
James Dain Takes a Hike
At twenty, James set out to hike the Appalachian Trail. A thousand miles later, he understood what he had been fleeing from.

At twenty, James set out to hike the Appalachian Trail. A thousand miles later, he understood what he had been fleeing from.

James Dain reflects on the uneasy balance between careful planning, daily discipline, and the discoveries that reshape a novel as it is written.

Nine artists, a hilltop village in Provence, and the eternal question: is an artist residency a retreat, a vacation, or hard labor?

Reading Vincent van Gogh's letters, a memory of two people talking past each other—and what Vincent really wanted from his brother Theo.

For over a hundred years, the thick Sears catalog was more than a shopping guide. It was a wish book and a connection to the wider world.

Palm Springs is known for sunshine, palm trees, and mid-century architecture. But it should also be known for something else: gated communities.

Deep in the desert wasteland between California's Salton Sea and the small town of Borrego Springs, a dragon awaits unwary visitors.

I often drive north on Highway 395 to go skiing at Mammoth Mountain in central California. The road skirts the eastern edge of the Sierra Nevada, and as you head north the peaks rise in a kind of escalating drama.

Watching my friend Larry carry his lunch to work kicked something loose in my head—a memory of my father heading off to the steel mill, gray lunch bucket swinging from his hand.

Joshua Trees are strange, archaic-looking things—stubby, twisting branches, gnarled elbows, no leaves. They look less like trees than like a child's bottle-brush drawing of a prehistoric plant.

For my readers outside the U.S., Thanksgiving is perhaps the most American of holidays—a late-November Thursday dedicated to turkey, pumpkin pie, cranberry sauce, and enough starches to astonish even Babar the Elephant.

In the early 1990s, Palm Springs felt like a faded resort town barely hanging on. Still, to me, Palm Springs was a wonderland—a mid-century dreamscape of glass walls and butterfly roofs.

When my lovable little dog, Dapple, needed surgery for a bladder stone, the vet bill topped $4,100. Painful, but not catastrophic, since I'd had pet insurance on her since day one.

François Truffaut, the great French film director, once said, "When I start a film, I intend to make a masterpiece. Halfway through, I hope just to cross the finish line."

Mass tourism is ruining Italy. Such is the growing complaint—from Italians at least—tired of the hordes of tourists descending like locusts. Yet, I confess, this summer in Italy, I am part of the swarm.

I'm spending a few weeks here in mid-July in Bracciano, a charming Italian town just north of Rome that I stumbled into by accident a few years ago.

Some writers glug from a bottle to fuel their work—Faulkner, Fitzgerald, Hemingway—but others, myself included, prefer to sip our creativity awake with coffee.

Recently, I journeyed to Racetrack Playa, deep into the remote heart of California's Death Valley.

Plein air painting—creating art outdoors, in direct sunlight and shadow—brings to mind Monet's haystacks or Renoir's sun-dappled picnic scenes.

It's January again, which means I'm back on the slopes at Big Bear Mountain Resort in California, where I've been a snowboard instructor for some 19 years.

When I first started writing thrillers, I planned to be a faster writer. I imagined cranking out a book every six months.

To escape the punishing summer heat of Palm Springs—and to get some concentrated work done on my upcoming thriller—I recently took a cruise up the East Coast of the United States to Quebec, Canada.

We had just taken off from the Dayton, Ohio, airport when I heard the noise. It was a clunking, metal-against-metal grinding sound.

On a recent trip to my brother in Ohio, he casually mentioned he had recently encountered Bigfoot--right there on his farm.

Facing fear on the steep slopes of Mammoth Mountain during advanced snowboard training.

An "easy hike" to a desert oasis that turned into a challenging climb with Dapple in tow.

Writing advice from author Mark Harris that helped produce four novels in six years.

Exploring San Diego's Liberty Station, a former naval training center transformed into an arts and food destination.

A challenging hike through icy streams in Nevada's Spring Mountains that didn't quite reach the destination.

Battling eight feet of snow at Big Bear Mountain, plus a scared dog who hates car rides.

Taking photos with Taylor, saving a wounded seal, and dealing with a bad dog back home.