Kathy Manos Penn's Blog

British mysteries at their best

Originally published in the Dunwoody Crier

If you follow my columns, you had to know it wouldn’t be long before I returned to British mysteries. I don’t consciously say to myself, “It’s time to return to England,” but somehow that’s what happens. Once again, I can’t recall where I heard about these two, but I’m delighted I discovered them. One was written during the Golden Age between the two world wars, the other is set in that era. Both were immensely enjoyable.

“Mystery in White” by J. Jefferson Farjeon

Originally published in 1937, this novel was republished as a British Library Crime Classic in 2014.  Farjeon was as well known in the Golden Age as authors like Dorothy Sayers and Agatha Christie. Sayers described him as “quite unsurpassed for creepy skill in mysterious adventures.”

The setup is eerily reminiscent to that of Christie’s “Death on the Orient Express” which was published three years prior, but a train encountering a blizzard is the only similarity. The action quickly moves beyond the train when a group of passengers venture out and trudge through the snow to a deserted house. There, they find the fires laid and food in the pantry—as though the occupants stepped out for a brief moment.

Red herrings are masterfully strewn among the clues, and witty dialogue abounds. Only a very careful reader is likely to solve the entire mystery before the end. I say “entire” because there are several components to the “Mystery in White.”  If you like classic Golden Age mysteries, this is the book for you.

“Death in Focus” by Anne Perry

Set between the World Wars, this is the first in what is now the five-book Elena Standish series. Anne Perry is well known for three series: William Monk, Charlotte and Thomas Pitt, and Daniel Pitt—all set in Victorian England.

Her newest series features a twenty-eight-year-old British heroine who is visiting the Amalfi Coast as a photographer. In the blink of an eye, she discovers a dead body and is off to Berlin with a man she’s just met. This spontaneity is not only out of character for Elena, but also dangerous. Berlin in 1933 is not the place to be.

Add in her grandfather as a former head of MI6, and the result is a thriller / mystery combo. Elena is witness to the book burning in Berlin, where the “works of Jewish authors like Albert Einstein and Sigmund Freud went up in flames alongside blacklisted American authors such as Ernest Hemingway and Helen Keller, while students gave the Nazi salute.” 

For me, the bonus in a novel like this is the opportunity to see historical events described so well that I feel like I am witnessing them firsthand. I can see the books going up in flames. Read “Death in Focus” for the intrigue, the strong heroine, and the added benefit of a history lesson. I’ll be adding “A Question of Betrayal” to my TBR list so I can get to know Elena Standish better.

The good news for me is that my husband gave me a Barnes & Noble gift certificate earlier this year. The bad news is I will have the devil of a time deciding which books to buy. Odds are they’ll be set in England.

Happy Reading!

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My Favorite Books of 2023

Barnes & Noble, Amazon, and every newspaper known to man published December lists of the best books of 2023, so I thought, “why not me?” My list includes the best books I “read” in 2023, not necessarily the best books that were published. The first two top the list because they stayed with me long after I put them down. The rest are in no particular order. They are simply books I found the most engrossing and entertaining of those I read last year.

The Echo of Old Books by Barbara Davis

The first time I used the term “book hangover” was when I reviewed this novel. Reading the story about a pair of mysterious books evoked a feeling I couldn’t shake, and I found myself reflecting on the tale weeks after I put it down.

Tom Lake by Ann Patchett

I found it difficult to find words to describe Ann Patchett’s latest. Engrossing, moving, a magical story I couldn’t stop thinking about–none of that quite captured how I felt about it. It’s the story of a family living on their Michigan cherry farm during the pandemic, and its depiction of family relationships is masterful.

Lessons in Chemistry by Bonnie Garmus

This book is everything you could want in a novel—fast paced, witty, touching in spots, and laugh aloud funny in others. Its portrayal of how women were seen in the 1950s and 1960s is more than believable, while other elements are intentionally fantastical.

The White Lady by Jacqueline Winspear

As a long-time fan of Winspear’s Maisie Dobbs series, I knew this standalone would be a winner. Its main character, Elinor, was a pre-teen in Belgium during WWI and is living in post-World War II Britain when the story opens in 1947. The tale moves between the two World Wars and details her role in both. If you’re a history buff, this book will fit the bill as not only engaging but also informative.

