I live in Holland, Michigan, with my lovely wife, Becca, a five-year-old rapscallion named Jack, and a one-year-old, Oliver, who is turning out to be a scoundrel, too. We have a modest, comfortable house in a friendly neighborhood. When I’m not writing, I try to spend as much time as possible with my family — playing, eating, going on adventures and the like. You know, family stuff: we go to the farmers market on Saturdays, to church on Sundays, and for ice cream more often than we probably should.
As a general rule, I keep two or three books on my nightstand — a healthy mixture of non-fiction (DeYoung, Lewis, Bryson) and fiction (McCall Smith, Wodehouse, Tolkien) — along with a Bible and a stack of magazine articles I’ve printed off the internet. I brew my own beer. I have a garden in the backyard: tomatoes, peas, broccoli, lettuce, beets. I love fall and winter more than summer and spring (although I don’t mind those either). I like a good story, a warm house, honest food, and conversation with friends.
There are a lot of things I want — dreams for my life and career and my future — but I’m trying to be content with what I have. So far, I think I’m doing alright.