Mary Castillo's Blog: News from Mary Castillo, page 12
July 18, 2013
Thank you for a great journey
July 10, 2013
Excerpt: Looming Murder by Carol Ann Martin
Chapter 1
Sometimes in middle of the night, I worried that this all might have been a huge mistake—this, being the leap I’d recently made. At the age of thirty-five, a time in life when—as my mother liked to point out—most sane women were either married and with children or just hitting their professional stride, I had left a perfectly good career as a business analyst to become a weaver. That’s right. A weaver.
But, whatever she thought, I didn’t arrive at this decision easily. A year ago, something happened that shook me to my core. I was accused of embezzling from my company, and if not for my proving to the authorities that my boss was the guilty party, right now I would be serving a ten-year jail term instead of him, just as sure as my name is Della Wright.
It’d been time for a change.
So, crazy or not, here I was in my new studio, waiting for somebody—anybody—to show up. I glanced at my watch again—six forty five, and still not a soul in sight.
I looked down at Winston, the French bulldog I’d inherited with the house where I was living and setting up shop. He wasn’t exactly the kind of dog I might have chosen for myself. My taste in pooches ran more along the tiny-poodle variety. In fact, I used to have a tiny poodle, and she was a lot prettier than the dog at my feet. Winston was thirty pounds of solid muscle on a squat frame, and with a flat face frozen in a perpetual grimace. Good God, the dog was ugly. Admittedly, though, for all his vicious appearance, he would have been about as effective as a lamb when it came to protecting me. Winston, or Winnie as I had nicknamed him, was more likely to lick an intruder to death than to chase him away. He was so sweet that I was beginning to actually like him.
I bent down to scratch his ear.
“You are my buddy, aren’t you?”
He glanced up at me with big, mournful eyes and yawned.
“Don’t worry, Winnie. People will show up, you’ll see.” He stared at me, looking less than convinced. Oh, God, people had to show up. I couldn’t have done all of this, only to fall flat on my face.
I’d moved here just over two months ago, and so far I’d hardly earned enough to keep me in java, my personal addiction. All the while I’d been spending, spending, spending: three new looms picked up on Craigslist (I needed those. Honestly! How was I supposed to give classes unless I had a few looms?); yarn—dozens upon dozens of gorgeous yarns I hadn’t been able to resist (what can I say—fate led me to that yarn shop two days before it closed); then there was the cost of fixing up my new abode.
Last Christmas, I’d admitted to my friend, Matthew Baker, just how miserable I felt. I wasn’t eating. I wasn’t sleeping. I was a zombie at work. Being branded a stoolpigeon and a whistleblower by one’s coworkers will do that to a person. That’s the damn thing about the investment industry, they’d more easily forgive a person of stealing than of reporting criminal activity from a superior. So rather than applaud me for giving the evidence to the SEC, my coworkers turned on me. It was a nightmare, living in a place where no one trusted you enough to share weekend plans.
Anyhow, after confiding in Matthew he very generously offered to lend me his house.
“I have just the place for you,” he’d said, going on to paint an idyllic picture of Briar Hollow, the small town at the foot of the Blue Ridge Mountains where he lived. He offered to switch places for a little over a week—I take his house, and he, my condo in Charlotte. “You’ll enjoy a much-needed vacation, and I’ll save myself two hours of daily commuting at the same time.”
Matthew had recently accepted a position teaching criminology at the University of Charlotte, a job he intended to leave just as soon as he realized his life dream—landing a publishing deal for a book on criminology. What he didn’t say, but I suspected, was that he’d also enjoy living closer to his girlfriend, Amanda, whom I referred to as Blondie. He had been dating Blondie for a couple of years, and even though she somehow always rubbed me the wrong way, the truth was she was perfectly nice.
I decided to take his offer. Ten days away from my job was exactly what I needed. Afterwards, I would go back to work refreshed and reenergized. Except…that’s not exactly what happened.
