Kate Collins's Blog, page 188
July 18, 2014
ARE WRITERS LIKE SHARKS?
by Mary Kennedy
One of my friends commented that writers are like sharks, always on the move, because if we ever
stopped
moving, we would surely die! (actually, that's a common misconception about sharks. There's only one species of shark, "obligate ram ventilators." who will die if they stop moving. The rest can take pit stops to grab a breath.) But back to her theory. When I asked her to explain, she said, "You guys are always thinking, always watching everything, always coming up with characters and plots." She gave a little snort. "And when you're sleeping, you probably
dream
about books." (I may be mistaken, but I thought she sounded vaguely annoyed with me.) But I have to confess, in many ways, she's right. It's true that our brains are always "engaged," much to the annoyance of our non-writer pals. We never "chill out," we're always thinking, thinking.
If I go to a party--a rare event, I always have deadlines--I try to absorb everything I see, hear and feel. It's all material, after all. Last week, I saw a girl in tight white dress (if it were any tighter, it would be a tourniquet) and heard her whisper to a friend, "This dress--it was a gift." Really? I am fascinated and wonder who bought it--her hubby, standing at the bar downing a few shooters, her boyfriend, a flashy Lothario chatting up a redhead, or maybe she's lying and she bought it herself? (It's a designer dress, but then, she IS a hedge fund manager.). One look at a dress and my mind scoots down odd passageways. I immediately started thinking about how I could work the "girl in the white dress" into a murder mystery.
Odd bits of dialogue are always intriguing. I overheard two women talking at Starbucks. One said, "How are Walter and Francesca doing? I heard they were having some problems." Her friend shook her head sadly and replied, "Yeah, it's a shame. Things have never been the same with them--ever since he threw her through that plate glass window." Yowsers. I sipped my Chai tea and moved to another table.
And it doesn't have to be sights and sounds, even smells can trigger strong memories for us. I love honeysuckle, it always reminds me of "summer nights filled with magic and promise, when everything seems possible." One whiff of honeysuckle and I'm wrapped up in a romance novel in my head.
Sometimes a sight and smell together can move a writer to tears. I was walking with a friend when we passed a Victorian house surrounded by magnolia bushes. A young girl came out and let the screen door bang behind her. I was shocked when my friend's eyes suddenly got misty. I stopped dead in my tracks. "What's wrong?" I asked. She brushed her tears away and said sheepishly, "I know this sounds crazy, but the smell of the magnolia bushes, the front porch, the screen door banging on a summer night, it just all seems so sad."
Sad?
It turns out that she was flashing back to a memory of herself at age thirteen, spending the summer with her grandmother at the shore. It was happier times for her, and she captured that whole image--and those feelings--in a sort of freeze frame. The image was so vivid and so moving, it was hard to believe that twenty five years had passed. But I knew exactly what she meant, because the same sort of thing has happened to me. Do certain sights/sounds/smells trigger a memory for you? Can a sunset or a summer night bring back a wave of nostalgia? If so, you're probably a writer. Or have the soul of a writer... Mary Kennedy
One of my friends commented that writers are like sharks, always on the move, because if we ever
stopped
moving, we would surely die! (actually, that's a common misconception about sharks. There's only one species of shark, "obligate ram ventilators." who will die if they stop moving. The rest can take pit stops to grab a breath.) But back to her theory. When I asked her to explain, she said, "You guys are always thinking, always watching everything, always coming up with characters and plots." She gave a little snort. "And when you're sleeping, you probably
dream
about books." (I may be mistaken, but I thought she sounded vaguely annoyed with me.) But I have to confess, in many ways, she's right. It's true that our brains are always "engaged," much to the annoyance of our non-writer pals. We never "chill out," we're always thinking, thinking.
If I go to a party--a rare event, I always have deadlines--I try to absorb everything I see, hear and feel. It's all material, after all. Last week, I saw a girl in tight white dress (if it were any tighter, it would be a tourniquet) and heard her whisper to a friend, "This dress--it was a gift." Really? I am fascinated and wonder who bought it--her hubby, standing at the bar downing a few shooters, her boyfriend, a flashy Lothario chatting up a redhead, or maybe she's lying and she bought it herself? (It's a designer dress, but then, she IS a hedge fund manager.). One look at a dress and my mind scoots down odd passageways. I immediately started thinking about how I could work the "girl in the white dress" into a murder mystery.
