Yes, I know it is 2026, and the holidays are technically behind us. But our house and front yard are still festooned with decorations, and I don’t think I’ve taken enough photos of the Christmas Village that took so much effort to put up this year. So when it came time to write a post for SleuthSayers, the mystery blog, this week, my head was still stuck on Christmas. In one of my first posts of the new year, I always try to share some sort of inspirational message for writers. Today I am sharing an anecdote of how I came to write my first published story, and the strange thing that happened immediately afterward.

You can read my article at this link. It is called…

This week I’m participating in Advent Ghosts, an annual flash fiction event run by writer Loren Eaton. You'll find links to all the stories participating in this event at his blog, I Saw Lightning Fall. Every single one of these stories is exactly 100 words.

Loren will be adding links to more stories as we get closer to Christmas, and as writers submit them.

So be sure to check back. Here’s my story…

One of my rituals of the Christmas season is taking the time to read O. Henry’s charming, heartfelt story, “The Gift of the Magi.” It is only 2,000 words long, and a great snapshot of life in New York City at the turn of the 20th century. My particular favorite is the last paragraph, which at first glance seems a little redundant, until you realize that it needs to be. That said, I have an article at SleuthSayers today that focuses primarily on the “mystery” inherent in the story’s very first paragraph.

The Sherlock Holmes mysteries consist of 56 short stories and four novels. And only one of those stories takes place at Christmas time in Victorian England. It’s the famous story, “The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle,” which finds Holmes and Watson chasing a jewel thief in London who has stuffed his prize down the throat of a live Christmas goose. Yes, you heard me. A goose. First the goose is alive, then it’s not, then it’s well and truly cooked. And zaniness ensues. It’s fun story but there’s a huge gaping plot hole in the middle of it all…

Well, the folks over at SleuthSayers, the mystery blog I write for, have me contributing a post on this, the deadest reading day of the year, Black Friday, the day after Thanksgiving when all good Americans are out spending themselves blind. Not to be outdone, I have managed to blame the entire Black Friday concept on short story writers, the very same folks who operate the SleuthSayers blog. I know, it’s wacky clickbait premise, but you can’t blame a guy for trying. My argument is based on one of the oldest American Christmas traditions…