The Tale of Stingy Jack


The carving of the Jack-O-Lantern is one of the most celebrated tasks of the Halloween season. But have you ever wondered where the tradition originated from? If so, then the following tale is for you. I hope you enjoy this creepy little fable of the man they call…

Stingy Jack

“Grandpa, tell me a scary story.”

It was bedtime, and Timmy sat huddled under the covers as his grandfather tucked him in.  It might not be the best time for a scary story, Grandpa thought.  There were nightmares to be had in a darkened room on an even darker night such as this.  But the boy so loved his stories.

“I don’t want you to have bad dreams,” Grandpa said.

“I won’t have bad dreams. I promise.”

Grandpa looked down on the boy with a gentle smile. “Now, son,” he said. That’s something you can’t promise.  Bad dreams happen whether we want them to or not.”

“But tomorrow’s Halloween,” the boy insisted.  “And you always tell me a story at Halloween.”

Grandpa knew when he was licked. He couldn’t deny the boy this request. After all, it was tradition. But what story could he tell?  It had to be new.  It had to be about Halloween.  But above all, it had to be scary.  Looking around the room, Grandpa’s eyes found the pumpkin sitting on Timmy’s windowsill.  Its face had been carved into a smiling Jack-O-Lantern, its insides black because Timmy wasn’t allowed to have any candles in his room.

“Have you ever heard the tale of Stingy Jack?”

Timmy shook his head. “No.”

“Well then.  Lean back, my boy.  If it’s a scary story you want, a scary story you shall get.”

* * * *

A long time ago, in the far off village of Withered Branch, there lived a man named Jack.  The other villagers knew him well for he had a nasty reputation as a drunkard and a cheat.  He was tight with his money, would never give to others, and could talk a bargain out of even the most stoic shopkeepers and pub owners.

On one dark evening, Jack found himself in the local pub, thirsty for a glass of ale.  He had no money, of course, but that never stopped Jack.

At the end of the bar sat a lone stranger.  He was a dark sort of man, dressed in a black cloak and hat as if to shield himself from the hard Irish rains.  The man was keeping to himself, sipping from a mug of brew.  Jack made his way to the stranger and perched himself on the seat next to him.

“How are ye, sir, on this here fine evening?”

The man said nothing.

“Cat got ye tongue, boy’o?”

Again the man kept silent.

Shrugging, Jack turned from the stranger to address the pub owner.  “Bar keep.  One of your finest ales, please.”

But the bartender didn’t budge. “You know the rules, Jack.  Cash only.”

“Me credits always been good before.”

“Not anymore, Jack.  No money.  No ale.”  The pub owner turned and walked away.

“Why, the Saints preserve us,” Jack declared.  He turned to the stranger.  “Can ye believe such a thing?  What strange Devilry is at work here that a thirsty man can’t even get a pint of drink on a cold night such as this?”

“Devilry?” the stranger finally replied in a voice of soft inquisition.

“Aye,” Jack answered.  “It’s the work of Satan, I tell ye.”

“Is that so?” the stranger asked.  He turned his full attention to Jack before saying, “Tell me.  Why would the lord of the underworld conspire to keep a fine gentleman such as you from enjoying his nightly ale?”

Perfect, Jack thought.  He had the stranger right where he wanted him.  Now that he had this darkly-dressed gentleman firmly hooked into the throngs of conversation, it was only a matter of time before he would taste the sweet joy of drink at this man’s expense.

“That’s the way of his trickery,” Jack lamented.  “The devil will conspire to keep the thing ye most desire from ye in the hopes that ye sell your soul in exchange for that very thing.  Like myself, for instance.  I’m not asking for much, just a tiny taste of ale to warm me bones on this cool dark evening.  But Satan won’t allow it.  I’ll have to sell me soul, I tell ye.”

“And would you?” the stranger asked.

“Would I what?”

“Would you sell your soul for a glass of ale?”

