Richard Tyler Jordan

You all know I’m partial to sheep — their shifty little eyes and dramatic bleats speak to my soul — but the cows have been staging a slow, deliberate campaign to win me over. Daily staring contests, synchronized chewing, the occasional low moo of encouragement. I must admit, it’s working.🐄🐑🌿🇬🇧☕🌧️💚

Les Waspérables! It started as a faint buzz… and turned into a full-blown waspocalypse. Hundreds of them found their way into the downstairs loo of our ancient stone cottage — and promptly dropped dead. Just died. En masse. No note, no manifesto. It was some kind of insect Jonestown!

Spotted from the air! Our humble 17th-century cottage, snapped by dear friends with the eyesight of a peregrine falcon on approach to Bristol Airport. In a past chapter of my life, when I’d fly “home,” it was to Los Angeles. The aerial view would be six lanes of gridlock and a dozen police chases.

Some people dream of yachts, others of fame. Me? I just wanted a little walled courtyard to sip wine by candlelight and pretend I’m in a Merchant Ivory film. The wild thing is… this is where I get to live! Ivy-covered stone, flickering candlelight, and the occasional spider with boundary issues.

At nearby Thornbury Castle, they’re attempting a Henry VIII topiary. But actually it’s looking more likeDonald Trump disguised as a hedge to avoid culpabilty for all the calamity he’s wrought. Less Tudor Majesty, more Mar-a-Lawn meltdown. 👑🍊
#TopiaryFail #HedgeOfState #ThornburyCastle #RoyalShrubber

Spotted on my recent Rhine River cruise: a German castle clinging dramatically to the side of a cliff, as if sheer altitude were a measure of importance. Impressive, yes—but I confess, I prefer the quiet confidence of English castles. But then, I’m biased." 🏰🌿🇬🇧

This ceiling at Burghley House in Lincolnshire is a Baroque fever dream of judgment: a flaming hell-mouth yawns wide, damned souls spiral downward, and angels flap uselessly above the chaos.

Behold, the stairway to the dungeon in my friend’s castle—because apparently, some people really are living my fantasy. Back in the day, prisoners were hauled down these steps by grim-faced gaolers, who presumably had no patience for whining about ‘unfair persecution.’

Ah yes, Trinity College’s Long Room—arguably one of the most magnificent libraries in the world, featuring the entire planet as a decorative accent. Nothing says ‘humbling literary experience’ quite like browsing ancient books while a giant Earth hangs overhead.

Castle or manor? Either way, I should be living there. As an American expat writer in England, I deserve an estate, housekeeper, secret passage, family curse. Instead, I live in a 500-year-old cottage I’d never trade. But who needs a castle when your home already includes a ghost and a mystery?

Not religious, but I believe in the trinity of stained glass, hard pews, and old hypocrisy. As an American in England, I admire how these windows filter light while ignoring the sins. This place has likely seen more scheming than the Trump administration. Bless these judgmental windows.

These worn books belonged to my great-grandfather—proof that a love of literature runs in the family. Why no ‘E’ in “Shakspeare”? 19th-century spelling was as messy as modern texting. As an American in England, I can only aspire to such literary chaos.
🔎📖 Cozy crime: richardtylerjordan.com

“Great. He’s taking our picture.”
“Play it cool, Bessie. Maybe he’s a tourist.”
“Or worse… a food blogger.”
As an expat in rural England, I’ve clearly walked into something. That side-eye says I’d better move before they call their lawyer… or the butcher.
More cozy crime at: RichardTylerJordan.com

Must I dream of a castle with a stone archway for my evening ride? As an American expat in historic England, I deserve an entrance befitting my taste. A moat would be grand to ward off Jehovah’s Witnesses, surprise visitors, and ‘quick survey’ interlopers. 🔎📖 More cozy crime: RichardTylerJordan.com!