Odd bits of dialogue are always intriguing. I overheard two women talking at Starbucks. One said, "How are Walter and Francesca doing? I heard they were having some problems." Her friend shook her head sadly and replied, "Yeah, it's a shame. Things have never been the same with them--ever since he threw her through that plate glass window." Yowsers. I sipped my Chai tea and moved to another table.
And it doesn't have to be sights and sounds, even smells can trigger strong memories for us. I love honeysuckle, it always reminds me of "summer nights filled with magic and promise, when everything seems possible." One whiff of honeysuckle and I'm wrapped up in a romance novel in my head.
Sometimes a sight and smell together can move a writer to tears. I was walking with a friend when we passed a Victorian house surrounded by magnolia bushes. A young girl came out and let the screen door bang behind her. I was shocked when my friend's eyes suddenly got misty. I stopped dead in my tracks. "What's wrong?" I asked. She brushed her tears away and said sheepishly, "I know this sounds crazy, but the smell of the magnolia bushes, the front porch, the screen door banging on a summer night, it just all seems so sad."
Sad?
It turns out that she was flashing back to a memory of herself at age thirteen, spending the summer with her grandmother at the shore. It was happier times for her, and she captured that whole image--and those feelings--in a sort of freeze frame. The image was so vivid and so moving, it was hard to believe that twenty five years had passed. But I knew exactly what she meant, because the same sort of thing has happened to me. Do certain sights/sounds/smells trigger a memory for you? Can a sunset or a summer night bring back a wave of nostalgia? If so, you're probably a writer. Or have the soul of a writer... Mary Kennedy
July 17, 2014
My New Cozy Series ...
by Lorraine Bartlett / Lorna Barrett / L.L. Bartlett
Writers write, but not always in a logical sequence.
Before I finished the first Jeff Resnick Mystery, Murder on the Mind, I'd already started Room At The Inn (what later became the third book in the series). Before I'd finished Room At The inn, I was already writing Cheated By Death (#4 in the series). Bound By Suggestion (#5 in the series) was written before Murder On The Mind (#1) ever saw print. (And Murder on the Mind is FREE for all e formats.) Confused? Yeah, me, too!
In between all those Jeff books (written under the name L.L. Bartlett), I started writing the Victoria Square Mysteries. A Craft Killing (then called A Matter of Murder, and I still prefer that title) and The Walled Flower were already written (under the name Lorraine Bartlett) before I wrote one word of Murder is Binding (and under another name--Lorna Barrett).
Confused yet?
In the past couple of weeks, I've been working on the first story in a new cozy mystery series that will be called the Lotus Bay Mysteries. The thing is, the idea for it came to me more than nine years ago. Poor Tori Cannon has been toasting her buns on the back burner for all those years! Now, finally, I'm beginning to tell her story. Tori is going to solve a number (and I hope a GREAT number) of crimes with the help of her BFF Kathy Blake. And they've got new friends, too. (I haven't written their parts yet, but I know that Noreen and Anissa will be very important to them WHEN I FINALLY GET TO WRITE THEM).
So, what am I trying to tell you?
I've written a prequel to the Lotus Bay Mysteries, which I've sat on for more than a year because during that time I wrote my short story, Blue Christmas (which I only sat on for about four months), and then Dark Waters (Jeff Resnick #6) and Evolution (a collection of Jeff Resnick short stories which took place BEFORE the first Jeff Resnick Mystery, except -- most of them were written DURING the course of writing the first four books). Still, Tori kept poking my brain and saying, "Hey, START WRITING ABOUT KATHY AND ME NOW!"
(And what about Sabina, who's been sitting around even LONGER than Tori waiting for her story to be told. And then there's Lee, a cozy male protagonist (which my 4th agent said would never sell ... but NEVER say NEVER to me).)
So, I'm almost ready to release Tori's and Kathy's first (mini) mystery. It's called PANTY RAID and I hope it will be available by next week. It's currently being copy edited. (Sorry, but it's short, so will only be available in e format.)
