Before we ever became writers, Jim and I were readers. We remain devoted readers to this day, enjoying books across every genre. But how do we choose which books to read and authors to try?
We rely on recommendations from friends and family who share our taste in books and titles that our book club chooses each month. We also pay attention to a book's reviews and the author's personal story, particularly those who have overcome struggles like illness, loss, or life-changing events. These books, for us, are more about the "heart" behind the story.
At the end of each of our novels, we ask our readers to please leave a review and recommend our book to a friend, and we’d encourage you to do the same for any book you enjoy.
According to the National Endowment for the Arts, total book reading has declined significantly over the past 20 years. We understand that we all lead busy lives, but we believe that reading is worth the investment of time. Books introduce us to people and places we may not otherwise know, help us communicate better, and create empathy.
Reading also supports people like Jim and me, who have dedicated ourselves to storytelling for the love of words and to bring you hours of entertainment.
So, friends, we know we’re ‘preaching to the choir’, but we encourage you to continue reading, reading, reading, and to share your love of books with others. As George R.R. Martin said, "A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies. The man who never reads lives only one."
And thank you, sincerely, for supporting us!
For Better or Worse… How We Started Writing as a Collaborative Team
If we dropped a penny in a jar every time someone asks us, “How on earth do you manage to write together?” we’d have enough to book that next roundtrip flight to Istanbul to see our granddaughter. Sometimes, we give them the short answer, to others the long answer, and a few get the in-between answer. And we don’t really mind the question.
Then comes the next one: “How did you start?”
Our collaboration started on a snowy day on a snowy weekend during a snowy winter. We were living in Pennsylvania, and our boys were small.
Nikoo: Jim had decided to submit a short story to a national writing contest posted in Writer’s Digest magazine. He was looking for publication credits he could add to his tenure portfolio at the college where he was teaching. The story was pure adventure and featured a guy trying to save his small sailboat in the middle of Newport harbor during a hurricane. I remembered him writing it in grad school.
Jim: Nikoo has always been a brutally honest person, and she has strong opinions. That’s just two of the many things I love about her. But I can get a little defensive about my writing. She was working as an engineer, but she was always a closet writer. I, on the other hand, pursued my writing openly. And for all our years prior to that snowy winter, she was my first reader. Anyway, before sending the story off, I asked her to read it again.
Nikoo: So I read it. Now honestly, who cares about a guy trying to save a catboat while scores of people are losing their homes and… I don’t remember what I said exactly.
Jim: She said, “Don’t bother.” Maybe she worded it in a gentler way, but that was the bottom line.
Nikoo: He turns around and asks me, “Could you do better?”
Jim: And she says, “WE could do better.”
An entire snowy weekend passed while the two of us sat side-by-side and a new story emerged.
The ‘man saves his catboat’ story turned into ‘a woman contemplating suicide boards her catboat in the middle of a hurricane’. Her past plays itself out in the course of battling this storm. Old and painful conflict with her father. Guilt that haunts her about the death of her brother. Failed relationships.
We both physically wrote portions of that story and contributed when we weren’t actually pounding the keyboard. Agreements and disagreements. Pizza. Kids swinging from the chandeliers in the background.
We loved it.
We sent the story off, knowing we’d done something special. That short story went on to win a national prize. But by the time we heard the results, we’d already started a novel. It was our first, The Thistle and the Rose. The first of many.
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