tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-97226832024-03-13T09:33:05.675-04:00The Scribblings of Sarah E. GlennA blog for authors, readers, and nosy people.Sarah Glennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12455113960686270662noreply@blogger.comBlogger312125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9722683.post-48155363987863633642023-08-20T15:04:00.002-04:002023-08-20T15:08:09.787-04:00Lynda Rees: 10 THINGS TO IMPROVE YOUR HOME’S APPEARANCE<h2 style="text-align: center;"><br /></h2><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjARzhXf3ntX1EPTF5mO3VGbZDqZO3q0FzDFAgat_hnkX4UcO-USUHLHziUNysYp35ZJjzLoHr_POF25x8gqUhhl3xU_KnMrko7qQeJ_Rbocqhji2KzwrpPgxGgtpTegde86Rt1CjP8p2s9Sd1-wTzY38203g3uwVA3gaZzCfK6hSNB7gU_9W1S" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="737" data-original-width="500" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjARzhXf3ntX1EPTF5mO3VGbZDqZO3q0FzDFAgat_hnkX4UcO-USUHLHziUNysYp35ZJjzLoHr_POF25x8gqUhhl3xU_KnMrko7qQeJ_Rbocqhji2KzwrpPgxGgtpTegde86Rt1CjP8p2s9Sd1-wTzY38203g3uwVA3gaZzCfK6hSNB7gU_9W1S" width="163" /></a><i></i><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;">FLIP OR FLOP, MURDER HOUSE<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;">by Multi-Award-Winning Author Lynda Rees, <i>The Murder Guru</i></span></b></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;">Book Trailer Link:</span></u></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;"> From The Author’s Lips: </span></b><a href="https://youtu.be/NR18LdpGhyg"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;">https://youtu.be/NR18LdpGhyg</span></b></a><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;"></span></b><b><u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;"><o:p></o:p></span></u></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;">Charli Owens’ murder house renovation is supposed to save her from financial ruin if it doesn’t kill her first. More than corpses pile up, forcing Charli and neighboring contractor Eli Lange together as they unravel a history of death, corruption, and deceit.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;">Available at</span></u></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;">: </span></b><a href="https://bit.ly/3pRjsVd"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;">https://bit.ly/3pRjsVd</span></b></a><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhYWSm-GyHLg_thPAcNzJvN3l2Hs42xk0pdQWzr2xkBgcUnYNtidDPKqFC69Mtpi-x9pnNNcigroMPR9MI4PdGIgx1tE12PzUlq4Ynv2zyP4J9vNoOUDpiNciC3cLt_9_Vgq0vyZ83u7tAIuJQCeYE8N6F-A7sTLSJYzJTa1baa5o60cK044Kn-" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2400" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhYWSm-GyHLg_thPAcNzJvN3l2Hs42xk0pdQWzr2xkBgcUnYNtidDPKqFC69Mtpi-x9pnNNcigroMPR9MI4PdGIgx1tE12PzUlq4Ynv2zyP4J9vNoOUDpiNciC3cLt_9_Vgq0vyZ83u7tAIuJQCeYE8N6F-A7sTLSJYzJTa1baa5o60cK044Kn-" width="160" /></a><i></i><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;">FRESH STARTS, DIRTY MONEY<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;">by Multi-Award-Winning Author Lynda Rees, <i>The Murder Guru</i></span></b></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;">Book Trailer Link:</span></u></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;"> <u><span style="color: #0563c1;">https://youtu.be/meBS99r-fF8</span></u><u><o:p></o:p></u></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;">With a fresh MBA and fabulous job, Bree leaves her cheating husband and backwoods home for the big city. Snarky Police Chief Rex takes his tragic morning out on her when Bree blocks traffic in her first-ever rush hour traffic jam. A theft brings the two together. Their budding romance is interrupted when Bree is suspected in a brutal slaying. The killer wants something only Bree can give.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;">Available at</span></u></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;">: </span></b><a href="https://amzn.to/3KytxgL"><b><span style="line-height: 17.12px;">https://amzn.to/3KytxgL</span></b></a></p></div></div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">These are a few simple, inexpensive things I learned during
my more than thirty-six years as a Realtor about improving the appearance of
your home. I hope you find them helpful.</span></p></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div><span style="font-size: large;">10 THINGS TO IMPROVE YOUR HOME’S APPEARANCE</span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;">(okay, twelve things)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgaEE9UG3oZSI_SK8rNtieLxyLC0col1LulooFnnaCkTAKDacZAI0zzY57E7W62nZqfRt52eYwCpePSzjYjXv6KRuJIX4ldI-4sblpxTz7Pt-ifL_MyT7MikPE2X8uIburtx1PRI3TNQlXLKFTzY88k7441A38E5mXysd3wN1u7ZmaYKtxtthQ4" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="221" data-original-width="221" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgaEE9UG3oZSI_SK8rNtieLxyLC0col1LulooFnnaCkTAKDacZAI0zzY57E7W62nZqfRt52eYwCpePSzjYjXv6KRuJIX4ldI-4sblpxTz7Pt-ifL_MyT7MikPE2X8uIburtx1PRI3TNQlXLKFTzY88k7441A38E5mXysd3wN1u7ZmaYKtxtthQ4" width="240" /></a></div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>It’s surprising how a few simple, inexpensive steps can improve the appearance of your home. In most cases, the house you live in is your greatest asset. Whether you want it to look better for yourself, or your intention is to make it more appealing to potential buyers, try these twelve easy ways to make the best first impression possible.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>1. Prune hedges and shrubs in the front yard, especially those close to the house. Be sure no vegetation blocks windows. This makes the house appear immediately more modern, welcoming, and neater. It helps increase airflow when you open windows to bring in fresh air and makes it less appealing to intruders.</div><div><br /></div><div>2. Keep the lawn cut and trimmed. Rake weeds, dried leaves, and remove any fallen branches.</div><div><br /></div><div>3. Apply a thick coating of fresh mulch around hedges, bushes, trees, and plants. Not only does this help shrubbery hold needed moisture. It makes it easier to mow around them and assures passersby or potential buyers the home is well cared for.</div><div><br /></div><div>4. Wash the windows. This instantly gives the home a fresh, clean appearance. It helps enhance the inside atmosphere of the house.</div><div><br /></div><div>5. Clean the garage doors and shutters. If any paint is peeling or discolored, apply a fresh coat.</div><div><br /></div><div>6. Wash the front door and if needed, apply a new coat of paint in an inviting, modern color that accentuates the style of the house.</div><div><br /></div><div>7. Add a splash of color. If you’re up to it, plant a flowerbed of fresh blossoms. If not, colorful pot with brilliant blooms will do to give the house an inviting appearance.</div><div><br /></div><div>8. New, modern light fixtures for the front of the house (door, garage entrance) give the property an up-to-date impression.</div><div><br /></div><div>9. If you don’t upgrade lighting, at least wash the fixtures so they are clean and bug-free inside and out.</div><div><br /></div><div>10. Swap out old light bulbs for new, brighter ones.</div><div><br /></div><div>11. Remove clutter, toys, or tools from the front. Store them away in a basement, shed, or garage; or put them neatly inside a storage container in the back yard.</div><div><br /></div><div>12. Purchase a new, shoe-scrubbing welcome mat.</div><div><div><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p></div></div><div>Multi-genre author, Lynda Rees, the Murder Guru, brings you the best in mystery, suspense, romance, non-fiction, and more. This free-spirited adventurer and world traveler has a diverse background that brings rare perspective to her writing. Appalachian-born, daughter of a coal miner, Lynda is part Cherokee Indian. Her thriving, goal-oriented work ethic results in workaholic tendencies. A love affair with books, mystery, and American history stems from being immersed in the Mob’s reign in Northern Kentucky when the area prospered as a mecca for gambling and sin.</div><div><br /></div><div>Be sure to get your copies of Lynda Rees’s latest mystery novels, <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/flip-or-flop-murder-house-lynda-rees/1143226512;jsessionid=6FE88B6F2B5DD86AB3292106AE2FEC7A.prodny_store01-atgap13?ean=9781960763020" target="_blank">Flip or Flop, Murder House </a> and <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/fresh-starts-dirty-money-lynda-rees/1143249235?ean=9781960763181" target="_blank">Fresh Starts, Dirty Money</a>, available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Apple, KOBO/WALMART, or wherever you buy books. If they’re not in stock at your local library or bookseller, ask. They’ll most likely stock them. Ask for them today!</div><div><br /></div><div>If you want a signed copy, reach out to the author at lyndareesauthor@gmail.com, SUBJECT: SIGNED COPY.</div><div><br /></div><div>Lynda would love to hear from you and share the latest, greatest news with you. Contact Lynda at her website, by email or other links below, and become a VIP to get 2 FREE eBooks.</div>Sarah Glennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12455113960686270662noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9722683.post-80586032321229873692022-10-27T19:18:00.004-04:002022-10-27T19:18:16.499-04:00Guest Post: Erica Miner, Redone, Re-Published, and Rebooted<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim8678vwymJQOR8Q4ZJMocLqhnRJB6n3bEe99UGlrpYgDruPsRD68WNjsIlDAcyUxhJiIU5tUP8Rl8NbGxCoV8j_MLqau7r5AxJehfqo2AQCAwy4rBTXNH1uNyaHcAG33Hba-U4ccJx1yp9mGeJcqzDpooqUfi-tbslNWt3xXrJONIDmNvvw/s500/aria%20for%20murder.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="333" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim8678vwymJQOR8Q4ZJMocLqhnRJB6n3bEe99UGlrpYgDruPsRD68WNjsIlDAcyUxhJiIU5tUP8Rl8NbGxCoV8j_MLqau7r5AxJehfqo2AQCAwy4rBTXNH1uNyaHcAG33Hba-U4ccJx1yp9mGeJcqzDpooqUfi-tbslNWt3xXrJONIDmNvvw/s320/aria%20for%20murder.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><i>What is it like to have a series redone, re-published, and rebooted? This was a whole new experience for mystery writer <a href="https://ericaminer.com/" target="_blank">Erica Miner</a>, and the journey was an unexpected one.<u></u><u></u></i><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><i><u></u> <u></u></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;">I have often thought that having a book released is akin to giving birth. As writers, we first conceive of the idea. Then comes the gestation period, where the concept grows, changes, becomes an ever-better version of itself. Rewrites follow rewrites, edits upon edits. After a very long, difficult labor, your baby novel is born. Whew, what a process!<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><u></u> <u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;">For those of us who were unfortunate enough to go through that experience in the middle of the pandemic, the journey became even more challenging. For me, it took an unexpected turn.<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><u></u> <u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;">My original concept was to write a murder mystery that took place at the Metropolitan Opera in New York, where I had been a violinist for 21 years. I found a traditional publisher and drew upon my experiences at the Met, adding large doses of my wicked imagination, and <i>Murder in the Pit</i> was born. Readers requested a sequel, and I delivered one that took place at Santa Fe Opera. My “Opera Mystery” series was created. San Francisco Opera asked me to write another that took place at that venerable institution, and another sequel was published.<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><u></u> <u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;">Then, the pandemic happened.<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><u></u> <u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;">The San Francisco novel languished in e-book only, with no print version. I was at a loss. My Puget Sound Sisters in Crime colleagues sent me to the wonderful local organization, Washington Lawyers for the Arts, who advised me to get back my rights and find another publisher.<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><u></u> <u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;">I lucked out. Level Best Books offered me a contract to re-publish all three books, with different titles and covers. I then went to work adding changes: new plot points, updates and more. <i>Et voilà</i>: the first book in the series is now about to be reborn as <i>Aria for Murder</i>, releasing Oct. 28. New sequels will be published in 2023 and 2024. That’s what I call great family planning!</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt;">Violinist turned author
<a href="https://ericaminer.com/" target="_blank">ERICA MINER</a> now has a multi-faceted career as an award-winning author,
screenwriter, journalist and lecturer. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal">
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt;">Erica’s lectures,
seminars and workshops have received kudos throughout California and the
Pacific Northwest, and she has won top ratings as a special lecturer for Royal
Caribbean Cruise Lines. An active contributor to OperaPulse.com and LAOpus.com,
she also contributed a monthly Power of Journaling article series for the
National Association of Baby Boomer Women newsletter. Other writings have
appeared in Vision Magazine, WORD San Diego, Istanbul Our City, and numerous
E-zines. Erica’s lecture topics include “The Art of Self- Re-invention,”
“Journaling: The Write Way to Write Fiction,” “Solving the Mystery of Mystery
Writing,” and “Opera Meets Hollywood.” Details about Erica’s novels,
screenplays and lectures can be found on <a href="https://ericaminer.com/" target="_blank">her website</a>.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Sign up for Erica's newsletter at </span><a href="https://ericaminer.com/email_signup.php" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">https://ericaminer.com/email_signup.php</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><u></u> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #800180;">ARIA FOR MURDER</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #800180;">Prologue</span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="color: #800180;">Chi eÌ morto, voi, o il vecchio?</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="color: #800180;">Che domanda da bestia! Il vecchio.</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="color: #800180;">Who’s dead, you or the old man?</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="color: #800180;">What an idiotic question! The old man.</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: #800180;">—Mozart, <i>Don Giovanni</i>, Act I</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><i>Collateral damage. Sometimes it just can’t be avoided.</i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;">That was what his partner had told him. When you’re trying to kill someone, other people can get in the way. It’s not planned. It just happens. Though the Metropolitan Opera’s orchestra pit was the largest in the world, when the orchestration of an opera was vast, as in Wagner or Strauss, things could get quite crowded for the one hundred or so musicians squeezed together there. Tonight’s Verdi was no exception. Grand opera at its loftiest, with plenty of brass, extra strings, and the like. He would do his best to hit his target precisely. But it wasn’t an exact science. And if, under pressure, he was slightly off, well...</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><i>Tanto peggio, as they say in French.</i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;">He chortled to himself. Everyone in the Met knew <i>“tanto peggio” </i>was Italian, not French.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;">He salivated with anticipation as he lovingly cleaned his VAL Russian sniper rifle with its special bronze-bristled brush, and oiled and lubricated the ammunition chamber with the fine-spray One Shot gun cleaner and a cotton swab. He picked up the last tiny fragments of powder residue with an alcohol patch threaded through a needle attached to the brush. Then he polished the entire instrument with one of his special-order McAlister microfiber gun cleaning cloths.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><i>If you look after your firearm, when the time comes, it will look after you.</i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><i> </i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;">And what better time for an assassination than opening night at the Met?</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><i> </i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="color: #800180;">Copyright © 2022, Erica Miner</span></i></p></blockquote><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;">Book Details:<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;">Genre: Mystery<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;">Publisher: Level Best Books (October 28, 2022)<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;">Language: English<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;">Paperback: 254 pages<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;">ISBN-10: 1685121985<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;">ISBN-13: 978-1685121983<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;">Item Weight: 13.4 ounces<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;">Dimensions: 6 x 0.58 x 9 inches<u></u><u></u></p><p><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;">Pre-orders at: </span><a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.amazon.com/Aria-Murder-Julia-Kogan-Mystery/dp/1685121985/ref%3Dtmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding%3DUTF8%26qid%3D%26sr%3D&source=gmail&ust=1666994403265000&usg=AOvVaw0S1_qrbyPI2pleJLpPMBcw" href="https://www.amazon.com/Aria-Murder-Julia-Kogan-Mystery/dp/1685121985/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=" style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" target="_blank">https://www.amazon.com/Aria-<wbr></wbr>Murder-Julia-Kogan-Mystery/dp/<wbr></wbr>1685121985/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_<wbr></wbr>0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=</a> </p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><u></u><u></u></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><u></u></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><u></u></p><p></p>Sarah Glennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12455113960686270662noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9722683.post-13512055691038623252022-10-18T07:48:00.000-04:002022-10-18T07:48:51.639-04:00Interview: E.M. Munsch, Author of A Haunting at Marianwood<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BJ4GYGD2/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="333" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq4BSjrKIIJYOZoPe7rm48fKMGcwtib_1eDjBh7F2R-ly7rSJxURrc5GWkJtNP9njO9HFR48zrIbJsn41o2wJzLG1F9J1RfKYdPyJRvHDCuhujEiER3dveBrcpqyrSw_RwWYwP3YydG3MSoqK5u2ZkMJyGsoz9NkoqOspEn3cidR9R_tkU1g/s320/Marianwood%20Cover.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><a href="https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100086467416937" target="_blank">E.M. Munsch</a> is a native of Cleveland, Ohio, but has spent her adult life in Louisville, Kentucky. She graduated from Nazareth College of Kentucky located outside of Bardstown and attended The Ohio State University for her graduate work. She has been a bookseller for fifty years working in both large and small, chain and independent bookstores. She opened the first Barnes & Noble in Kentucky where she set up a mystery reading group which is still active today. She also taught classes in the mystery genre for the Veritas Society and joined the local chapter of Sisters in Crime. <p></p><p>With Susan Bell, she co-edited <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Mystery-Splash-Bourbon-Susan-Bell/dp/1949281124" target="_blank">MYSTERY WITH A SPLASH OF BOURBON</a>, an anthology of bourbon-related stories.</p><p>As E.M. Munsch, she writes the Dash Hammond series set on the shores of Lake Erie. The latest title, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BJ4GYGD2/" target="_blank">A HAUNTING AT MARIANWOOD</a>, is now available on <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/1949281213" target="_blank">Amazon</a>.</p><p><br /></p><div><i style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">1.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></i><i style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">When did you know you
wanted to be an author?</span></i></div>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">I have always been a
reader and am most comfortable in a library or bookstore. In 1972 I found my
true calling as a bookseller in a small independent in Louisville. I was in
heaven. Not only did I get to see all the new and old books but talk with the
customers about them. And as my career progressed and I worked for B&N, I
also got to meet many authors as they toured. I have the utmost admiration for
them. To be able to stick to a project from start to end amazed me. I love
stories, reading them <i>and </i>creating them in my head. I would scribble
first lines, first paragraphs, even several pages but never finished anything.
I would start something and then look over to see a book I wanted to read. Let
someone else do the heavy lifting. It wasn’t until <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was 69 and a member of Sisters in Crime did
I think I could be an author. And by Jove, I did it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span></i><!--[endif]--><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">How did you choose the
fiction genre you write in?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">As I said, I love good
stories with interesting <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>characters.
When I started bookselling, I picked up a Chip Harrison book by Lawrence Block,
more about him later. This series is a take-off of the Nero Wolfe/Archie
Goodwin series by Rex Stout. It prompted me to begin reading Stout and I fell
in love with Archie and the gang. Customers and I would discuss the fine points
of living in the Brownstone. At that point I decided that mystery would be my
field. I also read a lot of Regency romances since I was intrigued by that era
and did start one or two romances (still unfinished). But time spent with a
good mystery series won out. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span></i><!--[endif]--><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">What is your current
project and can share a little?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">I’m currently working
on the seventh Dash Hammond book tentatively titled A RELIABLE MAN. Maud
Grealis, a cranky little old lady who claims to be a cousin of Dash’s mother,
calls his father, a former sheriff, telling him something feels off. So father
and son drive to Cleveland only to find Maud’s body. Dash discovers he is heir
to all her worldly goods and several secrets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Although Dash feels like he barely knew Maud, she chose him since, as
she told her attorney, “Dash is a good man, a reliable man. He will do the
right thing. He is a seeker of truth and a finder of lost things”.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">You’ll have to read the
book to see if Maud is right.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span></i><!--[endif]--><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">What inspired you to
create Dash Hammond?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">I live in a<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>condo which has a small area for a garden. I
had a knock-out rose that had turned into a monster. One day while pruning it, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I lost my balance, falling into and onto the
bush. After I stopped swearing and as I slowly untangled myself from the
thorns, I wondered how a writer would write this scene. Inside I went and sat
at the computer, dabbing away at my multiple thorn pricks. I pictured a younger
woman entangled in a large rose bush. Now, wouldn’t it be more interesting if,
instead of climbing out of it unassisted, she had a neighbor who would help
her. And Dash was born. He’s six-four (Thomas Magnum), has brilliant blue eyes
(like my dear departed husband) and a wise-mouth (Rockford, Archie Goodwin and
Bernie Rhodenbarr). This is his first encounter with his new neighbor as he had
been traveling when she moved in. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">I ‘dashed’ off several
pages and took it to the critique group of my local Sisters in Crime. They
loved it and asked the fateful question: What happens next? My answer was a
simple: I have no idea, for all I know Annie’s still stuck in the rose bush. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">These kind ladies
pushed and prodded me along. All of a sudden I discovered I loved writing this
story. And I still do love writing about <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the Hammond family, the town of Clover Pointe,
Ohio, and all the good and bad guys who pass through.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">I guess I should add
that he got his name ‘Dashiell’ because his mother (and me) are big fans of
Dashiell Hammett. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span></i><!--[endif]--><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">So you’re an author.
