Some of my earliest memories of reading center on the excitement I found in the pages of the Sherlock Holmes stories. I was just a lad, so I was forever looking up those huge words Sir Athur Conan Doyle used in his narratives with Holmes and Watson. I couldn't pronounce most of them, and I was quite sure they would never come up in conversations with my school mates, but I was determined to understand every aspect of the stories. Doyle made quite an impression on me, and that excitement has stayed through these many years. It is the foundation for my love of mysteries and probably the driving force behind why I began writing mysteries. So you can imagine my excitement when Mysterious Reviews published their review for my new mystery "Along Came A Fifer" and mentioned the "Holmesian" feel of the story and characters. It was as if Holmes himself, peering down from a window in his flat on Baker Street, tipped his hat with approval as I strolled by. I could never compare my work to such a great writer as Doyle, but I'm thrilled I could convey through my story a tribute to the lasting impression his work has inspired in me.
I'm much older now, but on a crisp winter's night, when objects along the road cast long ominous shadows across the side yard, and the wind resonates through the trees like a faint cry in the distance, I pull out that old volume and once again follow Holmes and Watson through the streets of Victorian London.

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