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An Important Lesson
The Case Against Jasper is an allegorical mystery where a farm’s rush to judgment after a tragic accident exposes how communities distort truth when fear takes hold. What inspired you to explore human justice and mob mentality through the lens of animal characters?
The book was born out of a rush to judgement on my daughter’s part, who is age seven and arguing with her five-year-old brother and gossiping about him with her friends in the neighborhood. In order to teach both of them an important lesson, I created this theme about Jasper the squirrel and his endeavors. The story is a way to connect with them and give them an example that rushing to judgement and gossiping can have detrimental effects. Then enter Ink and Fiona, who represent intellect. Before rushing to judgment, look at the situation, study it and come to a conclusion. Ink and Fiona represented the internal intellect to look at things from all sides, test theories, and make decisions on the results. I liked the story so much that I decided to write the book.
Did you model any of the farm’s characters, like Ink or Fiona, after real people or archetypes?
Regarding real people, not really. The name Fiona is my mother’s name, so I used it in that way. Archetypes, absolutely. Jasper represents the scapegoat and those that are misunderstood. Jenny is the catalyst for the story. Others, like the group of squirrels, rabbits, etc., represent the mob. The hens, they are the hypocrites.
How did you balance the fable-like simplicity of the narrative with the weight of its moral themes?
By writing Jasper with a leaning towards gentle naivety, I allow the reader to experience injustice through the innocent eyes of Jasper. Although Jasper never fully comprehends the malice directed at him, he definitely feels it. It is this emotional honesty that preserves the purity of the fable while allowing readers to impose their own interpretations of guilt, grief, and alienation.
I think the ending leans toward restoration rather than punishment. What message did you hope readers would take from that choice?
Take any classic fable, and they typically end with punishment: the liar is caught, the greedy are undone, and the cruel are devoured by their own cruelty. Yet, The Case Against Jasper is written to break that cycle because the true tragedy of the story is born from misunderstanding, not malice. Jasper, as it turns out, never commits a crime. The crime is the community’s judgment itself. To punish would affirm the same broken logic that condemned him and would fall in line with classic fables. The stories’ true resolution must come from recognition and reparation, not vengeance.
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As rumors tangle like briars, a chorus of barnyard witnesses steps forward—some earnest, some opportunistic, all convinced they know what happened. Unreliable testimonies pile high: a jealous hen with a glint for shiny narratives, a rabbit fond of order and outrage, and a skittish mouse who “saw something.” With the farm on edge and a tribunal brewing, Jasper must prove his innocence before the story hardens into a sentence.
Enter Ink, the investigative ferret with a nose for hidden threads, and Fiona, the whisper cat whose quiet intuition hears what pride and fear try to bury. Together, they sift through half-truths and harvest-time politics to uncover what grief looks like when it’s weaponized—and what justice requires when the crowd wants a culprit.
The Case Against Jasper
The Case Against Jasper is an allegorical mystery set on Wildwoods Farm, where gossiping hens, nervous rabbits, and a wrongly accused squirrel turn a simple accident into a full-blown witch hunt. It begins with Jenny’s fatal fall and the farm’s rush to blame Jasper, her closest companion. From there, the story unravels like a rural courtroom drama with animals as witnesses and moral philosophers. Ink the ferret and Fiona the cat, unlikely detectives, sift through lies, fear, and half-truths to reveal that the tragedy is less about guilt and more about how communities twist truth when panic takes hold.
I found the writing to be both charming and haunting. Wilcox blends the innocence of a children’s tale with the sharp edge of social commentary. The dialogue feels lively, sometimes gossipy, and the pacing, though deliberate, mirrors how real-life rumors spread, slow at first, then uncontrollable. The tone is simple but carries a quiet intelligence, like an old storyteller who knows how to make you see yourself in the animals. Some sections are weighed down by exposition, yet the prose always pulls you back with its sincerity. The setting, rustic, quiet, full of whispering fields, feels alive, almost cinematic.
What struck me most was how human the story felt. Beneath the feathers and fur, Wilcox explores bias, fear, and the instinct to assign blame when truth is inconvenient. The farm becomes a mirror for our own world, where perception often wins over evidence. I felt anger for Jasper, admiration for Ink’s calm logic, and deep sadness for how easily the crowd turns cruel. The ending, more restorative than punitive, felt like a sigh of relief and a reminder that justice is as fragile as reputation.
