100 Books Like The Fixer

I worked for the last 25 years teaching literature classes and creative writing workshops—most of that time at the University of California at Davis. The students in my classes were mainly English majors and/or young writers. They tended to be serious about the potential of a text. To be serious, today, in America, about the potential of a text is to dwell in an inherently counter-cultural position. It is to conceive of the value of a text as something surpassing entertainment, i.e., use. Such a surpassing is a blasphemous notion… still tolerated in the context of the University. Its proliferation beyond those boundaries seems unworkable.  

I worked for the last 25 years teaching literature classes and creative writing workshops—most of that time at the University of California at Davis. The students in my classes were mainly English majors and/or young writers. They tended to be serious about the potential of a text. To be serious, today, in America, about the potential of a text is to dwell in an inherently counter-cultural position. It is to conceive of the value of a text as something surpassing entertainment, i.e., use. Such a surpassing is a blasphemous notion… still tolerated in the context of the University. Its proliferation beyond those boundaries seems unworkable.  

I worked for the last 25 years teaching literature classes and creative writing workshops—most of that time at the University of California at Davis. The students in my classes were mainly English majors and/or young writers. They tended to be serious about the potential of a text. To be serious, today, in America, about the potential of a text is to dwell in an inherently counter-cultural position. It is to conceive of the value of a text as something surpassing entertainment, i.e., use. Such a surpassing is a blasphemous notion… still tolerated in the context of the University. Its proliferation beyond those boundaries seems unworkable.  

I worked for the last 25 years teaching literature classes and creative writing workshops—most of that time at the University of California at Davis. The students in my classes were mainly English majors and/or young writers. They tended to be serious about the potential of a text. To be serious, today, in America, about the potential of a text is to dwell in an inherently counter-cultural position. It is to conceive of the value of a text as something surpassing entertainment, i.e., use. Such a surpassing is a blasphemous notion… still tolerated in the context of the University. Its proliferation beyond those boundaries seems unworkable.  

I’ve always loved mysteries and the detectives that solved them. Sherlock Holmes and Hercule Poirot were heroes to me, but as I grew older and the world grew more complex, I started reading novels where it was not so easy to separate the good guys from the bad. The world was not black and white anymore, and justice was not so simple. Characters who had to work around the law or took matters into their own hands to earn justice became my new heroes. Phillip Marlowe and Sam Spade, while not saints themselves, did whatever they had to in order to serve justice, and I admired them for it.

I first became interested in the subject of my novel after reading about the prosecution and sentencing of Andrea Yates, the mother who drowned her five children in a bathtub. My curiosity led me to Dr. Spinelli’s book, and the studies and scientific information told me there was a book there. Having lived on the St. Clair River, I knew it had to be part of the story. As a retired lawyer, I had plenty of knowledge of the court system, so I decided to write the novel from the lawyer’s point of view and include her personal growth as she connects to her client in unorthodox ways. 

I’m a fiction writer interested in exploring big historical moments through the lives of ordinary people. The extensive fight for reproductive rights and bodily autonomy for women, specifically black women, has long been a concern, admittedly for selfish reasons. This ever-shifting terrain—from eugenics and sterilization to coerced birth control and the rise in maternal mortality rates—was initially perplexing to me and it took a great deal of reading to make sense of it. Such research not only informed my historical novel, Night Wherever We Go, but much of how I understand the world. I’d argue one can’t fully comprehend the current abortion rights moment without understanding how race and reproduction are so deeply intertwined.

In college, I studied under the former Director of the Defense Intelligence Agency, General Sam Wilson, who laid the foundation for my understanding of geopolitics and the intelligence world. Post 9/11, I began reading every book on terrorism that I could find, and my vision for conspiracies was broadened by both what I read and what I experienced in the daily news cycle. Steadily, the combination of my creative juices and research led me to write my trilogy of political spy thrillers, the Surviving the Lion’s Den series, which explores the Iranian threat to the West via a mirage of conspiratorial plots. 

I wear so many hats that if I murdered you, you wouldn’t know which one of me struck. I am a crime fiction writer, a producer, a public speaker, and an entrepreneur. I have to admit I am an accidental writer who wanted to leave a legacy behind and, ergo, wrote a book in 2010. But I found writing crime fiction so addictive I became a serial killer…err…writer. In my spare time, I read—spoiler alert!—crime fiction and binge-watch crime shows. I am an avid golfer, I love music and traveling, and I find something in the sound of water that encourages me to write and murder a few more people (fictionally, of course).

My mother’s family is descended from both Afrikaner and English South Africans, and the inherent tension between those two groups has always fascinated me. From Olive Schreiner’s The Story of an African Farm to Andre Brink’s Devil’s Valley, books that examine the reclusive, defensive, and toughened attitudes of white settlers make for the kind of discomforting reading that I find immensely compelling.