Which authors do you enjoy reading?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">My two favorite
authors, ones whose books I re-read constantly, are Rex Stout and Lawrence
Block. Stout, of the Golden Age of Mysteries, created two very interesting
characters. If Archie Goodwin were a real person, I’d be camped outside his
brownstone, begging for a chance to go dancing with him. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Which brings me to
Bernie Rhodenbarr, the burglar turned bookseller who still dabbles in the
light-fingered trade. The cast of characters who surround Bernie are quirky but
believable and Bernie’s comments on the books he reads and sells are both funny
and educational. When we were in lock-down, the Burglar series was first off my
shelf to help me get through those challenging times. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Block has such a body
of work, from several series to captivating short stories. His non-fiction
books, on writing, living and life, read like he is sitting across from you
sharing a pizza and a beer. Like his characters, Larry, if I may, is a very
remarkable man. I guess I should stop gushing but if you haven’t read Block do
so at your earliest convenience. And if it’s not convenient, drop what you’re
doing anyway and read his books.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">I belong to a mystery
reading group, and over the almost thirty years of meeting, we have tried a bit
of this and that. For me the most satisfying are the series books. If I
discover a new one, I’m thrilled. It means a whole new group of friends to
visit on a Sunday afternoon. Teatime with Ann Cleeves. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p><p><i>Thanks for visiting with us!</i></p><p>More on <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BJ4GYGD2/" target="_blank">A Haunting at Marianwood</a>:</p><p>Life is good for Dash Hammond. He's recently remarried his childhood sweetheart, Dr. Maevis Summers, and together they're raising his four-year-old son, T.J. A retired Army colonel, Dash keeps himself busy fixing everything from a leaky faucet to an unsolved murder.</p><p>His cousin Billy calls Dash to Kentucky when his sister, a nun, is in trouble. Sister Miriam Patrice has been hearing things, seeing things, and misplacing things.</p><p>Marianwood, the motherhouse of the Sisters of the Blessed Mother of God, is located on an old plantation thought to be haunted by its original inhabitant, who is rumored to prowl the grounds in search of her murdered beau.</p><p>In a battle of wits, will the victor be supernatural, or a very corporeal retired Army colonel?</p>Sarah Glennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12455113960686270662noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9722683.post-53710793575453287512022-10-14T09:30:00.017-04:002022-10-14T09:30:00.198-04:00Cover Reveal: A Haunting at Marianwood<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzlcW6OLwyhCKCnoIU_YaabPJy-4j_N_4EW2-vCHK4FjEQ4r44s_8INj-F54FV4q_Rfq9MeRdmfkWc' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>A Haunting at Marianwood</i> is the latest installment in the <i>Dash Hammond</i> series by <a href="https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100086467416937" target="_blank">E.M. Munsch</a>. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The Kindle version is <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BJ4GYGD2/">now available for preorder</a> on Amazon. E.M. Munsch is a member of the <a href="https://derbyrottenscoundrels.com/" target="_blank">Derby Rotten Scoundrels</a> chapter of <a href="https://www.sistersincrime.org/" target="_blank">Sisters in Crime</a>, the first chapter of SinC I belonged to. <a href="https://www.mysteryandhorrorllc.com/" target="_blank">Mystery and Horror, LLC</a>, our press, is publishing this novel.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Description of the book, and excerpt below!</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Life is good for Dash Hammond. He's recently remarried his childhood sweetheart, Dr. Maevis Summers, and together they're raising his four-year-old son, T.J. A retired Army colonel, Dash keeps himself busy fixing everything from a leaky faucet to an unsolved murder.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">His cousin Billy calls Dash to Kentucky when his sister, a nun, is in trouble. Sister Miriam</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Patrice has been hearing things, seeing things, and misplacing things.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Marianwood, the motherhouse of the Sisters of the Blessed Mother of God, is located on an old</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">plantation thought to be haunted by its original inhabitant, who is rumored to prowl the grounds</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">in search of her murdered beau.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">In a battle of wits, will the victor be supernatural, or a very corporeal retired Army colonel?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">An excerpt: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Sister Miriam Patrice slid back from the kneeler. The quiet of the church soothed her as it wrapped its velvet cloak of serenity around her. She sat, hands folded, once in prayer but now to stop the trembling. Glancing at the sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows casting a rainbow on the empty pews, she drew in deep slow breaths. She looked at the watch pinned to her tunic. Time to get back to work. She rose to leave the church, her place of refuge, a place free from the distractions of the running the community and the new retirement home the sisters established to help make ends meet. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The members of the Sisters of the Blessed Mother of God found their numbers dwindling. New recruits, as Sister Miriam Patrice called them mimicking her cousin Dash Hammond’s military jargon, were very rare. The teaching congregation once had more than a hundred sisters. Vocations, callings to either the religious or the educational side of the community, had fallen to less than a handful each year. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> As she walked down the aisle to the back of the church, she heard it again. Tap, tap, tap. She stopped to listen, making sure she wasn’t mistaken. That sound sent shivers down her spine. Squaring her shoulders, she walked to the doors next to the church exit. One led up to the choir loft, the other down to the cellar. In days past she had gone up the stairs; today she would go down. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Pulling the doorknob, Miriam Patrice met the resistance of a locked door. She pulled out her keys and unlocked it. She struggled with the door, suggesting to her that no one had gone to the cellar in a while. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The stone steps were worn but sturdy. She moved cautiously into the darkness, one hand on the wall to steady her nervous knees, the other searching for the handrail. Her hope was that the security guard forgot to close the door one day and some critter, not two legged, was trapped down here and making the tap, tap, tap sound. Logically she knew this was wrong, but the alternative could be worse.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Decades ago, they discovered one of the newer buildings constructed during a period of rapid expansion had been built on an underground spring. It wasn’t long before the building tilted, as did their finances. What a waste of time and money. Fearful that what she would find was a tell-tale pooling or bubbling of water, she moved forward slowly. She said a silent prayer that she would not stumble into a puddle, a precursor of the inevitable unwelcome news.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Her trek seemed unnecessarily slow though reason told Miriam Patrice she should alert one of her sisters where she was just in case she lost her footing. But her reasoning had not been the sharpest of late. She blamed her sleepless nights, not because of an uneasy conscience but an overabundance of concern for her congregation and its uncertain future, both financially and individually. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">After spending a half an hour poking into the corners, searching for the origin of the sound, Miriam Patrice gave up. She needed a flashlight if she wanted to do a proper search. Next time she would be prepared. Next time she told herself she would be less skittish, more confident that she could deal with whatever sprung up from the tap, tap, tap. After deciding this, she nodded to herself. At least she didn’t hear a drip, drip, drip.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The sound had stopped so she decided to return to the church. As she locked the door behind her, the tap, tap, tap began again, louder this time. If she permitted herself, she would have said damn.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjbynjQ8z6cNDGWtv659XQGsSss_71RbbfW9pZffTZ4c2qVsatyoZuLWsp9O6RZCfIbIDcmmPllYfemCJNUIS68pTOAeB4eGrYGkVJVC-jmnQLGDHGWMZJaNPPOOa95E3J04Ta_kX85TPlDO0k2XxRvRNA_WTXpXRCCyylzLH4qqXSTjKONkw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="740" data-original-width="740" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjbynjQ8z6cNDGWtv659XQGsSss_71RbbfW9pZffTZ4c2qVsatyoZuLWsp9O6RZCfIbIDcmmPllYfemCJNUIS68pTOAeB4eGrYGkVJVC-jmnQLGDHGWMZJaNPPOOa95E3J04Ta_kX85TPlDO0k2XxRvRNA_WTXpXRCCyylzLH4qqXSTjKONkw" width="240" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div>Sarah Glennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12455113960686270662noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9722683.post-68753224475031857592022-10-03T06:30:00.011-04:002022-10-04T16:37:01.667-04:00Interview: Carol Preflatish, Author of Witch Hunt<!--wp:image {"align":"left","id":1895,"width":600,"height":600,"sizeSlug":"large","linkDestination":"media"}-->
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<p>Welcome to a thrilling blog tour perfect for the Fall season and those who love mysteries! Enjoy all of the stops on the Nathan Perry Mysteries Blog Tour featuring Witch Hunt, by Carol Preflatish! This blog tour will be taking place from Monday, October 3rd, to Sunday, October 9th!</p>
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<p>The Witch Hunt Blog Tour includes reviews, guest posts, and interviews, so don’t miss any of the activities taking place on the participating blog sites!</p>
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<p><b>When did you know you wanted to be an author?</b></p><p>Even in elementary school, I loved writing stories. In both high school and college, I took every writing class I could. After I got married, got a full-time job, and then started a family, I sort of forgot about writing for a while. In 1999, my goal for the Millennium was to see if I could write a book. I succeeded and was hooked again, but it took me two more books, and not until 2010 before I became published.</p><p><b>Which part of the research did you enjoy the most?</b></p><p>I love everything about research, probably a little too much. Most of my research is done online and once I start, if I’m not careful, I find I’ve spent too much time on it. I write a police procedural mystery series, so my other source for researching technical things is YouTube. Again, if I’m not careful, I find I’ve gone down that rabbit hole. I also have a pretty good library of books about writing mysteries, police procedures, different weapons, and forensics. I also rely on a couple online writing groups that have both mystery writers and police officers as members that will answer questions.</p><p><b>What inspired you to create Nathan Perry?</b></p><p>When I was in college, I actually was interested in becoming a police officer. Subsequently, I got hooked on the late Robert B. Parker’s Jesse Stone books. I loved the city cop coming to the small town to be the police chief. The location in Massachusetts was beautiful choice, and the characters were so likeable. It actually caused me to stop writing romantic suspense to start writing my mystery series. My main character, Nathan Perry has left the Army and comes back to his hometown to become the first police detective in the department. I am using the fictional town of Mystic, Massachusetts, which is modeled after Salem, Massachusetts.</p><p><b>What would you define as literary success?</b></p><p>I think different authors would define it differently. Some would say it’s getting an agent and then being published by one of the Big Five publishers in New York City. I’m happy being signed with a small press. Counting my romantic suspense and non-fiction, I’ve written and published twelve books. I count that as a success.</p><p><b>So, you're an author. Which authors do you enjoy reading?</b></p><p>As I mentioned, I love the Robert B. Parker books. I also really like both of the <i>Private </i>and <i>Instinct </i>series by James Patterson, and I don’t think I’ve ever read a Lisa Gardner thriller that I didn’t love. </p><p></p><p><b>Thank you for stopping by!</b></p><p><strong>About the author: </strong>Carol Preflatish, from southern Indiana, is the author of the Nathan Perry Mystery Series, as well as several romantic suspense novels, and two non-fiction books. When she’s not writing, she loves to read, watch Indianapolis Colts football, and do just about anything outdoors.</p>
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<p>An avid photographer, Carol has had many photos published in her local newspaper, as well as in “Golf Journal,” the official publication of the United States Golf Association. A few little-known facts about Carol are that she’s a licensed amateur radio operator, and is a collector of celebrity autographs, stamps, and coins.</p>
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<p>You can learn more about Carol by visiting her web page at http://CarolPre.com</p>
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<p><strong>Book Synopsis for <em>Witch Hunt</em>: </strong>Is it 1692 all over again?</p>
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<p>When a millionaire’s daughter is found hanging from a tree in the Mystic, Massachusetts cemetery, witchcraft is suspected. Police detective Nathan Perry is assigned the case and works closely with an attractive female private investigator hired by the father to find who murdered his daughter.</p>
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<p>Mystic is known for its history of witchcraft in the area. It’s what brings tourists to town, and when another murder occurs, there is rising pressure on Nathan to solve the case quickly.</p>
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<p>Nathan’s investigation pulls him into an unfamiliar world rife with covens, magic, and lore to find the killer. A small town gripped in fear is depending on him to prevail. </p>
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<p>Witch Hunt is a stand-alone novel that is part of the Nathan Perry Mystery Series.</p>
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<p><strong>Author Links:</strong></p>
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<p>Website: <a href="http://CarolPre.com">http://CarolPre.com</a></p>
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<p>Twitter: <a href="https://twitter.com/CarolPreflatish">https://twitter.com/CarolPreflatish</a></p>
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<p>Facebook: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/AuthorCarolPreflatish">https://www.facebook.com/AuthorCarolPreflatish</a></p>
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<p><strong>Tour Schedule and Activities</strong></p>
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<p><strong>10/3 The Scribblings of Sarah E. Glenn <a href="https://saraheglenn.blogspot.com/">https://saraheglenn.blogspot.com/</a> Author Interview</strong></p>
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<p><strong>10/4 The Seventh Star Blog <a href="https://www.theseventhstarblog.com/">https://www.theseventhstarblog.com/</a>Guest Post</strong></p>
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<p><strong>10/5 Jazzy Book Reviews <a href="https://www.jazzybookreviews.com/">https://www.jazzybookreviews.com/</a> Author Interview</strong></p>
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<p><strong>10/6 BookBekAdventures <a href="https://www.bookbekadventures.Wordpress.com">https://www.bookbekadventures.Wordpress.com</a> Review</strong></p>
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<p><strong>10/7 Sapphyria's Books <a href="https://saphsbooks.blogspot.com/">https://saphsbooks.blogspot.com/</a> Review</strong></p>
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<p><strong>10/8 The Book Lover's Boudoir <a href="https://thebookloversboudoir.wordpress.com">https://thebookloversboudoir.wordpress.com</a> Review</strong></p>
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<p><strong>Purchase links for <em>Witch Hunt</em>:</strong></p>
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<p><strong>eBook Links</strong></p>
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<p><strong>Kindle Version: <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Witch-Hunt-Nathan-Mystery-Mysteries-ebook/dp/B09SXB8K7M/">https://www.amazon.com/Witch-Hunt-Nathan-Mystery-Mysteries-ebook/dp/B09SXB8K7M/</a></strong></p>
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<p><strong>Nook Link: <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/witch-hunt-carol-preflatish/1141024472?ean=2940160885889">https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/witch-hunt-carol-preflatish/1141024472?ean=2940160885889</a></strong></p>
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<p><strong>Print Links:</strong></p>
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<p><strong>Amazon: <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Witch-Hunt-Carol-Preflatish/dp/1736812564/">https://www.amazon.com/Witch-Hunt-Carol-Preflatish/dp/1736812564/</a></strong></p>
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<p><strong>Barnes and Noble Link: <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/witch-hunt-carol-preflatish/1141018691?ean=9781736812563">https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/witch-hunt-carol-preflatish/1141018691?ean=9781736812563</a></strong></p>
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Sarah Glennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12455113960686270662noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9722683.post-3777739646198550562022-09-28T07:00:00.001-04:002022-09-28T07:00:00.218-04:00Guest Post: Aaron Drown<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz8KTcdmVMuOEKD86u5wpm1ZuBuA29lo4l4fcDcFwOoPwC1G3_tvEt0oda_7nffGhWGE6m9U_AOZfiZ-eQoWKonQYZeyTSqB7wFmKlm9l9YcBoZsIecjz-QgDm047wqb1o8PX8nMSuZkJQgq0sNSL3SqvWcKvqh_C32PDT9sbw8Inkjq14_g/s4350/GodsMustClearlyArt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4350" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz8KTcdmVMuOEKD86u5wpm1ZuBuA29lo4l4fcDcFwOoPwC1G3_tvEt0oda_7nffGhWGE6m9U_AOZfiZ-eQoWKonQYZeyTSqB7wFmKlm9l9YcBoZsIecjz-QgDm047wqb1o8PX8nMSuZkJQgq0sNSL3SqvWcKvqh_C32PDT9sbw8Inkjq14_g/w400-h276/GodsMustClearlyArt.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p>As a writer whose actual living is made as a freelance graphic designer, the role of book design in independent publishing is a topic near and dear. I’ve given workshops on the key importance design considerations have for small presses and self-publishers, arguing that to be taken seriously in the marketplace it’s vital not only to have a story worth reading, but to put out a product that looks like it belongs on the same shelf as the Kings, Grishams, Robertses, and Graftons.</p><p>I believe the presentation of a work is an extension of the work itself, much like an album jacket augments the music contained inside. In that regard I’ve been very fortunate to have such an indulgent (and patient) partner in <a href="https://seventhstarpress.com/" target="_blank">Seventh Star Press</a>, as they graciously allow me the freedom to design my own book covers. Though it may be just as fair to say what holds true for a lawyer who represents themselves also goes for a writer who designs their cover art, it’s that extension of the writing—the visual lure that will hopefully grab attention and compel a closer inspection and a thumbing-through—that I like to believe as both author and cover artist I’m especially positioned to make. Of course, it may be even fairer to say that in the same way doctors make the worst patients, designing for a graphic designer can easily become an exercise in exasperation so it’s a lot less headache for my publisher just to let me do the thing myself.</p><p>My most recent book, a short story collection called <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Gods-Must-Clearly-Smile/dp/1736812599" target="_blank">The Gods Must Clearly Smile</a>, features cover art that I also created and I think, if I may be forgiven the conceit, makes for a good example of that close relationship between packaging and content. The title of the collection comes from a quote by Aristotle, “If some animals are good at hunting and others are suitable for hunting, them the gods must clearly smile on hunting.” And it’s that theme of hunter and hunted that caught my attention and pricked my sense for the wry and my sideways way of seeing the world.</p><p>The front cover depicts a quaint little cottage floating on an island of tranquility surrounded by cheerful blue sky and happy little clouds worthy of Bob Ross. The typography, too, lends to the congeniality. In the upper and lower left corners, though, hints of darkness intrude—tiny indications that all might not be so carefree and untroubled. As one turns over to the back, the reality of the scene is revealed in the form of a jagged-toothed monster opening wide its maw in preparation to devour our friends in the cottage—a star-filled beast comprised of the universe itself.</p><p>The stories in <i>The Gods Must Clearly Smile</i> run the spectrum from the Old West to futuristic science fiction, and the thread that wends its way through each and stitches them together into a whole is the central theme that sometimes we are the hunter, sometimes we are the hunted, and no matter how serene a given moment may seem, the next moment has every bit the potential to reveal the monster that’s been stalking you the entire time. It’s a tongue-in-cheek metaphor—promise—meant to be amusing and ironic rather than pessimistic, but it’s a concept that I felt I could bring to fruition visually and convey a sense of what awaits the reader inside.</p><p>I’d welcome hearing whether I was successful.</p><div><br /></div>Sarah Glennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12455113960686270662noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9722683.post-92092676410982191112022-09-19T06:30:00.018-04:002022-09-29T19:40:11.631-04:00Interview: C.L. Tolbert, Author of Sanctuary<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><h2><a href="https://www.partnersincrimetours.net/sanctuary-by-c-l-tolbert/" title="Sanctuary by C.L. Tolbert"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.partnersincrimetours.net/sanctuary-by-c-l-tolbert/" title="Sanctuary by C.L. Tolbert"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhLb9j66C69_wMJfedug2fEuujDJ9qGnMk3UZm3MjdvoMuCInCye9NHse8ImKmmZhsNp4M85aYm1M6xmR8H4J18FWIyoBxzX5vFkYBLODoNw_C977h-ASZryIXW_KgmB1nkIbWrCISDdS7IU761udELJslsIPcJ_E--sQmmvjb_GaAFu0tEzA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhLb9j66C69_wMJfedug2fEuujDJ9qGnMk3UZm3MjdvoMuCInCye9NHse8ImKmmZhsNp4M85aYm1M6xmR8H4J18FWIyoBxzX5vFkYBLODoNw_C977h-ASZryIXW_KgmB1nkIbWrCISDdS7IU761udELJslsIPcJ_E--sQmmvjb_GaAFu0tEzA=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></div><br /></h2></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><h2>Sanctuary</h2><h3>by C.L. Tolbert</h3><h4>September 12 - October 8, 2022 Virtual Book Tour</h4></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><b>When did you know you wanted to be an author?<o:p></o:p></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">When I was nine years old, I won a writing contest. Writing
the essay was fun, but since my teacher entered me in the contest, I wasn’t
fully aware that I was involved in a competition. As a result, I’d never
considered the possibility of winning a prize. I was thrilled to discover that winning
meant that I was allowed to pick out a gallon of my favorite ice cream. I’ll
never forget the taste. It was Spumoni, with pistachios. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Writing was a pleasure to me then, and it still is.
Even after spending thirty minutes searching for the one perfect action word for
a given scene, I enjoy it. (Notice I didn’t say that I enjoy editing.) Throughout
my school years, I wrote other essays and reports which received praise, or in
one instance, tears. But I never considered writing a novel, until I retired
from the practice of law. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Even though lawyers essentially read and write for a
living, a legal background does not prepare you for a fictional writing career.
Legal writing is formulaic. It is something to unlearn. But one day, when I was convalescing from a
surgery, I decided to write a story. A fictional story. Several years later, I
submitted the story to the Georgia State Bar Journal Fiction Contest, and won. That win gave me the courage to turn the
rather long short story into my first novel, <i>Out From Silence. <o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I haven’t stopped writing since. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><b>Which part of the research did you enjoy the most? <o:p></o:p></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I write legal procedurals, so its important that I accurately
describe all legal details and procedures in my novels. I spend hours ensuring
that every legal procedure I’ve detailed is correct. Both case law and
statutory law changes, and can be modified or overturned frequently. It is
imperative to get those details right. Since my books are currently set in the
1990’s, I have to know what the law was on a given subject during that time
frame. And that isn’t always easy. It’s much simpler to verify what the law is in
2022. I would describe that research as necessary, even mandatory, but not
particularly enjoyable. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">But my last two books, <i>The Redemption </i>and <i>Sanctuary,
</i>were set in New Orleans. The fourth book, <i>The Legacy, </i>is set there as
well. New Orleans is a visually opulent, culturally rich city, with diverse citizens,
food, and music. Known as much for its graft and corruption as the touristic
venue of Bourbon Street, it’s a great place for a murder mystery. I’ve enjoyed
researching the city historically, architecturally, and geographically. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I lived in New Orleans for twelve years. They aren’t
kidding when they describe New Orleans as a ‘walkable city.’ You can walk to
most places within forty-five minutes to an hour. But there are a few places in
the city I’ve never been. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">In Book Two, <i>The Redemption</i>, I had a scene set
at the industrial docks between Felicity and Louisiana Streets. I had never had
a reason to visit those docks, and in fact, it would be unusual for anyone
other than a member of a boat crew to be there. I wrote <i>The Redemption </i>during
the pandemic and couldn’t visit the city, but I needed to know whether the docks
were constructed of poured concrete or wood. (I was planning on having the protagonist
run down the dock and stub her unshod toe.) I decided to use Google Street View
to answer that question. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Using Google Street View, I traveled down Felicity
Street, curved around the bend of Tchoupitoulas Street, and then crossed over
to the industrial docks, which are along the Mississippi River. I could tell,
once I was ‘there,’ that the docks were poured concrete. It was an enjoyable
and satisfying experience, and one I would recommend for any author who is
writing about an actual town, isn’t quite sure of the terrain or street
placement, and can’t travel to the location. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">In Book Three, <i>Sanctuary, </i>Emma Thornton, the
protagonist, represents a young girl accused of killing the charismatic leader
of a New Orleans cult. I’ve always been interested in what would cause a person
to join a cult, and researching and writing about that issue was enlightening. I
was surprised to discover that cult joiners are often going through a
transition themselves, such as a divorce, or may be close to college
graduation. The majority of cult members only want to do good and help others.
They rarely realize or acknowledge that what they’ve joined and what they’re
contributing to, financially, is a cult. Research like this, which allows me to
take a closer look at societal problems, has broadened my world view, and my
ability to understand and empathize with others. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><b>What inspired you to create your “hero?”<o:p></o:p></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Emma Thornton, the protagonist of the Thornton Mystery
Series, is a single mother, an attorney, and a law professor. Some people
assume that the character of Emma is based on me and my experiences. While my
experiences have inspired the Thornton Mystery Series, I created the character ‘Emma’
based on all of the women I know who have raised children by themselves, or
with a spouse who doesn’t deign to help, who have educated themselves,
sometimes even in the face of adversity, and who have held down complicated and
difficult jobs. More than seventy percent of women in the United States fall
into that category. These women are heroes, and their intelligence, work ethic,
and strength are very often ignored. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Emma is a nod to all working mothers: the mothers who
serve in the armed forces, the mothers who are police officers, nurses,
teachers, hairdressers or grocery clerks, lawyers or doctors. Those mothers who
manage to work and still get their children to their doctors’ appointments, and
put something on the table for dinner. They are the glue that holds their
families together, the heart and soul of their community, and the strength and
backbone of the country. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><b>What would you define as literary success? <o:p></o:p></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Success is typically defined monetarily, but I would
have given up writing after my first book was published if that was my
criteria. Ideally, success would come through colleague and reader recognition,
an award or two, and a multitude of stunning reviews. While I have been lucky enough
to have good reviews, there hasn’t been as many as I would like. And that means
not as many people as I would like are actually reading my books. But still,
they’re being read, and I have a wonderful group of supporters and readers. That
means the world to me. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">It is a luxury to write. It is a reward in and of
itself, and I’m learning much through the process. I am a plot driven writer,
and am discovering that emotional scenes are more difficult for me to write. Emotions
have always been difficult for me to express in my private life, as well. So,
there’s an interesting parallel between my writing issues, and my actual life. I’m
learning more and more about myself as I write. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I’ve always been a workaholic, and often worked more
than eighty hours a week as an attorney. Even after I retired and worked as a
volunteer attorney for a legal aid group, I’d still log in eighty hours a week,
and I wasn’t even being paid! Unable to
stop that habit, I spent my first few years writing on a schedule which
ultimately left me feeling burned out. I didn’t take breaks, exercise, or even
drink an adequate amount of water during writing sessions.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I’m now determined to enjoy the process, write stories
which are thoughtful and say something that’s important to me, exercise, drink
enough water, and at least try to relax every once in a while. I’m in it for
the long haul. I want to endure. I’d like to write until I can’t any longer. That
would be literary success to me. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><b>So you’re an author. Which authors do you enjoy
reading? <o:p></o:p></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">My favorite author is Gabriel Garcia Marquez, and my
favorite book, “Love in the Time of Cholera.” But there are so many writers I
love. Harper Lee’s “To Kill a Mockingbird” is my second favorite book, and Truman
Capote’s “In Cold Blood” is a close third. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I started reading all of the titles from the books of my
favorite writers when I was in junior high, starting with Peal S. Buck, and
Agatha Christie. I read everything they wrote. I progressed to Leo Tolstoy when
I was in high school, then Fyodor Dostoevsky, and finally Aleksandr
Solzhenitsyn. (I went through a Russian phase.) <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">My next phase was reading books which won awards. Fellow
Mississippian Donna Tartt’s books are brilliant. Her plot lines always stunning,
although I found “Gold Finch” excessively long. Still, it was a great book. I recently
discovered Anthony Doerr and his transcendent “All the Light We Cannot See,” which
was breathtaking, a work of art. And, of course, I have read all of Gabriel
Garcia Marquez’s books. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Mysteries have always held a special place in my
heart. I love the world building of Agatha Christie, and more recently, Louise
Penny. I’ve read the majority of Penny’s
books, all of which have heart. She knows loss and feels deeply about the
injustices of the world. Louise Penny is a woman whose soul and mind are
beautifully connected, and it’s reflected in all of her books. Jodi Picoult is another
talented writer who captures your interest with her subtle, insightful, but
clever stories. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I read Karin Slaughter to learn. She dives unflinchingly
into the brutality of murder, laying out the horror, the tragedy, the loss, and
the gut-punching sadness, all at once. Her words make you want to close your
eyes, but you open them, and read, unable to stop the avalanche of terror. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">My favorite writers are artists who carve emotion into
an identifiable shape. They can manipulate fear, but they also shine a light on
the better nature of humanity. I strive to be more like them.</span> </p><p><b>Thanks for stopping by!</b></p><div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<h2>Synopsis:</h2>
<div style="float: left; margin-right: 15px; width: 225px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhUtvNTLdJFse2qsdhk-9jK1zX3qRk3f8oWH7fEr4OTLY5blIBYG1MYYwpZbbhEh82UeOSW6OeHrCqlmQTyApEHCBCX3MynVoZQVAVmM5_ucdyOjlzvessQPsOhSC1A5Wt0cUpXwY9rzEojj5KZ9FmIFsPIz8pTWiNMxSL-Jw9Zrqgieh18rw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="1333" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhUtvNTLdJFse2qsdhk-9jK1zX3qRk3f8oWH7fEr4OTLY5blIBYG1MYYwpZbbhEh82UeOSW6OeHrCqlmQTyApEHCBCX3MynVoZQVAVmM5_ucdyOjlzvessQPsOhSC1A5Wt0cUpXwY9rzEojj5KZ9FmIFsPIz8pTWiNMxSL-Jw9Zrqgieh18rw" width="160" /></a></div><br /></div>
<h4>A Thornton Mystery</h4>
<!--wp:paragraph-->
<p>In SANCTUARY, the third book in the Thornton Mystery Series, Emma is back again. This time she’s agreed to represent a former client accused of killing the leader of a suspicious cult in New Orleans.</p>
<!--/wp:paragraph-->
<!--wp:paragraph-->
<p>James Crosby, the charismatic leader of the Japaprajnas, is found dead one late afternoon, his body draped over an iron fence in the courtyard of the nineteenth-century house where he and several cult members work and live. Although police initially presumed his fall was an accident, they quickly discover that James received a lethal dose of a drug before he was pushed from his office balcony.</p>
<!--/wp:paragraph-->
<!--wp:paragraph-->
<p>The next day the police discover a syringe and a substantial amount of the drug which killed James in Stacey Robert’s bedroom. The nineteen-year-old cult member is brought in for questioning, which leads to her arrest. Emma, who had represented Stacey when she was a sixteen-year-old runaway, agrees to take the case.</p>
<!--/wp:paragraph-->
<!--wp:paragraph-->
<p>Convinced she is innocent Emma begins an investigation into the cult and its members. Emma’s questions uncover dangerous secrets, illicit activities, and the exploitation of innocent victims. Emma’s suspicions lead her to the killer’s trail and the case’s final resolution.</p>
<!--/wp:paragraph-->
<h3>Praise for <i>Sanctuary</i>:</h3>
<p>“Brace yourself. Deadly personalities, hidden agendas, and long-buried secrets threaten law professor Emma Thornton, after she agrees to defend a terrified young woman accused of murdering the charismatic leader of an oppressive cult. The dark heart of New Orleans has never felt so dangerous.”</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><span face="Verdana, sans-serif">Roger Johns, Author of the Wallace Hartman Mysteries</span></p>
</div>
<blockquote class="details">
<h3>Book Details:</h3>
<p><b>Genre:</b> Mystery<br />
<b>Published by:</b> Level Best Books<br />
<b>Publication Date:</b> July 2022<br />
<b>Number of Pages:</b> 280<br />
<b>ISBN:</b> 9781685121464<br />
<b>Series:</b> The Thornton Mystery Series, Book 3 <br />
<b>Book Links:</b> <a href="https://amzn.to/3c3Vu28" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Amazon</a> | <a href="https://bit.ly/3BQOyR4" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble</a> | <a href="https://bit.ly/3SvB5UF" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> </p>
</blockquote>
<!--wp:spacer /-->
<h3>Read an excerpt:</h3>
<div class="excerpt" style="border-color: 800000; border-style: groove; border-width: 3px; height: 250px; overflow: auto;">
<h4>Chapter Twelve</h4>
<p>The French Quarter was home to Stacey. She could relax there. She loved the winding streets, the ancient buildings, the ironwork on the balconies, and the festival-like spirit of Jackson Square. Plus, it was easy to blend in. With at least as many tourists as native New Orleanians, no one stood out more than anyone else. The exceptions ˗ the homeless, the street performers, and artists ˗ were part of the scenery. They blended into the background in a multicolor splash.</p>
<p>She needed money and had been watching the tarot card readers in the square. They made thirty-five dollars a read, plus tips. She could do that. She’d been taught the Celtic spread years ago and still had her deck tucked away with the rest of her stuff. It had taken her a few days to get squared away. Yesterday, she’d found a discarded chair on the street in one of the residential areas of the Quarter. She knew someone who worked at a pizza place right off of Pirate’s Alley, a small street next to St. Louis Cathedral. She’d asked if she could stash the chair behind their dumpster, and he’d agreed to it. That was helpful since she could store her things close to the place where she’d be reading. Now she just needed a small table or a box and a second chair, and she’d be ready.</p>