I’d recommend The Case Against Jasper to readers who enjoy thought-provoking fables and slow-burn mysteries. It’s perfect for those who liked Animal Farm or Watership Down but crave something more intimate, something about forgiveness and truth in small places. It’s not just a story about animals. It’s a story about us, the way we talk, accuse, forgive, and finally, understand.
Pages: 273 | ASIN: B0FRYJLV4W
Guilt and Solitude
Where Despair Comes To Play follows a man consumed by the voices in his head who is convicted of murder and sentenced to prison, where the isolation drives him deep into paranoia, delusion, and dissociation. What was the inspiration for the setup of your story?
The inspiration for Where Despair Comes to Play came from a fascination with the fragile boundary between the mind and reality—how isolation, guilt, and fear can twist perception until the world itself becomes an echo of one’s thoughts. I wanted to explore what happens when a person is left alone with their own darkness, with no distractions, no noise—only the voices that feed on doubt and memory.
The prison setting became a metaphor for internal confinement. I wasn’t as interested in the crime itself as in what happens afterward—how a mind begins to fracture when trapped in silence and shame. Each of Malcolm’s voices—Paranoia, Delusion, and Dissociation—represents a piece of his psyche trying to survive the unbearable weight of guilt and solitude.
I always start my books with a well-refined thesis statement, similar to what I did for my doctoral dissertation. In many ways, the story was inspired by the question: If you can’t trust your own mind, where can you hide?
Malcolm is a fascinating character who draws readers into his mind and the horrors that reside within it. What scene was the most interesting to write for that character?
The most intriguing scene to write for Malcolm was the one where he finally stops resisting the voices—when Paranoia, Delusion, and Dissociation stop feeling like intruders and start feeling like his only companions. It’s the moment where his isolation becomes complete, and instead of fighting for sanity, he begins to negotiate with his madness.
Writing that scene felt like walking a tightrope between horror and heartbreak. I wanted readers to feel both fear and empathy—to see that Malcolm isn’t a monster but a man slowly breaking under the weight of his own thoughts. Capturing the moment when his inner voices start making more sense to him than reality itself.
What were some themes that were important for you to explore in this book?
My key theme was the personification of mental illness—turning Paranoia, Delusion, and Dissociation into living entities. It allowed me to explore how mental struggles can feel external and invasive, like something whispering just behind your thoughts. My ultimate goal for the book was to explore what happens when the mind becomes the battleground—and whether redemption is possible when your worst enemy is yourself.
What is the next book that you are writing, and when will that be published?
My next book is actually a love story, Framed in Love, that is steeped in fantasy and explores the psychological condition of “How far will you go, and what are you willing to do to keep that love alive?” In a world where love can be bound by spell and sacrifice, a devoted lover discovers that devotion has no bottom, and is preserving love worth losing everything that makes a person human?
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As Malcolm struggles to separate reality from nightmare, every letter etched on the wall draws him closer to a final word he may not survive. The line between guilt and madness blurs, and the only question left is chilling: is he haunted by his own mind—or by something far worse that feeds on silence itself?
Endless Fiction
I, Monster follows a boy born into poverty, abuse, and neglect who is shaped by these experiences into a predator that aims to not only silence those in the concentration camp, but also erase their existence. What was the inspiration for the setup of your story?
I had done extensive research on the Nazi SS and their rise to power for a nonfiction book when I was still a professor. I had always wanted to know how could a person commit such acts of terror, document that terror, and still function as a human being? That is when I got the idea of following some of the prominent SS figures and charting their course. I had found that a number of them were outcasts, bullied, and considered on the fringe socially.
So, I used my extensive psychology background and created Hans, who grew up in the post-World War 1 era and the punitive Treaty of Versailles, where hardship, deep resentment of the West, poverty, and political instability thrived. That was the fuel; now all you needed was a spark. Enter the National Socialist German Workers Party, a.k.a. the Nazis, and you have Hans.
What are some things that you find interesting about the human condition that you think make for great fiction?
I believe that the human condition is a source of endless fiction because life is full of contradictions, struggles, and the intense desire to do or have something. Yet, at the same time, much of life is routine—we work, eat meals, sleep, and get up to do it all over again. Fiction allows me to reveal the strangeness that lurks beneath the ordinary. This offers me the ability to remind readers that life is stranger and more fragile than it appears.
What were some themes that were important for you to explore in this book?
It was probably the overarching theme that embodies the “monster” within an otherwise rational man. The novel makes the unsettling point that “monstrosity” is not an external force—it already exists within the human condition, just waiting for the right circumstances and choices to call it forth.