Jack slapped the edge of the bar and answered in a voice of confident conviction. “At this moment, I believe I would.  But I don’t see any buyers around here.”

The stranger smiled, downed his last swallow, and regarded Jack with a sly expression.  “Would you consider selling your soul to me for a good drink?”

Jack had the stranger firmly in his grasp, he knew. Obviously the man was the superstitious type who gave into believing in nonsensical ideas.  This was going to be easy.

“Why, sir,” Jack declared.  “If ye were in the market for a soul, I believe that ye would find mine in excellent condition, and quite the bargain.  Shall we say, a full flagon of ale?”

Just then, the stranger produced a sheet of paper.  On it there were markings in a language Jack did not recognize.  At the bottom was a dotted line.  “If you’re a man of your convictions, then sign here and the ale shall be yours.”

Taking the man’s pen, Jack signed his best signature.

Suddenly, as if out of nowhere, a full flagon of ale appeared.

“Drink up,” the stranger urged.

And drink Jack did.

* * * *

He couldn’t remember how he got home, but the next morning he remembered the pub, and the stranger, and the drink quite clearly, for his head felt like a drummer’s kettle, thumping and pounding with a colossal ache.

The knock that suddenly came to his cabin door felt amplified tenfold. Flinging it open, Jack stood tall in the threshold, ready to repel whoever dared disturb his mighty hangover.

It was the stranger from the night before.  Jack instantly knew that something was amiss.  The stranger had tracked him down.  Why?  Perhaps he had come to his senses and realized that he had been duped.  Perhaps he was here to demand his money back for the ale Jack had drank last night.

“Sir,” Jack began in earnest.  “I think I know why ye are here.  But before ye speak, I think it me duty to say that we had a legal contract.  Ye agreed to supply me with ale in exchange for me soul.  Now, I understand that ye may have been tipsy last night, and in no condition to barter a sensible deal, but that is not me problem.  It’s not me fault if ye agreed to purchase something that doesn’t exist.”

But the stranger offered no sign of malice or anger. “On the contrary,” the he said.  “I’m not here to argue the validity of our deal.  You bought your ale fair.  But I must disagree with one thing; your soul does exist.  And now it is mine.”

Just then, the winds came out of the sky and the clouds blackened.  The stranger, once normal in appearance, began to grow horns, and sharpened teeth, and red skin.  His tongue, like a serpent’s, slithered and curled over his now grotesque mouth.

Jack swallowed back a frightened lump that bubbled up from deep within his throat. “Saints preserve us,” Jack muttered.  “Ye are….”

“Lucifer.  The Devil.  Satan.  Take your pick.”

“But it can’t be.”

“Oh, but it is.  I came here today to remind you of our contract.  I upheld my end of the bargain.  Now I own your soul.”

Panicked, Jack suddenly realized the gravity of the situation.  When trying to trick the stranger, the stranger had, in fact, tricked him.  Not believing in the existence of a soul, Jack had sold it off for a mere pint of drink. Now, as it turned out, he was the one who’d been duped.

“Enjoy this life,” the Devil said.  “For when it’s over, a new one awaits.”

As he turned to leave, Jack spoke up.  “Wait.  Don’t leave.  Not yet.”  Trying hard to hide the desperation in his voice, Jack continued.  “If ye think me soul is valuable, I know of something else that is far more precious.”

This seemed to get the dark man’s attention, causing him to turn back around. “Like what?”

Jack, ever the screwed negotiator said, “Ye don’t expect me to just give it away now, do ye?  Like me soul, this particular item will come with a price.  But I’ll tell ye what I’ll do.  I’ll show ye the item, and then ye can make me an offer.  How’s that sound?”

The Devil, still on the lookout for a bargain, agreed.  “Where is it?”

“I like to keep me valuables far from prying eyes.  Ye see that tree next to ye?  It’s up at the very top.  All ye have to do is climb up there and look.”