Killers of a Certain Age by Deanna Raybourn

Buzzfeed’s one-liner says it all: “This Golden Girls meets James Bond thriller is a journey you want to be part of.” I described it as a rollicking read, an entertaining and imaginative book about four menopausal women in their sixties who are retiring from careers as deadly assassins.

Winter Solstice by Rosamunde Pilcher

This is an older book recommended to me by one of my newsletter subscribers. As the book jacket says, “The December solstice is … about hope, renewal, and rebirth,” and the friendships in Pilcher’s story reflect that spirit. It’s a heartwarming story about friends, family, and neighbors with scenery described so vividly that you will feel as though are there. I saw the waves crashing on the Cornwall coast and the snow falling in Scotland.

The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V. E. Schwab

I couldn’t put this one down, and I can see why it is described as a genre-defying tale. It starts in 1714 in France, where young Adeline LaRue makes a deal with the devil. She will live forever, but no one will remember her. The story unfolds as she witnesses history, the good and the bad. Her meetings with Luc, the name she gives her devil, evolve and change through the years. I enjoyed it for the history lessons, the romance, and the beautiful writing.

Homer’s Odyssey by Gwen Cooper

Mesmerized is the word that comes to mind when I think of this nonfiction book. Homer, an indefatigable blind kitten, weighed only two pounds when the author adopted him. If you give this one a try, I predict Homer will capture your heart as he did mine.

There you have it, a few of my most enjoyable books from 2023. Could I name more? Why, of course, but these are top o’ mind. Now, I’m back to choosing books for 2024 from my ever-growing TBR list. Happy 2024 reading to one and all.

The Books in My Books

I’m an avid reader—someone who reads every night and never goes anywhere without a book. Heaven forbid I’d be stuck somewhere without one. I can still recall with horror the time I downloaded a book to a new tablet for a business trip, and the tablet froze up on the first leg of the journey. And, lately, with my library closed and me downloading books instead of picking up the “real” thing, I’m distressed when I get that message on my Kindle about the need to recharge.  Is it just me, or does this invariably happen at the very best spot in the book?

My passion for reading must be the reason I mention books in the cozy mysteries I write. My main character, Leta, belongs to a book club in the Cotswolds village of Astonbury. Once a month, she attends a meeting at the Book Nook on the High Street. My Atlanta readers will know I stole that name from the popular used book store in Decatur, Georgia.

In the first book—“Bells, Tails, & Murder”—Leta leads the discussion of Charlie Lovett’s “The Bookman’s Tale.” In that novel, a North Carolina antiquarian bookseller relocates to an English village after his wife dies. There, he stumbles upon a book about Shakespeare forgeries that leads him to investigate the age-old mystery as to who Shakespeare was—if indeed the name William Shakespeare was only a pseudonym.

I chose that particular book because my plot features author J.M. Barrie and touches on the world of book collectors. “The Bookman’s Tale” triggered all kinds of ideas as did an article I stumbled across about the discovery of a previously unpublished play by Barrie. Funny how the brain works.

Each subsequent book also has a book club scene, and the books read by the group always loosely connect to the plot or setting. In “Pumpkins, Paws, & Murder” which takes place in October with a Fall Fete as a central plot point, I chose G.M. Maillet’s “Wicked Autumn,” set in the fictional village of Nether Monkslip. My plot mirrored hers in both the season and the occasion of a fete. Who dies and why is of course completely different, as are the characters who populate the books.

For book three—“Whiskers, Wreaths, & Murder”—which takes place in, you guessed it, December, I chose “Mr. Dickens and His Carol” by Samantha Silva as the book club selection. Dickens, the dog in my book, was very excited that a book about his namesake was featured. You’ll have to read the book to see if there are any other parallels.

In book four—“Collectors, Cats & Murder—the group reads “The Sherlockian” about a quest for a missing Arthur Conan Doyle diary. I read this book when it came out in 2010 and didn’t realize until I did a bit of research that Graham Moore, the author, also wrote “The Last Days of Night,” which became a movie starring Benedict Cumberbatch and Eddie Redmayne—“The Current War.” Based on historical events, it tells the story of the competition and conflict between Thomas Edison and George Westinghouse.