So, when will the first book in the Lotus Bay series (in e and print formats) be available? I'm shooting for early October.
Meanwhile, I've got plans for a new Jeff Resnick short story (the next book is still percolating on the back burner), and a new paranormal series (like Jeff, it'll be edgier than my cozies), and I'm already plotting Booktown #10 (#9 will be published next June ... and oh, poor Tricia ... she needs a break).
Gosh, I feel exhausted just thinking of all the work I need to do in the next few months/years ... but you know what? I anticipate it all being a LOT of FUN, too! And I hope my readers feel the same way.
I'll be announcing the availability of PANTY RAID next week on my Facebook pages and on my website. Oh, and it will come out under my Lorraine Bartlett name.
Stay tuned!
Writers write, but not always in a logical sequence.
Before I finished the first Jeff Resnick Mystery, Murder on the Mind, I'd already started Room At The Inn (what later became the third book in the series). Before I'd finished Room At The inn, I was already writing Cheated By Death (#4 in the series). Bound By Suggestion (#5 in the series) was written before Murder On The Mind (#1) ever saw print. (And Murder on the Mind is FREE for all e formats.) Confused? Yeah, me, too!In between all those Jeff books (written under the name L.L. Bartlett), I started writing the Victoria Square Mysteries. A Craft Killing (then called A Matter of Murder, and I still prefer that title) and The Walled Flower were already written (under the name Lorraine Bartlett) before I wrote one word of Murder is Binding (and under another name--Lorna Barrett).
Confused yet?
In the past couple of weeks, I've been working on the first story in a new cozy mystery series that will be called the Lotus Bay Mysteries. The thing is, the idea for it came to me more than nine years ago. Poor Tori Cannon has been toasting her buns on the back burner for all those years! Now, finally, I'm beginning to tell her story. Tori is going to solve a number (and I hope a GREAT number) of crimes with the help of her BFF Kathy Blake. And they've got new friends, too. (I haven't written their parts yet, but I know that Noreen and Anissa will be very important to them WHEN I FINALLY GET TO WRITE THEM).So, what am I trying to tell you?
I've written a prequel to the Lotus Bay Mysteries, which I've sat on for more than a year because during that time I wrote my short story, Blue Christmas (which I only sat on for about four months), and then Dark Waters (Jeff Resnick #6) and Evolution (a collection of Jeff Resnick short stories which took place BEFORE the first Jeff Resnick Mystery, except -- most of them were written DURING the course of writing the first four books). Still, Tori kept poking my brain and saying, "Hey, START WRITING ABOUT KATHY AND ME NOW!"(And what about Sabina, who's been sitting around even LONGER than Tori waiting for her story to be told. And then there's Lee, a cozy male protagonist (which my 4th agent said would never sell ... but NEVER say NEVER to me).)
So, I'm almost ready to release Tori's and Kathy's first (mini) mystery. It's called PANTY RAID and I hope it will be available by next week. It's currently being copy edited. (Sorry, but it's short, so will only be available in e format.)So, when will the first book in the Lotus Bay series (in e and print formats) be available? I'm shooting for early October.
Meanwhile, I've got plans for a new Jeff Resnick short story (the next book is still percolating on the back burner), and a new paranormal series (like Jeff, it'll be edgier than my cozies), and I'm already plotting Booktown #10 (#9 will be published next June ... and oh, poor Tricia ... she needs a break).
Gosh, I feel exhausted just thinking of all the work I need to do in the next few months/years ... but you know what? I anticipate it all being a LOT of FUN, too! And I hope my readers feel the same way.I'll be announcing the availability of PANTY RAID next week on my Facebook pages and on my website. Oh, and it will come out under my Lorraine Bartlett name.
Stay tuned!
July 16, 2014
Don't Let It In The Door!
From the fevered brain of Mary Jane Maffini aka Victoria Abbott It came in through the front door and ate our brains. Then another one came and another. No, not aliens. How passé. I’m talking about mail order catalogs and a few in particular.
The latest to arrive isHammacher Schlemmer mid-summer supplement. It will take pride of place next to Signals and Lee Valley’s Make Summer Sizzle.
