A few years back—I think it was years—I struck up a conversation with a writer from New York, Mark Conard, which turned into a friendship. We joke that the two of us are across-the-border dopplegangers, as we have so much in common. It is uncanny at times.

We've shared work back and forth, as well as introduced each other to writers that inspire us. One of those was the great literary crime writer, James Lee Burke. 
Mark put one of our conversations into a wonderful blog entry.

Here is the start...