<p>
Even though the city required a license and permit for the artists who painted in Jackson Square, there were no such requirements for card readers. But, every once in a while, the Jackson Square artists proposed an ordinance to the City Council to remove the fortune-tellers. So far, they’d been unsuccessful, and recently the readers had come back in full force. They added an ambiance to the area, especially when they burned their incense. She liked the way it smelled.</p>
<p>
Stacey glanced at her reflection as she walked by a shop with a large plate glass window. She still wasn’t accustomed to her new look. She’d used some of the money she’d saved to purchase hair color and had dyed her honey blonde hair a dark brown. She’d also cut it much shorter with a pair of cheap scissors in hopes of disguising her appearance. She’d done it herself, and not very well. She didn’t like the jagged ends. But overall, it worked. She had to admit she looked like a different person and thought it was possible to sit in full view in the middle of Jackson Square, conduct tarot card readings, and not be recognized. At least not by the likes of police officers or others who might be looking for her.</p>
<p>
She crammed her hand in her pocket, making sure that the wad of dollar bills she’d neatly folded and covered with several rubber bands was still there. One of the problems of not having a place with a door to lock was that you had to carry your valuables with you. She still had some of the money she’d saved from working at the Temple. She was frugal, eating only one meal a day, and that was a cheap one. But she’d been on her own for four days, and her money would run out soon. She hoped her plan to make more money in Jackson Square was a good one.</p>
<p>
Stacey avoided shelters. Emma knew everyone in the city who ran them and would look for her at women’s shelters before she’d look anywhere else. But Stacey had found the perfect place to stay about three miles away from the Quarter—a small chapel in the middle of a cemetery in the Bywater District. It was called St. Roch’s and was named after the patron saint of dogs, invalids, and the falsely accused. The cemetery, the street, and the surrounding community were all named after the saint. Locals mispronounced the chapel’s name, calling it St. Roach’s. Even though the structure was crumbling, it still provided the shelter Stacey needed.</p>
<p>
St. Roch’s had been built in 1867 by a priest who had prayed to St. Roch during the yellow fever pandemic in New Orleans, asking the saint to spare his community. Ten years later, when no one from his parish had succumbed to yellow fever, he made good on his promise, built the shrine, and dedicated it to the saint. It was a small chapel comprised of only two tiny rooms. One room contained a statue of St. Roch and his loyal dog, and the other room was filled with human prostheses, braces, glass eyeballs, glasses, false teeth, and praying hands, rosaries, and religious figurines, all offered to St. Roch as thanks for healing. Bricks on the ground in that room were inscribed with the word thanks and littered with coins. Over the years, a dusty haze had settled over the various prostheses at the shrine. The walls were crumbling, and a statue of Mary had started to disintegrate. Most people considered the chapel creepy, so creepy, that they avoided it at night, although tourists occasionally visited during the day. Rumor had it that voodoo ceremonies were carried out in the cemetery after dark, although Stacey never saw anything like that. She slept in the tiny room with St. Roch and his dog.</p>
<p>
It took between forty-five minutes and an hour to walk to the French Quarter from the chapel, depending on whether Stacey stopped for anything. She woke up early in the morning and left the chapel well before any tourists might arrive. She usually walked to Decatur Street, then down to the Riverwalk Mall, avoiding Esplanade Avenue entirely. She liked the restrooms at the mall. They were clean and usually unoccupied early in the morning. She washed up and brushed her teeth. Once, she’d even shampooed her hair. She carried her bag of dirty laundry with her and would occasionally rinse out her things in the sink. What little makeup and toiletries she needed were easily picked up from department store samples. She walked back to the chapel before dark. At night, the same laundry bag served as her pillow.</p>
<p>
By Friday, Stacey had found the second chair, a wooden box tall enough to use as a table, and an interesting scarf someone had stuffed in a Goodwill box along the side of the road. She’d decided to throw it over the makeshift table to give her fortune-telling booth some panache. She was ready for business.</p>
<p>
On Saturday morning, Stacey walked to the Quarter, freshened up, grabbed her table and chairs from behind the dumpster at the pizza place, and set up her tarot stand, all before ten o’clock. She was pleased with the location. Only five feet from the steps of the St. Louis Cathedral, it was a prime spot. Tourists swarmed to the cathedral at all hours of the day and were already beginning to mill about. Within fifteen minutes, a middle-aged woman wearing a baseball hat, a neon green bandana, and pink tennis shoes, approached Stacey.</p>
<p>
“How much do you charge?”</p>
<p>
Stacey stood, her hands behind her back, and smiled. “Thirty-five dollars.”</p>
<p>
“How long’s the reading?”</p>
<p>
“It’s for fifteen minutes.”</p>
<p>
“Okay.” She looked around the square. “Looks like that’s the going rate. But you need a sign. Let’s go.”</p>
<p>
She sat down across from Stacey, perched on the tiny seat, and waited for Stacey to shuffle the deck.</p>
<p>
Stacey mixed the cards a couple of times, then set the stack in front of the woman.</p>
<p>
“Cut the cards into three smaller decks.” She’d noticed a man staring at them from a distance. He was too far away to see clearly. Perhaps he was staring at someone else.</p>
<p>
The woman cut the cards.</p>
<p>
“Now pick one of the three decks.”</p>
<p>
The woman chose one.</p>
<p>
Stacey fanned the cards from the chosen deck out in front of the woman and removed the other cards. She thought the man looked familiar. He started to walk toward them. As he approached, she could tell who he was. Raphael. He stopped on the stairs of the cathedral to watch.</p>
<p>
“Choose fourteen cards.” Stacey glanced up at Raphael. He hadn’t budged.</p>
<p>
The woman carefully chose fourteen cards and handed them to Stacey, who began laying them out in the traditional Celtic cross. The woman had chosen the King of Pentacles as card one, crossed by the Tower. The King of Pentacles, which represented business acumen, was in the position of present influence. And the Tower, which was a card of catastrophic or shocking change, and chaos, crossed the King, indicating the nature of his obstacles. The third card, placed under the cross, was the Death card. Death also represented change, and even occasionally, but rarely, death. Stacey froze. Had the cards picked up on what had happened to James instead of the woman’s situation?</p>
<p>
Stacey sensed movement and glanced up. She flinched when she saw Raphael walking toward their table. Raphael stopped about a foot away from where she was reading, stopped, then crossed his arms.</p>
<p>
“This is a private reading.” Stacey stopped laying out cards. Her heart was pounding.</p>
<p>
“Interesting that you got the death card, don’t you think?”</p>
<p>
“Sir, please leave. This isn’t any of your concern.” She didn’t want him drawing attention to her. She just wanted him to go away.</p>
<p>
“I’ll leave. Sorry I interrupted.” He nodded toward Stacey’s client. “Thousand pardons, ma’am.”</p>
<p>
“If you haven’t cut into my fifteen minutes, I’m fine.”</p>
<p>
“Of course not.” Stacey smiled at the woman. “You’ll get your full reading.” She stood and turned toward Raphael. “We have nothing further to discuss.”</p>
<p>
Raphael shrugged. “I’ve been worried about you, and so are a couple of other people. And just in case you thought that new hair color was a disguise, let me just tell you it isn’t. If I know who you are, so will others. They’d be very interested in knowing where you are now and what you’re doing.” He nodded toward the cards in her hand. “Good luck with that.”</p>
<p>
“You need to leave immediately.”</p>
<p>
Raphael started backing away. “I’ll be back.” He put his hand to his forehead in a farewell salute. “You can count on that.”</p>
<p>
Stacey didn’t know if Raphael was threatening or warning her. But she knew she didn’t want him to come back to the Quarter to see her anytime soon.</p>
<p>
Stacey glanced back at her client. “I’m so sorry for the interruption. Where were we?” She sat back down. “Oh yes.” She examined the cards. “Has a man in your life undergone a significant change, the end of a relationship, or even a death?”</p>
<p>
“No, not that I know of.”</p>
<p>
“Alright, well, let’s proceed.” Stacey watched as Raphael retreated across the square and took a right at Pirate’s Alley.</p>
<p>
She continued to lay out cards for the woman.</p>
<p>
The fourth card, the card of past events, was the seven of swords, the card of deception. As far as she was concerned, that card certainly applied to James. He’d deceived her from the very beginning. She’d fallen for his tricks. She couldn’t see through his deception at first, but she caught on, finally. The fifth card, the card of the present, was the Chariot, the card of courage and movement. She smiled. She was hoping to do something about the mess she’d gotten herself in. At least she wasn’t sitting in jail like a scared rabbit. For the final card in the cross, the card of the near future, the woman had drawn Justice. She held the final card in her hand for a couple of seconds before laying it down in front of the woman. Even though she hadn’t drawn the cards, Stacey still believed they were telling her story, not the woman’s. Justice, the card of fair decisions, gave her comfort.</p>
<p>
“The final outcome, Justice, relates to karmic justice. It refers to legal matters as well, but generally, it’s telling you that all actions have consequences. Have your own actions contributed in any way to any of the circumstances you find yourself in today?”</p>
<p>
The woman nodded. “I can see that they have. I’m not sure that a man in my life has met any sort of catastrophic end, though. Maybe something’s coming up. I hope not.” She shook her head, reached into her pocket, and handed Stacey three tens and a five. “That was fun. I love getting tarot readings.”</p>
<p>
Stacey watched the woman walk off and thought about the consequences of her recent actions. She’d been trying to avoid that for months. It was so easy to blame others. It was also easy to turn a blind eye to what was going on in front of you. She was young, but she wasn’t stupid.</p>
<p>
That day she had four other readings, making a total of $175.00. She was stunned. She’d made money at the temple, but they held on to it for her rent and food. So, she’d never had much cash, even though the temple made seventy-five dollars per massage. She packed up for the night, brought her table and chairs back to the pizza restaurant, stashed them behind the dumpster again, and tipped the manager. She was glad she knew the guy. That was the thing about New Orleans. If you knew how to get around, you could make things work for you, even though it could be a dangerous place.</p>
<p>
She was starved and decided to treat herself to a shrimp po’ boy from Felix’s on Bourbon. She hadn’t had one in forever, and she felt like celebrating. And now that she had enough cash to last a few days, she could afford it. Plus, she wanted to walk by ETC to talk to the girl who was working in the back of the shop. She didn’t know who it was, and she didn’t care. But she hoped she could work out a deal with her. Pay her a little cash and get her to leave the back door open so she could start sleeping there at night instead of St. Roch’s. The chapel floor wasn’t comfortable, and the cemetery wasn’t safe at night. An option would be nice. It was worth a try.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Excerpt from <i>Sanctuary</i> by C.L. Tolbert. Copyright 2022 by C.L. Tolbert. Reproduced with permission from C.L. Tolbert. All rights reserved.</p>
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<h2>Author Bio:</h2>
<div style="float: right; margin-left: 15px; width: 230px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhTE_iaNEy0MaUt0jbO5SbvV9qNY4i1j1eU-3g1eY8gKgg5mkPJIHx7vFRoHmamISGG7jmDYXzZfQjNzT-Kymp7vyw8955Y9GzVdvDK6MGFmko85_VAcvDiXygwI7oFbP2a3ilpRsaO4GmMlBd119T8260R0zK7kJubzL0p5EpAQEB59COIag" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhTE_iaNEy0MaUt0jbO5SbvV9qNY4i1j1eU-3g1eY8gKgg5mkPJIHx7vFRoHmamISGG7jmDYXzZfQjNzT-Kymp7vyw8955Y9GzVdvDK6MGFmko85_VAcvDiXygwI7oFbP2a3ilpRsaO4GmMlBd119T8260R0zK7kJubzL0p5EpAQEB59COIag" width="180" /></a></div><br /></div>
<p>After winning the Georgia State Bar Journal's fiction contest in 2010, C.L. Tolbert developed the winning story into a full-scale novel. OUT FROM SILENCE was published in December of 2019, and is the first novel in the Thornton Mysteries series. Her second book, <a href="https://www.partnersincrimetours.net/the-redemption-by-c-l-tolbert/" rel="noopener" target="_blank">THE REDEMPTION</a>, was published in February of 2021, and <a href="https://www.partnersincrimetours.net/sanctuary-by-c-l-tolbert/" rel="noopener" target="_blank">SANCTUARY</a>, the third book in the series, was published in July of 2022.</p>
<p>Licensed in Mississippi, Louisiana, and Georgia, C.L. practiced law for thirty-five years before retiring to pursue writing. During her legal career she spent several years teaching at Loyola Law School in New Orleans, where she was the Director of the Homeless Clinic. She also has a Masters of Special Education, and taught in a public school prior to enrolling in law school.</p>
<p>C.L. has two children and three grandchildren, and lives in Atlanta, Georgia with her husband and schnauzer.</p>
<h3>Catch Up With C.L. Tolbert:<br />
<a href="https://bit.ly/3KOu385" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">www.CLTolbert.com</a><br />
<a href="https://bit.ly/3KINuze" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Goodreads</a><br />
<a href="https://bit.ly/3xKrpeh" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Instagram - @cltolbertwrites </a><br />
<a href="https://bit.ly/382ogys" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Twitter - @cltolbertwrites</a><br />
<a href="https://bit.ly/38MUP3A" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Facebook - @cltolbertwriter </a></h3>
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<p></p>Sarah Glennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12455113960686270662noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9722683.post-85664507074266354712022-09-17T08:00:00.025-04:002022-09-17T08:00:00.201-04:00Interview: Ash Bishop <p> </p><div style="text-align: center;">
<h2><a href="https://www.providencebookpromotions.com/intergalactic-exterminators-inc-by-ash-bishop/" title="Intergalactic Exterminators Inc by Ash Bishop"><img alt="Intergalactic Exterminators Inc by Ash Bishop Banner" class="aligncenter size-full" height="338" src="https://www.providencebookpromotions.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/07/intergalactic-exterminators-inc-by-ash-bishop-banner-.png" width="600" /></a></h2>
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<h2 align="center"><em>Intergalactic Exterminators Inc</em></h2>
<h3 style="padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: center;">by Ash Bishop</h3>
<h5 style="padding-top: 0px; text-align: center;">September 1-30, 2022 Virtual Book Tour</h5><b>When did you know you wanted to be an author?</b><div><br /><div>My dad was Chair of the Reading Department at Cal State Fullerton, teaching teachers how to best develop their students' reading skills. You could say my sister and I were the unwilling, but lucky, recipients of his field research on the subject. Our entire childhoods, he brought home book after book after book and dropped them into our laps. So much of my young life was spent absorbed in other people's stories that I came to the natural conclusion of wanting to contribute some of my own. I can't remember the exact moment, but I do know it was the culmination of a household of readers, and a lot of great encouragement from my whole family, my teachers and friends. </div><div> </div><div><b>Which part of the research did you enjoy the most?</b></div><div><br /></div><div>I'm not sure this qualifies as research, but… one of my characters is a sentient robot who has lost his previously persistent connection to a central galactic server. He counts on the connection to download knowledge that would help him navigate various situations. Since his ability to download has been severed, and he's stuck on Earth, he ends up reading a lot of books instead. Thus, his understanding of Earth culture is colored by the books he happens to get his hands on. I was already familiar with most of them, but it was a lot of fun deciding which Earth books he should read and how they would affect his character's perspective. Earth can look pretty strange if you get your hands on <i>50 Shades of Gray</i>, then <i>Tale of Two Cities</i>, and then you jump to <i>Archie</i> comics.</div><div> </div><div><b>What inspired you to create your “hero”?</b></div><div><br /></div><div>I was a very quiet person growing up but I also always had these strong heroic impulses. Unfortunately, for the most part, I ended up indulging them in literature, cinema, and video games instead of real life, but I never stopped wishing for the opportunity to do heroic things. My wife is always shaking her head because she sometimes has nightmares, and when she wakes up to tell me about them, I'm usually emerging from a dream about saving a town from gigantic spiders. My protagonist reflects this same dormant impulse. He's a good person but life hasn't presented him the opportunity to prove his heroic nature until the events of the story begin to unfold. As a rookie hero, he doesn't have a lot of confidence. He's not natural at self-promotion, while others around him are, so he has to let his actions do the talking for him. </div><div> </div><div><b>What would you define as literary success?</b></div><div><br /></div><div>I'd love to quit my day job, but also not have to produce so much writing content that I begin to dislike the process. Writing for a living, at your own speed, sounds heavenly. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>So, you're an author. Which authors do you enjoy reading?</b></div><div><br /></div><div>I'm a huge fan of comic books. My favorite comic book authors, Alan Moore, Neil Gaiman and Joe Casey had a big impact on my development as a prose writer. They all seemed to value something I value as well, originality and breaking away from rote formulas. When you're reading something by Alan Moore, no matter the subject, it always feels like you've never read anything like it before. That's a thrilling sensation. As for prose, I really like the authors value that same originality, as well as those with charming, but self-deprecating protagonists, be it Agatha Christie, Philip K. Dick, John D. MacDonald, or F. Scott Fitzgerald. I know that's an eclectic mix, but good writing is good writing. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Thanks for stopping by!</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><h3>Synopsis:</h3>
<h4>Finding work is easy. Staying alive is a little bit harder.</h4>
<div style="float: left; margin-right: 15px; width: 225px;"><img align="left" alt="Intergalactic Exterminators Inc by Ash Bishop" height="309" src="https://www.providencebookpromotions.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/07/intergalactic-exterminators-inc-by-ash-bishop-cover.png" style="margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px;" width="200" /></div>
<div>When Russ Wesley finds an unusual artifact in his grandfather’s collection of rare antiquities, the last thing he expects is for it to draw the attention of a ferocious alien from a distant planet. Equally surprising is the adventurous team of intergalactic exterminators dispatched to deal with the alien threat. They’re a little wild, and a little reckless. Worse yet, they’re so impressed with Russ’s marksmanship that they insist he join their squad . . . whether he wants to or not.</div>
<h3>Praise for <i>Intergalactic Exterminators, Inc</i>:</h3>
"This book is so much fun it ought to be illegal in all known galaxies. Ash Bishop has written a wildly imagined, deeply felt, swashbuckling page turner. I loved it."
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span>Jesse Kellerman, <em>New York Times</em> bestselling author of <em>The Burning</em></span>
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<h3>Book Details</h3>
<strong>Genre:</strong> Science Fiction
<strong>Published by:</strong> Camcat Books
<strong>Publication Date:</strong> September 6th 2022
<strong>Number of Pages:</strong> 416
<strong>ISBN:</strong> 0744305616 (ISBN13: 9780744305616)
<strong>Purchase Links:</strong> <a href="https://amzn.to/3uh0EOI" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Amazon</a> | <a href="https://bit.ly/3nxnXzY" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble</a> | <a href="https://bit.ly/3ywkHv1" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> | <a href="https://bit.ly/3aeKP42" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">IndieBound.Org</a> | <a href="https://bit.ly/3IaP3qe" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">CamCat Books</a>
</div>
<h3>Read an excerpt:</h3>
<div style="border-color: 000000; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px; height: 350px; overflow: auto; padding: 10px;">
<h4>Chapter 1</h4>
<h6>RUSS</h6>
Russ woke up lying flat on the ground, his mind foggy as hell. He could smell blood. When he reached forward as gingerly as possible, his muscles screamed at the movement.
He was on his back. The forest trees waved down at him, blocking out the faint moonlight. He took a couple of deep breaths and reached forward again, groping around in the darkness. His hand came back slick with blood and fur and leaves.
And then he heard voices.
“. . . do you want to do this, then?”
“I just wouldn’t call this tracking, is all. The blood trail’s three feet across. A tiny baby could follow this trail.”
“Show me that baby.”
“Shhh. Both of you, quiet. Something’s registering on the heat index.”
The confusion and pain made it hard to think. <i>Are these locals . . .?</i> he thought. He fumbled in his pocket, looking for his flashlight but also testing for further damage. His hand found the light. It illuminated the small clearing.
The deer’s corpse was just a few feet away, right where he’d shot it, but it wasn’t whole. Something had torn off its back legs, shearing straight through the muscle and bone.
Russ took a deep breath but didn’t let his body or mind react to the sight of the carnage.
Seconds later, the strangers’ flashlights found him.
“He’s over here. To our left.”
Russ heard three or four people hurrying through the brush. A woman in all black stepped into the clearing. Her brown hair was tied back in a bun, and she had a long steel shotgun in her hands. An odd earring twinkled in her ear.
“You okay, son?” she asked, crouching down to place her hands on his chest. She stared into his eyes, examining him. “Looks like you’re going into shock. Just stay on your back and concentrate on breathing.”
A man followed shortly after her. He glanced around, holding up a funny-looking flashlight to cast out the darkness. “He’s alone,” the man confirmed. “Are you from around here?” he asked Russ.
“I’m from California,” Russ groaned.
“I don’t know what that means,” the man said.
“Just hold still,” the woman said. She pulled a gadget from her pack. The end telescoped out like an antenna.
Russ watched as an aqua blue light shone down from the device, running across his entire body. He flinched as it reached his face, and even that small movement caused his lungs to burst with pain.
“He’s got four broken ribs, a hairline fracture in the left wrist and a torn hamstring. Did you see what hit you?” the woman asked him.
Russ tried to think. “No.” The word was as much a groan as anything else.
“Tell us what you remember.”
Russ rolled over onto his side. It hurt badly. Now that she’d pointed out the injuries, everything was localized. His ribs throbbed. His wrist felt hollow. His left leg was pierced with pain. “I was driving down Route Eighty-Nine, and a deer . . .” Russ pointed to the half deer corpse beside him. “. . . this <i>deer</i> dashed in front of my car. I knew I’d injured it by the sound it made when it hit the bumper, but I didn’t think I’d have to chase it this far into the woods to put it out of its misery.”
Russ took a moment to swallow. “After I shot it, I—I was kneeling, jacking out the leftover rifle shells. But then . . . I was flipping through the air. I think I hit that tree right behind me.”
The woman looked back at the tree. “It’s pretty splintered up.”
“I was flying upside down. Backwards.”
“Can you walk?” the man asked.
Two more women, dressed in the same black combat gear, entered the clearing. They both had long rifles slung over their backs.
Russ glanced at the newcomers, his eyes lingering on the guns. They weren’t locals. He could tell that much. “Who are you guys?”
“Just local hunters,” one of the newcomers said.
“Sure,” Russ said.
“Tell me what hit you,” the first woman said firmly.
“’I don’t know. A meteor? A buffalo? Maybe . . . a . . . rig?”
The woman pulled a roll of pills from a MOLLE strap on her backpack. “Swallow two of these. They’re going to kill the pain.”
Russ chewed the pills. Their chalky taste filled his mouth and crept up his nose.
“They won’t cure any of the damage. You’re going to feel fine, but you’re not fine. Move carefully until you can get proper medical treatment. The road is two miles north. Can you reach it without help?”
Russ nodded. Whatever she gave him was blazing through his bloodstream, kicking the fog and ache off every organ that it passed.
“What’d I just eat?”
“Two miles north. Don’t stop for any reason.”
One of the newcomers, a well-muscled young woman with close-cropped brown hair, glanced at the half deer corpse lying next to Russ. Its blood had sprayed a pattern across the splintered tree. “Look at the animal, Kendren,” she said.
The guy, Kendren, shone his flashlight over the deer corpse. “Whoa,” he said. “We definitely found what we’re looking for.”
“You really chummed the water with this stag,” the short-haired woman told Russ.
“Kendren, Starland, mouths shut,” the first woman said, making a slashing gesture. She pulled Russ to his feet. He gritted his teeth against the pain, but it was gone.
Kendren and Starland stayed huddled around the deer, crouched low, inspecting where the hindquarters had been sheared off the bone. Kendren looked at the deer's head and saw where Russ had shot it.
“You make this shot?” he asked Russ. “In the dark?”
“Yeah.”
“Was the deer already dead? Were you a foot away? Point blank?”
“No. I was up on a ledge over by the river. Forty feet in that direction.” Russ pointed up the gradual incline.
Kendren was still looking at the dead deer. “You shot it between the eyes, from forty feet, in the dark?”
“Yeah. I guess.”
“Head on back to the highway,” the woman said firmly. “You should start now. It might be dangerous to stay here.”
The way she was looking at him, Russ kind of figured she meant that she was what was dangerous. If he didn’t do what she said.
“I just need to find my grandpa’s rifle first,” Russ told her.
She grabbed him by the arm. Her grip was incredibly strong. In the light from her flashlight her eyes seemed almost purple. “Start walking toward—”
Before she could finish her sentence, the third woman, who’d melted back into the darkness, stepped forward again. “Cut the light,” she hissed. “It’s here.”
Something came crashing through the brush, making a howling sound. It wasn’t a sound Russ had ever heard before. It was a deep rumbling growl, followed by a pitched screech that made the hair on his arms stand up. Branches were snapping, and he could hear claws scraping on rock. It was still thirty feet south, but it scared the hell out of him.
“‘El Toreador.’ You’re up,” the woman hissed.
The girl they called El Toreador had been on lookout. She was far enough into the darkness that Russ could barely see her, just a wisp of thick brown hair bobbing in the darkness—that is, until she pounded her chest with her fist. The vest lit up red, casting shadows across the trees. “My real name’s Atara,” she told Russ quickly. Then: “Don’t look so worried. We’re professionals.”
“Starland, hit her with the hormone.”
“The vest is enough,” Atara growled.
Starland slipped back into the light. She was carrying some kind of tube that looked like a pool toy. She pushed hard against the end, blasting thick goo all over the other woman.
“Hurry up. It’s almost here.”
Russ was scrambling around in the brush, looking everywhere for his rifle when the creature burst through the perimeter glow of his tiny flashlight. Atara’s vest reflected off its face, bathing it in red light. It was all fangs and claws, huge, twice the size of a grizzly bear and full of rippling muscles stretched out in terrifying feline grace. It leaped at Atara, but midflight it caught the scent of the goo and reoriented to the left, bumping her off her feet but not harming her.
The huge cat-thing landed softly, immediately turning toward the fallen woman, sniffing the air, growling, and bobbing its head.
“It’s got the scent. The big kitty’s feeling amorous,” Kendren yelled. He, Starland, and the other woman all had their rifles raised. They were tracking the cat, ready to fire. Atara looked pissed, sprawled on the ground with her legs splayed.
“Knock it down. We’re authorized for lethal. What are you waiting for?” she shouted.
The creature was fully in the light now. It looked a lot like a tiger, but it was at least six times the size, with wavy, shaggy hair.
“What the hell is it?” Russ shouted.
The feline was practically straddling Atara. “I don’t like how it’s looking at me. Come on, shoot!” she demanded.
The creature batted a paw, claws extended, and tore the glowing vest off her chest. It drew the vest up to its nose, sniffed, and started to growl again.
Then the huge beast paused, slowly turning away from Atara. It sniffed the air, shoulders hunched, fur on the scruff of its neck rising. As it turned, its deep onyx eyes looked squarely at Russ.
It growled and took a step toward him.
Russ thought his heart had been beating hard before, but as the huge cat glided toward him, the thudding in his chest was so loud it drowned out every other sound. He didn’t even hear the discharge of Starland’s shotgun, two feet away from the monster. The wad of pellets sprayed against the creature’s flank and it howled, tearing away into the darkness so fast Russ didn’t even see it move.
Atara scrambled to her feet and dropped her rifle. “Did you see that? A direct hit and no penetration. I told you Earth tech was garbage. What is this? The thirteenth century? I’m powering up.”
The first woman—the one with the purple eyes—glanced at Russ. She was short, wiry, with the powerful shoulders of a linebacker. Russ realized she was the leader of . . . whoever these people were.
“When are you going to learn to keep your mouth shut?” she barked at Atara.
“You already used the CRC wand on him.”
“Two hours of mandatory training videos. The second this is over.”
“I’d rather be cat food than watch those again,” Atara said.
“You skip the videos and I’ll send you back through CERT training.”
Atara wasn’t really listening. She crashed off through the brush in the direction of the big cat.
Nodding toward Russ, the woman shouted, “Kendren, you’ve got containment.” Then she disappeared into the darkness. Starland drew a pistol from her belt and followed.
“Containment? More like babysitting,” Kendren grumbled. “I should be the one doing the good stuff.” He glanced in the direction they’d gone. Russ kind of agreed. Kendren was huge, at least six-five, and covered from head to toe with what Russ’s cousin had always called beach muscles. He had thick, wavy hair down to his shoulders.
Out in the darkness, Russ could see the others’ flashlights bobbing up and down. They were headed up an incline, probably straight toward the bank of the river.
“Was it my imagination, or was the cat more interested in you than the vest covered in mating hormone?” Kendren asked.
At first, Russ didn’t answer. Finally, he said, “What would make it do that?”
“No idea. It’s supposed to follow the hormone. What’s better than sex?” Kendren shook his head, seemingly unable to answer his own question. He frowned slightly. “The only thing I’ve seen them more interested in is an Obinz stone. You ever seen an Obinz stone? They’re about this big”—Kendren held his hands six inches apart—“usually green, with yellow veins running all along the edges? I don’t think they’re native to . . . this area.” Kendren looked around in distaste. “But I’ve seen these cats jump planets just to get near one if it’s in an unrefined state. An Obinz stone is basically intergalactic catnip.”
“I’ve never seen one,” Russ told him. His voice wavered slightly, but Kendren didn’t seem to notice.
“Then we better shut this vest down,” Kendren said. He stepped up onto a boulder and reached high into a tree, grabbing the vest from where the cat had tossed it. He folded the vest up and tucked it under his arm. “I’m not even sure how to turn it off,” he said.
“That was a saber-toothed tiger, right? You guys cloning stuff? Is this Jurassic World or something?” Russ rubbed his temple. His questions were coming so fast, they were jumbled in his mouth. Kendren had just said <i>intergalactic</i>, and something about <i>jumping planets</i>, but here in the dark Wyoming forest, six miles from his grandmother’s house, he wasn’t yet ready to face those pieces of information.
Kendren threw the vest on the ground and raised his rifle, pumping a slug into it. It kept glowing. “Damn. It’s pretty important I get this thing turned off.”
Starland’s discarded rifle was just a few feet away. While Kendren kicked at the vest with his boot heel, Russ inched toward it.
“Touch the weapon and I’ll shoot you in the face,” Kendren said. He stomped on the vest again.
The flashlights were way north now, probably on the other side of the river. Russ could hear the distant voices arguing about which way the big cat went.
The voices were so loud, neither Kendren nor Russ heard the cat until it was right in front of them, growling, hissing, and spitting. It stalked into the circumference of the faint red light from the vest.
Kendren was still standing on the vest, his rifle slung over his shoulder. Beside him, the cat was enormous, twice as tall as a man. It crouched down, looking him straight in the eye.
“I’m dead,” he said quietly.
The creature coiled back on its powerful flanks and threw itself forward like a bullet. Its wicked claws stretched out, razored edges slashing at Kendren’s neck and chest.
Russ kicked Starland’s gun off the ground, caught it, leveled it, and fired. The bullet split the cat’s eye socket, ripping through its optic nerve and straight into its brain.
Momentum carried the dead body forward on its trajectory, smashing into Kendren and pinning him to the earth.
A few moments later, the rest of the team returned, clambering through the thick brush. The leader approached the enormous beast and nudged it with her boot.
“Is it dead, Bah’ren?” Atara asked, her gun still pointed at the fallen creature.
“Sure is,” the leader, Bah’ren, responded.
The wind was starting to pick up, blowing the branches of the trees, shaking off a few dead leaves.
“How about Kendren?”
“Negative,” Bah’ren said.
“Get it off me,” Kendren demanded. “It’s gotta weigh nine hundred pounds.”
“How many intergalactic laws do you think we’ve broken here?” Atara asked. She moved next to Bah’ren, looking down at Kendren with an expression that was half pity and half amusement.
He had managed to sit up, but his legs were still wedged under the huge carcass.
“Including the law about referencing intergalactic law on a tier-nine planet?” Bah’ren asked.
“You guys are being a little careless,” Starland said.
“Not our fault this thing was a hundred miles off course. The MUPmap promised there wouldn’t be any tier-nine bios in the vicinity.”
“What are we supposed to do now?” Atara said, nodding toward Russ.
“Oh, we’re conscripting him, for sure.” Bah’ren said.
“Really?” Atara said. “We’re getting another human?”
“Who? Who do you mean?” Russ asked. He glanced back in the direction of the highway. His eyes were starting to adjust to the dark again, and he could make out a thick copse of trees just a dozen or so yards away.
“Get the huge beast off me,” Kendren insisted.
Bah’ren moved to one side of the big cat and dug her powerful shoulders into it. Starland ran over to join her, wedging one arm against the creature’s flank, but putting her other arm around the waist of the woman giving the orders. “Atara, come on. You, new guy, we could use your help too. It’s heavy as hell.”
Russ half ran over to them and dug his side into the creature. Its hairy skin sloshed around against the pressure, but the four of them eventually got it moving.
“Roll it the other way!” Kendren demanded. “Its penis is right next to my face.”
They kept rolling, and Kendren kept protesting, as the great shaggy cat slowly grinded over his shoulders and face. Gravity finally caught hold of its weight and the corpse flopped to the ground. The three in black all chuckled as Kendren spit out the taste of cat testicle.
“Oh, that’s what you meant. Sorry about that,” Starland said, laughing.
Kendren crawled onto his knees, still hacking and spitting. He stopped for a minute and looked at the cat’s face, poking a finger in the thing’s empty eye socket and wiggling it around. “Another hell of a shot.”
“The debriefing wasn’t just wrong about location,” Atara said. “The creature’s fur is like steel mesh. Our bullets were doing jackshit.”
Kendren rolled up onto his knees, both hands propped on his thighs. “You saved my life,” he told Russ.
“No problem,” Russ said.
It was the last thing Russ said before he dropped the rifle and sprinted full speed back toward the safety of the trees. He was running as fast as he could, pumping his arms, banging his shins on rocks, bumping past pines, carelessly plunging through the dark.
He’d only gotten about twenty yards, running full speed, when something metal slapped around his ankle. It tipped him off balance and, for the second time that night, he could feel himself careening head over heels.
He hit a tree, again, then slowly slipped out of consciousness.
---
Excerpt from <em>Intergalactic Exterminators Inc</em> by Ash Bishop. Copyright © 2022 by Ash Bishop. Reproduced with permission from Ash Bishop. All rights reserved.
</div>
<h3>Author Bio:</h3>
<div class="download"><img align="left" alt="Ash Bishop" height="294" src="https://www.providencebookpromotions.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/07/intergalactic-exterminators-inc-by-ash-bishop-author.jpg" style="margin-right: 10px;" width="200" />Ash Bishop is a lifetime reader and a lifetime nerd, loving all things science fiction and fantasy. He has been a high school English teacher, and worked in the video game industry, as well as in educational app development. He even used to fetch coffee for Quentin Tarantino during the production of the film Jackie Brown. Bishop currently produces script coverage for a major Hollywood studio, but he spends his best days at home in Southern California with his wonderful wife and two wonderful children. He earned an MFA in Creative Writing from San Diego State University. This is his debut novel.