It wasn’t long before my husband stood in the doorway and said, “I have to have this. Lifetime warranty,”
I gawked at the image. “The Remote Controlled Tarantula? Really?” Of course, I immediately could see applications for this. Better not to go down that road. Some people have weak hearts. Still … I said, “It says indoor use only but I notice they have The Best Nose Hair Trimmer.”
“Very funny, but look at this!” he said, flipping pages with a wild look in his eye. “The Hand Reflexology Massager.”
“Huh. Pricey, but how about The Dance of the Musical Plum Fairy Porcelain Musical Egg? It comes with a certificate of authenticity. Don’t shake your head just because it has a dancing fairy. Maybe we should get The Live Video Camera Drone?”
He raised an eyebrow. “That drone’s over a thousand dollars. We have to be practical. The Laser Illuminating Binoculars, now they’d be useful. You can illuminate objects in the dark over 150 yards away. Quite reasonably priced.
“The neighbors will be thrilled. But hey, there’s The Portable Pet Staircase or Ramp. And The Grill Cleaning Robot plus …”
We want that portable pet staircase. We're not getting any younger!And so it will go, until a new catalog comes along. Hours of first-class entertainment. One of these days we’ll cave yet again and order something. I am keeping a list of amusing possibilities. There are no tarantulas on it.
How about you? Are you a catalog junkie? What’s the weirdest thing you ever bought? Don't hold back!
July 15, 2014
The Great Junk-food Smack-down
Here’s the thing…I love junk food. Refer to it all the time in my books. Reagan loves Snickers, she and Auntie KiKi are always at the Cakery Bakery, and they are always swilling martinis on the front porch and talking murder. Not sure if a martin is junk food or not since it has olives.
I’ve read the articles, listed to my doc go on and on about nutrition, listed to my kids preach at me about what I should eat but sometimes I just want a real cookie. Or hot dog. Or bag of chips. Not some fat-free, soy-based health food in disguise. Blah!
So at great peril I set out to find the best-tasting genuine junk food.
After chowing down on 20 packages of goodies (and probably around 10,000 calories), and deciding that picking up extra Zumba classes was worth it I came up with a list.
Doritos! The cheesy chips are a Super Bowl party staple and a solid companion to a PB & J. The classic nacho flavor will forever reign as a snack-time favorite, but the best part is the collection of flavors like Cool Ranch, All Nighter Cheeseburger and Blazin' Buffalo & Ranch. 
And then there’s Snickers!!!!! Holy crap! I am such a Snickers fan. It’s the number one candy bar with more than 15 million bars being produced every single day. That's a whole lot of peanuts — 99 tons of them, to be exact. Pass the Snickers!And then there’s pork rinds. Not my personal fav but hey if it’s junk food I’m a fan. Take the fatty skin of a pig and fry it in yet more fat. The hot-oil bath balloons the rinds to more than five times their original size. Pork rinds have no carbs and top the charts in protein, making them hardly a junk food in my book.
French Fries! And IMO the best of the best is Mickey-Ds. There's something magical about those golden tubers extending from the bright red McDonald's fry box. Though cops in particular get a bad rap for their doughnut consumption, this form of fried dough is loved everywhere. Glazed or topped with sugar, sometimes filled with jam or custard, their most iconic shape is the round ring (though the holes themselves are really great). Despite the number of American chains like Dunkin'
Donuts and Krispy Kreme, Canada actually has more doughnut shops per capita than any other country. Yea, Canada!
Moon Pies! A Southern treat!! They come in chocolate, vanilla and banana, and are such a Southern staple that since 2008, Mobile, Ala., has dropped a 12-ft. mechanical moon pie to ring in the New Year!There are few experiences more American than finding your fingers covered in sticky orange dust, the inevitable result of a cheesy-puff snack attack. Cheese puffs are a puffed-corn snack that also comes in ball and curls. Most famous are Cheetos featuring Chester Cheetah, the cheesiest cartoon cat of all time.
Of course there is the all-time fav junk food…cookies and chocolate chip is the king of cookies…or Oreo! Bring on the milk!
