This was the second book I ever wrote, and until recently, my least favorite. At the time I came up with the idea, I was reading about a murder case from the late 1920s where the murderer was schizophrenic, claiming that he heard voices, telling him what to do. I wanted to explore what it might be like for a troublemaker of a teen who, all of a sudden, begins hearing the sounds of a murder that occurred decades before he was born. The original title was called Sounds Like Murder after the song by the band The Clash, but I didn’t think it was an appropriate title for the age group (8-12 year-olds).

This book was shopped around a lot when I was actively seeking representation. I received some good feedback, but alas, alack, Alaska, no takers. This was the first book I self-published, and it actually did pretty good in the beginning, but, along with all the others, I ended up pulling it and revising it. After spending a lot of time working on the story at the sentence level, it’s a more enjoyable read and has become a favorite of mine.

Why I Wrote The Voices Upstairs