I won’t tell you how the book club selection connects to the murder mystery, but I can tell you that Leta and friends visit a literary festival in a nearby village. Book titles and authors— even beyond those read for book club—are referenced throughout my cozies, and there are certainly enough to fill another blog post. Perhaps I’ll revisit the topic of the books in my books one day and take a deeper dive.  Stay tuned.

Memories of my mother

This post was first published as a newspaper column in 2014

This Mother’s Day will be different for me as it marks the first one without my mother, who passed away in early April. I won’t be searching for the perfect card, preparing a Mother’s Day dinner or making plans with my sisters to take Mom out. I’ll shop the Dunwoody Arts Festival as usual, and I’m sure I’ll notice all the items I might once have gotten for Mom. I’ve smiled as I’ve discovered items from previous festivals among her belongings. In the past weeks, I’ve had thoughts like “Mother would get a kick out of the four tiny eggs in the Carolina Wren’s nest on the porch” or “Mom would laugh at the cat talking to the birds.” I know these moments will eventually become less frequent, but for now, they bring a bittersweet smile to my face.

As the oldest of three girls, I’ve inherited the 22 photo albums and numerous other keepsakes, many of which I don’t recall ever seeing before. As I’ve flipped through albums or dug through the box marked “Keepsakes/Kathy Jean,” I’ve found fascinating memorabilia. I already had Mom’s MacArthur doll from WWII but also found a pair of wooden shoes her uncle had brought back from the Pacific and a military banner her father had sent her when he was in the Army.

I have a few of my parents’ wedding photos framed at my house, but I got a kick out of the book that contained telegrams my mom and dad had received on their wedding day in 1952. I don’t think I’ve ever seen an actual telegram before. Mother also kept a journal about the honeymoon trip to NYC to meet Daddy’s family after the wedding in Macon. I can just imagine my mom in a bit of shock as she met her new Greek/Italian family and toured NYC. She grew to love the city when they moved there from Jacksonville after my dad left the Navy, but that first visit had to be something for a Southern girl from Macon.

I have a handmade quilt and bag of crocheted doilies, but don’t know which of my many great aunts did the handiwork. They probably all crocheted and quilted, but who knows who made what. I’ll display none of this but can’t bear to just give it to Goodwill. And you’re probably wondering why I wouldn’t save all this for a grandchild. Oddly enough, neither I nor my two sisters have any children, something I don’t think Mom ever quite forgave us for.

When I found a white chenille baby’s bedspread with a pink donkey applique, I remembered it clearly. It’s worn thin in spots, and I know Mother must have used it for my two younger sisters and can only assume she first used it with me. What hit home as I looked at it was that there’s no longer anyone around to ask. 

We girls asked Mom to write her memories, and she tried but didn’t get very far. I’d say, though, that there are plenty of memories in her albums and keepsakes. And, of course, each of us has a personal store of memories. As one of my many sympathy cards says, “There are some things that never, ever leave us. A mother’s love is one of them. She will be with you in spirit and in heart forever.” It may be the end of an era, but the memories will last a lifetime.

Packing for a Cruise

Beyond planning my wardrobe for a trip, I can’t think of anything more important than ensuring I have plenty of reading material. It won’t belong before I arrive in Athens, Greece and begin the Greek Odyssey cruise which hugs the coast of Greece and visits Santorini and Crete. Because I don’t take paperbacks on overseas trips, I carefully preload my Kindle, and several factors come into play as I make my selection.

First I check for available ebooks at the library. There are times I’ve been waiting for a hardback by a particular author, as that’s my preferred way to consume books, and I find the ebook is readily available. That’s a no-brainer, and I download it.

I also follow several authors whose books aren’t available in any format at my local library. Many of these are British authors or their series are set in the UK.  So, after downloading what I can from the library, I look on my Amazon wishlist.  I suspect most folks use the wishlist feature for things other than reading material, but mine contains only books.

