I was raised in a dying one-industry town smack in the middle of Flyover Country. I came up a Chicago Cubs fan, subsisting on a diet of Hostess fruit pies and Pepsi in glass bottles. I checked out every book in our public library about anywhere other than there. For college, I fled to New Orleans where I did a lot of growing up. Luck shone a steadying light my junior year in Scotland, where I learned to drink stout and met my wife.
Three children arrived in five years but I proved myself unable to stick to a job. I caromed from stockbroker to bomber navigator to attorney to international consultant to law professor, picking up an assortment of degrees from Syracuse, Georgetown and Harvard along the way. I’ve lived in three foreign countries, been to another 75, and still feel I haven’t seen much. All this in no way—or maybe in every way—qualifies me to write books.
I’ve written an award-winning trilogy set around the First World War, a thoroughly fascinating period in our shared history. I’m percolating another seven or eight novels and a dozen short stories, so I don’t fear boredom. I live in Virginia with my wife where I practice a little law on the side.