I love to read.
And that's where it all starts, isn't it?
I wasn't always a voracious reader, though. In fact, I loathed reading for the better part of my childhood. I spent most of my time in front of a television watching shows and movies I was far too young to watch. It wasn't until that beautiful coalescence of the right book at the right moment with the right teacher that it all turned around for me. That was in high school, and I never looked back. I even majored in English Literature for my undergraduate degree.
I still wasn't a great reader at that time, though. How was I supposed to move beyond simply comprehending the words? To find theme and meaning? To dig my hands into the soil of the text and sift, search, and feel out the sublayer until I could extract the subtextual that, maybe, even the author wasn't aware of?
Fortunately, my professors didn't sniff me out. Well, most of them didn't. I think one suspected. I'm looking at you, Professor Frank.
The stacks of books from multiple classes, ranging from the classics to modern prize winners, were overwhelming. But they broadened my range. Gave me a deeper appreciation for the art form. I even wrote three full novels while I was an undergrad. That's right, I got the bug. I spent nights and weekends and free periods scribbling in a notepad or glued to a monitor to produce three horrendous, wandering, mixed-genre novels that should never see the light of day. And I love them whole-heartedly.
I carried on to an MFA in Writing for Film and Television, where I wrote screenplays, directed film sets, and collaborated with people much cooler than I could dream of being. A few of those scripts have placed in competitions, most recently in 2026.
Somewhere along the lines, though, life took me in a new direction. I built a career in higher education administration, teaching writing on the side. Eventually, I parlayed that into a career in business. Business! How the heck did I let that happen? But turns out I had a knack for it. Maybe that observation and critical thinking I'd developed while analyzing stacks of books was paying off.
I never lost the itch, though. I kept writing. Bit of this and that. Scripts. Poetry. Song lyrics. Prose. You name it.
I never stopped reading, either. I love literary fiction, especially from British and European authors. But still, nothing seeps into my bones and sweeps me away the way a good mystery does.
I read every night before bed. A book typically sagging from my hands and down to my belly as my head lulls in my rocking chair, in the corner of my primary bedroom. I always have a mystery in hand or on deck. I force myself to alternate in literary fiction or other genres so I can better appreciate returning to my comfort zone.
Maybe it hit me in that rocking chair. Maybe earlier, somewhere I've forgotten. I want to see more mystery books on the bookshelves. I want more options, not just the few series I've personally fallen in love with. (Richard Osman has taken part of my year, every year, recently.) What if I built a place where aspiring mystery writers could learn from the working authors who came before them? More good books on bookstore shelves. More writers writing the genre I love.
That's what Stone Lyon Society is meant to do.
I'm here to keep my own writing alive and well, alongside yours.
Stone Lyon Society is named for two families who settled in northern New Hampshire and reportedly didn't get along. The Stones and the Lyons, somewhere in the mountains around Lancaster, not far from the Canadian border. New England's modest answer to the Hatfields and McCoys, by all accounts. Probably with fewer firearms. Probably more politely worded grudges.
I'm descended from both. I didn't learn that until my fortieth year, after I'd moved back to the region where the families originally settled, and I started pulling at the thread. The investigation is ongoing. Quebec is involved. Europe before that. There's more to find.
Which, if you think about it, makes a writing school for mystery a fitting place to spend the rest of my working life.
I hope it brings you the same joy it does me.
Now, let's go write our way into a corner and see if we can't get out of it.