I take great pleasure in perusing my wishlist and selecting vacation reading. The last time I visited Greece, I read several mysteries by Jeffrey Siger because his novels are set there. On this return trip, I decided to branch out, so without further ado, here’s what I’ll be reading on my October vacation.

SantoriniEmma Jameson’s “Blue Christmas: Lord & Lady Hetheridge Mystery Series #6” was my first selection.  If you’re a regular reader of my columns, you know I’m an Anglophile, so it’s fitting I’d choose a series set in England.While surfing Amazon, I discovered the author has another series, so I also grabbed “Bones in the Blackout,” a cozy mystery set in WWII England.I recently wrote about the Electra McDonnell series by Ashley Weaver and how delighted I was to find she had another series. Click! “Murder at the Brightwell,” the first book in her Amory Ames series landed on my Kindle. Happily, her books are available from the library.Next was “Escaping Dreamland” by Charlie Lovett. I’ve read several books by this author, and I chose “The Bookman’s Tale” as the book club selection in my first cozy mystery—there’s always a book club meeting or literary festival in my books. That book was a mystery about book collecting and with a rare book central to the murder plot in my cozy, it was a perfect fit. Books are also central to the plot in“Escaping Dreamland.”Who knows how I stumbled across “The English Bookshop” but I was intrigued by the title. As soon as I read that the main character inherits a bookshop in England, I had to grab it.

Five books will probably suffice for a ten-day cruise, but there’s also a nine-hour flight on both ends of the trip, so you never know. On my last Viking River Cruise, I finished one book on the flight over. The good news is that I can always use the ship’s wi-fi to download additional books if need be.

Here’s to happy reading whether it be stateside or overseas.

Favorite Fictional Detectives

The WSJ posed the question: Who is your favorite fictional detective? They printed five answers, and I’m not sure any of them would have made my list.  Perhaps there are just too many from which to choose especially for someone like me who mostly reads mysteries.

Not that I need any books to add to my To Be Read list, but I had to look up the two that were new to me. The first was DC Smith from Peter Grainger’s DC Smith series. As so often happens, this British detective series isn’t available at my local library, so I’ve ordered a used copy of book one, “Accidental Death,” from Amazon. I’m a sucker for British mysteries.

Next up was Phryne Fisher from Kerry Greenwood’s series set in 1920s Australia. There are twenty books in the series, and the tales were briefly turned into a TV show and one follow-up TV movie. These books seem right up my alley, and the description reminded me of the Mrs. Bradley series starring Diana Rigg, though Phryne Fisher is a younger character.  That series is available at my library, so it’s on my online list to order later.

Miss Marple was also on the list. Funny, I have a vague memory of reading maybe one Miss Marple book. The rest I’ve enjoyed on television. We have a running debate at our house as to who played the best Miss Marple.  I’m partial to Geraldine McEwan, and my husband prefers Joan Hickson.

Jules Maigret who is featured in 75 novels and innumerable television productions was the fourth detective mentioned.  Written in French by George Simenon, the books were later published in English. Again, I’ve never read any of these, but have enjoyed the latest BBC production starring Rowan Atkinson.

The fifth detective appeared only on TV—the beloved Columbo.  Didn’t we all love him? I’d forgotten he had a dog until I read that fact in the paper.

This list was not meant to be definitive nor complete.  It was comprised simply of responses that came into the WSJ mailbox.  Who would I put on my list? That’s a difficult question. I’m not sure I could come up with a number one favorite, though I can list several characters whose stories I’ve followed with great pleasure. Robert B. Parker’s Spenser leaps to mind as do Louise Penny’s Armand Gamache and Michael Connelly’s Harry Bosch. Kinsey Milhone was a long-time favorite, but these days it’s the British sleuths like Jacqueline Winspear’s Maisie Dobbs and Charles Todd’s Inspector Rutledge who top my list.

Is it any wonder my TBR list at the library has over forty books on it, and my wish list on Amazon is a lengthy one too? Who’s your favorite fictional detective? Can you narrow it down to only one?