The further I got from Charlotte, the more I wondered, why just ten days? I’d always dreamed of opening my own weaving studio, a notion that my mother insisted was sweet and romantic, but hardly practical. (Poor mom, to this day, she could not accept that I was a grown woman who did not need her advice.) I had long ago folded away my dream and stored it into an almost forgotten corner of my mind. Weaving was perfectly fine as a hobby, and that was what it had become. Whenever the stress of my work became too much, I would sit and weave, sometimes far into the night.
It’s incredible just how soothing the process can be—the regular rhythmic throwing of the shuttle from hand to hand, and the beat of one’s foot pounding the treadles, not to mention the satisfaction of the completed project—ahhh, happiness.
In the past, I’d have reluctantly packed away the loom and trudged off to my real job in the morning. But when I got to Briar Hollow, I just kept thinking…why not? Why can’t I do it? Maybe it was because I had nothing left to lose; few friends in Charlotte (lately, anyway), no job satisfaction, in fact, hardly a stable job at all, given how things were going.
The old fashioned gingerbread house was perfect. It had a living and dining-room combo separated by an arched doorway. I could open a shop in one, and in the sunny corner of the other, I could have a studio with an AVL loom—the one I’d always dreamed of owning. All I would have to do was convince Matthew that we should make our arrangement permanent.
“You want to live there?” Matthew had exclaimed when I told him my new idea. “You mean…full time?” I could almost hear the gears clicking in his mind. “Well…I suppose we could switch places until you find something permanent. There’d be no rush. I love living in your condo. It’s so close to my work—”and to Blondie, no doubt—“But Winston would have to stay with you,” he’d added. “He’d be miserable by himself in your small condo all day.”
We’d struck a deal. I would take care of Winston, and Matthew would stay in my condo until either one of us changed our mind, which I knew meant I could count on living here for as long as I wanted. I mean, honestly, anyone would be nuts to take a two-hour commute over a ten minute drive—right?
From then on, Matthew’s dog became my roommate, and I never looked back.
I named my studio Dream Weavers, and to help generate interest I announced weaving classes for all levels of ability. I also decided to organize weaving groups as a good and inexpensive way to promote my shop. Tonight’s group was for a charity project, making baby blankets for the local hospital. Well, it wasn’t really the local hospital. St Anthony’s was about ten miles out of town, nearer to Belmont than to Briar Hollow, which technically made it theclosest hospital. I was hoping the charity angle would attract a mix of people, and that those with less weaving proficiencies might enroll in my classes. But it was now five minutes to seven and nobody was here. My earlier optimism was fast deflating.
I looked down at Winston. “What do you think, Winnie? People are bound to show up, right?”
He snorted.
“You are such a pessimist.”
For the tenth time, I pulled back the lace curtains and peeked outside. And—yes, at last—a car was pulling up. I hurried away from the window, coaxing Winston to follow. He lumbered behind me, a puzzled expression on his mug.
“Sorry Winnie, but you’ll have to stay in here.” I closed the kitchen door behind him and hurried to the front just as the bell above the door tinkled. A middle-aged woman with Lucille Ball hair and eyes heavy with makeup waddled in, carrying a large knitting bag. She set it down and brushed her hands over her zebra-printed Capri pants, which made her already-large behind look twice its size.
“Hello, hello,” she exclaimed. “I’m sorry I’m late.”
“You’re actually a few minutes early,” I smiled. “I’m Della Wright. Welcome to Dream Weaver.”
“Marnie Potter,” the woman said, fanning herself dramatically with a bejewelled hand. “My, but it’s hot in here. Don’t you have air conditioning?” Beads of moisture had gathered on her forehead. I thought it was humid rather than hot, but wasn’t about to argue.
“It is hot, isn’t it?” I looked around for a solution. “I’ll open a window. That should help. Oh, and I have a fan upstairs.” I hurried to the window, but no amount of struggling would get it to budge.