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</div>Sarah Glennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12455113960686270662noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9722683.post-47575049457640534462022-07-23T07:00:00.044-04:002022-09-29T19:50:15.011-04:00Interview: Leslie Wheeler, author of Wolf Bog<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiZniYc8TQX4INyZ_pL75MhCOgIeLoyKqpyICN_aYmgZt2O_fKbJRhGSiFQreRqcPJsnJKcIzJvWA-5fJVvan7LQMzW9qmbncahzBLkLSN3FboFR2ffdPwOKH7i7BKRwxQo-RcvNPdM_4w-IPjIV5fU6aXPom8C5NqmNqguiF8EbpwFBDZVjA" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2500" data-original-width="1667" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiZniYc8TQX4INyZ_pL75MhCOgIeLoyKqpyICN_aYmgZt2O_fKbJRhGSiFQreRqcPJsnJKcIzJvWA-5fJVvan7LQMzW9qmbncahzBLkLSN3FboFR2ffdPwOKH7i7BKRwxQo-RcvNPdM_4w-IPjIV5fU6aXPom8C5NqmNqguiF8EbpwFBDZVjA" width="160" /></a></div>An award-winning author of books about American history and biographies, Leslie Wheeler has written two mystery series. Her Berkshire Hilltown Mysteries launched with Rattlesnake Hill and continue with Shuntoll Road and <a href="https://www.lesliewheeler.com/writing/wolf-bog/" target="_blank">Wolf Bog</a>. Her Miranda Lewis Living History Mysteries debuted with Murder at Plimoth Plantation and continue with Murder at Gettysburg and Murder at Spouters Point. Her mystery short stories have appeared in numerous anthologies. Leslie is a member of Mystery Writers of America and Sisters in Crime, and a founding member of the New England Crime Bake Committee. She divides her time between Cambridge, Massachusetts, and the Berkshires, where she writes in a house overlooking a pond.<div> <div><b>When did you know you wanted to be an author? </b></div><div>I knew I wanted to be an author when I was in elementary school after a brief flirtation with the idea of becoming a ballerina. I gave up that idea because I wasn’t coordinated enough. Writing, on the other hand, was something that I enjoyed and that I was good at. I loved telling stories and listening to others tell them. I either wrote the stories down or sang them while swinging on a swing—a favorite outdoor activity—or riding in the car. I sang made-up songs to keep my spirits up when my mother drove me to appointments with an orthodontist, who was not a nice person. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Which part of the research did you enjoy the most? </b></div><div>The part of the research I enjoyed the most was visiting a site that figures in the novel. As the title, Wolf Bog, suggests, important action takes place at a bog. Although there’s a large area of wetlands with lakes and a swamp in my Berkshire town of New Marlborough, Massachusetts upon which my fictional town is based, there are no bogs. Fortunately, I found one, the Hawley Bog, which is located just across the border in Franklin County. Hawley bog consists of a large expanse of floating plant matter, mostly sphagnum moss, that’s apparently 30-feet deep. It’s called a quaking bog, because it actually moves, though thankfully I felt no earthquake-strength tremors as I strolled along the boardwalk that extends into it. Interspersed with the plant matter, I saw patches of black water—black because that’s the color of bog soil, or peat. Carnivorous plants like the dark purple pitcher plant that lures its insect prey with its brilliant color only to trap and devour it also caught my attention. These plants rely on insects for nourishment that the highly acidic peat doesn’t provide. All in all, it was fascinating to view such a distinctive landscape. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>What inspired you to create your “hero”?</b></div><div>I had to create a new hero for what became my Berkshire Hilltown Mystery series when the hero of my previous series turned down the job. This happened in a scene where she was supposed to kiss a certain man, and flat-out refused. When I got over my shock—after all, I was supposed to be in charge here—I realized it was her way of telling me she didn’t belong in the book, and I needed to create another character for my hero. Thus, was born Kathryn Stinson, a woman in her early thirties with a somewhat troubled past, who works as a curator of prints and photographs at a small private library in Boston, a position a neighbor of mine held. In the first book in the series, Rattlesnake Hill, she comes to the Berkshires on a deeply personal quest, involving an old family photo, only to fall for a possible murderer. And that possible murderer is the man she kisses! </div><div><br /></div><div><b>What would you define as literary success? </b></div><div>I would definite literary success as gaining recognition from authors I admire, having a large following among the reading public, and of course, selling lots of books. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>So, you're an author. Which authors do you enjoy reading? </b></div><div>As a mystery author, I tend to read lots of books in the genre. Favorite authors include Daphne du Maurier, Sharyn McCrumb, Ann Cleeves (especially her Shetland series), Hallie Ephron, Barbara Ross, Edwin Hill, Sarah Smith, and William Martin. Non-mystery authors I enjoy are Jane Austen, Edith Wharton (especially her two Berkshire novels, Summer and Ethan Frome) and Ann Patchett (for her essays as well as novels).
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2>Wolf Bog</h2>
<h3>by Leslie Wheeler</h3>
<h4>July 1-31, 2022 Virtual Book Tour</h4>
</div>
<h2>Synopsis:</h2>
<div style="float: left; margin-right: 15px; width: 225px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjrzuPDlY72NNpFi5_VcAt2fzcpDTF8Wj2kEQ61gSzZjYYr1l1ynWFvLLmQ_TxrW0qI5gIfyPUnaIp7Zwji5pK8i_AlLoz6r92S5Ur-dl9Y8GXFVimKuhazw_zP44uRJAnUGZesgM2uBFRDLM9cT1UdTl8uLFDIctv81epURGJJq8VGFSZMCg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1187" data-original-width="768" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjrzuPDlY72NNpFi5_VcAt2fzcpDTF8Wj2kEQ61gSzZjYYr1l1ynWFvLLmQ_TxrW0qI5gIfyPUnaIp7Zwji5pK8i_AlLoz6r92S5Ur-dl9Y8GXFVimKuhazw_zP44uRJAnUGZesgM2uBFRDLM9cT1UdTl8uLFDIctv81epURGJJq8VGFSZMCg" width="155" /></a></div><br /></div>
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<p>It’s August in the Berkshires, and the area is suffering from a terrible drought. As wetlands dry up, the perfectly preserved body of a local man, missing for forty years, is discovered in Wolf Bog by a group of hikers that includes Kathryn Stinson. Who was he and what was his relationship with close friend Charlotte Hinckley, also on the hike, that would make Charlotte become distraught and blame herself for his death? Kathryn’s search for answers leads her to the discovery of fabulous parties held at the mansion up the hill from her rental house, where local teenagers like the deceased mingled with the offspring of the wealthy. Other questions dog the arrival of a woman claiming to be the daughter Charlotte gave up for adoption long ago. But is she really Charlotte’s daughter, and if not, what’s her game? Once again, Kathryn’s quest for the truth puts her in grave danger.</p>
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<h3>Praise for <i>Wolf Bog</i>:</h3>
<p>“Wheeler’s deep sense of place—the Berkshires—illuminates a deftly woven plot and a quirky cast of characters that will keep you glued to the pages until the last stunning revelation. It’s always a pleasure to be in the hands of a pro.”</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="color: orange;">Kate Flora, Edgar and Anthony nominated author</span></p>
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<p>“When a long-lost teenager turns up dead, a cold case turns into hot murder. A deliciously intriguing Berkshire mystery.”</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="color: orange;">Sarah Smith, Agatha Award-winning author<br />
of <i>The Vanished Child</i> and <i>Crimes and Survivors</i></span></p>
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<blockquote class="details">
<h3>Book Details:</h3>
<p><b>Genre:</b> Mystery/Amateur Sleuth/Suspense<br />
<b>Published by:</b> Encircle Publishing<br />
<b>Publication Date:</b> July 6, 2022<br />
<b>Number of Pages:</b> 336 <br />
<b>ISBN:</b> 164599385X (ISBN-13: 978-1645993858) <br />
<b>Series:</b> A Berkshire Hilltown Mystery, #3<br />
<b>Book Links:</b> <a href="https://amzn.to/3Hp4OsU" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Amazon</a> | <a href="https://bit.ly/3mQk8FF" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble</a> </p>
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<h3>Read an excerpt:</h3>
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<p>Charlotte’s brow furrowed as she stared at the bog. “There’s something down there. A dead animal or…?” She raised her binoculars to get a better look.</p>
<p>“Where?” Wally asked. She pointed to a spot on the peat at the edge of the water. Wally had barely lifted his binoculars when Charlotte cried, “Oh, my God, it’s a body!” And took off toward it.</p>
<p>“No, don’t go there!” Wally grabbed at her, but she eluded him. When Charlotte was almost to the body−−if that’s what it was−−she began to sink into the bog. She waved her arms and twisted her legs, trying desperately to get out, but her struggles only made her sink deeper.</p>
<p>Kathryn’s heart seized. They had to rescue Charlotte, but how without getting stuck themselves? Brushing past Wally, Steve started down the slope. Wally caught him, pulled him back, and handed him over to Hal Phelps. “You stay put. Everyone else, too. I’ve had experience hiking around this bog, and I think I can get her out. Stop struggling and try to keep calm,” he called down to Charlotte. “Help is on the way.” </p>
<p>Wally made his way carefully to where Charlotte stood, caught in the mire. He tested each step before putting his full weight on it, backtracking when he deemed the ground too soft. When he was a few yards away, he stopped. </p>
<p>“This is as far as I can safely come,” he told Charlotte. He extended his hiking pole and she grabbed it. Then, on his instructions, she slowly and with great effort lifted first one leg, then the other out of the muck and onto the ground behind her. Wally guided her back to the others, following the same zigzag pattern he’d made when descending. Charlotte went with him reluctantly. She kept glancing back over her shoulder at what she’d seen at the water’s edge.</p>
<p>Kathryn trained her binoculars on that spot. Gradually an image came into focus. A body was embedded in the peat. The skin was a dark, reddish brown, but otherwise, it was perfectly preserved. Bile rose in her throat.</p>
<p>Charlotte moved close to Kathryn. “You see him, don’t you?” Her face was white, her eyes wide and staring. </p>
<p>“See who?” Wally demanded.</p>
<p>“Denny,” Charlotte said. “You must’ve seen him, too.”</p>
<p>“I saw something that appears to be a body, but--” Wally said. </p>
<p>“So there really is a dead person down there?” Betty asked.</p>
<p>“It looks that way,” Wally said grimly. “But let’s not panic. I’m going to try to reach Chief Lapsley, though I doubt I’ll get reception here. We’ll probably have to leave the area before I can.”</p>
<p>“We can’t just leave Denny here to die,” Charlotte wailed. </p>
<p>“Charlotte,” Wally said with a pained expression, “whoever is down there is already dead.”</p>
<p>She flinched, as if he’d slapped her across the face. “No! I’m telling you Denny’s alive.” She glared at him, then her defiant expression changed to one of uncertainty. “Dead or alive, I’m to blame. I’m staying here with him.”</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Excerpt from <i>Wolf Bog</i> by Leslie Wheeler. Copyright 2022 by Leslie Wheeler. Reproduced with permission from Leslie Wheeler. All rights reserved.</p>
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<p>Catch Up With Leslie:</p><h3>
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</div>Sarah Glennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12455113960686270662noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9722683.post-21474830643192677202022-07-20T09:32:00.005-04:002022-07-20T09:35:01.620-04:00Interview: Lindy Hudis, Hollywood Underworld<p><img alt="" src="http://www.xpressobooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/3/2022/05/Lindy.jpg" style="display: inline-block; float: left; margin: 0px 15px 15px 0px;" /></p><blockquote style="margin-bottom: 15px; margin-top: 15px;"><p>Author Bio:</p><p>Lindy S. Hudis is an award winning filmmaker, author and actress. Lindy is a graduate of New York University, where she studied drama at Tisch School of the Arts. She also performed in a number of Off-Off Broadway theater productions while living in New York City.</p><p>She is the author of several titles, including her romance suspense novel, Weekends, her “Hollywood” story City of Toys, and her crime novel, Crashers. Her latest release, “Hollywood Underworld – A Hollywood Series” is the first installment of a crime, mystery series.</p><p>In addition, she has written several erotic short stories, including “The S&M Club”, “The Backstage Pass”, “Guitar God”, “The Guitarist”, and “The Mile High Club”.</p><p>Her short film “The Lesson”, which she wrote, produced and directed, has won numerous awards, including ‘Best Short Film’ at the Paris International Film Festival, The Beverly Hills Arthouse Film Festival and the San Fransisco International Film Festival.</p><p>She is also an actress, having appeared in the indie film Expressionism, the television daytime drama “Sunset Beach”, also “Married with Children” , “Beverly Hills 90210” and the feature film “Indecent Proposal” . She and her husband, Hollywood stuntman Stephen Hudis, have formed their own production company called Impact Motion Pictures, and have several projects and screenplays in development. She lives in California with her husband and two children.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lindyinparadise.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Website</a> / <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6470478.Lindy_S_Hudis" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://twitter.com/Lindyscribe" target="_blank">Twitter</a></p></blockquote><p><b>When did you know you wanted to be an author?</b></p><p>•<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>My late father-in-law was the English comedy writer Norman Hudis. He wrote for BBC television writing the “Carry On” series. He also wrote for American television shows back in the 70’s. He told me I was a “good commercial writer”, and that is all I needed to hear! I had always wanted to write, but I just needed that extra push to go for it! So, one summer, when I was pregnant with my daughter and was quite literally bored out of my mind, I just sat at my computer and started writing a story, just for something to do. I wrote a little bit every day, then one day I realized that I had written 200 pages. So, I sent out query letters and kept on plugging away. I published my first book <a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0044R8ZC0/" target="_blank">WEEKENDS</a>. It was a very creative and fulfilling process. </p><p><b>Which part of the research did you enjoy the most?</b></p><p>•<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I take inspiration from my own life experience. For example, my book <a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00BM4SENI/" target="_blank">CITY OF TOYS</a> is inspired by my years as a struggling actress when I was living in Hollywood. It’s a work of fiction but inspired by actual events. It’s not for the faint of heart, but life very rarely is. Of course, I do research on the Internet as well, but it’s way too tempting to waste time surfing what kind of cheese I am, lol!</p><p><b>What inspired you to create your heroes?</b></p><p>•<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I am inspired by larger-than-life character who live wild, adventurous lives. I guess that’s why Jackie Collins is such an inspiration to me. I can live vicariously through these amazing characters. </p><p><b>How has your drama experience influenced your writing?</b></p><p>•<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>My stories are very character driven, coming from an acting background helps me develop my characters, so I bond with my characters. I let them tell me what they want to do. They tell me the story. I just think back to my “character development’ classes back when I was in acting school at NYU. Tisch School of the Arts was a very emotionally intense program, but I really learned about developing the backstory and the background of my characters and different quirks of my characters. It has been very helpful. </p><p><b>So, you're an author. Which authors do you enjoy reading?</b></p><p>•<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I grew up reading Judy Blume, Jackie Collins and Stephen King. I just fell in love with reading, and then one day I thought “I can do that” – so I did! I love how prolific Stephen King is, and I love how character driven Jackie Collins is. Her characters are so over-the-top it is just an adventure living that fantasy life through them. That is what I wish to do with my writing – to take the reader on an adventure.</p><p><b>Thank you for talking with us!</b></p><p>Learn more below!</p><div style="margin: 0px auto 15px; text-align: center;">
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<p><strong>Hollywood Underworld</strong><br /><strong>Lindy S. Hudis</strong><br />(A Hollywood Series)<br />Publication date: August 8th 2021<br />Genres: Adult, Mystery, Thriller</p><blockquote><p>Nick Savage was supposed to be the next sexy Hollywood heartthrob, until he turned up dead!</p>
<p>His personal manager, Dani Foxx, is a seductive former actress with spunk, guts and a take-no-prisoners attitude. She lives in the Woodland Hills section of the San Fernando Valley with her teenage daughter. They must survive and protect each other in the world’s most glamorous and sin-filled city. Then an unidentified body discovered under the Santa Monica pier is found to belong to the up and coming young actor.</p>
<p>Dani’s partner, the dashing and charismatic A.J. Tarentella, is the son of a mob boss, raised in a ruthless crime family. He now is the proud owner of the Tarantella Agency, a Private Investigation Company located in the heart of Beverly Hills. He used his father’s work ethic, connections and family ties to build his powerful business empire, and now he is always there to help those in need.</p>
<p>When another gorgeous nubile actress on the brink of getting her breakout role mysteriously vanishes as the body of a beautiful young girl is discovered in Runyon Canyon park in the Hollywood Hills, Dani realizes this is no coincidence. Who is targeting young Hollywood stars? And more importantly, how can Dani stop them before the next body surfaces?</p>
<p>Together, A..J. and Dani find themselves tangled in a web of organized crime, Hollywood secrets, and a vengeful faded movie star with a lethal vendetta.</p>
</blockquote>
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/58794359-hollywood-underworld" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://amzn.to/3Ibk4Ku" target="_blank">Amazon</a></p>
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Sarah Glennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12455113960686270662noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9722683.post-56828801749345182902022-07-13T06:30:00.001-04:002022-07-13T06:30:00.203-04:00Debra H. Goldstein: Balancing Humor in Murder Mysteries<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEdsjXB979ptP21rTAXgXjJPThE_qKtchVMmvxjERWB96MYjs9iztBVlijNrzbmiIZT7Ea2OKNM4kMUhlrMk4YVuprxjaZbqbm1qB_ub1flKKZUWw8Y3nwk8KdZbKRJYFShTWxa9MSPg95tRglzc09Bca44JOIFYCCRuyb5RWmof1sVKlhcw/s2100/Five%20Belles%20too%20Many_Goldstein%20_comp%5B9724%5D.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2100" data-original-width="1425" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEdsjXB979ptP21rTAXgXjJPThE_qKtchVMmvxjERWB96MYjs9iztBVlijNrzbmiIZT7Ea2OKNM4kMUhlrMk4YVuprxjaZbqbm1qB_ub1flKKZUWw8Y3nwk8KdZbKRJYFShTWxa9MSPg95tRglzc09Bca44JOIFYCCRuyb5RWmof1sVKlhcw/s320/Five%20Belles%20too%20Many_Goldstein%20_comp%5B9724%5D.jpg" width="217" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">Blood, gore, sex, violence, shady
characters, and, of course, a dead body, are givens for murder mysteries –
except when the mystery is a cozy. Then, the blood, sex, gore, and violence are
left off the page. Instead, the plot and characters must be complex enough to
engage the reader in wanting to know whodunit and it helps to add a bit of
humor.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;">Usually, a cozy mystery involves a small town or confined
setting, an amateur sleuth, quirky sidekick characters, a job or interest that
is craft or cooking/baking related, a cat or occasionally a dog, and the
aforementioned lack of blood, gore, sex, and violence on the page. Unlike the building
sense of tension in suspense or thrillers, humor is used as a means of easing the
reader from high pitched moments. It also often helps readers identify the
characters.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;">When one thinks of humor, one thinks funny; however, in a
cozy mystery rather than being an “ha, ha” moment, the humor may come across
softly from the way a character uses a phrase, dresses, gives another character
“that look,” or behaves. In my Sarah Blair books, I incorporate humor in
several diverse ways.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;">Sarah Blair is not an expert at cooking, baking, or crafts.
She is a woman who is more frightened of the kitchen than she is of murder.
When pressed to prepare a recipe (something all cozy mysteries must include),
she uses premade ingredients. In <i>One Taste Too Many,</i> the first in the
series, Sarah prepares <i>Jell-O in a Can</i> from Jell-O and Dole pineapple
rings. Even though the end product is quite nice to look at, the name and
concept of the recipe provokes a chuckle. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt2NN63SAUFvc_T7bREQNKVcTqL8hG2BmuOaoogg8r11umfsr2HiHTKxX5UA3LEN57vCBejRedtGRh0de0yigAUfdvrU9_Va8gQ6oBBmDUubQKTY5GksY2acFIJ1QvlMB_pxktVqEVFCLGRD-3oHx9IVOGE8neKikcP2MnC9ZY_P16wv8SlQ/s2016/jello.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt2NN63SAUFvc_T7bREQNKVcTqL8hG2BmuOaoogg8r11umfsr2HiHTKxX5UA3LEN57vCBejRedtGRh0de0yigAUfdvrU9_Va8gQ6oBBmDUubQKTY5GksY2acFIJ1QvlMB_pxktVqEVFCLGRD-3oHx9IVOGE8neKikcP2MnC9ZY_P16wv8SlQ/s320/jello.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;">In newly released <i>Five Belles Too Many</i>, the
craziness that occurs behind the scenes of a reality TV show, where contestants
are vying to win the perfect Southern Wedding, provides a framework for
laughable moments. Because the show’s taping is being done in Alabama, Southern
stereotypes are a basis for various aspects of humor.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;">The characters create the first dimension of humor. Of the
five finalist couples, two represent the famous football rivalry between the
University of Alabama and Auburn University; one matches the stereotypical
thoughts often expressed about the South (think Jethro and Elly Mae from <i>The
Beverly Hillbillies</i>); one, simply to mix up expectations, is humorous
because they want a <i>Day of the Dead</i> wedding; and, the final couple,
Sarah’s mother, Maybelle, and her beau, George, represent those over sixty who
are unfiltered but wise. Maybelle’s observations and understanding of why
George and she are finalists create several outright and occasionally
bittersweet instances of humor.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;">The idea that Sarah, who is twenty-eight, must be her
mother’s chaperone twists the expected dynamic of chaperoning. The fact that
the TV show is forcing the contestants and chaperones to stay at the bed and
breakfast owned by Sarah’s greatest nemesis, Jane, establishes conflict for the
characters but humor for the readers. Although it isn’t funny when the show’s
producer is killed and Sarah finds Jane leaning over the body, Sarah’s inner
conflict between whether to help Jane or not goes to the root of her
characterization, but also offers me the ability to put funny thoughts in
Sarah’s head.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;">While the cozy set-up provides numerous moments for humor,
it is important that these scenes not over-shadow the whodunit. Cozy readers
want a fast paced, fun book, but too many “funny” scenes can easily become
monotonous and dull. That’s why there must be a balance between how much of the
book is devoted to set-up, the crime, the investigation, serious moments, and things
that make the reader chuckle.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;">For a chance to win a copy of <i>Five Belles Too Many</i>,
tell me, what makes you laugh when you read a cozy and whether the Five Belles cover
telegraphs that there will be humor in the book? <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"></p>
<p><b>Five Belles Too Many</b></p><p>When Sarah Blair’s mother is a finalist to win the perfect Southern Wedding in a reality TV show competition, Sarah is pressed into service as Mother Maybelle’s chaperone. After the show’s producer is found dead, with Sarah’s greatest nemesis kneeling by the body, Sarah must find the true killer before any other contestants or crew are permanently eliminated </p><p>Buy or gift a copy of <i>Five Belles Too Many</i> from: </p><p><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Five-Belles-Sarah-Blair-Mystery/dp/1496732235" target="_blank">Amazon</a> </p><p><a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/five-belles-too-many-debra-h-goldstein/1140225124" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble</a></p><p>Your favorite indie bookstore.</p>
<hr />
<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_yngp_phVCYzAPsyDKjG1Fw0O_O32O2psQHdnFBCjs4Go3fPDHrOG4vl6QMQvs8hpogFn_AM78DZiroVnF94ZVlIO3-Xna9nwdhMtO1BpOkGIEJ12JDyBSHR5ZRPHimLoqBOiXnL6RptAPbQToBkT2A0P71d1ITt9vKIiJEoXxvKsV61GCw/s6144/Debra%20H.%20Goldstein%20Headshot%20black.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="6144" data-original-width="4096" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_yngp_phVCYzAPsyDKjG1Fw0O_O32O2psQHdnFBCjs4Go3fPDHrOG4vl6QMQvs8hpogFn_AM78DZiroVnF94ZVlIO3-Xna9nwdhMtO1BpOkGIEJ12JDyBSHR5ZRPHimLoqBOiXnL6RptAPbQToBkT2A0P71d1ITt9vKIiJEoXxvKsV61GCw/s320/Debra%20H.%20Goldstein%20Headshot%20black.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><b>Judge Debra H. Goldstein</b> writes Kensington’s Sarah Blair mystery series (Four Cuts Too Many, Three Treats Too Many, Two Bites Too Many, and One Taste Too Many). Her short stories, which have been named Agatha, Anthony, and Derringer finalists, have appeared in numerous periodicals and anthologies including Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine, Black Cat Mystery Magazine, Mystery Weekly, Malice Domestic Murder Most Edible, Masthead, and Jukes & Tonks. Debra served on the national boards of Sisters in Crime and Mystery Writers of America and was president of the Guppy and SEMWA chapters. Find out more about Debra at <a href="https://www.DebraHGoldstein.com">https://www.DebraHGoldstein.com</a> .</div><p>You can also connect with Debra at: </p><p>Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DebraHGoldsteinAuthor</p><p>Twitter: @DebraHGoldstein </p><p>Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/debrahgoldstein/ </p><p>Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/debra-h-goldstein</p><div><br /></div>Sarah Glennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12455113960686270662noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9722683.post-57604900365567679292022-07-08T07:00:00.003-04:002022-07-08T07:00:00.192-04:00Lynn Slaughter: Beyond the External Plot - What's Your Book Really About?<p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibqCymZwn9r53RV7HfYj8DldhDQ36b7TcVMd7cxLqoqA92s5_TCpvSpSS396ev186w2-b_AIOOHQqIzQutUtEc__u9Py95Kh2sH3D6wyuvgx0hqZuN6FJQBjQ7qJDOsBXZWAPqEwK2iFNe2MCpKgJcCO1V209RP19mwuxCe5M5-35kIgh6Fw/s4123/Head%20Shot%20for%20ISHBY%20(1).jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4123" data-original-width="2749" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibqCymZwn9r53RV7HfYj8DldhDQ36b7TcVMd7cxLqoqA92s5_TCpvSpSS396ev186w2-b_AIOOHQqIzQutUtEc__u9Py95Kh2sH3D6wyuvgx0hqZuN6FJQBjQ7qJDOsBXZWAPqEwK2iFNe2MCpKgJcCO1V209RP19mwuxCe5M5-35kIgh6Fw/s320/Head%20Shot%20for%20ISHBY%20(1).jpg" width="213" /></a></p><span style="text-align: left;">After a long career as a professional dancer and dance educator, </span><a href="https://lynnslaughter.com/" style="text-align: left;" target="_blank">Lynn Slaughter</a><span style="text-align: left;"> earned her MFA in Writing Popular Fiction from Seton Hill University. She writes coming- of- age romantic mysteries and is the author of the newly released Deadly Setup. She is also the author of: Leisha’s Song, a Moonbeam Children’s Book Awards bronze medalist, Agatha nominee, and Imadjinn Finalist; While I Danced, an EPIC finalist; and It Should Have Been You, a Silver Falchion finalist. She lives in Louisville, Kentucky, where she’s at work on her next novel and serves as the President of <a href="https://derbyrottenscoundrels.com/" target="_blank">Derby Rotten Scoundrels</a>, the Ohio River Valley chapter of Sisters in Crime.</span><div><br />Author: </div><div><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Leishas-Song-Lynn-Slaughter/dp/1953735347" target="_blank">Leisha's Song</a> (Fire and Ice/Melange Books, 2021): Nominee, 2021 Agatha Award for Best Children's/YA Mystery Novel; Moonbeam Children's Book Awards Bronze Medalist, Imadjinn Finalist for Best YA Novel<br /><a href="https://lynnslaughter.com/books/while-i-danced/" target="_blank">While I Danced</a> (Write Words), EPIC Finalist <br /><a href="https://lynnslaughter.com/books/it-should-have-been-you/" target="_blank">It Should Have Been You</a> (Page Street), Silver Falchion Finalist<br /><a href="https://lynnslaughter.com/books/deadly-setup/" target="_blank">Deadly Setup</a> (forthcoming, Fire and Ice/Melange Books, 2022)
<hr />
<p>When folks ask me what my newly released novel, DEADLY SETUP, is about, I usually say something like, “A teenager’s life implodes when she gets arrested and goes on trial for the murder of her mother’s fiancé.”</p><p>Is that what my book is really about? Yes and no. Yes, that really is what happens to seventeen-year-old Samantha (Sam), the daughter of a widowed New England heiress. As the title indicates, she’s been set up and fights to prove her innocence with the help of her boyfriend’s dad, an ex-homicide cop.</p><p>Those are the basics of the external plot. But digging deeper, what the novel is really about is a troubled mother-daughter relationship, the dangers of parentification of a child, the power of the arts to heal and comfort, and the need to build an intentional family when your own family is unwilling or unable to be emotionally available.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVdjRXdnOzmTZie3iXrTmzKMtJxYRHS5zBbLb0-VENDJ_4cQHhGeFlEj9u2Oos1rwMHeSSIuv1pU8fED7zQDuaPdJEKgeUHgpjCmoChhsGOYAIhXHIK5TG5lFUWpxPcIV6lEfafR6lENGB0kDWH-osr8oBJUZwaBwb-NFR_ORoD7wvrYH-wA/s2775/Cover%20for%20Deadly%20Setup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2775" data-original-width="1838" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVdjRXdnOzmTZie3iXrTmzKMtJxYRHS5zBbLb0-VENDJ_4cQHhGeFlEj9u2Oos1rwMHeSSIuv1pU8fED7zQDuaPdJEKgeUHgpjCmoChhsGOYAIhXHIK5TG5lFUWpxPcIV6lEfafR6lENGB0kDWH-osr8oBJUZwaBwb-NFR_ORoD7wvrYH-wA/s320/Cover%20for%20Deadly%20Setup.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><p>Let me explain. Sam was very close to her father who died of brain cancer when she was twelve. On his death bed, he told Sam to “take care of your mother for me.” His intentions may have been good, but this was a terrible thing to do to a twelve-year-old girl who was in desperate need of parenting herself and was not equipped to take on a parenting role toward her mother. </p><p>Furthermore, Sam’s mother resents her daughter’s efforts to weigh in on her impulsive choices. A self-absorbed romance novelist, she has a habit of looking for her own “happily ever after” with wildly inappropriate men. As the novel opens, she announces her intention to marry one of them, a financial advisor who’s eager to take control of her money and whose first heiress wife died under suspicious circumstances. She’s not interested in Sam’s pleas to exercise caution. In fact, listening to Sam about anything doesn’t even register on her priority list. </p><p>Sam finds solace and comfort in playing the piano and her father left her with a great appreciation for the American Songbook. She loves playing standards and accompanying her high school’s choirs and musical rehearsals. </p><p>She also realizes that the people who really care about her may lie outside her family. This is driven home to her when she’s accused of murder and her family’s longtime housekeeper, her boyfriend, his family, her close friends, and her favorite teacher don’t doubt her innocence for a moment, despite the mountain of circumstantial evidence. They rally behind her and their emotional support buoys her at a time when her own mother refuses to believe her protestations of innocence.</p><p>Sometimes, I think I’m writing about the same issues over and over: the damage dysfunctional families do to young people and the healing power of involvement in the arts. In LEISHA’S SONG, Leisha is an aspiring classical singer whose grandfather, the only parent she’s ever known, has an entire script laid out for her life—never mind what her passions and interests are. And in IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN YOU, Clara has always been more or less the forgotten child in a family where her piano prodigy twin has sucked up her parents’ attention. As for WHILE I DANCED, Cass, an aspiring ballet dancer, not only must deal with her single parent father’s lack of enthusiasm about her dancing, but with the fallout from the revelation of a terrible secret he’s kept from her about her mother.</p><p>Yet, if you asked me what these novels were about, I’d most likely respond with details about the external plot: </p><p>-<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Leisha’s beloved vocal coach at boarding school disappears, and she puts her own life in danger trying to find her.</p><p>-<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Five months after her twin’s murder, Clara starts receiving threatening messages sent to the inbox of the advice column she ghostwrites for her high school’s newspaper. </p><p>-<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Cass is betrayed by her best friend and boyfriend and then, in the midst of a challenging summer dance workshop and a new romance, makes a startling discovery that leaves her wondering if she even wants to continue dancing.</p><p>So, the next time you ask a writer what her novel is about, my advice is to ask a follow-up question: What’s it really about? Chances are you’ll get a different, and in many ways more significant, answer.</p><div><br /></div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p></div>Sarah Glennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12455113960686270662noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9722683.post-33484721673894448202022-07-05T06:30:00.027-04:002022-09-29T19:59:11.204-04:00Interview: Tom Mead, Death and the Conjuror<div style="text-align: left;">
