The best word to describe my desk is austere. There's a lamp, a chair, and my computer. Occasionally I'll notice a small curio that spurns inspiration and move it to my desk. Overall, I keep it neat and free of distractions.

I grew up in a small town in Northeastern North Carolina. Once I had my license, I developed a love of driving around backroads, basically daring myself to get lost. The sense of freedom was all-consuming, and it's one of the things I miss most. The memories of those drives have provided inspiration in countless ways: odd towns in the middle of nothing, a person walking through an empty field at 1 am, a creepy little house with a lone, dingy bulb illuminating the porch. I don't necessarily know that the town itself influenced much outside of shaping my view of small-town life.

I was maybe 7 or 8. I wrote a sequel to the movie "Duel," complete with illustrations, and presented it to my mom. Despite the schlocky writing, she loved it—at least she said she did. I always enjoyed doing it, I just never considered pursuing it until much later.

I have a few projects underway, but I'll focus on one. Perry Williams—a hitman turned private investigator—is hired by a shady realtor. This realtor, named Barry, was rented unsold homes by the hour. To him, it was a brilliant scheme to supplement his income. Then, he finds one of his clients—the CEO of a pharmaceutical company—dead. After moving Barry to a safehouse, Perry accepts the job, checks the realtor's office, and finds someone rifled through everything. He locates a person of interest, only to have her end up dead. This leads to a second job offer from a wealthy businessman, claiming the deceased woman was his granddaughter. Believing both cases to be directly linked, Perry agrees and begins finding a hornets' nest of lies, embezzlement, conspiracy, and murder.

Freedom. Now, I don't want to misconstrue the work involved to any aspiring indie authors, because it's not some simple thing. At the end of the day, I like having the freedom of running things myself. I suppose I'm a bit of a control freak when it comes to my writing.

Bringing a thought to life and sharing it with others. I get great satisfaction when I take an idea and flesh it out into a cohesive story. It's also nice to see positive ratings and reviews, but that's not my motivation. I want to entertain people and allow them to immerse themselves in something I created.

An author writing without fans is akin to a singer vocalizing into a drainage ditch. It might make a wonderful sound, but—aside from self-satisfaction—it's meaningless. I appreciate every person who has ever trusted me with their time and money, neither of which are given away without thought. It's simultaneously gratifying and terrifying.