This little lamb had a rough start – snatched by a fox at breakfast. Luckily, neighbor farmers stepped in. Cozy mystery or countryside heist? Either way, it’s safe, and I swear I heard Anthony Hopkins whisper, “Have the lambs stopped screaming, Clarice?” More cozy crime at: Richardtylerjordan.com

Out TODAY! Library Journal gave Murder and a Missing Manuscript a “paw-sitive” review (“A dandy, twisty mystery.”). The cat read it. Loved it. Gave it five stars. Schedule: cleared. Help him convince Meryl Streep to take his call. Grab the book at: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | richardtylerjordan.com

I have a thing for old doors—go figure! This is MY front door, likely from the mid-1800s, when my 500-year-old cottage was last renovated. Feels like a Merchant Ivory film—still waiting for Emma Thompson, Anthony Hopkins, or someone with tea and scones! As an expat in England, this is my dream. 🙃✨☕

One of my favorite stone bridges here in Southwest England. 🌿🌉 So romantic, so peaceful… ideal for a dreamy writer to get lost in thought, craft stories of love and intrigue, or plan the next twist in a Polly Pepper mystery. (Spoiler: I think someone’s definitely hiding something under that bridge.)

Yes, those are cooked insects ready for tasting! I stopped at the Grub Kitchen in Wales, where “there’s something in my food” is a selling point! Ha! Seriously! 🦗🍽️ I came for curiosity, stayed for the bug burger and cricket cookies—which, to my surprise, were absolutely worth buzzing about. 🙃🐝

Caught this massive unit buzzing around like it owned the place! 🐝🙃 I captured it humanely… after several minutes of shrieking and an interpretive dance of panic. A reminder that I live in semi-rural England, where wasps are apparently the size of helicopters!

Just your friendly expat writer, wandering St. David’s Cathedral in Wales under the guise of “research” for my next Polly Pepper novel. 🕵️‍♀️📖 I came for history but stayed for murder mystery inspiration. (If these walls could talk, they’d spill secrets about randy monks—plus, all that itchy wool!) 🙃

What is it about cruises that makes you think, “Yes, I do need a vibrant pop art portrait of Queen Elizabeth II”? Sea air? Cocktails? A lapse in judgment? I almost bought it—though in my 500-year-old cottage, it’d be as subtle as a disco ball at a medieval gala. (But honestly… still love it.)

Exploring castle ruins (again/still), wondering what it’d take for central heating & decent Wi-Fi. 🏰💻 Asking for an expat American friend… who is me. Could I live here? No roof, drafty halls, questionable plumbing… 🏰 As a guy with a flair for the dramatic, I must say: tempting.

Stumbled across the Queen of Crime (well… her bust) in a Torquay park, where the brilliant Mrs. Christie lived. I may have whispered, “Teach me your ways, Agatha.” But she just stared. 😅🔎✍️ Pretty sure she was politely ignoring my Polly Pepper cozy mysteries… or silently judging my life choices. 🙃📚💀

Stopped by to practice my ‘Most Saintly Person of the Year’ speech. I lost. 😇🙃 Pretty sure daydreaming about cozy mystery murders in the pews didn’t help. Not religious, just an expat American writer who loves ancient stained glass and historic churches in Southwest England. 🔎💀✨

One guess who these 'Fab' four guys are! Hint: I’m in Liverpool, England... and no, I’m not joining a band (though I do have the charisma). 🎶 Bonus points if you can name a song they made famous—I've got one stuck in my head now!🎤😎 Just another fun aspect of my life as an expat from the US!

Ah, the romance of an English castle: a four-poster bed, creaky floorboards, and enough drafty charm for a Brontë love triangle. As an American expat, castle-hopping blends romance and history—perfect for falling in love… or asleep under layers of blankets since castles aren’t exactly cozy.

A “Fairy Door!” A charming portal for fairies to come and go—because who doesn’t need a little magic? This one was here when I moved in, and as an American expat writer in England, I adore the lore that makes this place feel like a storybook… even if it means inheriting tiny, invisible tenants.

Just noticed the date on my village church: 1557! Back when Henry VIII’s divorce papers were barely dry. The church was the village’s Wi-Fi hub—spiritual connection shaky, signal strength questionable. Built to outlast empires, with sermons likely longer than most villagers’ lifespans.

The perks of being an expat writer in England? Being invited to a manor down the lane and finding a room both inspiring and daunting. Even the curtains have more grandeur than my whole house back in the States. Perfect for imagining cozy mysteries—or just pondering how the hell they dust the mirror!