What is the next book that you are working on, and when can your fans expect it to be out?
My next book is actually a love story, Framed in Love, that is steeped in fantasy and explores the psychological condition of “How far will you go, and what are you willing to do to keep that love alive?” In a world where love can be bound by spell and sacrifice, a devoted lover discovers that devotion has no bottom, and is preserving love worth losing everything that makes a person human?
Author Links: GoodReads | Amazon
To the world, he was just a bureaucrat in a coat too neat, boots too polished. But behind those cold eyes was a man obsessed with silence. Where others saw genocide, he saw design. And now, decades later, as investigators unearth the ruins and whispers resurface, the question echoes louder than ever: What happens when the monster is the one who writes the ending—and signs no name?
I, Monster
I, Monster tells the story of Hans, a boy born into poverty, abuse, and neglect who grows into a man consumed by cruelty. What begins as childhood bullying and violence slowly shapes him into a predator, then into a soldier, and eventually into a commander of a concentration camp. Through Hans, the book explores how systematic brutality and dehumanization can turn an ordinary person into an architect of horror. It is not a story of redemption but of descent, a chilling portrait of the way cruelty feeds on itself until nothing remains but emptiness and power.
The writing is sharp, relentless, and full of imagery that sticks in the mind long after you finish the book. The brutality is not sensationalized but presented with a stark clarity that made me feel both horrified and transfixed. At times, I wanted to look away. At other times, I found myself compelled to keep reading, almost against my own comfort. The author’s ability to take me into Hans’s mind disturbed me, because I caught myself understanding the logic of cruelty, even while despising it. That balance between revulsion and reluctant empathy is what made the book so powerful for me.
The prose can be heavy, almost poetic in its repetitions and its grim rhythm. It worked in creating atmosphere, yet sometimes I felt like I was drowning in it. Still, that might have been the point. The book doesn’t want to let the reader breathe too easily. It forces us to live in the same suffocating darkness as its main character. I appreciated that. It’s not an easy read, but it left me thinking hard about the banality of evil and how ordinary pain can harden into extraordinary cruelty.
I, Monster reminded me of Ordinary Men by Christopher Browning, since both confront the terrifying truth that cruelty often grows not from monsters at birth but from ordinary people shaped by their times and choices. I would recommend I, Monster to readers who are willing to confront the darkest corners of human nature. If you want a raw, unsettling exploration of how monsters are made, this will stay with you long after the last page.
Pages: 216 | ASIN : B0FN6T64YQ
The Immortal Witness
The Immortal Witness is a sweeping and imaginative work that blurs the lines between fiction, philosophy, and historical commentary. Told through the lens of an enigmatic figure named Aamon, an immortal being who has observed every major empire rise and fall, the novel follows his haunting dialogues with a curious historian. From the pyramids of Egypt to the bureaucracies of Rome and beyond, Aamon recounts history not with clinical detachment but with emotional weariness. The book delivers a deep meditation on human nature, power, memory, and the eerie repetition of civilization’s self-destruction. It’s a novel of ideas, framed as a personal confession from someone who’s seen everything.
I found the writing to be rich and poetic but never bloated. Wilcox has a gift for vivid detail and pacing that never stalls, even when he’s unpacking centuries of context. The historical settings felt alive. The pyramids sweating under the sun, the Senate whispering in corners, the roar of the Coliseum crowds, it all pulsed with urgency. What surprised me most was how mournful the tone became as Aamon trudged through time, his immortality not a superpower but a sentence. There’s real beauty in how Wilcox captures that sadness. His prose walks that fine line between weighty but never preachy and intellectual but still emotionally grounded.
Aamon doesn’t just reflect on history; he holds a mirror up to us. His belief that civilizations crumble not from invasion, but from within, due to arrogance, greed, and a loss of humility. The parallels to our current world were impossible to ignore. At times, I felt uncomfortable, even accused, and I think that’s exactly the point. This isn’t a book that lets you off easy. It’s not trying to make history charming or grand, it wants to show you the blood, the rot, the recycled mistakes.
If you’re someone who enjoys historical fiction with a philosophical edge, this book is for you. But it’s not a breezy read. It asks you to think, to feel, and to look inward. It’s perfect for readers who enjoy reflection, who aren’t afraid of slow-burn storytelling, and who crave something that leaves a mark. The Immortal Witness is less a book you read and more a story you absorb.
Pages: 238 | ISBN : 1959624059
LITERARY TITAN 