The Devil did as Jack suggested and climbed the tree to the very top.  But when he got there, he found nothing.  “What is this?  There’s nothing up here.”

In a flash, Jack whipped out his trusty pocket knife and carved a cross in the bark of the tree.  Furious, the Devil shrieked his contempt at Jack, but there was little else he could do.  With the cross carved into the tree, the Devil was stuck and could not come down.

“Now,” Jack said.  “I’ll make ye a new deal.  Ye tear up our previous contract and agree to never visit me again and I will remove this cross and let ye down.”

The devil’s anger was enormous and he cursed Jack for his trickery.  Never in his existence had anyone fooled him like this.  But in the end, he knew that Jack had won.  Taking the contract from his pocket, the Devil set it aflame.

When Jack was sure of his success, he took his knife and scraped away the cross.

When the Devil descended from the tree, he stood before Jack and acknowledged that he had been bested.  “But hear this,” the Devil warned.  “A day will come when you’ll regret your transgressions, Stingy Jack.”

With nothing more, the Devil departed, leaving the skies to clear, and the winds to fade, and Jack to revel in his victory.

* * * *

“Did Jack live happily ever after?”  Timmy asked.

“No,” Grandpa assured him.  “Jack did not.  He lived the rest of his life having never met the Devil again.  But after he died, and found himself before the gates of Heaven, God would not let him in.  For his wicked, sinful life, Jack was cast away from Heaven, never to return.  With nowhere else to go, Jack’s soul descended into pit of Hades.  But when he got to the underworld, he found that he wasn’t welcome there either.  For his trickery, the Devil cursed him to walk the earth in continual darkness for all time.  To light his way, the devil gave him a single burning ember, then banished him to an endless night on earth.  And with only his ember to guide him, Jack roamed the night, alone, lost.  Needing something to hold his ember in, he found a hollowed out turnip and carried it around like a lantern.  When that turnip eventually rotted away, he found another, and then another.  In time, his wandering took him far from his native land.  He wandered many lands, and crossed many seas, and eventually made it to this country where he found a new fruit that grew only here: a pumpkin.  It was the perfect lantern for his ember.  In time, the people stopped referring to him as Stingy Jack and began calling him Jack-of-the-lantern.  Or as we know it…”

“Jack-O-Lantern,” Timmy finished.

“That’s right.”

Timmy turned to the carved out pumpkin on his windowsill, and regarded it with wide-eyed wonder.

“They say that Jack is still out there, roaming the night, carrying his ember in a hollowed out pumpkin.  It’s believed that on every Halloween, he chooses a new pumpkin to be his lantern.  Who knows?  Maybe this Halloween, he’ll choose yours.”

With the story over, Grandpa said goodnight and turned off the lights.  Alone, Timmy lay in his bed, the covers up to his chin, watching the windowsill.  He could still see the pumpkin there, its outline clear in the moonlight.

In time, Timmy fell asleep.  In his dreams, he was haunted by the image of a dark stranger walking down a lonely trail, carrying a hollow pumpkin with a single burning ember inside to light the way.  As he tossed and turned in his sleep, he could still see the outline of his own pumpkin on the windowsill, its carved-out faced suddenly glowing from a light within.

When he awoke that morning, it was Halloween.

And his pumpkin was gone…


DEBBI is now available!


A game to end all games. On the line: her family’s future. Will Helen’s creation be enough to win the day? Or will she lose, and take her family down with her?

Helen Hunter’s father hopes to make his fortune by sending a robotic rover, controlled from Earth, to mine the surface of Mars for precious ores.

But there’s a catch. To do it, he’ll have to assume financial responsibility for the rover.  And on the harsh and desolate surface of Mars, one false move can mean the difference between untold riches and utter disaster. It’s a risky move that could spell doom for the entire family … and their hopes for the future.

Unless Helen can intervene.

