by C.L. Tolbert
September 12 - October 8, 2022 Virtual Book Tour
When did you know you wanted to be an author?
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.
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.
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, Out From Silence.
I haven’t stopped writing since.
Which part of the research did you enjoy the most?
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
But my last two books, The Redemption and Sanctuary,
were set in New Orleans. The fourth book, The Legacy, 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.
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.
In Book Two, The Redemption, 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 The Redemption 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.
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.
In Book Three, Sanctuary, 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.
What inspired you to create your “hero?”
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.
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.
What would you define as literary success?
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.
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.
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.
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.
So you’re an author. Which authors do you enjoy
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.
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.)
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.
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
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.
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.
Thanks for stopping by!
A Thornton Mystery
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.
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.
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.
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.
Praise for Sanctuary:
“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.”
Roger Johns, Author of the Wallace Hartman Mysteries
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: July 2022
Number of Pages: 280
Series: The Thornton Mystery Series, Book 3
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads
Read an excerpt:
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
“How much do you charge?”
Stacey stood, her hands behind her back, and smiled. “Thirty-five dollars.”
“How long’s the reading?”
“It’s for fifteen minutes.”
“Okay.” She looked around the square. “Looks like that’s the going rate. But you need a sign. Let’s go.”
She sat down across from Stacey, perched on the tiny seat, and waited for Stacey to shuffle the deck.
Stacey mixed the cards a couple of times, then set the stack in front of the woman.
“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.
The woman cut the cards.
“Now pick one of the three decks.”
The woman chose one.
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.
“Choose fourteen cards.” Stacey glanced up at Raphael. He hadn’t budged.
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?
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.
“This is a private reading.” Stacey stopped laying out cards. Her heart was pounding.
“Interesting that you got the death card, don’t you think?”
“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.
“I’ll leave. Sorry I interrupted.” He nodded toward Stacey’s client. “Thousand pardons, ma’am.”
“If you haven’t cut into my fifteen minutes, I’m fine.”
“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.”
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.”
“You need to leave immediately.”
Raphael started backing away. “I’ll be back.” He put his hand to his forehead in a farewell salute. “You can count on that.”
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.
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?”
“No, not that I know of.”
“Alright, well, let’s proceed.” Stacey watched as Raphael retreated across the square and took a right at Pirate’s Alley.
She continued to lay out cards for the woman.
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.
“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?”
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.”
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.
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.
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.
Excerpt from Sanctuary by C.L. Tolbert. Copyright 2022 by C.L. Tolbert. Reproduced with permission from C.L. Tolbert. All rights reserved.
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, THE REDEMPTION, was published in February of 2021, and SANCTUARY, the third book in the series, was published in July of 2022.
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.
C.L. has two children and three grandchildren, and lives in Atlanta, Georgia with her husband and schnauzer.
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