...
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The Making of a Ding Dong Cover

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My apologies to Herbert James Draper, may he rest in peace, and to altar boys everywhere. Not all of you are ding dongs. Our cover design choice for The Ding Dong Altar Boy has garnered attention. We received one particularly nasty text asking, “Did you really do this?” Yes. We absolutely did. Most of the attention has been positive. It’s an arresting image. It’s funny. And it raises questions. All things an author would hope for in a book cover. I stumbled upon the 1909 painting one day while scrolling through Pinterest. The painting is entitled The Light of Faith, and it radiates a quiet reverence, capturing a moment of innocence, tradition, and spiritual solemnity. Of course, none of these things describe my brother, the voice behind The Ding Dong Altar Boy. Still, something about the painting drew me in. Herbert James Draper, a British artist, lived from 1863–1920 and came from the late Victorian/Edwardian art movement, often associated with Romanticism and Classicism. One internet...
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A Travel Guide to the Middle of Nowhere

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Why Chadron, Nebraska Might Be the Best Vacation You’ve Never Considered Everyone goes to Europe. So much so that on June 15, 2025, citizens in major European cities blasted water guns at tourists and greeted cruise ships with banners that read, “Tourists, Go Home.” Tourism to EU countries has surpassed even pre-COVID levels. Housing shortages, price inflation, and environmental impacts top the list of concerns for residents. But the news isn’t great for travelers either. That perfect Instagram shot of “holding up” the Leaning Tower of Pisa? You’ll be sharing the moment with three million other tourists angling for the exact same pose. Why not take a trip off the beaten path? Visit a place few have ever heard of—and fewer will visit. Why not visit Chadron, Nebraska? Called the “Florence of Nebraska” by absolutely no one, Chadron boasts French fur-trading roots, two historical museums, hometown goodness, and a canvas of scenery that stretches all the way to the sky. An occasional Angus ...
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What a Bunch of Bologna

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There’s a reason I hire an editor. In one of the short stories featured in our upcoming release, The Ding Dong Altar Boy, Donald mentions a memorable fried baloney sandwich he once ate. Our editor texted me: “Do you really not know how to spell bologna?” Apparently not. But I couldn’t take full responsibility for my mistake like a mature, honorable person. “Just so you know,” I texted back defensively, “I’ve had four beta readers, and none of them pointed it out. Spellcheck didn’t flag it either.” I shared the exchange with my 13-year-old daughter. “Well, duh,” she said. “Baloney is a word, but it’s spelled differently than the lunch meat.” “My 13-year-old is smarter than me,” I lamented to my editor. “I mean, she’s usually smarter than me too,” my editor responded. “But baloney means false. Bologna is a food.” “By that definition, lunch meat is also false,” I said. “’Cause there ain’t nothing real about bologna. I stand by my spelling.” (I changed the spelling immediately.) But I did ...
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