The company behind the mining system—MARSCORP—is holding a junior gaming competition at their annual convention, and this is her chance. Grand prize is a one-year lease on a brand new Mars mining rover. Winning would mean that her father gets his shot at the Martian bonanza without any risk to the family.

But it won’t be easy. Teens from all over the country have come to compete. Some are smart. Others, ruthless. And Helen’s not the only one who needs to win. The mission: use her personally designed robot to fight it out in a high-tech arena that can simulate any environment, real or imagined. Beat the competitors. Bring home the prize.

Luckily for Helen, gaming and robot design are her specialties.

And when she unleashes her newest creation on the competition, a miniature homemade rover she calls DEBBI, the world is going to see just how skilled she really is.

The question is … will it be enough?


Get your copy today!


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The Patchwork Vest Rises


I have a new project in the works.  No, I’m not talking about a book (though I am doing one of those too).  What I have is this snazzy new vest.  My plan is to fill it up with patches dedicated to all the cool geeky things that I love.  Every time I add a new patch, I’ll post about it in this blog and explain why I picked it and what it means to me.

To kick things off, I’ve added the first two inaugural patches, both of which represent two of the heaviest hitters in the world of sci-fi.

First up…

Star Wars.


What can I say about this franchise that hasn’t been already said by countless people across the globe?  I still remember watching Empire Strikes Back at the drive-in theater when I was just a wee lad.  The spectacle.  The effects.  The music.  Ah, what’s not to love?  These films will be around for countless generations like Greek Mythology or the works of Shakespeare.

When picking a patch, I had to go with this one.  The Millennium Falcon is the best.

And for number two…


Star Trek.

A big thing in geekdom is the debate between which is better: Star Wars or Star Trek.  In that particular war, I choose to remain neutral.  I love them both… but for different reasons.

My appreciation for Trek actually grew as I got older.  The fact that it deals with highbrow issues centered on the future of humanity makes it a bit more cerebral in a lot of ways.  I’m fascinated by the near 50 years of mythology it has managed to weave into our cultural landscape.  There’s so much there to take in, something for everyone, and I’m sure there is plenty more to come.  I’m looking forward to all of it.

I chose this patch because the Enterprise is also the best.  (You can have two bests, right?)

So there it is.  The first of many patches to come.

Which one will be next?

Tune in next time as we continue to patch our way into pop culture glory!



Research Tips for Writers


Whether you’re telling a story about vampires in the London fog, or deep sea divers searching for gold at the bottom of the ocean, chances are you’ll need to find supporting information to enhance your understanding of whatever given subject you’re writing about.

I believe that research is essential to helping you tell a good story.  The information you find while conducting your research will help you think of ideas and move the story into richer areas that you never would have thought of otherwise.  For me, the story idea I’m working on is like a hunk of stone and the research is the chisel I use to chip away at it to bring the sculpture to life.

With that said, I’d like to share a few methods that have worked for me.  I am currently working on a series about Mars, so the examples I’ll show here reflect Mars as my research subject.

Let’s begin.


I like to keep a notebook and jot down information that I think will come in handy.  If writing things out by hand isn’t your thing, you can do the same thing with your word processing system of choice.  Either way, it’s a good idea to keep a separate space (be it either paper or digital) where your research information can be stored and easily organized.

The following are three of my favorite go to methods when searching for information on my story subjects.

  1. Documentary Films


Documentaries are chalk full of information, much of it condensed down for time and presented in basic terms that a layman such as myself can understand.  Usually what I do is sit in front of the television with my notebook and the remote control handy.  When something is mentioned that sounds important or sparks an idea, I pause the video and jot it down.  Thanks to the advent of streaming, there are plenty of videos available on platforms like Netflix and Amazon Prime.  You might also want to check with your local library and see what DVD’s are available.  If they don’t have a specific title, they can likely order it for you.  It’s a great way to get some productive use out of your TV time!