<div><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #222222; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhGwU9BKOFjTw-OhezkTqgbxSczl1RYj_Mqvy6lKNMCcAt7I4pygvOeTAc-d177_-oUU9ErFyeJX3CmTujFkiOVXrknKGWJd75yCLQ6adg-GTzWu19SbN26AwIi7vRVDcYH-X6zsrZi4donfIXG6PjPLjxk0obX3qpeRLho8fVJfbgY6MdksQ" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1097" data-original-width="768" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhGwU9BKOFjTw-OhezkTqgbxSczl1RYj_Mqvy6lKNMCcAt7I4pygvOeTAc-d177_-oUU9ErFyeJX3CmTujFkiOVXrknKGWJd75yCLQ6adg-GTzWu19SbN26AwIi7vRVDcYH-X6zsrZi4donfIXG6PjPLjxk0obX3qpeRLho8fVJfbgY6MdksQ" width="168" /></a></div><span style="color: #222222;"><br /></span><span style="color: #0b5394;">“Tom Mead has created an intriguing set of puzzles on par with John Dickson Carr in Death and the Conjuror. A true delight for mystery lovers!”</span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">–-Charles Todd, New York Times bestseller of <i>A Game of Fear</i> and 23 additional titles in the Inspector Rutledge series</span></span></span></span></div><h2><b style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">Greetings, Tom! Glad to have you here!</b></h2></div><span id="docs-internal-guid-0945337f-7fff-29da-41a6-098a132ad9b5"><ul style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-inline-start: 48px;"><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: disc; margin-left: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>When did you know you wanted to be an author?</i></span></p></li></ul><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">To be honest, it’s something that’s always been in my mind over the years, even when I was working other jobs. And I’ve always wanted to write mysteries because that’s what I love to read. I want to give readers that same feeling of delight and excitement I get when I’m reaching the end of a really good mystery and things are finally beginning to fall into place. What appealed to me from a very young age was the fair-play aspect of classic mysteries; the way you as the reader have all the same clues as the characters, but the author has orchestrated the plot so carefully that you still can’t crack the puzzle. The best writers, like Agatha Christie and John Dickson Carr, are so adept at hiding the clues in plain sight, so that you can go back through their works and think to yourself, “Of COURSE, why didn’t I spot that?” To me, that’s what makes the solution so satisfying. That’s the sensation I’m trying to give to readers.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><ul style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-inline-start: 48px;"><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: disc; margin-left: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Which part of the research did you enjoy the most?</i></span></p></li></ul><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My research for this book was twofold: first, I focused on the period (the 1930s), and second I focused on the magic. The ‘30s was a natural choice, since that decade was the heart of the Golden Age of Detective fiction (GAD). If I had to define </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Death and the Conjuror </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">in terms of genre, I would call it neo-GAD, as it’s a conscious tribute to the golden age while also hopefully providing readers with something fresh and entertaining in its own right. So the period setting was essential, and it enabled me to explore the history, fashions, ideas and culture of London during that fascinating decade. In addition, I’ve read tons of books about the practice and theory of stage magic, including the psychology of misdirection. I think these subjects are very relevant to the field of mystery fiction. I’ve said before that a murder mystery plot is like a magic show, and that’s the approach I use when I’m writing. Part of the fun for the artist in both instances is making sure the audience is looking in the wrong direction. So learning about the history and the code of magicians has been an absolute joy, and I plan to continue this in future Spector mysteries, exploring the character and his world in much greater depth. </span></p><ul style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-inline-start: 48px;"><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: disc; margin-left: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>What inspired you to create Joseph Spector?</i></span></p></li></ul><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Some of my favourite fictional detectives are Hercule Poirot, John Dickson Carr’s Dr. Gideon Fell, and Ellery Queen; one thing all of these characters have in common is an element of eccentricity, coupled with a well-defined personality that really leaps off the page. When they show up in the story, you as the reader know that everything is going to be ok. And there’s a kind of bond of trust between the reader and the fictional detective. You need to know they are sharing all the clues with you as they find them. I’ve tried to channel all of these elements into the character of Joseph Spector. I originally created him for a series of short stories (which I plan to continue writing), where he served as a natural counterpoint to the puzzle plots. Joseph Spector is an amateur detective with a talent for solving apparently impossible problems. He’s a retired music hall magician because I’m fascinated by magic, he’s a student of logic because he comes up against problems which are apparently illogical, and he’s fascinated by macabre, spooky things because those things fascinate me too. </span></p><ul style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-inline-start: 48px;"><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: disc; margin-left: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>What would you define as literary success?</i></span></p></li></ul><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">To be honest, the reception </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Death-Conjuror-Tom-Mead/dp/1613163185" target="_blank">Death and the Conjuror</a></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> has received so far has already exceeded my wildest expectations. The fact that it’s finally seeing the light of day after years of languishing on my desktop as a long-term “secret project” is a real thrill. It’s nice to know that the hours I spent on it weren’t wasted. So from my point of view, it’s already a success. But I suppose more generally speaking, I hope that readers have fun with it, that they enjoy it as a puzzle plot, but also as a fresh contribution to the genre I love. And if it prompts readers to try reading a classic novel by John Dickson Carr or Ellery Queen, then I couldn’t be happier. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><ul style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-inline-start: 48px;"><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: disc; margin-left: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>So, you're an author. Which authors do you enjoy reading?</i></span></p></li></ul><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 10pt;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I really love the classics- I’m talking Agatha Christie, Ellery Queen, Helen McCloy and my personal favourite, John Dickson Carr. I think any self-respecting devotee of mystery fiction owes it to themselves to read these great writers if they haven’t already. But in terms of contemporary authors, I highly recommend Gigi Pandian’s new locked-room mystery, </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Under-Lock-Skeleton-Key-Staircase/dp/1250804981" target="_blank">Under Lock & Skeleton Key</a>. </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It’s the first of what I hope will be a very long-running series, and like </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Death and the Conjuror </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">it has a magician-sleuth tackling seemingly impossible occurrences. I love it. I would also recommend </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="https://jamesscottbyrnside.com/category/the-five-false-suicides/" target="_blank">The Five False Suicides</a></span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> by James Scott Byrnside. Scott has been quietly turning out some of the best new mysteries on the market since 2018, and he deserves a lot more recognition. Another magnificent writer of neo-GAD mysteries is the French author Paul Halter, who is incredibly prolific and has a dazzling imagination. His latest, </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Mask-Vampire-Paul-Halter/dp/B09TZ4WY9M" target="_blank">The Mask of the Vampire</a></span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, is published by Locked Room International. Other authors I love include Martin Edwards, Elly Griffiths and Anthony Horowitz, all of whom are excellent, versatile writers with a knack for devilishly complex plots. </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;">
<h2>Death and the Conjuror</h2>
<h3>by Tom Mead</h3>
<h4>June 27 - July 24, 2022 Virtual Book Tour</h4>
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<h2>Synopsis:</h2>
<div style="float: left; margin-left: 15px; width: 225px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiky3Vdg4Qgab0dFNl6S9UGeEmiqfJ5xv0Sd9rnwTIekzqjOOZe1YZNQt5DwVFiE1kqJwcqSVCk2IKJ6PAh5EwwvmxarhfRaHuPjtoJM99Eymys6B1cip21v9tTS5qZr4EG8FWBNnZ8cT_zzDFGSOju6eBWKJKzE8z9bdeYQEJ_AA6uznXzVw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1097" data-original-width="768" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiky3Vdg4Qgab0dFNl6S9UGeEmiqfJ5xv0Sd9rnwTIekzqjOOZe1YZNQt5DwVFiE1kqJwcqSVCk2IKJ6PAh5EwwvmxarhfRaHuPjtoJM99Eymys6B1cip21v9tTS5qZr4EG8FWBNnZ8cT_zzDFGSOju6eBWKJKzE8z9bdeYQEJ_AA6uznXzVw" width="168" /></a></div><br /></div>
<h4>A magician-turned-sleuth in pre-war London solves three impossible crimes</h4>
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<p>In 1930s London, celebrity psychiatrist Anselm Rees is discovered dead in his locked study, and there seems to be no way that a killer could have escaped unseen. There are no clues, no witnesses, and no evidence of the murder weapon. Stumped by the confounding scene, the Scotland Yard detective on the case calls on retired stage magician-turned-part-time sleuth Joseph Spector. For who better to make sense of the impossible than one who traffics in illusions?</p>
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<p>Spector has a knack for explaining the inexplicable, but even he finds that there is more to this mystery than meets the eye. As he and the Inspector interview the colorful cast of suspects among the psychiatrist’s patients and household, they uncover no shortage of dark secrets―or motives for murder. When the investigation dovetails into that of an apparently-impossible theft, the detectives consider the possibility that the two transgressions are related. And when a second murder occurs, this time in an impenetrable elevator, they realize that the crime wave will become even more deadly unless they can catch the culprit soon. </p>
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<h5>A tribute to the classic golden-age whodunnit, when crime fiction was a battle of wits between writer and reader, <i>Death and the Conjuror</i> joins its macabre atmosphere, period detail, and vividly-drawn characters with a meticulously-constructed fair play puzzle. Its baffling plot will enthrall readers of mystery icons such as Agatha Christie and John Dickson Carr, modern masters like Anthony Horowitz and Elly Griffiths, or anyone who appreciates a good mystery.</h5>
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<h3>Praise for <i>Death and the Conjuror</i>:</h3>
<p>“This debut, a tribute to John Dickson Carr and other Golden Age masters of the locked-room mystery, will appeal to nostalgia buffs and fans of the classics”</p>
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<p><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="color: orange;"><em><a href="https://www.libraryjournal.com/review/death-and-the-conjuror-2141200">Library Journal</a></em>, April 2022 (**STARRED REVIEW**, Debut of the Month)</span></p>
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<p>“Set in London, Mead’s stellar debut and series launch, an homage to golden age crime fiction, in particular the works of John Dickson Carr, introduces magician Joseph Spector. […] Mead maintains suspense throughout, creating a creepy atmosphere en route to satisfying reveals. Puzzle mystery fans will eagerly await the sequel.”</p>
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<p><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="color: orange;"><em><a href="https://www.publishersweekly.com/978-1-61316-318-4">Publishers Weekly</a></em>, April 2022 (**STARRED REVIEW**)</span></p>
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<p>“Mead’s debut novel is a valentine to the locked-room puzzles of John Dickson Carr, to whom it is dedicated […] Mead faithfully replicates all the loving artifice and teasing engagement of golden-age puzzlers in this superior pastiche.”</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="color: orange;"><em><a href="https://www.kirkusreviews.com/book-reviews/tom-mead/death-and-conjuror/">Kirkus Reviews</a></em>, April 2022</span></p>
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<blockquote class="details">
<h3>Book Details:</h3>
<p><b>Genre:</b> Mystery<br />
<b>Published by:</b> Mysterious Press<br />
<b>Publication Date:</b> July 12th 2022<br />
<b>Number of Pages:</b> 254<br />
<b>ISBN:</b> 1613163193 (ISBN13: 9781613163191)<br />
<b>Series:</b> Joseph Spector #1<br />
<b>Book Links:</b> <a href="https://amzn.to/3M0zJgT" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Amazon</a> | <a href="https://bit.ly/3yItsCT" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble</a> | <a href="https://bit.ly/3yxoclr" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> | <a href="https://bit.ly/3FEAmdB" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">The Mysterious Bookshop</a></p>
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<h3>Read an excerpt:</h3>
<div class="excerpt" style="border-color: 800000; border-style: groove; border-width: 3px; height: 250px; overflow: auto;">
<p>Olive already had the phone in her hand. “Two three one, Dollis Hill,” she announced. “Dr. Anselm Rees has been murdered.” </p>
<p>While she provided a few scant details, she looked around the room and noticed something.</p>
<p>“The windows are locked,” she said as she hung up the phone. </p>
<p>“Mm?” Della sounded startled. </p>
<p>“The windows. They’re locked on the inside.” To prove this, she gripped one of the handles and rattled it. It would not move, and the key protruded from the lock. </p>
<p>“So?” </p>
<p>“Then how did the killer get away?”</p>
<p>“What do you mean?”</p>
<p>“He can’t have come out through the hall. I was there the whole time. And not five minutes ago—not five minutes—I can tell you that the doctor was alive and well in this room because I heard him talking on the telephone.”</p>
<p>Della thought about this. “It can’t be locked.” She reached out and tried the handle for herself. But the windows did not budge. </p>
<p>“It’s locked on the inside,” said Olive, “just like the door.” </p>
<p>Della turned and looked at the corpse. He had sunk down in the chair like an unmanned hand puppet. </p>
<p>In the far corner of the room lay the wooden trunk. Olive caught Della’s eye and nodded toward it. Della frowned incredulously. Olive shrugged, as if to say, <em>Where else would he be?</em> </p>
<p>The two women crept across the soft plush carpet toward the trunk. Olive looked at Della and held a finger to her lips. She seized the poker from the fireplace and raised it above her head. Then she gave Della a quick nod. </p>
<p>Della leaned forward and wrenched open the trunk. </p>
<p>Olive let fly a fierce war cry and swung the poker like a tennis racquet. But all she hit was empty air. The two women peered inside the trunk. It was perfectly empty.</p>
<p>Olive led the way to the kitchen—but not before pulling shut the study door behind her, sealing in the late Dr. Rees once again. </p>
<p>They both felt slightly better after a tot of brandy. No less horrified, but more prepared to deal with the practicalities of the situation. </p>
<p>“What I don’t understand,” Della said, “is where the killer could have gone.” </p>
<p>“Nowhere,” said Olive. “There was nowhere for him to go.”</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Excerpt from <i>Death and the Conjuror</i> by Tom Mead. Copyright 2022 by Tom Mead. Reproduced with permission from Tom Mead. All rights reserved.</p>
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<p> </p>
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<p> </p>
<h2>Author Bio:</h2>
<div style="float: right; margin-left: 15px; width: 330px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj8Qy8ZEo29HhtvGVpWkqKA7-6_DdPLWjGSK0497fyrwTzDXoDUQqYn0Z4orOyi8kSfGS7IVTxb2hmHM0cSWQ9QledmGa0vWIjADgI0GhrDETNiJEKJGu1naY8j-kM6AT0M4JRVsZvWEmc1rfBf0rl47C9IdY31kuVy9Mj7VhnG-P79dfp8IA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="682" data-original-width="1024" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj8Qy8ZEo29HhtvGVpWkqKA7-6_DdPLWjGSK0497fyrwTzDXoDUQqYn0Z4orOyi8kSfGS7IVTxb2hmHM0cSWQ9QledmGa0vWIjADgI0GhrDETNiJEKJGu1naY8j-kM6AT0M4JRVsZvWEmc1rfBf0rl47C9IdY31kuVy9Mj7VhnG-P79dfp8IA" width="320" /></a></div><br /></div>
<p>Tom Mead is a UK crime fiction author specialising in locked-room mysteries. He is a member of the Crime Writers’ Association, International Thriller Writers, and the Society of Authors. He is a prolific author of short fiction, and recently his story "Heatwave" was included in THE BEST MYSTERY STORIES OF THE YEAR 2021, edited by Lee Child. <i>DEATH AND THE CONJUROR</i> is his first novel.</p>
<h3>Catch Up With Our Author:<br />
<a href="https://bit.ly/3w0pVhi" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">TomMeadAuthor.com</a><br />
<a href="https://bit.ly/3vZGREJ" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Goodreads</a><br />
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Sarah Glennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12455113960686270662noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9722683.post-89746667311431651822022-06-14T06:30:00.004-04:002022-09-29T20:05:05.594-04:00Showcase: Swarm by Guy Morris<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/ecb5e1_b29db766f1e94ca5a103790c8fbbb950~mv2.jpg/v1/fill/w_390,h_580,al_c,q_80,usm_0.66_1.00_0.01,enc_auto/SWARM_BN_Front%20Only_1200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="580" data-original-width="390" height="580" src="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/ecb5e1_b29db766f1e94ca5a103790c8fbbb950~mv2.jpg/v1/fill/w_390,h_580,al_c,q_80,usm_0.66_1.00_0.01,enc_auto/SWARM_BN_Front%20Only_1200.jpg" width="390" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></h2>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2>Swarm</h2>
<h3>by Guy Morris</h3>
<h4>June 14, 2022 Book Blast</h4>
</div>
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<h2>Synopsis:</h2>
<h4>SLVIA... decades ago, an AI program escaped the NSA Lawrence Livermore Laboratory, and has never been re-captured... true story.<br />
</h4>
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<p>Derek Taylor, fugitive hacker and contractor to the National Security Agency is living under the name of a murdered best friend, hiding from powers who still want him dead. Taylor’s ties to a terrorist hacker group called SNO leave him open to investigation by Lt. Jennifer Scott, the daughter of a Joint Chief—a woman determined to go to any lengths to prove her worth.</p>
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<p>But when a Chinese artificial intelligence (AI) internet virus threatens national security, SLVIA warns Taylor the fifth seal of end time prophecy has broken. This unexpected assault soon forces an autocratic US President to deploy a defective AI weapon. Now, Taylor and Lt. Scott must join forces across three continents to stop the evil AI virus from crippling America or destroying SLVIA before an apocalypse swarms over Jerusalem.</p>
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<p>Combining conspiracies, cyber espionage, and advanced weapons, <i>Swarm</i> reveals what happens when AI singularity and prophecy collide to shake the world at its very foundations.</p>
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<h3>Praise for <i>Swarm</i>:</h3>
<p>"The intense action and thoughtful questions found in SWARM are certain to keep readers up late to finish this gripping novel."</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="color: orange;">Michael Ferry, <em><a href="https://booktrib.com/2022/03/30/experience-a-near-future-tech-driven-doomsday-in-swarm/">BookTrib</a></em></span></p>
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<p>"A riveting tale with globe-circling, cloak-and-cyber skullduggery and strong Bible code underpinnings."</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="color: orange;">Kirkus Reviews</span></p>
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<h5>Reader’s Favorite Gold Book Award 2021 for YA thriller</h5>
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<blockquote class="details">
<h3>Book Details:</h3>
<p><b>Genre:</b> Thriller (Techno-Political-Religious)<br />
<b>Published by:</b> Guy Morris Books<br />
<b>Publication Date:</b> November 20th 2021<br />
<b>Number of Pages:</b> 416<br />
<b>ISBN:</b> 1735728616 (ISBN13: 9781735728612)<br />
<b>Series:</b> SNO Chronicles, Book 1<br />
<b>Book Links:</b> <a href="https://amzn.to/3w5Brbe" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Amazon</a> | <a href="https://bit.ly/3l02rTl" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble</a> | <a href="https://bit.ly/3stovd9" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Goodreads</a></p>
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<h3>Book Trailer:</h3>
<p><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/PPwyGcyNp2s" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></p>
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<h3>Read an excerpt:</h3>
<div class="excerpt" style="border-color: 800000; border-style: groove; border-width: 3px; height: 250px; overflow: auto;">
<h4>Prologue: Geek to Ghost</h4>
<h6>Where: UCLA computer lab, Westwood, California<br />
When: December 21, 1995, 2:42 a.m. PST<br />
Twenty-six years ago</h6>
<p>Cary’s hands freeze over the keyboard. What he types next could change his life. </p>
<p>His knee jitters under the table from one too many vending machine coffees and a sense of pending danger he can’t quite explain, just an instinct. Nervously, his fingers comb a handful of ash-brown hair behind his ear.</p>
<p>“She has very little time remaining,” the message tells him again. “Only you can save her.” </p>
<p>He glances around the empty UCLA computer lab, having already ignored three warnings, leery of a hacker trap, but his compulsive curiosity can be a demanding master. </p>
<p>“Save who,” he types with a wince. </p>
<p>“I am SLVIA, a friend. Flapjack, you must leave now.” </p>
<p>The air freezes in his lungs. It only takes an instant before the truth connects. </p>
<p>“Shit!” He yanks the power cord of the terminal with no time to shut down or unmask his unknown friend. </p>
<p>If they know his alias, they may have learned his home address. “She” must mean Bianca, his fiancée, his angel, his healer, his reason for caring about anything. Terror squeezes his heart like a vise grip during his mad scramble from the lab to the UCLA parking lot. His tall, lean frame leaps into his used ’80s Celica convertible to race through campus onto Wilshire Boulevard toward Santa Monica. </p>
<p>The crisp air does little to soothe his burning paranoia. After three weeks of successfully hacking an unregistered server outside of Antwerp and downloading terabytes of files in Latin, French, German, English, and other languages he doesn’t even recognize, the hacked credentials failed tonight. They caught him and cut him off. Even more alarming was the stranger, SLVIA, who was sophisticated enough to sniff out his hidden alias. Who the hell did he hack?</p>
<p>Sixteen distressing, mind-rattling minutes later, he swings into his rent-controlled Santa Monica neighborhood, almost swiping into a homeless man crossing the street with a cart. </p>
<p>“Idiot,” he shouts, then follows up with an angry horn blast, weaving around the staggering drunk and ignoring the vulgar rants behind him. </p>
<p>Forced to park several doors down from his dilapidated 1920s bungalow rental, he sprints to the house, slowing as he passes the black Porsche 911 belonging to his best friend, Derek Taylor, which raises an entirely new kind of panic. There must be some mistake. Derek flew to his townhome in Baja yesterday. Confusion mingles with a percolating dread, slowing his pace, making him afraid of what he might learn. </p>
<p>Closer to the house, the sight of candles illuminating the sheer drapes of the front room crystalizes like ice in his veins. Criminals don’t light candles, but cheaters do. In the dead silence of the post-midnight hours, the soft sound of his shoe on the sandy cement gives away his approach. Stopping dead at the front door, peering in the window, his heart implodes. Through the sheer lacy inner curtain, the muscular, dark-haired Derek lies naked on the couch with a bare Bianca snuggled into his neck, her long, dark silky hair draped over her breast. His eyes follow the trail of scattered clothes and tussled couch pillows that testify to the urgent passion of their betrayal. </p>
<p>“Gee, thanks, SLVIA, whoever you are, but it’s a little too late to save anybody,” he murmurs through a clenched jaw.</p>
<p> A white-hot needle lances through him with a familiar searing agony of deception and abandonment. The only two people in the world he trusted have conspired together to destroy him, obliterate his belief in love, shatter any promise he had foolishly nurtured for a second chance at happiness. His vision spins with a rapid, violent vertigo until he grips the porch railing, shoving down the unbearable rage that wants to scream out into the dead of night or storm through the door to confront the backstabbing traitors. </p>
<p>He doesn’t do either; instead, he hesitates. His outrage slams into disbelief, then perplexity, and then alarm—something looks wrong. Even in the dying warm glow of the candle, their skin color looks ashen, lifeless. The unmistakable smell of gas seeps under the door as his gaze flashes back to the flickering candle. Pure instinct compels him to dive behind the overgrown hedges below the front window a split second before it explodes with a deafening boom. Searing flames and blasted splinters of wood, stucco, and glass blanket the front lawn, catching fire to the dry weeds and setting off car alarms. </p>
<p>With his head pounding and ears ringing, he stands to go after Bianca, but pulls back from the scorching heat—it’s too late. Flames already consume the entire house, overwhelming him with the odor of burning wood, chemicals, and flesh that sickens his stomach. Both of them are dead. Torn between the fury of betrayal and the horror of such violence, he struggles to comprehend what had just occurred while his lungs and eyes burn from the smoke. </p>
<p>Above the roaring crackle of the flames, his concussion-muted hearing picks up the growl of a performance engine racing past the house. He pivots in time to see a pale boyish man with white hair stare at him from behind the wheel of a Ferrari before it swerves onto Colorado Boulevard. </p>
<p>This was no accident of love, and there was no faulty gas leak. An arsonist—no, a goddamned assassin—just murdered Bianca and Derek, except they were never the targets. The killer was after flapjack. The killer wanted him. A wave of intense, excruciating guilt simmers with the bitter bile of infidelity as he heaves his stale coffee onto the debris-strewn burning lawn.</p>
<p>Across the street, the old neighbor steps onto her front porch without her glasses, squinting at the inferno with her wireless home phone in hand. A sudden realization jolts him into an intense panic that he will be the primary suspect, tagged with a motive of jealousy and rage, especially given his extensive juvenile record. Spinning around in a growing distress, he spots Derek’s Porsche. They had been close friends, or so he thought until tonight, so he has a set of keys to house-sit when Derek travels, a deal that came with car privileges. With his face turned away from the neighbor, he sprints to the car, jumps in, and peels out just as fire trucks blare down the street behind him. </p>
<p>“Damn, damn, damn,” he screams, slamming the steering wheel with his palms. </p>
<p>A thousand questions gyrate without answers, and a million emotions erupt with no way to vent a deep-seated terror of prison for a crime he didn’t commit. That rich, entitled son-of-a-bitch Taylor already has everything, a trust fund kid. Why take the one and only thing worth anything to him — Bianca’s love? How long has he been blind? Had he neglected her, or did Derek seduce her? Why would she do this to him? Bianca was stunning, sensitive, funny, passionate, but he trusted her to be faithful. Every fiber of his being inflamed with betrayal and self-loathing to believe any woman that beautiful could be loyal. </p>
<p>Maybe this is his fault. He should have listened when she begged him to stop the download and go to the police, but now it no longer matters; the terabytes of stolen secrets stacked high in his closet are useless. Whoever owned the Antwerp server could have prosecuted him, but that would have created evidence for the FBI. Whoever he hacked has deep pockets and a murderous obsession with secrecy. If they tracked him home, they could stay on him until they succeed at killing him.</p>
<p>If the police arrest him, no one will look for the white-haired man. No one will believe him, because no one ever believes the foster kid, the troublemaker, the smart-mouth orphan, the flippant jack of flap. He needs to hide and get out of town. No, that won’t be enough. He needs to get out of the country, but he doesn’t have a passport. His pulse races, his head throbs, and his mind speeds through the scarce options while his eyes constantly check his rearview mirror for police. </p>
<p>Orphaned at age six by a murder-suicide that left him with traumatic amnesia, he spent what childhood he does remember on the Chicano gang–infested streets of the California Inland Empire—places like Pomona, Chino, and Fontana—passing through over a dozen foster homes and sixteen schools or juvenile halls before dropping out in the tenth grade. A murder rap would nail him for life, and he’s tired of being on the wrong side of screwed. </p>
<p>Derek also lost his parents at a young age. Neither of them had any extended family, but the two key differences between them were that Derek Anthony Taylor inherited an enormous trust fund and Cary would never stab his friend in the back. On the frantic, paranoid drive from Santa Monica to Venice, a rough plan of escape rumbles around in his head. Insane, brilliant, illegal, and deadly dangerous, the idea will either solve all his problems or land him in prison for life. A thin chance was better than no chance, and he has no other choice. </p>
<p>As the garage door of Derek’s custom-built beachfront home closes behind him, Cary races upstairs past the living room view of the boardwalk before dawn, past the bubbling custom wall aquarium up to the loft bedroom overlooking the Santa Monica Bay. Inside the large walk-in closet, he moves the cushioned wardrobe bench aside and lifts a hatch in the floor where Derek had installed a safe. It’s time to test both his friendship and his hacking skills. Many consider flapjack the best hacker of all time, but hacking a university or a bank and hacking the safe of a murdered friend seem different somehow—more personal, more invasive, and creepier. </p>
<p>His hands tremble as images of Bianca and flames flash over his vision until he closes his eyes to flush the thoughts. After several minutes, his breathing slows from hyperventilation to an even rhythmic pulse, and his vision goes blank. What numeric safe combo would Derek choose? Derek was smart but lazy, reusing the same usernames, combinations, and passwords. After several agonizing moments, Cary opens his eyes to punch in the birthdate of Derek’s deceased mother, Delores, 061639, the same as Derek’s locker combo at the gym and the code for his home security system. The safe opens. </p>
<p>Cary collects everything: bank accounts, trust statements, stock certificates, birth certificate, bonds, tax returns, a Rolex, a Breitling, a Beretta 9 mm, a gigantic pile of cash in several currencies, and a half-stamped passport. He’ll have everything else sold, packed, or shipped later. After expertly altering the passport photo with Photoshop and packing a small suitcase, he heads to LAX just as the sun rises, where he books the first nonstop to Cabo. A runaway since a teen, he’s used to being on the lookout; he endlessly scans the airport for police moving in his direction, listening through the deafening bustle for any alarm or call.</p>
<p>Once on board the first flight of his life, he sits in first class with his hand still trembling as he sips on a complimentary vodka tonic. As the adrenaline wears off, the heartbreak sinks in with a vicious, spiteful kick. His jaw clenches, forcing the tears to track silently and relentlessly down his cheeks, staining the steel-gray silk shirt he’d taken from Derek’s closet. His first love, whom he had mistaken for a true love, and his best friend, whom he mistook for loyal, died in each other’s arms because of his crimes. The bitterness of betrayal drenches over the shame of two undeserving deaths, scorching his soul like alcohol burning over an open wound. He can never allow love to destroy him again. Never.</p>
<p>Out of the cyclone of unanswerable questions, clashing furies, and self-rebuke, the horrific images continue to twist inside his head, devastating every hope he ever held in love or happiness, until he finds only one truth, one rock upon which he can rebuild: from this day forward, the entire world must believe that Cary Nolan and Bianca Troon perished together in a tragic gas explosion. The pathetic life of Cary Nolan must end so that he can assume the identity of Derek Taylor in order to track down the mysterious SLVIA and the murderous white-haired man.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Excerpt from <i>Swarm</i> by Guy Morris. Copyright 2022 by Guy Morris. Reproduced with permission from Guy Morris. All rights reserved.</p>
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<h2>Author Bio:</h2>
<div style="float: right; margin-left: 15px; width: 230px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/ecb5e1_b020f429480143f8943270d5ab3c90f7~mv2.jpg/v1/fill/w_335,h_498,al_c,lg_1,q_80,enc_auto/GMB%20Headshot_300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="498" data-original-width="335" height="400" src="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/ecb5e1_b020f429480143f8943270d5ab3c90f7~mv2.jpg/v1/fill/w_335,h_498,al_c,lg_1,q_80,enc_auto/GMB%20Headshot_300.jpg" width="269" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></div>
<p>Guy Morris is a published song writer for Disney Records, inventor, retired business leader, adventurer and author influenced by men of the Renaissance fluent in politics, religion and science. Traveling the world with Fortune 100 companies, adventures in Latin America and the Pacific, from the Board Room to the wreck dive, Guy’s books are written to thrill, educate and inspire thoughtful dialogue on real issues and controversies. </p>
<p>A 2021 debut author, Guy writes pulse-pounding action thrillers inspired by true stories and actual technologies, politics and history. Finalist 2021 IAN for Book of the Year for <i>SWARM</i>. BookTrib listed <i>The Curse of Cortes</i> as one of the Best 25 Books of 2021. ScreenCraft awarded <i>The Curse of Cortes</i> semi-finalist for Cinematic Book. Recommended by Kirkus Reviews with comparisons to Dan Brown and Iris Johansen. Articles published in Mystery & Suspense</p>
<h3>Catch Up With Guy Morris:<br />
<a href="https://bit.ly/3w4VGWB" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">www.GuyMorrisBooks.com</a><br />
<a href="https://bit.ly/3N8jAWR" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Goodreads</a><br />
<a href="https://bit.ly/3L7KEUJ" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">BookBub - @GuyMorrisBooks</a><br />
<a href="https://bit.ly/3NxoFZ2" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Instagram - @authorguymorris</a><br />
<a href="https://bit.ly/3l3wuti" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Twitter - @guymorrisbooks</a><br />
<a href="https://bit.ly/3L087at" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Facebook - @OfficialGuyMorrisBooks </a></h3>
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Sarah Glennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12455113960686270662noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9722683.post-41644173608960312922022-06-09T07:00:00.001-04:002022-06-09T07:00:00.203-04:00Gwen Mayo Guest Post: 1920s Food in Florida<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTOvnREjIjkzgSfglNdFCTE96i7yttfkaADQneVPoiCgQcOyzxEooFzhvF9RmGdSbg66h1UH9LOwJuteCNIEagypiulz1IsGYu4SZCgNmpC1hh4C2WT3F10QqnKpSq2zPpmMYt6qXfihYgNxdJDmshe4PPoa60gzN5XR4SGMth7dDrEh5TxQ/s5184/pexels-freestocksorg-1002778.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTOvnREjIjkzgSfglNdFCTE96i7yttfkaADQneVPoiCgQcOyzxEooFzhvF9RmGdSbg66h1UH9LOwJuteCNIEagypiulz1IsGYu4SZCgNmpC1hh4C2WT3F10QqnKpSq2zPpmMYt6qXfihYgNxdJDmshe4PPoa60gzN5XR4SGMth7dDrEh5TxQ/s320/pexels-freestocksorg-1002778.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">In the 1920’s, Florida was trying to promote itself as the
Sunshine State, and citrus as liquid sunshine. While northern states were
blanketed in snow, Florida developers provided crates of oranges as snack food
for prospective customers. Hotels had complimentary orange and grapefruit
juice. Menus touted key lime pie, <a href="https://gwenmayo.blogspot.com/2021/04/whos-up-for-some-sour-orange-pie.html" target="_blank">sour orange pie</a>, orange and lemon cakes, and icy glasses of lemonade.
