There are many people responsible for helping me with what eventually became Southern Heat. I’m sure I’m going to forget someone, but here goes. First and foremost is my wife, Patty. Not long after we married I mentioned I’d like to write a novel. Upon hearing that, she seized every opportunity to remind, encourage, push, pull, antagonize—the list could go on—me to do what I said I wanted to do. Her unending persistence helped me find my own.
Secondly, the past and present members of the South Carolina Writers Workshop, Greenville Chapter, are responsible for taking in this novice who showed up one day with a very rough draft. Phil Arnold, Susan Boyer, Mack Clarke, Roseilyn Clements, Kevin Coyle, Vickie Daily, Barbara Evers, Betsy Harris, Jim McFarlane, John Migacz, Marsha Migacz, Valerie Norris, Jim Saunders, Carole St. Laurent, Shaylene Scandale, Pat Stewart, Steve Stewart, Bob Strother, and Irena Tervo; thanks so much. Your honest critiques and support carried the day.
I had the pleasure of meeting Hank Phillippi Ryan at an SCWW conference after attending one of her courses. She is such a great lady and gave me much support and encouragement along the way. Through Hank, I connected with Editor Chris Roerden. Chris told me the truth. All I had to do was listen and make the changes, which included the entire ending.
Killer Nashville—what a great event. Thanks to Clay Stafford and Jaden Terrell and all of the people who help make that conference the benchmark it is.You guys rock!
My friends at Five Star: Gordon Aalborg, Deni Dietz, Marcia LaBrenz, Tracey Matthews, and Tiffany Schofield, have been great to work with. Thank you so much for this opportunity.
Thanks to my parents for instilling in me the love of reading. Mom, I’ll get to those new authors after I finish the first twenty you recommended!
To my Men’s Group brothers at Restoration: Tray, Mike, Danny, and Otis.You kept me on the right path.
Thanks to my agent, Jill Marr, who patiently answered every all-too-frequent email.
And, last but not least, Charleston, South Carolina. There is no other city like it. For those that know or don’t, I took liberties with locations. Obvious ones like the Chinese brothel and the red light district, which, as far as I know, don’t exist. Simmons Alley is named after Philip Simmons, a very talented Charleston blacksmith, but isn’t on any city map. Neither are The Church of Redemption and Mutt’s Bar. But I wish they were. Hagan Manor is what I pictured an antebellum home would be, but it isn’t in Yemassee or anywhere else. The Isle of Palms thankfully doesn’t have to deal with a dive like the Pirate’s Cove, but it was fun to put it there. Station 10 on Sullivan’s Island was my home for almost five years and it was the closest thing to paradise I’ve ever experienced.