Marnie sighed and glanced around. “Where is everyone? I thought I was joining a group. We won’t produce very many baby blankets with just the two—”
At the sound of the bell, we both turned to see a pleasant looking, sandy-haired woman, wearing a tie-dyed, gauzy top over a pair of black yoga pants, hugging what was probably one of the tightest bodies I had ever seen. I wasn’t in the habit of ogling other women’s bodies, but this one could have been a walking advertisement for a health club—not a look I could ever hope to achieve with my short stature and gargantuan appetite. I was just lucky to weigh one hundred and fifteen and not two hundred and fifteen. I glanced at her tiny waist enviously. On second thought, I wouldn’t give up eating, not even for a tight body like hers. I studied her outfit. It was interesting—sexy, in a New Age or bohemian sort of way.
I became aware of my own Ralph Lauren natural-linen pants and Navaho-inspired beaded shirt, which identified me as exactly what I was—a city girl trying to fit into her new small-town life by dressing in a designer’s version of country duds. I suddenly felt self-conscious.
“Hi, I’m here for the weaving group.” She spotted the looms in the workshop. “And it looks like I’m in the right place.” She offered her hand. “Jenny Davis.” Her smile lit the room.
“Della Wright. I’m the owner.”
“Nice to meet you.” She looked around and nodded a hello to Marnie. “So you’re joining the group too?”
“I am.”
“You two know each other?”
Marnie chuckled. “This is Briar Hollow, sugar pie. Everybody knows each other around here.”
It was difficult for a city girl to conceive of a town being so small that everybody knew everybody. I really wasn’t in Charlotte anymore. That, however, had been the whole point of moving here. I’d wanted to live in a place where one could live their life at a slower pace. I’d wanted a home in a town where people said hello to each other on the street, where there was trust and loyalty and where the likelihood of being embroiled in an embezzlement case was non-existent.
Meanwhile, Jenny had wandered further into the room. “I’ve been dying to see what you did with the place. Oh, will you look at those.” She made a beeline to the maple hutch I’d salvaged from the garage next the house. I’d emptied it of car parts and an assortment of tools, and then waxed and polished that old piece until it glowed. Now, it was the display case for my fine-linen towels and dishcloths.
Jenny reverently touched one of the towels. “These are gorgeous. Did you make them?”
“I did. That one is a Swedish design called Monk Cloth. It’s also known as Huck embroidery.”
Marnie Potter approached. “That is fine work indeed. You’re very good.” Her tone was almost grudging.
“Thank you. I’m glad you think so. Weaving is my passion. I just hope I can make a living at it.” I was about to ask the women about their experience with weaving when the doorbell rang again.
“Hi, I’m here to weave baby blankets,” the young woman said, her gaze sweeping over Marnie and me, and then over the store. I had an immediate impression of a laser-sharp mind.
“Welcome to Dream Weaver. I’m Della. And you are…”
Her dark lashes flickered, and she smiled. “Susan Wood.” She extended her hand, her eyes focused on mine. “Nice to meet you.”
On second glance, Susan Wood was older than I’d first thought. She looked in her mid to late twenties, with auburn hair in a shoulder length blunt cut. She wore jeans and an open white shirt with rolled up sleeves over a T-shirt. That was how I should dress if I wanted to fit in. On second thought, scratch that. With my body, it was easy to look chubby rather than curvaceous. I would stick to Ralph Lauren. My body needed Ralph almost as much as it needed caffeine.
“Susan, why don’t you join the others? I’m sure I don’t have to introduce you. I’ll be right back.” I dashed upstairs and retrieved the fan from my bedroom, making a mental note to buy a couple more before the next meeting. When I returned to the front room, Marnie and Jenny were chatting away like old friends—which, for all I knew, they might well have been.
With excitement I heard the bell jingle again, but my cheer ebbed when a man walked in. He was tall and handsome in a business sort of way, looking to be in his late thirties to early forties and wearing a gray suit and tie. Surely he was not here for weaving. Everyone grew silent as they turned to stare.
He closed the door behind him and scowled. “Is this the place for the charity weaving group?”
“Yes, it is.” I set the fan on the floor. “Are you here to join the group?”
“What else would I be doing here?” he grumbled, looking about as pleased as a bear in a trap.
I sensed trouble. Why was it that every group had to have at least one churl?