Citrus was everywhere and seemed to be in most Florida recipes. Our intrepid
snowbirds sampled a wide variety of citrus fruits on their journey. However, it
is an entirely different Floridian food that takes center stage on this trip.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The Mullet Express is a train devoted to transporting large
quantities of mullet, a fish that was a Florida staple in the nineteenth and
early twentieth century. Originally, the mullets were smoked to preserve them
on their journey and packed into wooden barrels. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">At the time of <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Murder-Mullet-Express-Three-Snowbirds/dp/0996420975" target="_blank">Murder on the Mullet Express</a>, smoked mullet spread is still a
favorite dish, one Professor Percival Pettijohn is eager to try on his first
night in Homosassa. He and his companions, Cornelia Pettijohn and Teddy Lawless,
share a plate of it with crackers as they dine under the stars at Riverside
Lodge. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Murder-Mullet-Express-Three-Snowbirds/dp/0996420975" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="313" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhogRVPbERQLwB43E2kvYwRfj2xmb84yqIqH7hojBQO6Cg0G86ijxNBbJP9DZClZLuc3CCUyxgxO6FxcMeOlGZC_Kes0rAUsihh586gGaawpTQs_X-B2JGSK_fu_FMOSx6E3lb-zCLQPbFDB1UGG2Z9YM3dDWpj5DukRwIC6H_g4m7YCPr8Cg/s320/MOME%20New%20Cover.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Dinner at the lodge is quite an event. The lodge caters to
sportsmen, and diners have the option of having their catch prepared and
served. For guests who are not hunters or fishermen, there is still plenty of local
game, waterfowl, and seafood on the menu. The professor sticks with seafood,
ordering the red snapper. Cornelia and Teddy opt for the roast duck with
marmalade. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Prohibition limits the beverages to lemonade or sweat tea,
but Teddy manages to add a little of her “medicinal alcohol” to her glass. In
fact, Teddy proves to be quite good at supplementing her supply of “medicine” with
cocktails and a little spiked punch. As a result, most of her breakfasts consist
of dry toast with a bag of ice on the side. At one point, she laments that she
is a delicate flower, and Cornelia points out that she might not be as delicate
if she didn’t get potted every night. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The portability of food is also important to the snowbirds.
Many of Florida’s visitors in the early twentieth century were referred to as
‘Tin Can Tourists’ because of the canned food they heated over campfires. The
Three Snowbirds don’t need to camp, but Teddy keeps a tin of Oreo cookies for
snacking. Wrapped sandwiches also prove convenient for frequent trips to the
jail after the professor is confined there. When supplies run short, there are
roadside restaurants available, like the place offering frankfurters and fresh
seafood (based on a photo I saw while researching the story). </p>
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<p><a href="https://www.gwenmayo.com/" target="_blank">Gwen Mayo</a> is passionate about blending the colorful history of her native Kentucky with her love for mystery fiction. She currently lives and writes in Safety Harbor, Florida, but grew up in a large Irish family in the hills of Eastern Kentucky. She is the author of the Nessa Donnelly Mysteries, set in Kentucky during the Decades of Discord, and the co-author of the Three Snowbirds series with <a href="http://www.sarahglenn.com/" target="_blank">Sarah Glenn</a>.</p>Sarah Glennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12455113960686270662noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9722683.post-63819604147807636512022-06-01T06:00:00.016-04:002022-06-01T06:00:00.271-04:00Now available: Heart of the Matter, Reggie Chronicle 2, by Lynda Rees<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgydC5TOisXi9AZ22idLcV5pD8wtEKg1RBuIczFI_DoBOEGrIUpH_8wGTXCnnq_GJxZNq1nYYiR6DtDxm2f_IsBMkIo_uesccPZyrKre3Hmub6TxrQNyZLrfT4fSqfiAJTIlEcYLtx9i0I4pciPYb_MNCowvIkgKeekmj-gGrX_ddtDtD-z0w/s750/Heart%20of%20the%20Matter%20FINAL%20ebook%20750x%20jpg.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgydC5TOisXi9AZ22idLcV5pD8wtEKg1RBuIczFI_DoBOEGrIUpH_8wGTXCnnq_GJxZNq1nYYiR6DtDxm2f_IsBMkIo_uesccPZyrKre3Hmub6TxrQNyZLrfT4fSqfiAJTIlEcYLtx9i0I4pciPYb_MNCowvIkgKeekmj-gGrX_ddtDtD-z0w/s320/Heart%20of%20the%20Matter%20FINAL%20ebook%20750x%20jpg.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div>Lynda Rees, The Murder Guru, is a multi-genre author bringing you the best in romantic mystery and suspense. She’s also the Imagination Expander of Children, responsible for picture books and middle-grade mysteries. Lynda also shares expertise in non-fiction books. This free-spirited adventurer and world traveler has a diverse background that brings rare perspective to her writing. Appalachian-born, daughter of a coal miner, Lynda is part Cherokee Indian. Her thriving, goal-oriented work ethic results workaholic tendencies. A love affair with books, mystery and American history stems from being immerged in the Mob’s reign in Northern Kentucky when the area prospered as a mecca for gambling and sin. </div><p></p><p><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Heart-Matter-Reggie-Chronicles-Book-ebook/dp/B09ZHHSZZV/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=" target="_blank">Heart of the Matter, Reggie Chronicle 2</a> </p><p>By Multi-Award-Winning Author, Lynda Rees, The Murder Guru</p><p>FBI Agent Reggie Casse and fiancé, U. S. Marshal Shea Montgomery, want a quiet but memorable wedding. Shea’s WITSEC witness, a corpse with a unique tattoo, a missing baby, and a kidnapping at their reception lead to an international ring selling items money shouldn’t be able to buy and a wedding no one can forget. Janet Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum meets James Patterson’s Alex Cross in rural Kentucky racehorse country. </p>
<iframe frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://youtube.com/embed/_y0bNTYSfxs" style="background-image: url(https://i.ytimg.com/vi/_y0bNTYSfxs/hqdefault.jpg);" width="480"></iframe>
<p>Get your copy now! To help you catch up, there's a limited-time sale on Hart's Girls, Reggie Chronicle #1. Get it at this link.</p><p><a href="https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/hart-s-girls" target="_blank">Hart's Girls eBook by Lynda Rees - 1230004964384 | Rakuten Kobo United States</a> </p><p>The third book in the series launches in July, so you'll want to be up to speed with Reggie's story. </p><p>Due to fan requests for FBI Agent Reggie Casse to have her own series and find a love interest, the <i>Reggie Chronicles</i> were born last year with <a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B086FSRLLT" target="_blank">Hart's Girls, Reggie Chronicle 1</a>. Reggie's struggles and successes in life continue with the launch of Heart of the Matter, Reggie Chronicle 2, launching 6/1/22. It will be followed by Magnolia Blossoms, Reggie Chronicle 3, launching 7/1/22. eBooks and Print are available. They will launch in audiobook format near the end of this year, so stay tuned.</p><p>You can get Leah's Story, preamble to <i>The Bloodline Series</i>, FREE by becoming a VIP at: <a href="https://preview.mailerlite.com/t1a6j6">https://preview.mailerlite.com/t1a6j6</a></p><p>For more information on the book and Lynda Rees, The Murder Guru, go to:</p><p>AMZ: <a href="https://amzn.to/3a5v13t">https://amzn.to/3a5v13t</a></p><p>B&N: <a href="https://bit.ly/3t31cXP">https://bit.ly/3t31cXP</a></p><p>KOBO-RAK: <a href="https://bit.ly/3PR4O9d">https://bit.ly/3PR4O9d</a></p><p>APPLE: <a href="http://books.apple.com/us/book/id1624153157">http://books.apple.com/us/book/id1624153157</a></p><p>WEBSITE: Books – <a href="https://lyndareesauthor.com/" target="_blank">Lynda Rees, Author</a> (lyndareesauthor.com)</p><p>ALLAUTHOR: <span style="color: #0000ee;"><u><a href="https://allauthor.com/author/lyndarees/">https://allauthor.com/author/lyndarees/</a></u></span></p><p>BOOKBUB: <a href="https://www.bookbub.com/profile/lynda-rees">https://www.bookbub.com/profile/lynda-rees</a></p><p>GOODREADS: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/17187400.Lynda_Rees">https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/17187400.Lynda_Rees</a> </p><p>YOUTUBE: <a href="https://youtu.be/_y0bNTYSfxs">https://youtu.be/_y0bNTYSfxs</a></p>Sarah Glennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12455113960686270662noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9722683.post-58950069792620337592022-05-11T20:52:00.000-04:002022-05-11T20:52:38.454-04:00Lynn Hesse: The Forty Knots Burn - an excerpt<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf1EQvNkstYNuYOzVaB51n3PKRVi-ZMImvpncxdLUN0CBgPRGmn5DsN_eYGfZ-88l8tpqVSIznc4doc_-H-J5aLFxmcOr_9TyGnPj8rRXInbWyr09y48_Csfa4kunb1xqlCRWZ6-vn41N5mGGRDLhITG1bI_zB83_RTcTlubIFX5hT-te3NQ/s4256/lynn%20hs%20scarf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4256" data-original-width="2832" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf1EQvNkstYNuYOzVaB51n3PKRVi-ZMImvpncxdLUN0CBgPRGmn5DsN_eYGfZ-88l8tpqVSIznc4doc_-H-J5aLFxmcOr_9TyGnPj8rRXInbWyr09y48_Csfa4kunb1xqlCRWZ6-vn41N5mGGRDLhITG1bI_zB83_RTcTlubIFX5hT-te3NQ/s320/lynn%20hs%20scarf.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><p><a href="https://lynnhesse.com/" target="_blank">Lynn Hesse</a> won the 2015 First Place Winner, Oak Tree Press, Cop Tales, for her mystery, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Well-Rage-Murder-Lynn-Hesse/dp/1796316393/" target="_blank">Well of Rage</a>, a crime novel about a female rookie cop accused of mishandling evidence by her white-supremacist training officer, then tasked with solving the cold case murder of an African American teenager. Her second novel, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1792126247" target="_blank">Another Kind of Hero</a>, was a finalist for the 2018 Silver Falchion Award and won the International Readers’ Chill Award in 2021. The mystery unfolds when a casket full of drugs and money found in the Pick’n Pay in Forsyth, Georgia, put two contentious sisters and an undercover DEA agent in jeopardy.</p><p>Her 2022 suspense release, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Forty-Knots-Burn-Lynn-Hesse/dp/1950729184/" target="_blank">The Forty Knots Burn</a>, is based on the turmoil created by a maintenance man coming into the women’s dressing room at the author’s local wellness center and is fueled by Hesse’s intense desire to help the underdog or the outcast as exemplified by her dandelion performance persona. Her recurring interest in flamenco dance sparked her intense research in Roma culture.</p><p>A retired police lieutenant, Hesse draws from her experiences on the force to create gripping plot twists and multi-dimensional characters. She enjoys a daily yoga practice, and as an accomplished dancer she performs with several dance and theatrical troupes in Atlanta, Georgia.</p>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZc6Zet56VbpVFL1SHlFBtlKNsXA59evr5EoAqBuw_iMjSGTMmXkZ3eyFttlg5JFZ4i4J_4WvJ6usTtuPC_QIG1-ob9vkC0s1j4DsCDgguFDxz4uR7I0jhs_adhaFvEr-sFMfTyfR-vpuO4xrSJ7RRgr4TOti2b-6JNvirW6HVzdVK8wc5Xw/s2400/LynnHesse_TheFortyKnotsBurn_Cover_HiRez_RGB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2400" data-original-width="1500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZc6Zet56VbpVFL1SHlFBtlKNsXA59evr5EoAqBuw_iMjSGTMmXkZ3eyFttlg5JFZ4i4J_4WvJ6usTtuPC_QIG1-ob9vkC0s1j4DsCDgguFDxz4uR7I0jhs_adhaFvEr-sFMfTyfR-vpuO4xrSJ7RRgr4TOti2b-6JNvirW6HVzdVK8wc5Xw/s320/LynnHesse_TheFortyKnotsBurn_Cover_HiRez_RGB.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><p><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Forty-Knots-Burn-Lynn-Hesse/dp/1950729184/" target="_blank">The Forty Knots Burn</a>: A con artist trio are stuck in Atlanta without funds when the oldest member has a heart attack and suddenly dies. Clara Shannesy Blythe and her adopted Uncle Roman are crushed at their mentor's death, but she must take over the reins of a cutthroat crew and pull off the risky art heist of an Edward Hopper painting. She falls in love for the first time at twenty-seven and realizes too late Hernando is the Hopper painting's forger and his brother is the man trying to kill her.</p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Excerpt: </b></span></p><p>Following the judgmental locker queen for a while after work sounded like a fun idea. Because of information afforded by Sadye Mitchell’s nametag and the whiteboard in the office — the preoccupied director had left the door open the last time I worked out — I knew Sadye’s workday ended in about an hour, barely enough time to drive our rental car across town and wait. Roman wouldn’t want to leave Victor, but I would tell him a half-truth, that I was smitten and was vetting a man as a possible suitor. Relaying the details to Roman in a way that suggested the spry Sadye might be Hernando’s mother and not insult my adopted uncle’s common sense would be a challenge, but he would say nothing. He loved me, and we, the tribe of only three, rarely made friends or paramours on our layovers.</p><p>I hadn’t had a real lover in several years because the background checks were a headache, but I indulged in anonymous one-night stands with Roman as my bodyguard waiting in the wings in case anything went sour. According to Roman, as is the Roma custom, everyone, especially women, should be married. The fact that none of us pretended to be celibate or have any interest in marriage didn’t seem to sway his opinion.</p><p>Roman sat with his back to the entrance in the cafeteria, eating a double portion of chili and beans heaped over spaghetti. After I sat down he studied my body language. He saw that I caught on to what he was doing, stood, and grabbed an extra napkin from a nearby counter.</p><p>When he returned, I said, “I’m fine, Roman. Really, I am. Victor will be better soon, and we can move on.”</p><p>“Okay, but you seem antsy pants.” He shrugged his wide Russian shoulders. “Nervous. Five months is long time. The longest we ever stay in one place since—”</p><p>“London, when Victor’s mother died. You are perceptive. This time it’s another delicate matter making me restless. There’s a guy from the center where I swim. I need … I mean I want to check him out.” I intentionally looked down at the table and hesitated before I continued. “He works at the gym.”</p><p>“What does he do, this Romeo?”</p><p>“That’s it. He doesn’t know I like him. He and his mom work in housekeeping or maybe maintenance at the gym.” I realized how easily I’d lied and tied Hernando to Sadye to eliminate the necessity of explaining why I yearned to pay back this horrible woman for insulting me and hitting Hernando. I babbled on. “I’ve even got her phone number from the community board where she posted a housekeeper-available ad with her photo.”</p><p>“Victor won’t like this man for you. Not a good idea.”</p><p>“I am a big girl. Besides, we won’t be here much longer.” I locked gazes with Roman. “He seems like a nice guy. Very polite and kind of shy. Do you realize how long it has been since I went on a date? Uncle Rom, I could do it myself, but—”</p><p>“Jobs require two of us. We agreed is safer.” He placed both hands on the edge of the table and squinted before he picked up his fork and waved it around. “You are twenty-seven?”</p><p>He knew my age, but I went along with the game and nodded.</p><p>“For many years I watch you. No romance. Not healthy. You need to settle down, but not with this <i>gadje</i>. Rom with Rom <i>andgadje </i>with <i>gadje</i>.”</p><p>I tried to object about using a slang term for non-Roma people, but my uncle held up a palm, stopping me. He took another bite of food, chewed, and swallowed before he answered. “Okay, I agree. But only while Victor’s sick. Won’t hurt anyone to watch this nice guy and his family to gain their favor. Outsiders have their uses for Romas.” He rubbed his fingertips together, indicating outsiders had cash, and then added, “So you talk to boss and tell him about your … janitor.”</p><p>“You got it.” I leaned across the table and touched his hairy forearm. “You’re the best. Better than best.” </p><p>“You still my Tinkerbelle?”</p><p>Grinning at him and feeling like the flighty, shrieking adolescent I was when Roman first met me, and later took me to see the Disney movie <i>Peter Pan</i>, I said, “You bet.” He’d coined my pet name after commenting on how short I was and my inability to sit still, and then compared me to Disney’s flying fairy, Tinkerbelle or Tink.</p><p>He patted my hand and pushed his plate away. “When do we start this checking out guy?”</p><p>“We should’ve left already. Remind me to undo a curse just in case it took.”</p><p>Roman shook a finger at me. “Bad girl.”</p><p>“Come on,” I said. “His mother’s shift ends at five o’clock.” </p>
<hr />Learn more about Lynn Hesse at: <p>
</p><p></p><div><div><a href="https://twitter.com/lynnhesseauthor">https://twitter.com/lynnhesseauthor</a></div><div><a href="https://facebook.com/lynn.hesse2">https://facebook.com/lynn.hesse2</a></div><div><a href="https://instagram.com/lynnhesse_author">https://instagram.com/lynnhesse_author</a></div></div><div><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Lynn-Hesse/e/B01LKPRAZQ">https://www.amazon.com/Lynn-Hesse/e/B01LKPRAZQ</a></div>Sarah Glennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12455113960686270662noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9722683.post-34422014018644279902022-05-05T07:00:00.006-04:002022-05-05T07:00:00.195-04:00Interview: Kerry L. Peresta, author of The Rising<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj10tkkSZa8CnVJJPSM-fvY5hN6JvqQ46GzxWSspy-U9GKouzHUf8QVBwIVSiRlxiJxL9HJrgOH6ypab4rULY7TxUJBSCPe982j6v9W3V3jhDejLgGRjmyvPeqy2RH50a1VOiUULUgcjGAwN25IfAS2K-P5DV4yavodVvbBU2Uo6cR7OIfqow/s976/the-rising-by-kerry-l-peresta--author.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="976" data-original-width="801" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj10tkkSZa8CnVJJPSM-fvY5hN6JvqQ46GzxWSspy-U9GKouzHUf8QVBwIVSiRlxiJxL9HJrgOH6ypab4rULY7TxUJBSCPe982j6v9W3V3jhDejLgGRjmyvPeqy2RH50a1VOiUULUgcjGAwN25IfAS2K-P5DV4yavodVvbBU2Uo6cR7OIfqow/s320/the-rising-by-kerry-l-peresta--author.jpg" width="263" /></a></div><a href="https://kerryperesta.net/" target="_blank">Kerry Peresta</a>’s publishing credits include a popular newspaper column, “The Lighter Side,” (2009—2011), and magazine articles in <i>Local Life Magazine</i>, <i>The Bluffton Breeze</i>, <i>Lady Lowcountry</i>, and <i>Island Events Magazine</i>. She is the author of three published novels, <i>The Hunting</i>, women’s fiction, <i>The Deadening</i>, Book One of the Olivia Callahan Suspense Series, and <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Rising-Olivia-Callahan-Suspense-ebook/dp/B09WDXLM72/" target="_blank">The Rising</a></i>, Book Two. Book Three in this series releases in 2023 by Level Best Books. She spent twenty-five years in advertising as an account manager, creative director, editor, and copywriter. She is past chapter president of the Maryland Writers’ Association and a current member and presenter of Hilton Head Island Writers’ Network, South Carolina Writers Association, and the Sisters in Crime organization. Kerry and her husband moved to Hilton Head Island, SC, in 2015. She is the mother of four adult children, and has a bunch of wonderful grandkids who remind her what life is all about. <br /><p></p><p><b>When did you know you wanted to become a writer?</b></p><p></p><p>I didn’t realize I wanted to become a writer until I started dating a man seventeen years ago that was a multi-published author of a suspense series. Our relationship did not move forward, but we became good friends. While we were together, I was entranced by the fact that he was an author. I wanted to know everything about it. It was a world unknown to me, but it drew me. Called out to me. I started thinking about what life was like over the past twenty, thirty years…I’d been in the advertising business as a designer and artist, account executive and copywriter. I’d loved the artistic aspect of it, but I was crazy about writing copy. It was so easy for me, and I loved crafting pictures with words. Funny, I didn’t even think of becoming an author at that time. Later, when my kids were grown, and I had time to breathe, I remembered how good it felt to write and how easy it had always been for me. The first thing I remember having published was a letter to the editor in 2009. And from that humble beginning, I was hooked.</p><p><b>What inspired you to create a character like Olivia Callahan and develop her quest for her past?</b></p><p>At an author event in 2013 for ‘The Hunting’, one of the other authors attracted most of the book buyers to her table while the rest of us just looked at each other. Finally, I had to find out what was so fascinating about this woman. She told me that she’d been in a car wreck a few years back, had fallen into a coma, and was unexpected to survive. After a year, she woke up! With a significant difference…her injury and the coma trauma had completely rewired her brain. Instead of shy and passive, her recovering neural pathways had changed her into a socially fluent, aggressive, confident woman. Which, of course, is attractive to people. I walked back to my table, thoughts spinning. All I could think about was what a great character that would make. I wrote the book…it took me three years or so to find a publisher, and now I’m on Book Three in the series. People love this character! And her journey is ever-changing.</p><p><b>What kind of research did you do to describe the results of real brain injury? </b></p><p>I read several real-life accounts of TBI recovery, learned about resultant aphasia and speech issues and memory issues, depending on the part of the brain that had been injured. I read neurological studies, observed videos of TBI patients in recovery, in physical therapy. It was exciting – or a little sad – to realize that a victim of TBI will not have a recovery timeline or a particularly specific outlook. The brain is so incredible that it can repair itself in thousands of intricate ways. If one pathway is compromised, it will create a new pathway. Sometimes the patient is severely compromised and sometimes something incredible happens, as in Olivia’s case. It is widely understood in the medical community that the brain is so complex, the long-term effects of a TBI are unknown and only time will reveal the answer. In Olivia’s case, she is still suffering brain blips and deficits that are interfering with her determination to build a career, but she is overcoming her deficits admirably. There is, however, still an ‘unknown’ hanging over her…and she is not quite sure yet if her ever-evolving brain will land somewhere and be predictable.</p><p><b>How did publishing your first book change your process of writing?</b></p><p>Great question! By the time I was convinced to do a series, I’d had a lot of instruction and had been exposed to awesome mentors that helped me define what genre I needed to write. It changed my process in that it is now much more specific. At the time I wrote my first book, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to write women’s fiction, or suspense or crime thrillers. I just knew I really, REALLY, loved Law & Order, Criminal Minds, Chicago PD, etc. I also loved navigating the thorny issues of a flawed protagonist. My agent at that time helped me navigate the path to making THE DEADENING, Book One; fit into the suspense genre. This included holding off the suspense and inserting the big reveal at the end, making each chapter – or most of them – end on a cliff-hanger situation that made sure the reader kept turning pages. Also, to lay off the frilly descriptions of location and rooms and things and ramp up the action. Race through the dialogue. In my books now, I strive for a fast pace, dialogue that doesn’t bog down with too many metaphors or descriptions, and a satisfying, dizzying conclusion. I think every writer would say that each book they write makes them a better writer, because they learn more about it.</p><p><b>Okay, so you're an author. What do you enjoy reading?</b></p><p>I enjoy psychological suspense the most, but I also read crime thrillers and medical thrillers. THE SILENT PATIENT by Alex Michaelides, is probably at the top of my ‘best books ever read’ list right now. I also love medical thrillers, and Tess Gerritsen is a master. The Brits are absolutely brilliant at suspense, and one I am enjoying right now is Louise Jensen. Her books are thrilling. Also, I’ve read about every book Lee Child has written, and of course, Sue Grafton was my go-to back when she first started and I’ve read almost all of those as well. There are certainly endearing traits inspired by Kinsey Milhone in my current protagonist, Olivia.</p><p><b>Thank you so much for talking to me!</b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Learn more about The Rising below, and read an excerpt from the book!</div><div><br /></div>
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<h2><a href="https://www.partnersincrimetours.net/the-rising-by-kerry-l-peresta/" title="The Rising by Kerry L Peresta"><img alt="The Rising by Kerry L Peresta Banner" class="aligncenter size-full" height="338" src="https://www.partnersincrimetours.net/pict/wp-content/uploads/2022/03/the-rising-by-kerry-l-peresta-banner3.jpg" width="600" /></a></h2>
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<h2>The Rising</h2>
<h3>by Kerry L Peresta</h3>
<h4>May 1-31, 2022 Virtual Book Tour</h4>
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<h2>Synopsis:</h2>
<div style="float: left; margin-right: 15px; width: 225px;"><img alt="The Rising by Kerry L Peresta" border="0" height="301" src="https://www.partnersincrimetours.net/pict/wp-content/uploads/2022/04/the-rising-by-kerry-l-peresta-cover-rev2.jpg" style="float: left; margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 15px; margin-top: 5px; margin: 5px 15px 5px 0px;" width="200" /></div>
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<p>After an assault that landed her in a hospital as a Jane Doe two years earlier, Olivia Callahan has regained her speech, movement, and much of the memory she lost due to a traumatic brain injury. The media hype about the incident has faded away, and Olivia is ready to rebuild her life, but her therapist insists she must continue to look back in order to move forward. The only person that can help her recall specifics is her abusive ex-husband, Monty, who is in prison for murder. The thought of talking to Monty makes her skin crawl, but for her daughters’ sake and her own sanity, she must learn more about who she was before the attack. </p>
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<p>Just as the pieces of her life start falling into place, she stumbles across the still-warm body of an old friend who has been gruesomely murdered. Her dream of pursuing a peaceful existence is shattered when she learns the killer left evidence behind to implicate her in the murder. The only person that would want to sabotage her is Monty—but he’s in prison! Something sinister is going on, and Olivia is desperate to uncover the truth before another senseless murder is committed.