The Magic of Billy Joel

When you read my books, you’ll notice I’m a Billy Joel fan. I saw him long ago with Elton John at the Omni in Atlanta, and I got reacquainted with his music a few years ago when I listened to the Billy Joel station on SiriusXM on a road trip to the mountains—both up and back.

If you’re not a fan, you may be wondering how I did that without getting bored.  Bored? Not hardly; instead I was fascinated with the interviews where he explained how he came to write many of his songs and what they meant. Since then, I’ve listened to the station whenever it pops up. I’m addicted.

First, I was intrigued by the story behind his 1989 hit “We didn’t start the fire.” A friend of Sean Lennon’s was in Joel’s studio and commented that it was an awful time to be 21, to which Joel replied that he remembered it had been rough for him too what with Vietnam and civil rights and more in 1970. The reply was something like “Yea, but you grew up in the ’50s and everyone knows nothing happened in the 50s.”

Joel was flabbergasted and sat down and wrote a laundry list of chronological headlines for what would become a hit song. A bookworm and history buff who once wanted to be a history teacher, he crafted lyrics that formed a forty-year history lesson, 1949 – 1989, including cultural touchpoints and significant events.

As a Beatles fan, I enjoyed hearing that it was seeing the Beatles on Ed Sullivan that convinced Joel to pursue a musical career.  He felt the Fab Four came across as smalltown guys like he was as opposed to Hollywood stars.  What a treat it must have been when Paul McCartney joined Joel onstage at Shea Stadium. I heard those songs during that drive too.

“River of Dreams,” released in ’93, was his final rock album. It’s also the only one of his albums that I have on CD, and I have at times played it repeatedly. That could be why I like so many of the songs it holds: “Lullabye,” “Shades of Grey,” and “Famous Last Words,” in addition to the title track. Lullabye is just what the title indicates, a lullaby to his daughter Alexa Ray. He later wrote a children’s book titled “Goodnight, My Angel” based on words in the song.

I always thought “Shades of Grey” was a wise song, a song about being mature enough to realize that not everything is black and white: “Now with the wisdom of years, I try to reason things out; And the only people I fear are those who never have doubts.” Listening to the song again as I wrote this made me think we could do with a few more folks these days who see shades of grey.

Finally, it was hearing Billy Joel describe “Famous Last Words” that made me realize the song was prophetic. The way he tells it, he didn’t understand that he meant it when he wrote:

And these are the last words I have to say

It’s always hard to say goodbye

But now it’s time to put this book away

Ain’t that the story of my life

Can it really have been nearly 30 years since his last rock album? I continue to be struck by how relevant his songs still seem, so in 2020, when I heard he was doing a stadium tour, I booked tickets for Charlotte, NC, the closest he would get to Atlanta. Remember what happened in 2020? Right, the concert was canceled due to the pandemic. I had to make do with the Billy Joel station until the concert was rebooked for April 2022. Yours truly will be there to hear Billy Joel rock the night away.

A sad farewell to a beloved companion

It is with a heavy heart that I share this sad news about Banjo, the dog who has been my constant companion for twelve years. At age fourteen, my boy crossed the rainbow bridge. His easy-going, cheerful demeanor brought joy to all who met him—whether he was out walking in the neighborhood, getting belly rubs at book signings, or traveling with us to mountain cabins.

During our time together, we developed a routine. He and I were the first ones up every morning, and we headed downstairs where Banjo went outside to inspect our wooded backyard while I started the coffee. Accompanied by Puddin’ the cat, we relaxed on the porch or in the living room and then traipsed upstairs to my office. Picture Banjo getting his daily greenie and snoozing on his dog bed beneath my desk while Puddin’ nibbled her treats next to the computer. My boy was multi-talented and especially good at imitating a footrest.

With his dad, Banjo returned downstairs for his arthritis chew, a belly rub, and the opportunity to lick the yogurt dish. He could be counted on to appear upstairs around three or four looking for the special treats for his liver. The best spot for belly rubs was beside his dad’s recliner, and that’s where Banjo spent his evenings while we watched TV. At bedtime, he shifted to the master bath where we carefully stepped over him until it was time for the morning routine to begin again. There’s no doubt he had us trained. Goodness, how we loved da boy, as his father called him.