2. The Internet


This one might seem self-explanatory, but I like to go a little deeper than simply hitting Wikipedia for some quick cliff notes (some of which might not always be 100% accurate).  Instead, I like to keep my eyes out for articles that offer something relevant to my subject.  If I feel that it has information that I might want to refer to later, I save it in my favorites file and then make a notation in my research notebook.  I also make sure to cite the title and subject mater.  That way, I can refer back the article anytime I want to access its information.  Another tip: try to stick to articles from reputable sites in order to maximize the information’s authenticity.

3. Books


Lastly, I still like to do the old school method of gleaning information straight from books.  You know, those stacks of bound paper with words and sometimes pretty pictures inside of them.  Often, I’ll skim through a book on a given subject and concentrate on the segments that mention something pertinent to what I’m writing about.  If it’s a book I purchased for myself, I’ll highlight the needed information and flag the page with either a rabbit ear or bookmark so I can refer to it later.  If it’s a book I borrowed from the library, I’ll jot the information down in my notebook along with the book’s title and author so I can cite where I got the information from in case I need to refer to it again later.  If e-books are your thing, you can still highlight passages and jot down information as you go.  Used bookstores are a good source of reference material, much of it you can get at a discounted rate.  You can also borrow them from your local library, though you’ll have to make copies of any segments you like or write the information down before returning it.

These methods have served me well in my search for information to enhance the stories I’m working on.

I truly believe that research is an important and necessary part of the creative process.  It should be a joy, not a chore.  If you’re writing about a certain subject and you find that you hate looking up information about it, chances are it’s not the right subject for you and you might want to think about switching gears to something else.

As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts on the topic of research.  Is there a particular method that works for you that wasn’t mentioned here?  Feel free to discuss it further in the comments section.  Thank you!

Available now: Brave New Girls: Tales of Girls and Gadgets featuring my story Helen of Mars.

Coming soon: DEBBI: the first novella in the Rovers of Mars series.

Tash McAdam – Blood in the Water



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There have always been warps—tears between realities—and they’ve always been a threat to humanity. Most people are blind to them. But Hallie’s eyes are opening. Now that she’s going to school at the Protectorate, she’s learning there’s more to life than fun and games.

The truth is, she’s just become part of Earth’s only shield against the monsters of the warps. Before, she didn’t think she was anything special. Now, yanked from her relatively normal life, she realizes that she doesn’t have a choice.

When the emergency alarm sounds, calling everyone in the school to arms, even the young and inexperienced are needed. As one of the warp weavers—capable of closing the warps and stopping the monsters—Hallie must now work to save lives. And she must do it in the most complicated situation she’s ever experienced. Because there are sea serpents in the Thames, and Hallie has to close the doors that are letting them in.

The problem is, they’re underwater, and they’re hungry.

Now everyone is relying on her, and Hallie must find a way to do her job—with a brand new partner—before it’s too late. Because if she fails she’ll die, along with everyone who’s depending on her.


Cover Reveal for Mary Fan


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Publisher: Glass House Press

Sinister plots. An underground rebellion. And a treacherous road filled with monsters and enemies unknown.

It’s been three months since Aurelia survived the International Challenge—an elite monster-fighting competition. And the Triumvirate has been keeping a close eye on her ever since … as if they expect her to cause them more trouble.

They’re right.

Now that she knows about the underground revolution—and the dark secrets of her own past—Aurelia is hell-bent on escaping the government’s watchful gaze and joining the rebels. Finally, she’s found a cause worth fighting for. A way for her kind, the Norms, to take back their freedom.

Then, when she overhears a Triumvirate official’s conversation, she learns that it’s even worse than she realized. The government knows about the rebels, and the rebellion. They’re searching for people who sympathize with the cause. And they’re coming after her next.

Suddenly the time for dreaming about the rebellion is over. Aurelia must make contact with the rebels and plot a quick escape … before the Triumvirate has a chance to capture her. But government forces and miles of monster-filled wilderness stand between her and the rebel headquarters, and dangers she never imagined lurk in the shadows.

