90 books like Peace Like a River

As a goth chick from the American South, I’m obsessed with stories of old evil from the past finding its way into the present. I even live in a haunted house, a disintegrating Craftsman built in 1901. Our ghosts are very cozy, two cat-loving maiden ladies who were co-presidents of the local temperance society. We’ve given up on keeping liquor in our liquor cabinet; bottles cracking and leaking, glassware broken for no reason. And we’ve gotten so used to seeing and hearing their famous cat, Tom, we barely react anymore—a huge orange tabby tomcat who runs past our feet and jumps on the foot of our bed. 

In the natural course as a young man, I became a husband and a father. I have four children and eleven grandchildren. Fatherhood has been the most difficult yet rewarding job of my life. You never stop being a parent. So, it was inevitable that this would become a subject of my writing. I have tried to be a compassionate caregiver and a positive role model to my children; you’ll have to ask them if I’ve succeeded. In my novel, I try to depict two fathers (and their two sons) as good yet flawed men, doing their best and finding their way. Just as all fathers do.

I’ve always believed in magic, the kind that’s just around the corner, out of view. I loved books and libraries. So, it was no surprise that I became a teacher, and later, a poet and novelist. Now, as the author of four novels, I want my books to capture what I love best from poetry and teaching: beautiful, unexpected language, a touch of wonder, and themes that probe the big questions of life. A library shows up in most of my novels along with a bit of the fantastic.

Long before presenting my writing, or for that matter, becoming a writer, I have loved the spotlight of the oral storyteller. I have told stories at gatherings for children and adults, layering the content to fit every age. Every spoken story I tell comes from bits of my own life situations, and therefore, first person view has been the only effective tool I have had. Really, that is the only way I see the world. So, when I tell a story about someone besides me, I simply jump into their shoes and become that character. 

As a clinical psychologist, a man, and a human being on his own journey of healing and becoming, I suppose I’m interested in stories with struggling but lovable male protagonists because I’m the struggling male protagonist in my own life story, learning how to fall in love again with myself and my story and the little boy who lives on within me. The courage my clients show in the process of facing their pain and finding something beautiful in it is inspiring to me. I hope my life reflects that courage, too. And I want to write stories that give others hope and inspiration for this kind of healing, as well.  

I’m a writer. I also teach plot through non-credit university workshops and writer groups, and the one thing I stress is that storytelling is about reader experience. Worlds are a huge part of that experience. A degree in social anthropology makes me very conscious of the way my characters interact with their worlds. My fictional cowboys currently reside in Montana. But what if I wanted to move my cowboys to Manhattan? That requires a whole different story world—one my characters may or may not be comfortable in. My readers would now have to buy into the change in location. See the effect the world has on the story?

I consider myself above all to be an American Adventurer; I have been traveling in unorthodox methods for the last eight years beginning as a vagabond living in my car, a wilderness survival instructor in the Mojave, a privately contracted sailor in the Caribbean, funding an exciting independent film in remote Northern Pakistan, teaching English in Central Europe, and planting trees as part of a forestry project in remote Australia. I have committed myself to developing an organic method of traveling purposefully towards a vague destination and have turned it into a way of life.

I grew up in northern Wisconsin, where a love of books set my imagination on fire as I waited out the long, cold winters. Southern writers were my favorites because they took me from the plains of my northern home to a landscape vined in lushness, where people had names like Scout, Calpurnia, and Battle Fairchild; where places had names like Yoknapatawpha, and where a streetcar was named Desire. I got lost in that place of different constellations with its mint julep and velvet evenings, and its readiness to accept magic. It wasn’t until my children were grown that I finally earned bachelor's and master’s degrees, and determined that I would be a writer.

I grew up in northern Wisconsin, where a love of books set my imagination on fire as I waited out the long, cold winters. Southern writers were my favorites because they took me from the plains of my northern home to a landscape vined in lushness, where people had names like Scout, Calpurnia, and Battle Fairchild; where places had names like Yoknapatawpha, and where a streetcar was named Desire. I got lost in that place of different constellations with its mint julep and velvet evenings, and its readiness to accept magic. It wasn’t until my children were grown that I finally earned bachelor's and master’s degrees, and determined that I would be a writer.

As the daughter of a prim and proper New England family, expectations were that I would follow societal norms: attend college, get married, and raise a family. I knew practically nothing about the world outside the United States, nor had I any curiosity about it. Everything changed in 1980 when I took a job as an accountant working for one of the world’s greatest adventurers, Richard Bangs. He literally dragged me, kicking and screaming, into the remotest heart of Africa, where I became infected by wanderlust. Ever since, as a single woman, I have embraced a life of adventure traveling around our amazing planet.