27 | April | 2026 | KR Brorman

There’s a rhythm to this life I didn’t plan, but wouldn’t trade.

Part farm.
Part writing desk. Part “What day is it, and why is there a fly in my coffee?” Because you left it there to reheat over and over for 12 hours.

Lately, it feels like everything is happening at once—and somehow, it all fits.

The Writing Life

Secrets & Smoke is officially on submission.

That sentence feels both quiet and enormous. Years in the making, shaped by fire and time and more than a little hesitation—and now it’s out in the world, finding its way.

Book Two is drafted, and revisions are on hold until Book 1 is agented or we pivot. Book Three is… forming. The characters have plenty to say. I just need to type a little faster—or think a little slower.

And then there’s the shifter series. Who what?

The one that’s been waiting patiently, sort of, for nearly a decade, while I figured out who I am as a writer. Turns out, it’s not done with me yet. I’ve started drafting, and it feels a little like coming home to something wilder than I remembered.

This week, I had the idea for a handful of true-crime essays—personal, reflective pieces that have been circling for a while as “should I write a book?”

The Farm Wife Part

Wheat harvest is just around the corner, which means everything speeds up and slows down at the same time.

Meals get simpler. Days get longer. The dust settles into everything—and somehow, it still feels right.

The garden is calling too. Prep season is here, and I’ve got plans that may or may not survive the Texas weather. We’ll see who wins.

And every morning, while I can, I’m out picking dandelion blooms by the quart. Part habit, part peace, part side hustle.

The Side Hustle

The dandelion-infused self-care line(salve, scrub, body butter, lip balm) is still very much a work in progress—but it’s one I love.

There’s something grounding about it. Slow work. Seasonal. Tangible.

A reminder that not everything has to be fast to be meaningful.

The Life Part

We welcomed a new grandson in January.

And truly, that’s the center of everything right now.

There’s something about holding the next generation that shifts your perspective. Slows you down in the best way. Makes all the other pieces feel like they belong to something bigger.

The Community

New Frontiers in Writing Conference in 2025 was a success—and we’re already building toward New Frontiers in Writing Workshop 2026 – you should join us!

I’m again serving as Education Director, and we’ve got a strong lineup coming together for this year’s workshop. It’s the kind of work that fills the well instead of draining it.

I also have a short story included in the 2025 THPW anthology, and I had the honor of writing the introduction for the THPW Route 66 Centennial Anthology.

In October, I’ll be speaking at my first conference with Women Writing the West, which feels equal parts exciting and a little bit surreal.

So, Where Does That Leave Me?

Busy. Grateful. A little dusty.

Writing when I can. Living in between.

Telling stories in one form or another—whether it’s on the page, in the kitchen, or out in the field with a bucket of dandelions and a head full of ideas.

If you’ve made it this far, thanks for sitting a spell.

There’s more coming.

There always is.

Coming Soon: Harvest Meals

With wheat harvest right around the corner, I’ll be sharing a short series of harvest meals—the kind that feed a crew, travel well, and don’t fall apart before they make it to the field.

Nothing fancy. Just real food, real life, and maybe a glimpse of how the farm finds its way into the stories.

—KRB

I stayed for the dialogue.

I think my first DCI Logan read came through my Audible subscription—one of those “why not?” clicks—and let’s be honest, who doesn’t love a good Scottish detective? I’m pretty sure Angus King didn’t hurt matters either.

But it was the dialogue that kept me there, binging then auto-buying.

The sharp, laugh-out-loud, did-he-really-just-say-that kind of dialogue that makes the DCI Logan/Bob Hoon series impossible to read quietly in public. The kind that sneaks up on you—one perfectly timed line—and suddenly you’re grinning like an idiot, or wheezing and wiping tears away as you snaugh (snort + laugh) Coke Zero through your nose over a murder investigation.

It’s quick. It’s cutting. It’s human in a way that doesn’t feel written.

The kind of dialogue that can carry a full scene and still slip in something so completely unhinged and perfectly timed, you have to stop and reread it/rewind.

Like Logan, mid-chase, at the climax of A Litter of Bones (check out the full cast recording if you can), giving coordinates for a possible serial killer and casually signing off with something along the lines of,
“We’re the ones with the blue lights going… nee-noo nee-noo.”

It shouldn’t work.
It absolutely does.

And then there’s Hoon—who operates on an entirely different/unhinged moral and conversational plane:
“Did they clone him from one of your less-impressive bowel movements?” (That is mild Hoon! IYKYK)

Which is either the most offensive or most accurate insult I’ve ever read. Possibly both.

And I loved it.
I expected it.
I counted on it.

So, when I downloaded Recall (James McAvoy) and didn’t laugh?

I noticed.

Not because something was missing—but because something had shifted.

The humor wasn’t there to cushion the story. The dialogue didn’t reach for the release valve. It just… held.

And it worked just as well.

Maybe better.

Because what stood out—what really stood out—was that the strength had never been the humor. The strength was always the voice behind it. The rhythm. The restraint. The ability to let characters speak exactly as much as they should… and not a word more.

It’s not easy to write funny dialogue that lands.

It’s even harder to write dialogue that knows when not to.

That trusts the silence.
That lets tension sit in the space between lines.
That allows characters to carry weight without deflecting it.

That’s what Recall showed me.

The humor in Logan. The chaos in the Hoon books. The bite, the banter, the perfectly timed irreverence—it all works because it’s grounded in something deeper. Something controlled.

Something intentional.

You didn’t lose the humor.

You proved you didn’t need it.

And as a reader—and a writer—that’s the part I’m taking with me.

So thank you.

For the lines that made me laugh.
And for the ones that didn’t have to.

—KRB

For more unhinged Hoon quotes, check out this post on The Great British Book Club. Don’t try to drink and read!

Who are some authors/characters who make you literally LOL?