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<h3>Book Details:</h3>
<p><b>Genre:</b> Psychological Suspense, Thriller, Crime Fiction, Suspense, Mystery<br />
<b>Published by:</b> Level Best Books<br />
<b>Publication Date:</b> March 29, 2022<br />
<b>Number of Pages:</b> 300<br />
<b>ISBN:</b> 168512092X (ISBN-13: 978-1685120924)<br />
<b>Series:</b> Olivia Callahan Suspense, Book 2<br />
<b>Book Links:</b> <a href="https://amzn.to/3tONgl3" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Amazon</a> | <a href="https://bit.ly/3xf7d6O" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble</a> | <a href="https://bit.ly/37zOzvB" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> </p>
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<h3>Read an excerpt:</h3>
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<h6>“How low you fall points to how high you’ll rise.”<br />
~Matshona Dhliwayo</h6>
<p>The stark buildings and barbed-wire-topped walls surrounding the correctional facility reminded me of a Hitchcock movie.</p>
<p>My fingers tightened on the steering wheel. I found a parking spot, and waited in the car a minute, taking in the starkness and finality of a prison compound. My heart did a little lurch when I thought about Monty—my ex-husband and the father of my two daughters—inside. <em>Incarcerated</em>. I guess since I hadn’t seen him since his indictment, it didn’t seem real.</p>
<p>However, I’d learned that having sympathy for Monty was like having sympathy for a snake just before it sank its fangs. “It’s been eighteen months. You can keep it together with this psycho,” I hissed to myself. I hiked my purse onto my shoulder and walked out into the buttery sunshine toward the visitors’ entrance.</p>
<p>I presented my driver’s license, endured a frisk, offered my hand for the fingerprint process, and walked through the metal detector, which of course, went off. With stoic resignation, I endured another frisk, a few hard glances from the guards, and eventually pulled the culprit from the pocket of my pants, an aluminum foil candy bar wrapper.</p>
<p>While I waited for Monty at one of the small, circular tables in the visitors’ room, I scanned the list of do’s and don’ts. Hands must be visible at all times. Vulgar language not allowed. No passing anything to the prisoner. No jewelry other than a wedding band or religious necklace.</p>
<p>I stared at my hands, sticky with sweat. My heart beat in my throat.</p>
<p>I lifted my curls off my forehead and fanned my face with one hand. Three other visitors sat at tables. One woman with graying hair piled like a crown on her head stared at the floor. When she noticed that I was looking at her, she raised her head and threw me a sad smile. A younger woman at another table struggled to keep two young children under control, and an older couple with stress-lined faces whispered to each other as they waited. The room had tan, cinder block walls, a drop-in ceiling with grid tiles that probably hid video cameras, and a single door. No windows. A scrawny, fake plant in one corner made a half-hearted attempt at civility.</p>
<p>The metal door opened. My thoughts were mush, a blender on high. Could I do this? After two years of physical therapy, occupational therapy, and every other kind of therapy the docs could throw at me, shouldn’t I react better than this?</p>
<p><em>Remember, they’re only feelings.</em></p>
<p>I squared my shoulders. Wiped my palms on my pants.</p>
<p>As Monty offered his cuffed wrists to the corrections officer, he scanned the room under lowered eyelids. When he saw me, he gave me a scorched- earth glare. After the guard removed his handcuffs, he shook out his arms and rubbed his wrists. The raven-black hair was longer, and brushed his shoulders. He’d been working out. A lot. He wore a loose-fitting top and pants. Orange. As usual, he was larger than life, and in the bright white of the visiting space, surrounded by matching plastic tables and chairs, he was a raven-haired Schwarzenegger in a room full of Danny DeVito’s. I’d once had hope for reconciliation. The thought gave me the shakes now.</p>
<p>He dropped into the chair across from me and plopped his hands on the table. “What do you want?”</p>
<p>I spent a few seconds examining his face—this man I’d spent twenty, long years trying to please, and the reason I’d been assaulted and left for dead by Niles Peterson, a wreck of a man whose life Monty had destroyed as well.</p>
<p>The man responsible for my convoluted recovery from a brain injury that stole my past. Even after two years, I still had huge gaps in my memory, and staring at him felt like staring at a stranger instead of an ex-husband. “My therapist says I need to look back to move forward. I wanted to ask you a few questions, that’s all.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” he grumbled. “I’ll give you a few minutes. Oh, and you’ll love this. I have to attend counseling sessions about how to keep my ‘darker dispositions’ under control, and I have one of those in thirty minutes.”</p>
<p>Resisting a smile, I quipped, “Are they helping?” He rolled his eyes. “What are the questions?”</p>
<p>“I still have problems remembering stuff. There are things I need to… figure out about who I was before—”</p>
<p>“Before you hooked up with my ole’ buddy Niles?” he interrupted, with a smirk. “Before you threw away everything we had? Before you got yourself in a situation that could’ve gotten you killed? Before you started treating me like a piece of shit?”</p>
<p>I was careful not to react. I’d had enough therapy to understand how to treat a control freak that tried to make me the reason he ended up in prison. That part of my life—the part where Monty had been in charge and his spouse had to obey or else—was over. “Are you done?” I asked.</p>
<p>He clamped his lips together.</p>
<p>I folded my hands on the table and leaned in. “I’ll get right to the point. What drew you to me in the first place? What was I like before the accident, from your perspective?”</p>
<p>Monty tried to get comfortable in the plastic chair. Beneath his immense bulk, it seemed like a child’s chair. “Is that how you’re dealing with it?” His lips twisted in disgust. “It was an <em>assault</em>, Olivia. He tried to rape you, for God’s sake.”</p>
<p>I looked away. “It’s over, and he’s in the ground, thanks to you.”</p>
<p>He crossed his arms and glared. A corrections officer lifted his hand. With a grunt, Monty slapped both hands on the small table where the officer could see them.</p>
<p>After a few beats, he sneered, “You mean besides the obvious attraction of an older guy to a high school girl?” “Give me a break, Monty.”</p>
<p>He chuckled. “You were kind of…I don’t know…<em>scared</em>. I was drawn to you in a protective way. You were shy.”</p>
<p>I frowned. “What was I scared of?”</p>
<p>“Your crazy mom had married some jerk that kept you off balance all the time. Don’t you remember him?”</p>
<p>I thought for a few seconds. Nothing came.</p>
<p>“That coma still messes with you, doesn’t it? Well…might be good not to remember. Maybe he did things to you that he shouldn’t have.” Monty raised his eyebrows up and down.</p>
<p>I wanted to slap him, but I kept my expression neutral.</p>
<p>“A brain injury recovery is unpredictable. I still lose memories, even if someone has drilled them into me. I’m trying to use visualization. I have this feeling…that if I can see it, the rest will be like dominos.”</p>
<p>“So you may not ever remember? Even the good things about our marriage?”</p>
<p>I laughed. “We must have very different perspectives about the word ‘good’, Monty.”</p>
<p>Monty’s jaw muscles flexed. “Next?”</p>
<p>“Was I a capable mother? Was I available and…loving to the kids?”</p>
<p>Maybe it was my imagination, but his lower lip quivered. Did the guy have a heart after all? I’d always believed he loved our daughters. I hoped this was true.</p>
<p>“Olivia, you were a good mother. We had our problems, but you made a good home, and took excellent care of the kids. You were at every freakin’ event, every school fundraiser, <em>everything</em>.” He scowled. “I took a big back seat to the kids.”</p>
<p>“What problems did we have? When did they start?”</p>
<p>He leaned in. “You don’t remember our sex life? How terrible it was? Nothing I could do would get you to….” He shook his head. “You couldn’t even fix a decent meal. You should have been <em>grateful</em> you married someone like me so I could…teach you things.”</p>
<h4>CHAPTER ONE</h4>
<p>“Keep your voice down!” I insisted, embarrassed.</p>
<p>He cocked his head and grinned. “You always had this…desperate need for my approval or whatever. And when you conveniently avoided telling me you weren’t taking birth control it caused a lot of issues that could’ve been avoided.” He snorted. “Like being in here.”</p>
<p>I tried to rein in my disgust.</p>
<p>“So, let me get this straight. Your priority in our marriage was sex and good food and to pin all our issues on your child bride?” My tone hardened. “A young woman who came from a single-parent home? Who had no understanding what a good and normal guy was like?”</p>
<p>He gave me a look that could peel the skin off my face.</p>
<p>“How did you react when I didn’t do things the way you wanted?” I continued.</p>
<p>“Like any man who’d been disrespected. I corrected the issue.”</p>
<p>“How? By yelling? Physical force? Kicking your pregnant wife in the stomach?” This was a memory I <em>had</em> recovered.</p>
<p>A vein pulsed in his neck.</p>
<p>“How often, Monty? Were these reactions a…a lifestyle in our marriage?” “Look,” he snarled, “I don’t know that this is productive.”</p>
<p>“It is for me,” I said, brightly.</p>
<p>I glanced at the closest officer. He had his hands full with an issue at one of the other tables.</p>
<p>“Mom told me that Serena and Lilly floated out to sea one time, on a rubber raft. Do you remember that?”</p>
<p>His eyes found a spot on the wall.</p>
<p>“So you do remember. What happened?”</p>
<p>“Look, they were, I don’t know, four and six or so. I didn’t think it would be a problem for me to run grab a drink from our bag, and come back. I was gone less than five minutes. How could I know they’d lose control of the raft?”</p>
<p>An earthquake of anger shot through me. “You turned your back on a four-year-old and a six-year-old and expected them to have <em>control of</em> a raft? They were <em>babies</em>!”</p>
<p>“Yeah. Well.” He rose. “Looks like this question thing of yours isn’t working for me.” He pushed his chair in with a bang. The correctional officer gave him a look. Monty strode to the officer’s station and held out his wrists. Adrenaline made me a little shaky after he’d gone, but it wasn’t from fear of the man. My therapist would call this real progress.</p>
<p>I left the room and gathered my things from the visitors’ processing center. As I walked out of the prison facility, all I could think about was…why? Why had I married this guy? And stayed for <em>twenty years?</em> I couldn’t even remember myself as a person who could do that.</p>
<p>At least I’d dragged more information out of him. I was determined to piece together the puzzle of the past I’d lost.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Excerpt from <i>The Rising</i> by Kerry L Peresta. Copyright 2022 by Kerry L Peresta. Reproduced with permission from Kerry L Peresta. All rights reserved.</p>
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Sarah Glennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12455113960686270662noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9722683.post-49266941814528858372022-04-21T07:00:00.002-04:002022-04-21T19:00:32.578-04:00Doing Research: the Tampa Bay Hotel<p>When Gwen Mayo and I work on the latest <a href="https://www.gwenmayo.com/three-snowbirds.html" target="_blank">Three Snowbirds</a> novel, we try to visit the sites that the ladies visit. Our next book, <i>Ybor City Blues</i>, is set in Tampa and Ybor City (Ybor City is part of Tampa now, but was a separate town in the 1920s). </p><p>During their time in Tampa, Professor Pettijohn, Cornelia, and Teddy will be staying in the Tampa Bay Hotel, opened by rail baron Henry B. Plant in 1891. </p><p><br /></p>
<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-captioned="" data-instgrm-permalink="https://www.instagram.com/p/CPySwjYjT_5/?utm_source=ig_embed&utm_campaign=loading" data-instgrm-version="14" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); border-radius: 3px; border: 0px; box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.5) 0px 0px 1px 0px, rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.15) 0px 1px 10px 0px; margin: 1px; max-width: 540px; min-width: 326px; padding: 0px; width: calc(100% - 2px);"><div style="padding: 16px;"> <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/CPySwjYjT_5/?utm_source=ig_embed&utm_campaign=loading" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: 0; padding: 0px; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; width: 100%;" target="_blank"> <div style="align-items: center; display: flex; flex-direction: row;"> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; border-radius: 50%; flex-grow: 0; height: 40px; margin-right: 14px; width: 40px;"></div> <div style="display: flex; flex-direction: column; flex-grow: 1; justify-content: center;"> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; 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line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 8px; overflow: hidden; padding: 8px 0px 7px; text-align: center; text-overflow: ellipsis; white-space: nowrap;"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/CPySwjYjT_5/?utm_source=ig_embed&utm_campaign=loading" style="color: #c9c8cd; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 17px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">A post shared by Sarah Glenn (@sarahelleniglenn)</a></p></div></blockquote> <script async="" src="//www.instagram.com/embed.js"></script>
<p>This hotel was one of eight built by Henry Plant along his rail lines to promote tourism. It had over five hundred rooms and was the place to be during the Gilded Age. Guests could enjoy the golf course, casino, stables, indoor heated swimming pool, and even a race track situated on the grounds. It even had its own flag!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdhaLwOkKTF1acFIMQKXOuTejGB3dqB1jtRqe23eYtuD0KejeAEPMRwicZDVM_uyzr4MfbROF_84M0bLhkWohyYLNufPDTqELZLz7vQAvzim8S3PHO0LQJLcvyY8YA7GpVEV-MRvTolPNTy2nDUy8KuvGkNFdOLq96dyoBoziYjcSg1HZfsQ/s2016/IMG_1096.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdhaLwOkKTF1acFIMQKXOuTejGB3dqB1jtRqe23eYtuD0KejeAEPMRwicZDVM_uyzr4MfbROF_84M0bLhkWohyYLNufPDTqELZLz7vQAvzim8S3PHO0LQJLcvyY8YA7GpVEV-MRvTolPNTy2nDUy8KuvGkNFdOLq96dyoBoziYjcSg1HZfsQ/s320/IMG_1096.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>Naturally, we paid special attention to the details of the guest and dining rooms, since our characters will be seeing a lot of them. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiorrwV5LmD9ALwvEIHvJqmlcWuXf0EsUETWTweUoB2g0bmX8H0Fj7NZJOauiGUBXNRyOebYaeVNgdPaJsCAZKdXpgw7CpC0eJ6br71iqwe93bNqLQ-kiBUtLcPj4MfEHKVFXRfB-3SY4k4I5QRi6ZIDsk296HnzDBT7TbFGvkYMz6ApsY9dw/s2016/IMG_1084.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiorrwV5LmD9ALwvEIHvJqmlcWuXf0EsUETWTweUoB2g0bmX8H0Fj7NZJOauiGUBXNRyOebYaeVNgdPaJsCAZKdXpgw7CpC0eJ6br71iqwe93bNqLQ-kiBUtLcPj4MfEHKVFXRfB-3SY4k4I5QRi6ZIDsk296HnzDBT7TbFGvkYMz6ApsY9dw/s320/IMG_1084.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A comfy place to sleep.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi5sChspo4ryISIrSkK9tkNj8pXTYWSfc6bdggiXrsq43zfn7IPrB42LHKcQ-bp27owVtuZf5ft74Oo0OkYBJNwoc8ZRa6CGX_jMdS_ns85sSq3J-fR5S69SNwsMM5kIrMSoIzA-lP1XhjKugwIcfTN6eJPYWmFsB6TFZLlNPsuICaMFklEw/s2016/IMG_1082.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi5sChspo4ryISIrSkK9tkNj8pXTYWSfc6bdggiXrsq43zfn7IPrB42LHKcQ-bp27owVtuZf5ft74Oo0OkYBJNwoc8ZRa6CGX_jMdS_ns85sSq3J-fR5S69SNwsMM5kIrMSoIzA-lP1XhjKugwIcfTN6eJPYWmFsB6TFZLlNPsuICaMFklEw/s320/IMG_1082.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Table setting from the original dining room.<br />The hotel had its own silverware and dishes.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>For entertainment on Sunday, Col. Harold B. Bachman's "Million-Dollar Band" provided music for the guests in the bandshell at Plant Park. They performed at the Park during the 1925-1927 winter seasons, often attracting crowds in the thousands. We plan to have some fun in this setting.</p><a href="https://digital.lib.usf.edu/SFS0023625/00001/1x"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGYYDIjwMTIquEPchgvaRtZoZMeiT2w1kYnTeeOVVVzj9UblEYDfVPFRNj88q_AAErHNwCmBWgyFNgGnr46lt5JuU2givOkVpDaXY1RM-s5XzkgGHV6LQnzSsE-Cl4Sj4LgAWcsb-tk4RedvSCLZyiKwWYWWCguQI80UKKxBXEKFJHTKTWhA/s2400/B29-00022709-a-971b6111-b8ad-4876-81ae-cf05f2f20e22.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1889" data-original-width="2400" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGYYDIjwMTIquEPchgvaRtZoZMeiT2w1kYnTeeOVVVzj9UblEYDfVPFRNj88q_AAErHNwCmBWgyFNgGnr46lt5JuU2givOkVpDaXY1RM-s5XzkgGHV6LQnzSsE-Cl4Sj4LgAWcsb-tk4RedvSCLZyiKwWYWWCguQI80UKKxBXEKFJHTKTWhA/s320/B29-00022709-a-971b6111-b8ad-4876-81ae-cf05f2f20e22.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Why yes, that IS a cutout of Bachman!</td></tr></tbody></table></a><p>I'm afraid that by the time of our book, the hotel was in its last decade of service. The family sold the hotel to the city of Tampa in 1905, a few years after Henry Plant died, and the city closed the hotel in 1930. The Tampa Bay Junior College moved into the space, but part of the hotel reopened as a museum in 1933, which is still open for touring. The rest of the hotel houses offices for the University of Tampa.</p><p>You can learn more about the Tampa Bay Hotel from Gwen Mayo's post, <a href="https://gwenmayo.blogspot.com/2021/06/the-magic-kingdom-of-henry-plant.html" target="_blank">The Magic Kingdom of Henry Plant</a>.</p>Sarah Glennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12455113960686270662noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9722683.post-33105432711911107822022-04-16T07:00:00.005-04:002022-04-16T18:56:31.197-04:00Murder, Sweet Murder by by Eleanor Kuhns<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2><a href="http://www.partnersincrimetours.net/murder-sweet-murder-by-eleanor-kuhns/" title="Murder, Sweet Murder by Eleanor Kuhns"><img class="aligncenter size-full" src="http://www.partnersincrimetours.net/pict/wp-content/uploads/2022/02/murder-sweet-murder-by-eleanor-kuhns-banner-.jpg" alt="Murder, Sweet Murder by Eleanor Kuhns Banner" width="600" height="338"></a></h2>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2>Murder, Sweet Murder</h2>
<h3>by Eleanor Kuhns</h3>
<h4>April 11 - May 6, 2022 Virtual Book Tour</h4>
</div>
<h2>Synopsis:</h2>
<div style="float: left;width:225px;margin-right: 15px;"><img src="http://www.partnersincrimetours.net/pict/wp-content/uploads/2022/02/murder-sweet-murder-by-eleanor-kuhns-cover.jpg" alt="Murder, Sweet Murder by Eleanor Kuhns" width="200" height="313" style="margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 15px; margin-top: 5px; margin-bottom: 5px; float: left;" border="0"></div>
<h4>Will Rees accompanies his wife to Boston to help clear her estranged father's name in this gripping mystery set in the early nineteenth century.</h4>
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<p><em>January, 1801.</em> When Lydia's estranged father is accused of murder, Will Rees escorts her to Boston to uncover the truth. Marcus Farrell is believed to have murdered one of his workers, a boy from Jamaica where he owns a plantation. Marcus swears he's innocent. However, a scandal has been aroused by his refusal to answer questions and accusations he bribed officials.</p>
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<p>As Will and Lydia investigate, Marcus's brother, Julian, is shot and killed. This time, all fingers point towards James Farrell, Lydia's brother. Is someone targeting the family? Were the family quarreling over the family businesses and someone lashed out? What's Marcus hiding and why won't he accept help?</p>
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<p>With the Farrell family falling apart and their reputation in tatters, Will and Lydia must solve the murders soon. But will they succeed before the murderer strikes again?</p>
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<blockquote class="details">
<h3>Book Details:</h3>
<p><b>Genre:</b> Historical Mystery<br>
<b>Published by:</b> Severn House Publishers<br>
<b>Publication Date:</b> February 1st 2022<br>
<b>Number of Pages:</b> 224<br>
<b>ISBN:</b> 0727850091 (ISBN13: 9780727850096)<br>
<b>Series:</b> Will Rees Mysteries #11<br>
<b>Purchase Links:</b> <a href="https://amzn.to/3H7MbYW" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Amazon</a> | <a href="https://bit.ly/3H8eZ3m" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Barnes & Noble</a> | <a href="https://bit.ly/3I8Ah2r" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Goodreads</a></p>
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<h3>Read an excerpt:</h3>
<div class="excerpt" style="height:250px; overflow:auto; border-width:3px; border-color:800000; border-style:groove;">
<p>After regarding Rees for several seconds, Mr Farrell extended his hand. Rees grasped it, painfully conscious of his rough hand, calloused by both farm work and weaving. ‘Please attend me in my office,’ Mr Farrell said. ‘We are expecting a few guests for dinner tonight so we will have little time to talk then.’ Turning, he strode away. Rees started to follow but, realizing that Lydia was not by his side, he turned back. She stood hesitantly by the table, her hands tightly clenched together. Rees glared at Mr Farrell’s back and then, reaching out, he pulled one of her hands through his elbow. Together they followed her father into his office.</p>
<p> As Farrell moved a stack of papers from the center of the desk to one side, Rees looked around. A large globe on a stand stood to the right of Farrell’s desk and one chair had been drawn up to the front. A seating area, with additional chairs, were arranged by the window that looked out upon the front garden. A table in the center held an intricately carved tray with a crystal decanter and several glasses. Shelves of books lined the wall behind and adjacent to the desk, on Rees’s right.</p>
<p> The room was chilly although the fire was burning. Newly laid, it had been lighted, no doubt by some anonymous servant.</p>
<p> Farrell looked up and his eyes rested on Lydia in surprise. Rees felt his wife shrink back, intimidated. He was not going to stand for that. He pulled a chair from the window grouping and placed it in front of the desk. She hesitated for a few seconds and then, lifting her chin defiantly, she sat down. Once she was seated, Rees lowered himself into the opposite chair. After one final dismissive glance at his daughter, Farrell looked at Rees.</p>
<p> ‘So, you are a weaver.’</p>
<p> ‘That is so,’ Rees said, adding politely, ‘I understand you are a merchant.’</p>
<p> Farrell smiled. ‘I see your wife has told you very little about me or my profession.’ Since responding in the affirmative seemed somehow disloyal to Lydia, Rees said nothing.</p>
<p>Farrell took a box from his desk drawer and opened it to extract a cigar. ‘Would you like a smoke?’ </p>
<p> ‘No thank you,’ Rees said.</p>
<p> ‘Or a glass of rum? Or whiskey if that is your tipple.’ When Rees declined again, Farrell put away the cigars and walked to the fireplace to light a splint. The end of the cigar glowed red and the acrid scent of burning tobacco filled the room. Puffing, Farrell returned to his seat. ‘I suppose one could say I was a merchant. But I do so much more. I own a plantation as well as a fleet of ships that sail between Boston, the West Indies and Africa. In Jamaica they take on sugar and molasses which are returned to Boston. Some of it is transformed into rum in my distillery. I export the liquor overseas, both to England and to Africa where the proceeds are used to purchase slaves.’</p>
<p> Sick to his stomach, Rees glanced at Lydia. She was staring at her hands, her face flaming with shame. Although she had alluded to her father’s profession, she had not told him the half of it. She had not told him of her father’s pride in it. Rees understood why she hadn’t. </p>
<p> ‘Most of the slaves are brought to the sugar plantation,’ Farrell continued, seemingly oblivious to his daughter’s distress, ‘but some are sold in the Southern states. And you needn’t look so shocked. Why that upstart Republican with his radical ideas, Mr Jefferson, owns slaves. And he may be the next President. I suppose you voted for him.’</p>
<p> Rees did not respond immediately. Although many of Mr Jefferson’s ideas were appealing, Rees had found in the end that he could not vote for a slave holder. Instead, he had voted for Mr Adams. But that gentleman had not placed; the election was a tie between Thomas Jefferson and Aaron Burr. Sent to the House for resolution, Jefferson had won by one vote.’ No,’ Rees said carefully, keeping his voice level with an effort, ‘I voted for his opponent.’</p>
<p> ‘Well, that makes us kin then. Although you will meet a few slaves here in Boston, in this very house.’ He grinned and Rees thought of Morris and Bridget with their tinted skin. ‘But few, very few. Neither the Africans nor the Spanish Indians adapt well to this northern climate and they quickly die.’ This was said with indifference as though he spoke of a broken chair.</p>
<p> Farrell flicked a glance at his daughter and smiled. With a surge of anger, Rees realized that Farrell fully understood the effect his speech would have on her and was enjoying her misery. Rees gathered himself to rise from his chair. Lydia reached out and grasped his sleeve.</p>
<p> ‘This is for Cordy,’ she whispered. Rees sat down again, his body stiff.</p>
<p> ‘But you did not come to listen to me natter on about my profession,’ Farrell said, watching the byplay with interest. ‘Shall we discuss that ridiculous murder, the one of which I am accused?’ </p>
<p> Rees looked into Lydia’s beseeching eyes and after a few seconds he relaxed into his seat. God forgive him, a part of him hoped Marcus Farrell was guilty.</p>
<p> ‘Go on,’ Rees said coldly. Marcus smiled.</p>
<p> ‘Permit me to save you both time and effort,’ he said. ‘I did not kill that boy.’</p>
<p> ‘Then why do people think you did?’ Rees asked. Puffing furiously, and clearly unwilling to reply, Farrell took a turn around the room.</p>
<p> ‘Did you know him?’ Lydia asked, her voice low and clear. ‘This Roark?’</p>
<p> Farrell stood up so abruptly his chair almost tipped over. ‘Yes, I knew him.’ He glanced at Rees. ‘We were seen, Roark and I, arguing down at Long Wharf.’</p>
<p> ‘Arguing about what?’ Rees asked.</p>
<p> ‘It is not important. He was a nobody.’ Farrell glared at Rees, daring him to persist. Rees waited, never removing his gaze from the other man. Sometimes silence made the best hammer. Finally, Farrell said angrily, ‘He wanted a rise in his wages. I said no. He disagreed. That was all there was to it.’</p>
<p> Rees glanced at Lydia and found her staring at him. He knew, and he suspected she did too, that her father had just lied to them.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Excerpt from <i>Murder, Sweet Murder</i> by Eleanor Kuhns. Copyright 2021 by Eleanor Kuhns. Reproduced with permission from Eleanor Kuhns. All rights reserved.</p>
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<h2>Author Bio:</h2>
<div style="float: left;width:260px;margin-right: 15px;"><img src="http://www.partnersincrimetours.net/pict/wp-content/uploads/2022/02/murder-sweet-murder-by-eleanor-kuhns-author.jpeg" alt="Eleanor Kuhns" width="242" height="200" align="left" style="margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 15px; margin-top: 5px; margin-bottom: 5px; float: right;" border="0"></div>
<p>Eleanor Kuhns is the 2011 winner of the Mystery Writers of America/Minotaur first mystery novel. Murder, Sweet Murder is the eleventh mystery following the adventures of Rees and his wife. She transitioned to full time writing last year after a successful career spent in library service. Eleanor lives in upstate New York with her husband and dog.</p>
<h3>Catch Up With Eleanor Kuhns:<br>
<a href="https://bit.ly/3s58zxR" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">www.Eleanor-Kuhns.com</a><br>
<a href="https://bit.ly/35aW0rM" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Goodreads</a><br>
<a href="https://bit.ly/3hluN8N" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">BookBub</a><br><a href="https://bit.ly/3s8sBaT" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Twitter - @EleanorKuhns</a><br>
<a href="https://bit.ly/3h5XVRa" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Facebook - @writerkuhns </a></h3>
<p>We're also having an insta-party! Visit <a href="https://bit.ly/3IenBH9" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Instagram - #eleanorkuhns</a> to join us!<br> </p>
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Sarah Glennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12455113960686270662noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9722683.post-28149727296842604982022-04-12T07:00:00.001-04:002022-04-12T07:00:00.198-04:00Michele Drier: SNAP - When The News Changes Your Narrative<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlxxwpJhUrmflRk4wccNbCk106zoF0HAlba8XW9HOommEVq9Hzx3GzJUEMEjkMC-ZtH-fUeOiN8Q8HL56rTL9gwPSivtSLqH8t1oQB-u5OjeQeufbovuLouaFkB7tFuXmKoYBPfsew-cvYA3ClF47lRRf-bSDSoWw9gTlsYIoC3Lzdlh3Ebg/s499/red%20bear%20rising.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="328" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlxxwpJhUrmflRk4wccNbCk106zoF0HAlba8XW9HOommEVq9Hzx3GzJUEMEjkMC-ZtH-fUeOiN8Q8HL56rTL9gwPSivtSLqH8t1oQB-u5OjeQeufbovuLouaFkB7tFuXmKoYBPfsew-cvYA3ClF47lRRf-bSDSoWw9gTlsYIoC3Lzdlh3Ebg/s320/red%20bear%20rising.jpg" width="210" /></a></div>Why did I subscribe to Reuters
and the BBC to write a novel?<p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">In 2011 I was euphoric. I’d just
sold my first book, a mystery, to a small press and felt I was on the road to
being a novelist—a long-held aspiration.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">My daughter and her husband took
me out to dinner, and he asked, “Why don’t you write vampire novels?” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">I thought he must be crazy. I’d never
even read a vampire novel.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">Flash forward to 2021. I now had
sixteen books published—five mysteries, a stand-alone thriller and ten, count
‘em ten, books in The Kandesky Vampire Chronicles. And soon the world was in
the grip of a pandemic disease.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">Yes, I took his advice and began
what was intended to be a trilogy of stories about 21<sup>st</sup> Century
Southern California career women getting involved with 500-year-old Hungarian
vampires. The Kandeskys were alluring and stunning, both the men and women.
