Publication Day!! A rare event in any writer’s life, as all of us--no matter how prolific-- have only a finite number of books in us. The Home Guard began with an idea shortly after I arrived in Beaufort in 2005. That idea percolated over the next several years as I learned more about this luxurious, tide-happy corner of the planet. A Major influence on my book turned out to be one published before I got here: The History of Beaufort County, South Carolina, Volume 1, 1514-186

On Three Pines, the cotton plantation adjoining the hunting lodge which becomes Carter’s and Missma’s retreat, a family of slaves must decide what to do in the wake of their new freedom. Grace and Polk and their twin daughters, Sparrow and Lark, have lived and worked on the plantation for years. As mentioned in prior blogs, the Battle of Port Royal Sound caused an exodus of Beaufort’s white population, which became known as the “Great Skedaddle.” The exact number of slaves fr

I’m so pleased with the blurbs that will accompany the publication of The Home Guard on March 4, 2019. Here is one from the incomparable Margaret Evans, the editor of Lowcountry Weekly: “With a large cast of unforgettable characters – both historical and fictional – and a backdrop of indelible splendor, John Warley has spun a tale of adventure, romance, and reckoning set during a pivotal moment in our nation’s fraught history that reverberates profoundly, even today.” But wha

As we prepare to celebrate Thanksgiving, my mind is on . . . turkey? Don’t make me laugh, or even chuckle. Yes, of course I’m looking forward to that traditional bird with trimmings, but what REALLY gets my heart pounding this year is oysters. Just down the coast from Beaufort runs the May River, source of some of the tastiest oysters I’ve ever had. I’m carrying a quart of them to Charleston tomorrow, where eldest son Caldwell and I will create a bisque that will make you wan

Greetings from Miami, Florida. The title of this blog comes, of course, as a paraphrase of a Jimmy Buffett song I've always liked, "Everybodys Got a Cousin in Miami." I happen not to have a cousin in Miami, but I have something better--two close friends from San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, where I wrote A Southern Girl between 1993 and 1995. Barbara and Federico Vidargas moved here from Chicago a few months ago and have generously made their downtown condo available to me. Th

Last week, I blogged about my Aunt Sue, who spoke to me from the grave by way of her memoir, Three Houses, the preface for which expressed the hope that a nephew like me would find material for a novel in the history she had so beautifully preserved. It didn’t take me long to hone in on a number of passages I found helpful, but to explain how I was able to use them, I need to tell you about Beaufort. Beaufort, South Carolina lies midway between Charleston and Savannah. We mov

Previously, I explained why John Grisham need not worry about me threatening his throne as king of the mystery, thriller, suspense genre. Talent aside, I lack the inspiration to write it. But what about historical fiction? My mother’s maiden name was Barnwell. The Barnwells are an interesting clan in the way Southern families can be, with plenty of “characters” to spice up the primordial soup. Like all families they were, very originally, hunter-gatherers, but the Barnwells

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A popular genre among readers has always been M/T/S: mystery, thriller, suspense. Given the success of writers like Agatha Christie, John Grisham and John Le Carre, an aspiring writer would be foolish not to toy with turning out a page turner. Which makes me foolish, because I’ve never flirted with the form, at least not yet. A common snatch of conversation at a cocktail party might be, “Oh, anyone could write a Grisham if they wanted to.” Oh? I disagree. John Grisham happens

In last week’s blog I described the literary summit of three dead writers (Faulkner, Proust and Nabokov) and one very much alive writer, Pat Conroy. Today I want to tell you about the day Pat became an editor. A restaurant in Beaufort, South Carolina called Griffin Market specializes in Italian cuisine from the Piedmont region of Italy. Pat’s time in Rome made him passionate for the food, so that the opening of this restaurant by Chef Laura and Sommelier Riccardo was a bit li

Last week I disclosed my dilemma in combining two short novels, A Southern Girl and Just a Dance, into the single story they cried out to be. The solution was neither painless, nor quick, nor even mine. Dante famously warned at the gateway to his Inferno, “Abandon all hope, you who enter here,” and I had abandoned all hope of getting A Southern Girl published. But in 2012, I appeared with Pat Conroy at the Savannah Book Festival. Pat always draws a large crowd, and the crowd

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A Southern Girl (ASG) began as a short novel, by word count almost a novella. It began with the infant’s abandonment as the U.S. family, the Carters, debated the wisdom of adoption. It ended with the resolution of the conflicts on both sides of the world (hey, it’s a novel, it has to resolve conflicts). But then that question set in again: what if? What if the infant thrives and something happens that devastates the family unit? That led to what would have been my third novel

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In my last blog, I raised the question of how it is possible for fiction to reveal more truth than non-fiction--how things that never happened can be made to feel more real than, well, reality. While acknowledging that I have no answer, my working hypothesis is rooted in a writer’s need to explore those things which he or she are driven to understand but, for an assortment of reasons, cannot yet comprehend. Why then, you might ask, would a person write instead of doing medica

Last week’s blog identified three forces in Mexico that inspired me to more and hopefully better production in my writing. But motivation is not the same thing as inspiration. Today, I want to address inspiration. Writers are routinely asked where they get their ideas. I have long suspected that those most inclined to ask are the people for whom the idea of writing a novel is a foreign (and as magical) as pixy dust on faireys’ wings. I am equally in awe of anyone who can pain

Six weeks on the road is a stretch, and when forty-three events in four states are factored in, there is only one logical question that can be asked: are you insane? Maybe. I kicked off the Southern Girl book tour on May 8 near Columbia with Friends of the Irmo Library, the first of a number of library events on the schedule. The crowd was small but eager to learn about the book. The crowd was anything but small the following evening at a private party on Hilton Head Island.

Last week’s blog mentioned some challenges presented by Mexico that required adaptation. For me, the challenge above all others was to write a good book which, after all, was the reason for coming. Three forces shaped my time and influenced the results. The first of these was my writing group, the core of which consisted of Donna Meyer, Roy Sorrels, Barbara Covarrubias and yours truly. Donna had been, some years earlier, in the original cast of the European production of the