Before she can fight for the freedom of her people, she must achieve her own—or die trying.


About Mary Fan

Mary Fan is a hopeless dreamer, whose mind insists on spinning tales of “what if.” As a music major in college, she told those stories through compositions. Now she tells them through books—a habit she began as soon as she could pick up a pencil. Flynn Nightsider and the Edge of Evil follows a well-received debut novel, a space opera titled Artificial Absolutes (2013), and is the first in the Flynn Nightsider series. Mary would like to think that there are many other novels in her bag, and hopes to prove that to the world as well.

Mary lives in New Jersey and has a B.A. from Princeton University. When she’s not scheming to create new worlds, she enjoys kickboxing, opera singing, and blogging about everything having to do with books.

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Thinking about Mars

I found an interesting article in which sci-fi writers give their opinions about the future of human colonization of Mars.  Here’s a link.  I’d encourage you to take a few moments to check it out.

It got me thinking… with the looming publication of my story in the Brave New Girls anthology, I guess I can claim to be a sci-fi writer too.  So here are my thoughts.

We’re already on Mars.  We’ve been there for over ten years via the use of robotic proxies controlled here on Earth.  This has really happened.  Mankind has literally placed the footprint of its intelligence on a whole other world.  Yet no one seems to care.  Why is that?

The answer: because it’s not accessible to us.  We don’t get to control the Mars rover, so why should we ever give it a second thought?  It’s not featured on primetime TV or the subject of the latest pop 100 hit.  For most of us, it simply isn’t an active part of our daily lives.  To the average person, myself included, real space exploration feels too much like a genius only club.  Sure, we all like a good sci-fi story or film.  But when it comes to the real deal, the hard won discoveries that actually get us there, we shy away.  We assume it’s over our heads and don’t even bother with it.  We need to do better than that.  Sure, we can’t all have a PhD in astrophysics or a Master’s in Engineering from MIT.  But that doesn’t mean we can’t get involved in some fundamental way.  It all comes down to accessibility.

In 1986, we came close.  We decided to send a civilian into space for the first time, a teacher, who was planning to come home and travel the country, speaking to school children and inspiring a new generation of possibilities.  For one brief, shiny moment – space was within reach of the common person.  But it wasn’t meant to be.

The tragedy of the Challenger explosion plunged us into a deep hole that we’re just now starting to crawl our way out of.  I’m not saying that we should rush into sending untrained civilians into harm’s way anytime soon, but we should be doing more to get people interested, at least a little.

Let’s face it, progress starts and stops with the pocketbook.  It always has.  The old adage, you get what you pay for, is as true here as it is with anything else.  Space exploration is expensive, and – at least for now – there’s no money to be made in space.  If there were, I guarantee we’d have boots on the ground on Mars within a few years.

But with no dollars to be had, we have to create a new currency.

The currency of inspiration.

We have to care.  We have to want to learn more.  We need to be given the secret knock to the clubhouse door.


11051216_827063833998200_5024608705083471531_n Helen Art

To learn more about the Brave New Girls project, please visit

Why I left adult fiction to write for young audiences

Broken Clock # 1 The Red Bag #2 Widowfield #3

I used to write adult fiction. Now I write for young audiences.

So why the change? The answer is simple. And complicated.

Let’s look at the simple explanation first. I’ve always had an active imagination. Some of my earliest memories reflect this. When I was little, I’d tuck rolled-up socks into my arm sleeves to simulate muscles, tie a pillowcase around my neck, and run around the house like Superman all day long. I would play with my action figures intensely for hours, pretending they were real-life beings engaged in epic adventures rather than inanimate pieces of plastic splayed out on the living room carpet. And I practically lived for the movies, counting down the minutes until I was once again led into that dark theater, where I could watch all manner of amazing things play out on that massive screen: a boy flying his bike across the moonlight carrying an alien in its basket, a man in a fedora being dragged through the dirt behind a moving truck while holding onto his trusty whip, a large space ship warping through the cosmos with a crew of intrepid explorers in tow…

These were the things that fired up my imagination and set me on the path that I’m still on today. So when it comes time for me to tell my own stories, it’s only natural that I gravitate back to those very same themes, to try and tap into those moments from my own youth—the ones that inspired my first sparks of creativity. After all, when it’s all said and done, that little kid with the sock muscles and pillow case cape has never really gone away.