As much as we love it, pepperoni pizza is junk. Delicious, greasy, gooey junk. The grain is enriched, the cheese is piled on and the meat is highly processed. It's easy to see how pizza takes a turn from health food to junk food. But hey, I’m so not complaining. A beer and pepperoni pizza! Bring it on. Okay, these are my favs…what’s yours? When you gotta have junk what do you splurge on? Let me know and I’ll draw two names from the answers and give away two of my romance books. Please check back to see if you are a winner.
Off to Zumba! Oink!Hugs, Duffy
Duffy BrownConsignment Shop Mysteries Iced Chiffon Killer in Crinolines Pearls and Poison 3/14Cycle Path mysteries Geared for the Grave 12/14
Subject: The July 2014 Report
* * * * * * * * * *Welcome to Dru's Cozy Report: July 2014. This month is a short one with only one recently released new series for your reading pleasure. Enjoy!
Ill-Gotten Panes by Jennifer McAndrews
Series: Stained-Glass #1
Publisher: Berkley Prime Crime
This evenly paced light fare with a comfortable tone and chapters that flowed easily from one scene to the next culminated in a good mystery that kept me going until the end. The author did a great job in moving the story forward as I had to know what happens next. With a list of suspects who could have done the deed, it was fun watching it all fall into places with hints here and there that kept me on my toes as to the identity of the killer. With endearing characters that I wanted to embrace, the author created a solid plot that was likable and I can’t wait to see what further adventure awaits Georgia and her friends in Wenwood, NY in this pleasantly appealing debut series.After a banking scandal loses Georgia her job and fiancé, she decides that a change of scenery will help piece her life back together. But escaping to her grandfather’s house in the old-fashioned, brick-making Hudson River hamlet of Wenwood, New York, turns out to be less relaxing than she expects. Not only is the close-knit community on edge about their beloved brickworks being turned into a marina to draw in tourists, one of those most opposed to the project winds up dead—cracked over the head with a famous Wenwood brick.
Georgia wouldn’t be broken up over the news except for the fact that the main suspect is the deceased’s biggest adversary—her grandfather. Now, to remove the stain from her grandy’s record, Georgia will have to figure out who in town was willing to kill to keep the renovation project alive, before someone else is permanently cut out of the picture.
Visit Jennifer at jennifermcandrews.com
July 13, 2014
ENTERTAINED WITH A STORY
By Kate Collins
I received this letter from my childhood friend Candace last week that I decided to share with you because it almost brought me to tears.
Here’s her letter:
“There was an article in Tuesday's Wall Street Journal that caught my attention. It was by Robert A. Iger, CEO of Walt Disney Company, and talked about leisure time. Walt Disney was quoted and I thought of you..
`As Walt also predicted, people's need to be entertained with storytelling has endured; We gravitate to the universal stories that bind us-tales of adventure, heroism and love, tales that provide comfort and escape. Great storytelling still remains the bedrock of great entertainment.’
And although Walt Disney made that statement in 1956, Mr Iger concludes that he `share(s) Walt Disney's optimism and his belief that whatever lies ahead, it will be defined by great storytelling. Just like it has always been.’
Looks like you have an enduring skill, there, Kate... a job security that is defined by the human race... the need for love, adventure, escape, heroism, comfort... You are on top of it, girl!”
Xoxo
Candace
I am so appreciative of Candace’s kind words. Love, adventure, escape, heroism and comfort, along with a dose of comedy, is exactly what Abby Knight and the Flower Shop Mysteries are all about.
I’ve always believed that stories help us navigate the rough waters of life, showing us how others have coped with every problem known to mankind and survived (for the most part.) Stories give us guidelines for how to live better lives. Stories inspire us to take up swords against injustice. Stories ask us to suspend belief in order to make a larger point. Stories provide a haven away from the stresses of our lives where we can laugh and cheer, safe in the knowledge that everything will turn out all right. (At least in most books.)
And I firmly believe Robert Iger had it right – that no matter where the future takes us, and no matter what form it comes in, there will always be a need for a story.
Amen?