We had dogs before Banjo, and they were all special, but he was the first and only one that I trained. I’m convinced that experience sparked our special bond. When he embarked on his career as a canine author, we became inseparable.

Banjo was my muse. Though I’ve long been a columnist and blogger, it was Banjo who inspired me to tackle fiction. It all started with his DNA analysis. When I sat down to share those results, the story unfolded in his voice instead of mine—pure serendipity. He was quite beside himself to learn that he had Great Pyrenees ancestors and that those majestic creatures were once the royal dogs of France.

Thus began Banjo’s writing career as Lord Banjo, penning blogs and the occasional guest column for me. Encouraged by the reaction to his tales, “we” published a collection of his blogs—“Lord Banjo, the Royal Pooch.”  

Local shops carried his books, and we spent many a happy day at book signings. Dressed in a purple velvet cape, he was a hit wherever we went.  Trust me, I knew from the get-go that my sweet boy was the attraction—not me. Folks came to see milord and rub his royal belly. That they sometimes bought a book was a bonus.  

Additional Lord Banjo blogs followed as well as an invitation for da boy to have a column in the “Highlands Newspaper.” According to my editor, who kindly allowed me to continue writing columns too, readers clamored to hear more from Banjo. Appearing at festivals in Highlands was a special treat because we regularly heard exclamations of “Oh! It’s Lord Banjo. I love your columns.” To Banjo, that meant it was time to assume the royal belly rub position, and he happily obliged. I’m pretty sure, though, that his favorite appearances were those at Camp Flashback in Dunwoody, where the young campers adored him.

Fast forward to pulling together a second Lord Banjo book and connecting with a marketing consultant.  She was quite taken with Banjo’s writing style but had an idea for a very different book. Hearing I was an Anglophile who adored British mysteries and had just taken a bucket list trip to the UK, she uttered those fateful words, “You should write a cozy mystery.” She suggested England as the setting and a cat and dog as characters. I don’t think she expected the animals would talk to their owner, but that’s what happened. Now, five books in, readers are quite taken with Dickens & Christie. Don’t we all wish our pets could talk to us? The lines for Dickens are a joy to write because his words come straight from Banjo. It’s not a stretch to say that I would never have written cozy mysteries if it weren’t for my lovable boy.

This fall, he enjoyed one last trip to the mountains, complete with a walk around the lake and a glimpse of the geese.  A few days later, he began to fail, and when he ceased climbing the stairs, we knew his time was near. We helped him to his feet so he could walk to his dish or go outside, but beyond that, he barely moved. Our hearts broke when he cut those big brown eyes at us. And, when he could no longer climb the three steps to the porch and we had to carry him inside, we made the hard decision to let him go.

I’m sure you can hear the huge sigh emanating from my office and see me wiping tears from my eyes. I cried when the vet came to send him on his way to doggy heaven, and I had a major meltdown the next day. There are sure to be more tears in the days ahead. As I write more words for Dickens, I’ll sense Banjo beneath my desk, and I’ll be channeling his happy-go-lucky thoughts. Can you hear my boy? He’s saying, “Keep it up, Mum. I love you.”

P.S. Many, many thanks to the staff at the Animal Hospital of Dunwoody Village, who loved and cared for Banjo all these years, and to Dr. McReynolds at Transitions, for lovingly helping Banjo make his final journey.

How on earth do you write a book?

This post originally appeared in the Highlands Newspaper.

That’s a question I often get. Two years ago, when a friend suggested I write a cozy mystery, I asked the same question. Actually, it was more along the lines of, “What do I know about coming up with a plot?” Even now with five cozies under my belt, I’m not sure I have a good answer.

So, how do I start? First, I spend a month or so pondering a plot. For whatever reason, the plot for the next book begins to take shape in my mind as I’m writing the current one.

I have an idea notebook where I jot down thoughts as they come to me. I may get a kernel one day and nothing at all for a week, but they all go in the notebook. I do plenty of research, which gives me more ideas and often takes me in a different direction. The story evolves, and by the time I write the first line, it may not look anything like the initial few words I scribbled.