Filed under: Between the Pages, Chick Lit Tours
In Between the Pages with Carol Ann Martin
Looming Murder: A Weaving Mystery is the first book in an ongoing cozy mystery series featuring Della Wright. She’s a likable heroine, who after enduring a public scandal in her corporate job, has put every last cent into her small business, Dream Weavers. One of my favorite aspects of the story were the friendships that Della forms with the women who attend her workshop. With detailed descriptions of the small town characters, weaving and antique buildings, Author Carol Ann Martin takes her time getting into the action. But its worth the wait as all of the interwoven relationships mislead Della and the reader as to the identity of the killer.
If you like cozy mysteries with a crafty bent and a heroine whose love life has as many twists and turns as the crimes she falls into, then pack this book in your beach bag!
**Everyone who leaves a comment on the tour page will be entered to win a $20 Amazon gift card! Anyone who purchases their copy of Looming Murderbefore July 29 and sends their receipt to Samantha (at) ChickLitPlus (dot) com, will get five bonus entries.**
Enjoy Carol Ann’s guest blog post:
When I am asked how long I wanted to write before I actually began, my answer is, for as long as I remember. At the age of eight, I remember wanting to be a writer or a ballerina. At ten, I wanted to be a writer or a num. Don’t ask. At twelve I got over the nun thing and decided to be a writer or a figure skater. At fourteen I thought being a famous writer or a famous actress would be glamorous. You get my drift. The truth of the matter is I always wanted to write, but was so afraid to fail that I invariably chose the other option. It wasn’t until a few years ago, in my fifties (This proves that it’s never too late) that I went for it. I dropped everything else and pursued my dreams. Now I wish I’d done it years earlier.
This novel, Looming Murder, is receiving favorable reviews and my publisher has asked for a second in the series. I just delivered the second, Tapestry of Lies, where many of the same characters return. I wanted to write a book that would be pure fun. I know. I know. Murder doesn’t sound much like fun. But when the victim is someone who was really nasty, it isn’t quite so sad. And when the heroine is the number-one suspect and her best friend’s advice keeps getting her into deeper trouble, murder can be really funny.
Apart from writing, I am also the visionary officer for a residential real estate company my husband owns and my son runs. As impressive as that may sound, all it means is that I am in charge of designing the lobbies and apartment renovations in my spare time—as if I had any.
I am so new at this writing game that I’m not certain where I’ll go from here. I love writing comedy. I love writing murder mysteries, and I love writing drama. God only knows wher
e I’ll go from here. All I hope is that my fans will follow. So, I welcome the advice of any of my fans who have read all of my novels written under my true name, Monique Domovitch and this pen name, Carol Ann Martin. Which of my novels did you like best? Which would you like to see more of?
Many of my readers want to know who are my favorite authors. If you ask me this question a hundred times, you will get a hundred different answers. I read one author until I run out of his books and then move on to the next favorite author.
As for my advice for author wannabes, all I can say is keep writing. Just go for it. I once read that a person doesn’t get really good at something until they’ve worked at it for at least
ten thousand hours. That might be just a bit of an exaggeration but the point is, you won’t get anywhere without plugging away at it for a long time. So get plugging.
And don’t tell your stories, write them. Early on, I used to have friends and family read everything I wrote, from the first draft of a novel right up to the last. I didn’t realize until much later that an author is like an entertainer, and that by getting others to read my stories before they were ready, all I did was dilute my need to tell the story. Now I don’t let anyone read my work until it is complete. That’s what works for me. But then, not all writers are the same. You might thrive on readers’ opinions and make you write all the more. Whatever works for you.
Author Bio:
Carol Ann Martin is a pen name. The author lives with her husband and an ever expanding family of dogs. They travel extensively and she is never seen without her laptop. When is not writing or traveling, she bakes and weaves.
Filed under: Between the Pages, Chick Lit Tours
July 2, 2013
Summer eBook Sale at Smashwords
June 26, 2013
Happy Blogiversary to The Kindle Gal!