I received this letter from my childhood friend Candace last week that I decided to share with you because it almost brought me to tears.Here’s her letter:
“There was an article in Tuesday's Wall Street Journal that caught my attention. It was by Robert A. Iger, CEO of Walt Disney Company, and talked about leisure time. Walt Disney was quoted and I thought of you..
`As Walt also predicted, people's need to be entertained with storytelling has endured; We gravitate to the universal stories that bind us-tales of adventure, heroism and love, tales that provide comfort and escape. Great storytelling still remains the bedrock of great entertainment.’
And although Walt Disney made that statement in 1956, Mr Iger concludes that he `share(s) Walt Disney's optimism and his belief that whatever lies ahead, it will be defined by great storytelling. Just like it has always been.’
Looks like you have an enduring skill, there, Kate... a job security that is defined by the human race... the need for love, adventure, escape, heroism, comfort... You are on top of it, girl!”
Xoxo
Candace
I am so appreciative of Candace’s kind words. Love, adventure, escape, heroism and comfort, along with a dose of comedy, is exactly what Abby Knight and the Flower Shop Mysteries are all about.
I’ve always believed that stories help us navigate the rough waters of life, showing us how others have coped with every problem known to mankind and survived (for the most part.) Stories give us guidelines for how to live better lives. Stories inspire us to take up swords against injustice. Stories ask us to suspend belief in order to make a larger point. Stories provide a haven away from the stresses of our lives where we can laugh and cheer, safe in the knowledge that everything will turn out all right. (At least in most books.)
And I firmly believe Robert Iger had it right – that no matter where the future takes us, and no matter what form it comes in, there will always be a need for a story.
Amen?
July 12, 2014
The Last Move?
by Leann
I am now writing a THIRD book in the rent house, not something I ever thought would happen. If I believed I would ever get used to this rental house, I was so wrong. If anything, I have become more and more uncomfortable here. I feel ... homeless. But that will soon end--perhaps even in the year 2014.
The county inspector did his thing on the new house and though we had a little Sheetrock to add under the basement stairs (which has already been finished since he came), he told us we could start moving boxes into the house. Did that mean the cursed driveway was finished? NO. Of course not. They've only cancelled our work about a dozen times to do other jobs.
But the box thing has started all over again. Moving is not fun. I have never heard one person ever say--I can't wait to pack, haul, drive, unpack, lift and oh, my favorite--argue. Apparently I need lots of supervising when it comes to what I want to save and what I want to throw away. But, at this point in my life, this will probably be the last time we move. Most times, I can look back and say, "Wow, I had no idea that was the last patient I would ever treat, or that was the last time I spoke to my mom or my dad before they passed." This time, I can predict rather than look back. I won't be doing this again.
There are two bedrooms in this rental that have been packed to the ceiling with boxes and other stuff we haven't looked at for a long time. For me, it was a little awful to see things hidden away that I should be using. The good news is, we have been moving boxes this past week and again I am getting the third degree on why I am saving certain items.
I kept my mouth shut until two printers and an ancient computer tower came out of one bedroom. What? I packed those dinosaurs to go to the electronic recycling center in Houston two and a half years ago. But somehow they ended up here. I wonder how that happened. Oh ... I live with a potential hoarder who cannot bear to part with retro electronic technology (yes, that's what it's called) like old printers and hard drives.
That's how it somehow ended up here in South Carolina! If not for me, he would be buried in a sea of junk mail, paper, tools, ancient furniture, ugly bedding and curtains ... oh, he'd be lost. They'd need more than a bobcat to dig him out. Those things have now been disposed of as of yesterday... I hope.
This very moment the general contractor aka my husband (who REALLY has done a great job wading into unfamiliar water building this house) is over at the property while I write this. He was told they were pouring cement today. I have shed too many tears of disappointment in the last several months when they cancelled our job over and over and over, but it is happening. But don't for a minute believe a person who writes murder mysteries for a living isn't thinking about revenge for a certain subcontractor. Fictional revenge, of course, but it will feel so good. Trust me, there will be concrete involved the 2015 Cats in Trouble mystery!
And update--here it is. (Who would have thought two years ago I would be so excited to see THIS!)
