How Travel Broadens My Perspective as a Writer

There’s something about stepping outside your familiar world that changes you. For me, traveling to 49 U.S. states and abroad has been more than just a personal adventure—it’s been a creative wellspring for my storytelling. Each destination offers new characters, places, and ideas that inevitably find their way into my novels. From the eerie fog that rolls in over the Oregon coast to the vibrant, frenetic energy of a New York street, these experiences shape the worlds my characters inhabit.

The Places That Inspire

One of the most iconic settings in my Rogue River Incident series is Applegate Lake, a location that’s rooted in my teenage years. I watched as humans built the Applegate Lake Dam, then filled it with water. Seeing that transformation left an indelible mark on me—watching a landscape shift from one thing to another, much like a story taking shape from blank pages into something alive. That process stayed with me, and it’s no coincidence Applegate Lake is a key character in the Rogue River Incident novels.

But it’s not just Oregon’s landscapes that find their way into my stories. A fishing trip to the Little Upper Truckee River in Nevada gave me a profound sense of tranquility and focus. Standing ankle-deep in the cold water, casting for brook and brown trout, I felt a connection to nature—to patience, quiet observation, and the thrill of a sudden, unexpected catch. That connection deepened when a buck emerged from the forest, walking up to me within feet. I stood frozen, mesmerized by its slow, deliberate movements, each step feeling like a moment suspended in time. It’s as if nature granted me a rare moment of pure stillness. That experience left me in awe, in tune with the natural world in a way that words can hardly capture. That feeling echoes into the quiet, introspective moments my characters experience, often when they’re standing on the precipice of discovery.

Then there’s the inspiration that comes from bustling, human-filled places like New York City or the crowded squares of a European city. There’s a certain rawness in these environments—an emotional intensity that’s unavoidable. The quick glances of strangers, snippets of overheard conversations, and the unpredictable nature of the crowd all contribute to how I write dialogue and interpersonal tension. My travels abroad, where language barriers add another layer of complexity, have shown me how much communication happens beyond words—a tilt of a head, a look that lingers too long. You’ll find these subtleties in my novels, where the unsaid often speaks louder than the said.

Characters Born of the Journey

Travel introduces you to people you’d never meet in your own hometown—and that’s gold for a storyteller. I’ve sat next to talkative strangers on long flights and in crowded cafes, each of them carrying their own stories, their own quirks. Often, I’ll catch myself mentally jotting down a detail: the way someone’s hands move when they’re nervous, or the lopsided grin of someone sharing a joke. It’s these tiny, specific details that make fictional characters feel real.

For example, the protagonist in the Rogue River Incident series draws on the qualities of people I’ve met. He’s got the introspection of a traveler, the edge of someone who’s seen both the beauty and darkness in the world. Those contrasts—light and shadow, calm and chaos—are something I’ve experienced time and time again in my travels. Crossing a peaceful river in Montana can feel worlds apart from navigating the crush of people on a London Tube, but both are essential experiences that help me understand human nature better.

Storytelling Lessons from Travel

If I’ve learned one thing from traveling, it’s that everything is always in motion. No two moments are the same, no place stays exactly as it is. That’s a lesson I’ve taken into my writing. In every story, there’s movement—a journey—whether it’s physical, emotional, or psychological. Characters who stay still for too long become stale. They’re no different from a town where nothing ever changes. But throw in a storm, a new arrival, or the discovery of a long-buried secret, and suddenly everything’s alive again.

Travel teaches you to embrace uncertainty. There’s a certain thrill in not knowing exactly where you’ll end up or who you’ll meet along the way. That’s the same thrill I feel as a pantser—a writer who doesn’t outline, but instead lets the story guide them. I don’t always know where the plot is going, just like I don’t always know where a hiking trail will lead. I’ve learned to trust the process, to follow the twists and turns, and to believe that there’s something worth discovering at the end.

How It Shapes My Worldview

Beyond just the craft of storytelling, travel shapes my perspective on the world—and, in turn, the moral core of my stories. You can’t walk through the crowded markets of Southeast Asia or the small-town diners of America’s Midwest without gaining a better understanding of human connection. You see how people—no matter where they’re from—are striving for the same things: love, security, purpose, and belonging. That’s why the themes of family, belonging, and self-discovery run through my books.

I’ve also seen what happens when people are forced to confront change. Traveling is full of disruptions—missed flights, lost luggage, language barriers—and how you handle those moments reveals your character. In my novels, I’m always pushing my characters into uncomfortable spaces because that’s where the growth happens. It’s where transformation becomes possible.

Final Thoughts

If you’ve ever wondered where the worlds of my novels come from, now you know they’re inspired by places I’ve walked, rivers I’ve fished, and strangers I’ve met. Travel is, and always will be, an essential part of my process. It broadens my perspective, sharpens my empathy, and fills my mind with vivid, unforgettable details. Each trip is another chapter in my personal story—and, inevitably, in the stories I write for, and want to share with others.