I am very please to have published my first fiction book - Fire Ground. It's about a female firefighter who has to track down an arsonist before he his fires become a means to murder. 

The fascination with fire had started when he had been young. He had been caught only one time while setting fire to his father’s shed, and he had learned two things. The first was caution. He had been able to lie his way out then. The second was that fire had exciting consequences. At that young age, he had been unable to hear fire speak to him. It had just been pretty. As he grew older, he learned to listen to the words that fire spoke deep in his heart, asking to be freed. He had always been careful, starting fires safely, in barbeque grills or burn barrels. He tended them with care, listening, and learning. Fire wrapped its fingers of flame around his heart and seared him. The color, the smell, the dancing flames spoke to him in words only he understood.

For years, the controlled burns had been enough, but as he had biked down the dark and deserted road, he heard fire speak to him. He needed to see the color, the shape, and the smell of fire. He stopped his bike and fumbled in his pocket for the book of matches he always carried. Excitement flaring in his blood in an almost sexual craving, he pulled a match free and struck it.

The match flared briefly, the dainty light reflecting off his thin face. The tiny flame reflected itself in the dark hair that hung in a heavy lock over the man’s forehead, making the red highlights dance. The smell of phosphorus stung his nostrils. He stared at the flame, transfixed. Flame shivered, almost died, and then grew back into life as he cupped one hand lovingly around it. It danced merrily in the slight breeze. He loved the very colors of the flame; blue, orange, red, and brilliant white. His breath caught; part of his brain filled with words of flame. He swayed with it. The Flame wanted to be bigger. It wanted to roar its defiance at a world that would control fire, not worship it. It bowed towards the bed of a hay-filled pick-up. Flame grew and became Fire. He could hear Fire talking to him.