So the real question is: Why haven’t I been writing for young audiences all along?

That’s where things get more complicated.

Aside from comic books, I wasn’t a big reader when I was little. You have to remember, this was in the days long before the Harry Potters and Percy Jacksons set the young-reader world on fire. We had chapter books for my age group, but they didn’t seem to be about things that excited me. As such, the reading bug didn’t bite me until I was about fifteen. And when it did, it bit hard, with adult fiction teeth. Stephen King. Dean Koontz. Robert McCammon. Horror. Thriller. Once I was old enough to appreciate those names and genres, I was hooked. That’s when I decided to finally lock the toys and pillowcase capes into a mental chest and tuck it safely away in the recesses of my mind.

From there, my first teenage attempts at the written word were mostly short efforts designed to emulate these new literary muses I’d found. It wasn’t until I got into my twenties that I started to take my writing aspirations somewhat seriously. By now, I’d discovered a brand new crop of authors to inspire me. At the same time, I began to study Criminal Justice and writing in college. The plan was to somehow combine the two. I saw myself crafting tight tales of crime and suspense in the vein of all these cool new thriller authors that I was having a hoot reading. Makes sense, right? Well…

Despite the time constraints of school, then graduation, and—eventually—a day job, I still found time to write. Not much came out of these early efforts. But that was okay. I was learning.

By my mid-twenties, my ideas had finally begun to gel into something that resembled a literary path. I penned what I considered to be a nifty little crime tale that I felt was worthy of at least a limited audience’s attention. It was no masterpiece, and not without its flaws, but the experience of both writing it and getting an audience’s reaction to it was enjoyable. This led to crime book number two—a somewhat improved effort … better suspense, better character motivation, better twist at the end. By book three, I was ready to pull out all the stops. The result was my best story yet, a wild thriller full of danger, suspense, and intrigue. Dark and brooding, it deals with some pretty intense themes—fear, regret, redemption.

By the time I was done with it, I felt emotionally and creatively drained. I’d just spent the better part of a decade writing what turned out to be a loose trilogy of very serious, very grown-up books. I was happy with what I’d created, but I began to wonder: Was this really for me? I knew that I had to keep on writing, but I felt like I was walking through the middle of a dark forest with no end in sight. To write another book in this vein would mean that I’d have to continue on that path for the foreseeable future. I didn’t want that.

I was tired of the darkness and ready to step out into the light. But how could I do it?

By now, I was in my thirties and seriously trying to re-evaluate what I wanted out of this whole writing thing. Then I remembered…

That little mental chest was still tucked away in the back of my mind, just waiting to be opened once again. So I dug it out, popped the latch, lifted the lid, and peered inside. What I found was astounding. All those toys, all those movies, all those hours of playing sock-muscle Superman and countless other games had congealed into an intense, bright ball of creative energy just ripe for the plucking. I knew right away that this was where my imagination belonged. This was the voice I wanted to share. This was the audience I needed to write for.

So I set a firm foot on this new path, started walking, and never looked back.

It was the best decision I ever made.

Do I regret the time I spent writing adult fiction? Not achance. I’m still proud of those stories. They were the right thing for me at the time, and I learned a lot from the process. Sometimes you have to try several things before you discover what it is you really want. Some people know right away. Others need a decade or two to figure it out. It’s okay. The important thing is to keep on going until you finally find your way.

I did.

And I wouldn’t change a thing.