Happy first blogiversary to The Kindle Gal! To celebrate, I’ll be giving away a complete digital collection of The Dori Orihuela Paranormal Mystery Series at Kindles and Wine. Enter now and jump into the world of Dori!
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Filed under: Dori Orihuela Series, Girl in the Mist, Lost in the Light, Mary's Books,
June 10, 2013
Daphne and me
Author Daphne du Maurier
It took me awhile to believe it but Lost in the Light has been selected by the RWA Kiss of Death Chapter as a finalist for the Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in Paranormal Mystery.
My reaction in one word: whaaaat?!?!?
The last writing competition I won was in 1991, when my essay on the importance of reading placed third in a competition hosted by the San Diego Public Library!
It wasn’t that long ago when I wondered if Lost in the Light would ever make it into the hands of readers. I never dared to dream it would be up for such a prestigious award! But mostly, I’m just so excited that the wonderful characters I spent so much time with are appreciated and enjoyed!
Thank you so much to the RWA Kiss of Death chapter and the contest judges for your support. Congratulations to my fellow nominees; it is an honor to be in your company.
Filed under: Dori Orihuela Series, Lost in the Light
Author Daphne du Maurier
It took me awhile to believe it ...
Author Daphne du Maurier
It took me awhile to believe it but Lost in the Light has been selected by the RWA Kiss of Death Chapter as a finalist for the Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in Paranormal Mystery.
My reaction in one word: whaaaat?!?!?
The last writing competition I won was in 1991, when my essay on the importance of reading placed third in a competition hosted by the San Diego Public Library!
It wasn’t that long ago when I wondered if Lost in the Light would ever make it into the hands of readers. I never dared to dream it would be up for such a prestigious award! But mostly, I’m just so excited that the wonderful characters I spent so much time with are appreciated and enjoyed!
Thank you so much to the RWA Kiss of Death chapter and the contest judges for your support. Congratulations to my fellow nominees; it is an honor to be in your company.
Filed under: Dori Orihuela Series, Lost in the Light
May 28, 2013
Saturday at Mysterious Galaxy
Hey San Diego! I’ll be at Mysterious Galaxy bookstore Saturday June 1st signing LOST IN THE LIGHT from 3-5 p.m. If you have it in ebook, no problem … I’m figuring out how to use Authorgraph at events so you can say hi, eat a snack and get a signed book plate. See you there!
http://www.mystgalaxy.com/book/9781479255917
Filed under: News
May 24, 2013
Memorial Day Weekend Sale
Stick to the code, mateys!
Get LOST IN THE LIGHT at 30% off today thru May 27 at Kobo! Apply the following discount code: SPRINGSAVE.
The awesome thing about Kobo is that you can read it on your Nook or Kobo reader, or on any device with the Kobo Reading Life app.
Also, stock up on my personal favs, Bella Andre & Courtney Milan.
Filed under: Deals and Steals, Dori Orihuela Series, eBook News, Lost in the Light, News
May 21, 2013
In Between the Pages with Larissa Reinhart
Last month, the boys and I met my mom and dad in Williams, Arizona to tour the Grand Canyon and Bearizona. In between eating (which tends to be a major activity in our travels), visiting haunted coffee shops and of course, standing on the South Rim of the Grand Canyon, I read Still Life in Brunswick Stew by Larissa Reinhart. If you’ve never been to Williams, it’s a small town and the perfect place to get into this map cap mystery about Cherry Tucker, an artist and the anti Southern Belle who defies her cop boyfriend and all common sense to find out who killed her best friend who ate poisoned stew at the Sidewinder Annual Brunswick Stew Cook-Off.
Cherry has a great talent for stumbling into compromising situations with her ex-husband, as well as stalking the wrong suspects which makes the real killer’s revelation all the more surprising and poignant. Even though this is the second book in the series, it stands on its own two feet. If you like cozy mysteries with sass, then you’ll love Still Life in Brunswick Stew and end up getting the entire series just to find out exactly how Cherry ended up in a love triangle with her boyfriend and her ex, how she tangled with Max and see more hair-pulling between her and her high school nemesis!