I start with an idea for the “surround.” That’s my word for knowing the story will take place at a literary festival or a yoga retreat in Cornwall, as is the case for “Castles, Catnip & Murder” coming out in September. Each book contains a book club meeting, and the book somehow connects to the plot, so I identify the book before I start. For example, “The Once and Future King” is the selection for “Castles,”  and lots of info about Arthurian legend is woven throughout the story. I also know who will die and how and what form the confrontation scene will take, but sometimes I don’t decide who the killer is until I’m halfway through the book.

I never fail to experience what cozy author Nancy J. Cohen calls “the muddle in the middle,” meaning I question where I’m going or whether I have enough material to get there. That’s when I may choose to develop a new character more fully or rework the flow or flesh out a promising subplot. And as Cohen says, that’s when “story magic” happens.

People also ask if I outline my books.  Well, sort of. I have a general idea of where I’m going, but not what most people would consider a formal outline. I’m more of a “pantser”—defined as someone who writes by the seat of their pants—than a plotter. As I type, my characters take me places I hadn’t planned to go. That’s the only way I can describe it.

Once I start, I strive to write 1,000 words a day. That’s approximately four pages, and my five novels range from 68,000 to 84,000 words each. Some days, those 1,000 words take two hours. On others, they may take four. Some days, a scene simply flows and all but writes itself. Other days? Not so much.

Every morning, I read and edit what I wrote the day before, and then I start on the next scene. With ongoing research and reworking of the plot, it takes me approximately 90 days to produce a decent first draft—starting from the day I type the first word. Then I give a big sigh of relief and send it off to my Beta readers for feedback, fingers crossed every time that they won’t find plot holes or other major issues. So far, knock on wood, they haven’t.

Find Castles, Catnip & Murder on Amazon.

Memories of my Father

I originally published this tribute to my father as a newspaper column in 2013

I wrote this Father’s Day column in May, as I knew I’d be vacationing in Greece in the early part of June and might write in my journal but certainly not write a column. Because my father was the son of Greek immigrants, I thought of him often as I planned our trip. He never visited Greece, and I’m not all that sure he wanted to, but he did instill in me an insatiable appetite for most things Greek. 

And no, I’m not just talking about Greek food, though my love of Greek cuisine is apparent even in my day-to-day meals. My husband occasionally moans that a plain slice of tomato would do him just fine, and requests that I cease sprinkling feta cheese and/or fresh basil on everything.

Even beyond the food, though, I’ve always enjoyed Greek mythology and history. I recall checking out my first book of mythology from the P.S. 162 library in NYC. I read every book on Greek mythology that grammar school library offered and then moved on to Roman and Norse mythology. Imagine me shifting from Nancy Drew to Anne of Green Gables to mythology and back on a regular basis.

From mythology, I progressed to ancient Greek history in the form of stories about Alexander the Great and others. By the time I was in high school, I was devouring historical fiction about Greece, Rome, and England.

Once I reached my teens, Daddy and I often shared books. He was well read on a wide range of topics, and he delighted in discussing mythology and history and could readily explain how history had influenced the events of the twentieth century.

For my first wedding, Daddy was heavily involved in planning the food and entertainment. He made most of the food for the reception, and he hired a Greek band complete with a bouzouki player.  I was married in a Baptist church, but the reception definitely had Greek flair. We have photos of my father dancing—think Zorba the Greek—the one and only time I remember seeing him dance.  

I asked my younger sisters if they had enjoyed Greek mythology and was surprised to discover that neither of them shares my fascination with our Greek heritage. Sadly, Daddy had passed away by the time my sisters married, and I’m pretty sure that our being Greek never entered into their wedding planning. Though Greek pastries were served at my youngest sister’s wedding reception, that was because she actually married a Greek and his family provided the desserts.

None of us ever learned to speak Greek, but I can still hear my father, grandfather, and aunt conversing in Greek. I picked up a Greek phrase book so that I could at least say please, thank you, good morning, and good evening during my trip. How I wish my father were here today to teach me instead.  

It’s impossible for me to imagine my father in his 80s as he would be today. In my mind, he will forever be the man he was 30 years ago, with a full head of dark hair, big brown eyes, olive complexion, and a dimple in his chin.