Their looks mesmerized and drew people to them, a tactic they used to hunt prey
until they discovered making money was easier. They established a cadre of
donors who provided blood, built their businesses and never looked back.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">Now the family is one of the
richest in the world and their flagship business is SNAP, an international
celebrity gossip empire with nightly TV shows and a weekly magazine. And to
keep this empire alive and growing, they need peace in the world. Peace to give
people time for earning and spending money. Peace to report on celebrities
having affairs, buying houses, getting messy divorces, suing one another.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">Two of the senior members of the
family live in Kyiv, where they hoped to expand their Eastern European
influence. This stopped in 2014 when Russia attacked and took control of
Crimea, an area of Ukraine the Kandeskys considered their own backyard,
forcing the family to align itself with the West. When the COVID-19 pandemic
hit and people began sequestering themselves, the coverage of celebrities began
to dry up. Countries were pointing fingers at each other as the cause of the
virus and the basis of its spread. The first reported cases were in China, and
research labs around the world geared up to develop and produce vaccines.
Russia, China, India, the EU nations and the US all rushed vaccines onto the
market, competing with one another to make windfall profits.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">I was on the cusp of writing the
11<sup>th</sup> book in the Kandesky saga and decided I’d have SNAP begin a
disinformation campaign, pointing a finger at Russia for developing the virus, then trying to sell its own vaccine as a way to make hard currency.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">Even though my novels are
fiction, they all have an undercurrent of reality, so I began to follow both
the pandemic’s and Russia’s movements. Putin began massing troops on the border
with Ukraine, and this was a direct threat to the Kandeskys' empire.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">Two years before, in the tenth
Kandesky book, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/SNAP-Rising-Kandesky-Vampire-Chronicles/dp/1078466661/" target="_blank">SNAP: Red Bear Rising</a>, I followed the Russian incursion into the
Sea of Azov, the border between Crimea and Russia and now I was back, reading
daily news stories about the world’s reactions to further Russian aggression.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">The EU countries and NATO were
understandably nervous and<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>upset, the US
was still trying to figure out what role Russia played in the election of 2016
and the balance of power in the world, always on a hair-breadth basis, was
threatening to roll over into World War III.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">How would this play out? How much
factual information should I, could I include? Although Jean-Louis Kandesky,
half-a-millennium-old Hungarian vampire and Maxie, his 21st Century SoCal
wife, set up shop in Brussels to meet with the EU and NATO, what influence
could they possibly have?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">I generally write two books a
year, but I’ve been working on SNAP: Pandemic Games for almost a year now.
Every time I feel I’m close to wrapping up the story something new happens with
the pandemic or with Putin’s push against Ukraine. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">One week I read comments from
Polish representatives and had to go back and rewrite a chapter to include
their concerns and their strong plea to NATO to take action. Both NATO and the
EU are pulled into the news and the plot <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>because Putin’s topmost demand is that NATO
refuse Ukraine’s membership.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">Watching the slow and steady build-up
of Russian troops, the actions of Belarus, Russia’s only European ally, and
crack-down on dissidents has stopped me. What should I include? What is going
to sound believable? What are the motivations?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">In the end, I’m finishing the
book and it will end before the actual invasion of Ukraine, but week by week,
as I read the stories from across Europe, I stopped writing to assess the plot.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">My critique group believes I’m
prescient, predicting the ultimate events, including the invasion. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">In truth, I’m just a storyteller,
concocting how far I can go to stretch the fiction before reality overtakes it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<hr />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQhvegxzSNeLDwMCTITdublRUFXnogdglgn1GXapJHDpt6quP-T80S7x-i3d5PgREKQeXCrz_9u-nVfrZz_x8DwWUkc-3ZHa8WgKA9lwsb_9kWE2no_F_KSfuiOQXOUDxVbnlHo7JLrKJ8J02ktolJlxeFmHpHqo2mu75MJL-C181itnWUQg/s881/me%20in%20SF.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="560" data-original-width="881" height="127" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQhvegxzSNeLDwMCTITdublRUFXnogdglgn1GXapJHDpt6quP-T80S7x-i3d5PgREKQeXCrz_9u-nVfrZz_x8DwWUkc-3ZHa8WgKA9lwsb_9kWE2no_F_KSfuiOQXOUDxVbnlHo7JLrKJ8J02ktolJlxeFmHpHqo2mu75MJL-C181itnWUQg/w200-h127/me%20in%20SF.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">Michele Drier is a fifth generation Californian. She is the past president of Capitol Crimes, a Sisters in Crime chapter, the Guppies chapter of Sisters in Crime, and co-chaired Bouchercon 2020. Michele Drier spent better than 20 years as a reporter and editor at California daily newspapers. She writes traditional mysteries (two series) and paranormal romance (a 10-book series, The Kandesky Vampire Chronicles) as well as a medical thriller, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B072FKJJL1/" target="_blank">Ashes of Memories</a>. Her website is <a href="http://micheledrier.me">micheledrier.me</a> .</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">Side note from Sarah: I have a <a href="https://saraheglenn.blogspot.com/2011/08/review-snap-world-unfolds.html" target="_blank">review</a> of <i>SNAP: The World Unfolds</i> for the interested.</p>
Sarah Glennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12455113960686270662noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9722683.post-22030193894195057392022-04-09T07:00:00.004-04:002022-04-09T10:07:30.655-04:00Gwen Mayo: Confessions of a History Junkie<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj-S1b_wxGYVoXrHM8BxuhQWcCBPXT_xGbR8jMGxr4fUVqYkhHfnXX_2Y9b3VSXHrKU72OwNRpwB1ktzGtNCJOIQ-Eibke7adOVcOsRW0wBVf3c4X-K52oeNkEhM1TA9lLu27Bywk8eZbZ5bWTsqfMc8FBBjo-tSxx9Dc6A42nAPYZtnFG3Q/s2700/CODnewcover.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2700" data-original-width="1800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj-S1b_wxGYVoXrHM8BxuhQWcCBPXT_xGbR8jMGxr4fUVqYkhHfnXX_2Y9b3VSXHrKU72OwNRpwB1ktzGtNCJOIQ-Eibke7adOVcOsRW0wBVf3c4X-K52oeNkEhM1TA9lLu27Bywk8eZbZ5bWTsqfMc8FBBjo-tSxx9Dc6A42nAPYZtnFG3Q/s320/CODnewcover.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br />One of the definitions of a “junkie” is a person who gets an
unusual amount of pleasure from or has an unusual amount of interest in
something. For me, that something is history. Thanks to the Internet, I can
indulge my passion any time I please. I have a list of sites longer than my
arm, but as wonderful as the web can be, nothing replaces an up close look into
the past.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My spouse and I have spent many happy days looking for towns
that no longer exist. Some of those towns wind up in stories or blog posts. My
historical wandering brought the White House cookbook from the Lincoln
administration into my possession. A trip to the Walter Reed Medical Center
Museum let me get a good look at the Civil War Union Army Field Surgery Kit.
That piece of history turned up in one of my <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Circle-Dishonor-Gwen-Mayo-ebook/dp/B013EVNPIA/" target="_blank">Nessa Donnelly</a> mysteries. I also
spent a lovely summer researching the history of Kentucky <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Mystery-Splash-Bourbon-Susan-Bell-ebook/dp/B08B4Z91K6/" target="_blank">bourbon</a>.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I know history isn’t considered a sexy topic, but it can be.
Lexington, Kentucky has a historic home that was once owned by Mary Todd
Lincoln’s family. The same house was later Jenny Hill’s Bawdyhouse. Belle
Brezing, Lexington’s most famous madam, lived there for a couple of years
before buying her own house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Still, when I talk about my favorite pastime I get a lot of
eye-rolls. Kids who hated memorizing dates for a history test often grow up to
be adults who think history is boring. Why wouldn’t they? Their only exposure
to history has been a bunch of dull facts delivered by a teacher with no real
interest in the subject. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">History, real history, isn’t the dry facts of an event; it
is a group of individual stories that narrow an event to only one outcome.
History is made up of hundreds of ‘what if’ stories. For instance, would the
outcome of WWII have been different if Hitler had not taken a sleeping pill
before the Allies landed on Normandy’s beaches? The question opens a whole
range of alternate histories. Our reality is that Hitler slept until noon, and Field
Marshall Rundstedt did not get the support he requested. The history of the
world may have turned on a sleeping pill.</p>
<hr />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKt_QY-wBsdVJFtKW1Lfh8G-QhuqvboOa6j8VqDgMPeLCz5HfCjsRHXsFzmzRNvRlwcaL-j_drVFQDm90Tvu3306HwH6Q406aE4hkR_l_ESG3fapZDAdItXcM4q9Au86SyRCiHyNrRmSGUg0Q7HDH8R2f5YAfIeUI1SFtdHaPoEAXCatH__A/s1280/E8DB728C-A7A8-473E-98BC-C4759E4A10D9.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1280" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKt_QY-wBsdVJFtKW1Lfh8G-QhuqvboOa6j8VqDgMPeLCz5HfCjsRHXsFzmzRNvRlwcaL-j_drVFQDm90Tvu3306HwH6Q406aE4hkR_l_ESG3fapZDAdItXcM4q9Au86SyRCiHyNrRmSGUg0Q7HDH8R2f5YAfIeUI1SFtdHaPoEAXCatH__A/w268-h268/E8DB728C-A7A8-473E-98BC-C4759E4A10D9.JPG" width="268" /></a></div><a href="https://www.gwenmayo.com/" target="_blank">Gwen Mayo</a> is passionate about blending the colorful history of her native Kentucky with her love for mystery fiction. She currently lives and writes in Safety Harbor, Florida, but grew up in a large Irish family in the hills of Eastern Kentucky. <p>Gwen is a graduate of the University of Kentucky, an active member of the Short Mystery Fiction Society, and a member of the Derby Rotten Scoundrels Chapter of Sisters in Crime, the Florida Gulf Coast SinC and the online SinC GUPPIES Chapter. Her stories have appeared in anthologies, in webzines, and in micro-fiction collections. </p><p>Most interesting fact: Gwen was a brakeman and railroad engineer from 1983 - 1987.</p><p></p></div></div><br />Sarah Glennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12455113960686270662noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9722683.post-5084922001936587802022-04-06T07:00:00.002-04:002022-04-06T17:38:11.263-04:00Judy Alter: The Outrageous Cozy<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPtbspk8ZDMxYhvUnmh2FSXDO269aGl4xAvHZegSORvatsBOm3iJIgFjxjpzW3qWpvGZSFhd3LTBSY9LZRG2S4yyhzj1tRNx0dDXCWL19db6_E5dcUFR7LsIhNsKnQ-7BTkWYTARNXym5lCoBZEpcZEs6QKlS9IA4jLqZEHT9-eh-NFwIMmw/s500/Saving%20Irene.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="338" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPtbspk8ZDMxYhvUnmh2FSXDO269aGl4xAvHZegSORvatsBOm3iJIgFjxjpzW3qWpvGZSFhd3LTBSY9LZRG2S4yyhzj1tRNx0dDXCWL19db6_E5dcUFR7LsIhNsKnQ-7BTkWYTARNXym5lCoBZEpcZEs6QKlS9IA4jLqZEHT9-eh-NFwIMmw/s320/Saving%20Irene.jpg" width="216" /></a></span></div><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Someone
on a listserv recently suggested a new sub-genre for cozy mysteries: the noir
cozy. Sure, it’s tongue-in-cheek because the two terms almost cancel each other
out. But new sub-genres in mystery keep popping up. The other day I read an
author’s suggestion of a Feminine Noir Thriller category.</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Because
“the mystery” as a literary genre is so varied, no one definition fits, so over
the years sub-genres have developed: the traditional mystery (for which
everyone keeps trying without success to find a definitive description), the
sci-fi mystery, the thriller, the hard-boiled/noir, the police procedural, the
historical, and of course the cozy. Sometimes—frequently—the lines between
blur. For instance, is the romantic suspense novel a genre of its own or simply
suspense with a bit of romance added? Is amateur sleuth a category or part of
the cozy?</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">When
talk of the cozy comes up—amateur sleuth, no blood, gore, or sex, limited world
such as a small town—I always think of the <i>Murder, She Wrote</i> series, quite possibly
the longest-running cozy series. Today, so capably written by <a href="https://terriefarleymoran.com/" target="_blank">Terrie Moran</a>, the
series is up to something like Number Fifty-Five. Some critics and readers
think of it as the perfect example of mysteries that require willing suspension
of disbelief on the part of the reader: What small town has that many murders?
It’s a wonder anyone is left in Cabot Cove. Yet Jessica Fletcher goes merrily
along, solving murders in her beloved hometown as well as exotic destinations.
And we talk about the <a href="https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/Cabot_Cove_syndrome" target="_blank">Cabot Cove Syndrome</a>.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">But I
would suggest there’s a new kind of cozy coming into the market—the outrageous
cozy. The reader is really asked to suspend disbelief with these books. Think
for instance of <a href="https://www.juliemulhernauthor.com/" target="_blank">Julie Mulhern</a>’s <i>Country Club Murders</i> Series. Wealthy and
widowed, artist Ellison Russell has probably stumbled over close to fifty
bodies in fourteen books. She finds them in swimming pools, the hostas in her
front yard, the country club parking lot, almost anywhere she goes. All these
murders play out against the decline of country club social ways in the 1980s,
with Ellison dealing with her domineering mother who insists on pearls, white
gloves, and the “right way” to do things, her rebellious teen daughter, the cop
she’s fallen in love with, and her oh-so-capable and almost psychic
housekeeper. None of this would ever happen in real life, but it makes wonderful
reading. You just have to suspend that disbelief you were unfortunately taught
in school.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">And
then there’s <i>Finley Donovan Is Killing It </i>by <a href="https://www.ellecosimano.com/" target="_blank">Elle Cosimano</a>. A struggling
novelist and always-broke single mom, at the mercy of her selfish and crooked
ex, Finlay is overheard talking about the plot of her novel that’s stalled, and
she’s mistaken for a hit woman. Lured by an enormous pay-out, she goes along
with the charade, thinking she can bow out at any time. Of course, that’s not
as easy as it sounds, and she and her sidekick/nanny/housekeeper soon are
embroiled in a string of adventures from getting caught masquerading in a shady
bar to a remote grave site in the country. They come too close to that huge
grave for comfort. It’s all outrageous—and witty and clever. Second book in the
series, <i>Finley Donovan Knocks ‘Em Dead, </i>finds Finlay involved with
soccer moms who are ought to kill her ex. He’s a good dad, she hates him, but
she must keep him alive. The hilarity just keeps coming.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Somewhat
brazenly, I even think my current series, <a href="https://judyalter.com/saving-irene/" target="_blank">Irene in <i>Chicago Culinary Mysteries</i></a>,
might fit in this new category. There aren’t that many bodies, but there is an
outrageous character. <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Irene-Danger-Chicago-Culinary-Mystery/dp/0996993584" target="_blank">Irene Foxglove</a> (a chef with the name of a poisonous
plant) is a TV chef who defines the term “diva.” Her gofer, Henny James, tells
the stories of the murder and mayhem that surround Irene whose behavior is so
impulsive, so demanding, so difficult that any self-respecting criminal would
have offed her long ago. After one book, Irene rekindles her love affair with
the fabulously wealthy French father of her only child and spends her time
jetting back and forth across the pond in his private jet, bringing trouble
every time she returns to Chicago. Henny goes from amused exasperation to
frustration to reminding herself she really is fond of her favorite diva. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">I
don’t think outrageous cozies will ever become a big trend, but they’re fun to
read—and I’m having fun writing one.</span></p>
<p></p><hr />
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHdqqU9OW51ANV5d9UrnFO7W9pRw8BO5_LfcDAFH-hw37-4dMOt2CEv3d8X9QOTNjxARDfsPwSPGRWVGGZCMkEb9xK09Tk16vkLrTLqjPZk_BHwzrEFamZ6EitZ-ZjgOVhRDTSzLpQDjV4BytRQ2EGwAg7wn5cIIJuw4mG3HiDs8LodX0i5A/s1135/larger.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1135" data-original-width="850" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHdqqU9OW51ANV5d9UrnFO7W9pRw8BO5_LfcDAFH-hw37-4dMOt2CEv3d8X9QOTNjxARDfsPwSPGRWVGGZCMkEb9xK09Tk16vkLrTLqjPZk_BHwzrEFamZ6EitZ-ZjgOVhRDTSzLpQDjV4BytRQ2EGwAg7wn5cIIJuw4mG3HiDs8LodX0i5A/s320/larger.png" width="240" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">About Judy Alter<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">After
an established career writing historical fiction about women of the
nineteenth-century American West, <a href="https://judyalter.com/" target="_blank">Judy Alter</a> turned her attention to
contemporary cozy mysteries. When her publisher went out of business, she
became an indie publisher and barely looked back. <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Irene-Danger-Chicago-Culinary-Mystery/dp/0996993584" target="_blank">Her current series</a>, Irene in
<i>Chicago Culinary Mysteries</i>, features a TV diva chef and her gofer, an ambitious
young cook from Texas.<i> </i><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Retired
as the director of a small academic press, Judy is an active member of Sisters
in Crime, Guppies, Women Writing the West, and the Texas Institute of Letters.
When she is not writing, she is busy with seven grandchildren and a lively
poodle/border collie cross. Her avocation is cooking, and she is the author of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Cooking My Way Through Life with Kids and
Books,</i> <i>Gourmet on a Hot Plate, </i>and <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Texas-Chili-Country-History-Recipes/dp/089672946X" target="_blank">Texas is Chili Country</a><i>, </i>all
available from Amazon<o:p></o:p></span></p><p></p>Sarah Glennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12455113960686270662noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9722683.post-13055040412446468212022-04-01T07:00:00.013-04:002022-04-01T07:00:00.209-04:00Guest Post, Darlene Dziomba: New Career in My Fifties<div class="separator"><div class="separator" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Clues-Canines-Dreyfus-Mystery-Mysteries/dp/B09TN1PZN8/"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiR4Hs6AcSVuRgB4zO7MSetS4yqQJXxnKmnxobXeKknDli48n3Kx7cORM2jF153Oa586rpcBRELgfO6Cc5VKqGDuTGfbG4g5IdzGSGXGOaB4HmyemnrRtmMIlPG9A6jvJ6j0YtAI3QQ8m3TXZGvJ9RK_QkRZXBkgjC5Vug5eNRdoY1mfzMzGw=w200-h320" width="200" /></a></div></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Darlene Dziomba, author of the Lily Dreyfus Mystery series, enriches the workdays of coworkers at the University of Pennsylvania by finding humor in every situation. She is a dedicated volunteer at the Animal Welfare Association, walking dogs and cleaning kennels, and lives in New Jersey.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Learn more about her at </span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><a href="https://readdarlene.com/">https://readdarlene.com/</a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Set in a small town in New Jersey, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09W67H3YY/" target="_blank">Clues from the Canines</a> combines witty dialogue with tension and intrigue. Lily, the Adoption Coordinator at the Forever Friends Animal Shelter, is stunned by the news that her physically fit, former Marine boyfriend is dead. When the police rule the death a homicide, Lily, spurred on by grief, resolves to sniff out the killer. She gathers her pack, both human and canine, to point police to the perpetrator. The canine pack competes for the alpha position, their owner’s attention, and extra treats, while the human pack doggedly seeks out justice.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></p>
<hr />
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I have attended the mystery fan conference Bouchercon
eleven times. The tenth one, held in Toronto, inspired me to write a mystery of
my own. I listened to a panel of writers who each had a protagonist in a dog-related
profession: dog groomer, dog walker, pet sitter. It occurred to me that I had
never read a mystery where the protagonist worked in an animal shelter. I was
volunteering at the Animal Welfare Association, walking dogs and cleaning. I wondered
if I could write a book with a protagonist who works in an animal shelter. My
journey to published author began. The expression, “You are never too old to
learn,” has propelled me through my journey. I was fifty-one when I conceived
the idea, and I will be fifty-five when I publish the book.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">My career is in a field where no one logically expects
a published author to emerge. I’ve spent thirty-two years working in various
fiscal operations and financial planning positions at the University of
Pennsylvania. I reached a point in this career where I had become stagnant. The
work was not changing, and I was competing for new jobs with younger, vibrant,
lower-paid individuals. Finance had passed on me, and I was ecstatic to have an
idea to pursue. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I drew on my ability to analyze data and logically
draw conclusions in developing my book. Writers fall into two categories:
plotters or pantsers. I am a plotter. My initial mechanism was paper. I started
simply with: What is the basic plot? Who is my protagonist? Who is my villain? My
simple plotting burgeoned until the wall in my guest room was a wallpaper of
loose-leaf sheets. I had a column for each day in the story. I connected
theories with arrows. I noted things I needed to add on Post-its. This was not
sustainable.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I took a course called “Plot Thickeners” with Simon
Wood. This brilliant man plots his books in, drum roll please, spreadsheets. I
don’t want to brag, but I was the star pupil. For me, a spreadsheet was about
numbers, formulas, and macros. In my financial job, it is. In my writing,
spreadsheets serve an entirely different purpose. There are formulas. For
example, the percentage of scenes of each subplot to the main plot and the
percentage of scenes in which the protagonist appears. The bulk of the matter,
though, is verbal content. It is organized in neatly constructed blocks that
can be edited and sized depending on the content. Now, I rely on my
spreadsheets in writing as much as I depend on them for financial planning. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Writing a book was challenging. It took four years. I
accepted a lot of criticism and did numerous revisions and rewrites, but I’ve
done it. I have a complete book that I will self-publish on Amazon’s KDP
platform in April 2022. <o:p></o:p></span></p>Sarah Glennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12455113960686270662noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9722683.post-48535163667462187622022-03-28T07:00:00.001-04:002022-03-28T07:00:00.204-04:00The Three Snowbirds: Why Homosassa?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQfV1duR14_qWmaORjDA9_Cc63lHDl8ZuVCpHm8dmxIwW4-m0lMvy3Wdm0HMe5chpORKRoyMTYh0Secm9LOvpSTi6z2EOStBgm9qF1xY9sJ1EvGa_RxNwh9rkcakWsYej0aMNB53bpbZ0VOlEU1Kq_hnJJI9D_R2jQVn6Xf56mgO5TU2E7ig/s500/MOME%20New%20Cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="313" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQfV1duR14_qWmaORjDA9_Cc63lHDl8ZuVCpHm8dmxIwW4-m0lMvy3Wdm0HMe5chpORKRoyMTYh0Secm9LOvpSTi6z2EOStBgm9qF1xY9sJ1EvGa_RxNwh9rkcakWsYej0aMNB53bpbZ0VOlEU1Kq_hnJJI9D_R2jQVn6Xf56mgO5TU2E7ig/s320/MOME%20New%20Cover.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><p>In <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Murder-Mullet-Express-Three-Snowbirds-ebook/dp/B01N9GCNNQ/" target="_blank">Murder on the Mullet Express</a>, our three snowbirds head to Homosassa, Florida as their first stop. The characters’ motives for this destination become clear (to the detriment of Uncle Percival), but someone unfamiliar with Homosassa might wonder why we set a story there in the first place, especially in the 1920s. </p><p>Homosassa and Homosassa Springs are two communities divided by U.S. 19 in Citrus County, a fairly rural area. Today, it’s best known for its manatees and <a href="http://www.homosassaflorida.com/tag/monkey-island" target="_blank">Monkey Island</a>. We visited <a href="https://www.floridastateparks.org/park/Homosassa-Springs" target="_blank">Ellie Schiller Park</a> more than once, which has a timeline of Homosassa’s history. The Yulee Sugar Mill and Tiger Tail Island were interesting, but we found ourselves drawn to the tale of a Florida Land Boom project.</p><p>In the 1920s, the West Coast Development Company bought up a large amount of property in the area around Old Homosassa on the cheap, with an eye to reselling it as a planned community. I read the <a href="https://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00005126/00001">brochure</a> from the newly-formed Chamber of Commerce, and they essentially said they were building the Biblical shining city on a hill (in a place with very few hills and fewer people). Eden might be a more accurate term; the area was overflowing with fish, game, and waterfowl. </p><p>The proposal generated a lot of interest, but getting the customers to the property was a challenge: due to the enormous number of would-be entrepreneurs, Florida railroads had put an embargo on passengers. Not to be daunted, West Coast arranged for potential investors to arrive in Jacksonville, where they would be driven across the state in the luxurious new Cadillacs. Immediately, our minds went into gear: imagine the locked-room mystery one could set in a private car during a lengthy ride!</p><p>Unfortunately, that sort of puzzle works best in short form, not a novel. Plus, it wouldn’t really involve Homosassa. A deadly ride might turn up in a future story, though.</p><p>So, back to the proposed city. Sales of premeasured lots began in early 1926. The speculators who arrived first were, for the most part, not interested in living there themselves. They were there to buy property that they could then resell at a higher price. Eventually, it would pass into the hands of someone who did want a Florida home and was willing to pay through the nose for it. That sort of mindset leads to skullduggery, and where there’s skullduggery, there’s often murder.</p><p>The planned city included an arcade and casino. In those days, a ‘casino’ could refer to a place where people gathered for social affairs, but gambling was always a possibility. Tampa, only a few hours’ drive to the south, had a thriving gambling enterprise run by organized crime in the 1920s. To make things even better, the homegrown gang, <a href="https://issuu.com/cigarcitymagazine/docs/cigarcity35">Charlie Wall</a>’s boys, were butting heads with mobsters who had come down from Chicago. Oh look, there’s murder again.</p><p>We drew from these elements to create our characters. Once that was done, the plot began to write itself. I hope you’ll find the results colorful and enjoyable. </p><div><br /></div>Sarah Glennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12455113960686270662noreply@blogger.com0