Q&A with Larissa Reinhart
What is your inspiration for Cherry?
I have somewhat of a background in art, so having an artist heroine felt natural. I’m also from a small town, so that kind of story setting was also in my wheelhouse. The characters came to me first, and I felt the story and voice gravitated toward a humorous romance, but I wanted to plot it as a mystery. My family and I were living in Japan at the time, and not long after these ideas began to stir, my father died. I flew back to my hometown to live with my mother for about a month and that’s when the story really started to congeal. A few days after my father’s funeral, I saw a local news story about a small town thug that had been murdered and I told my mother, “I’m going to have an artist paint a coffin painting of a murdered man. Her name is Cherry Tucker.” And because my mom knows me well, she just gave me a nod and went about her business.
What is the most challenging part of writing small town mysteries?
For me, I want to characterize the small town fairly. There are pros and cons to small town life and it was important to me that these points remained balanced. Yes, everybody knows your business and that can be annoying, but it also means you live in a community where people can watch your back. Interesting people live in small towns. They don’t always have to be the stereotypes you often see depicted in small town stories. The town I grew up in was smaller than Halo, only six hundred people. As a teenager it felt claustrophobic, but as an adult I can reexamine the individuals and see some unique stories.
What is the best part of writing these stories?
I love seeing the characters changing from one-dimensional characterizations to real characters. For example, I never intended for Todd and Max to become such strong anchors in Cherry’s supporting cast. I love how these characters take a life of their own as I’m writing. You’ll hear other authors talk about this strange phenomenon. I love those kinds of surprises as I’m writing. It makes the work feel fresh and exciting.
How many more adventures will we have with Cherry?
I hope many more to come! HIJACK IN ABSTRACT, is Cherry’s third mystery, which releases in November. Max plays an even bigger role in this book. There’s also truckers, methheads, copper thieves, and an Eastern European immigration lawyer with an antebellum mansion in Buckhead, the richest part of Atlanta. When her Uncle Will, the sheriff, asks Cherry to sketch a composite portrait of a hijacker, she finds herself involved in a related murder while trying to save her local reputation after the town labels her a “pervert artist” for some classical nudes bought by the Buckhead lawyer.
I’m also thrilled to have a Cherry Tucker prequel novella, QUICK SKETCH, in the mystery anthology, THE HEARTACHE MOTEL, coming out in December. Two other Henery Press authors, LynDee Walker and Terri L. Austin, also have stories set at the Heartache, a sketchy Elvis-themed motel in Memphis. We’ve all got Elvis impersonators and drag queens in our stories and had so much fun writing together. QUICK SKETCH is a prequel to PORTRAIT OF A DEAD GUY. Cherry and Todd are on their way to Vegas with a side stop at Graceland to help Todd’s cousin who has fallen victim to a scam. Of course, we all know what happened in Vegas, but Cherry and Todd don’t, so that novella was particularly fun to write.
Cherry Tucker’s fourth mystery is due to my editor in December, so look for that in 2014. I’m excited to dive back in to her world with a new mystery and more tangles in her personal life.
About Larissa Reinhart
Larissa Reinhart loves small town characters, particularly sassy women with a penchant for trouble. STILL LIFE IN BRUNSWICK STEW (May 2013) is the second in the Cherry Tucker Mystery Series. The first, PORTRAIT OF A DEAD GUY, is a 2012 Daphne du Maurier finalist, a 2012 The Emily finalist, and a 2011 Dixie Kane Memorial winner. She lives near Atlanta with her minions and Cairn Terrier, Biscuit. Visit her website, her Facebook page, or find her chatting with the Little Read Hens on Facebook.
Connect with Larissa:
Website: larissareinhart.com
Blog: larissareinhart.blogspot.com
Facebook page: facebook.com/RisWrites
Goodreads author page: goodreads.com/author/show/5806614.Larissa_Reinhart
Twitter: twitter.com/RisWrites
Publisher: henerypress.com
Book trailer:
Amazon: amazon.com/author/larissareinhart
Filed under: Between the Pages, Chick Lit Tours