I am now writing a THIRD book in the rent house, not something I ever thought would happen. If I believed I would ever get used to this rental house, I was so wrong. If anything, I have become more and more uncomfortable here. I feel ... homeless. But that will soon end--perhaps even in the year 2014.
The county inspector did his thing on the new house and though we had a little Sheetrock to add under the basement stairs (which has already been finished since he came), he told us we could start moving boxes into the house. Did that mean the cursed driveway was finished? NO. Of course not. They've only cancelled our work about a dozen times to do other jobs.
But the box thing has started all over again. Moving is not fun. I have never heard one person ever say--I can't wait to pack, haul, drive, unpack, lift and oh, my favorite--argue. Apparently I need lots of supervising when it comes to what I want to save and what I want to throw away. But, at this point in my life, this will probably be the last time we move. Most times, I can look back and say, "Wow, I had no idea that was the last patient I would ever treat, or that was the last time I spoke to my mom or my dad before they passed." This time, I can predict rather than look back. I won't be doing this again.There are two bedrooms in this rental that have been packed to the ceiling with boxes and other stuff we haven't looked at for a long time. For me, it was a little awful to see things hidden away that I should be using. The good news is, we have been moving boxes this past week and again I am getting the third degree on why I am saving certain items.
I kept my mouth shut until two printers and an ancient computer tower came out of one bedroom. What? I packed those dinosaurs to go to the electronic recycling center in Houston two and a half years ago. But somehow they ended up here. I wonder how that happened. Oh ... I live with a potential hoarder who cannot bear to part with retro electronic technology (yes, that's what it's called) like old printers and hard drives.
That's how it somehow ended up here in South Carolina! If not for me, he would be buried in a sea of junk mail, paper, tools, ancient furniture, ugly bedding and curtains ... oh, he'd be lost. They'd need more than a bobcat to dig him out. Those things have now been disposed of as of yesterday... I hope.This very moment the general contractor aka my husband (who REALLY has done a great job wading into unfamiliar water building this house) is over at the property while I write this. He was told they were pouring cement today. I have shed too many tears of disappointment in the last several months when they cancelled our job over and over and over, but it is happening. But don't for a minute believe a person who writes murder mysteries for a living isn't thinking about revenge for a certain subcontractor. Fictional revenge, of course, but it will feel so good. Trust me, there will be concrete involved the 2015 Cats in Trouble mystery!
And update--here it is. (Who would have thought two years ago I would be so excited to see THIS!)
July 11, 2014
MORE BOOK SIGNINGS FROM HELL
by Mary Kennedy
As promised here are some more "book signing horror stories." The response to last week's post http://tinyurl.com/ofrdge5
was so great, I thought you might enjoy a few more.
1. Tantric Sex Guy approached me and cut right to the chase. He didn't even bother looking at the neat pyramid of my books and said bluntly, "Are you into tantric sex?"
Answer: (after taking a deep, calming breath). "No, afraid not. I'm here to sign books." (hoping to redirect him). "Is your husband around?" He looks nervously from side to side."Yes" I say brightly. (improvising madly). "He's two aisles over, checking out the military history books. He's an ex-Navy Seal."
"You're married to a Navy Seal?""I sure am!" (I give a big fake smile. Actually I'm married to a British scientist, but that didn't sound deadly enough). "And he's wildly jealous. He nearly killed a man in Dallas, just for looking at me.""Maybe I better come back later.""Good idea! Bye, now!" I give a cheery little wave as he lopes off. He has a strange gait, like a feral dog or a wolf and I remember to make a note of that detail for a future book. (Luckily, for writers, everything is material.) 2. The Guy with His Grandmother's Memoirs. He plunked down an enormous manuscript on the signing desk--it was the size of three Manhattan phone books.
"My grandmother in Iran wrote her memoirs," he begins, "and her English isn't so good. I'm having trouble finding an agent." (what a surprise.)"Yes?" I say, trying not to show too much enthusiasm."I thought maybe you could read her book and recommend it to your agent.""Well, I'm afraid I really couldn't do that--""You'll need a Farsi dictionary," he says, cutting me off, "so I brought you one." (what a thoughtful guy!)
Sure enough, he plunks a Farsi-English dictionary on top of the ginormous manuscript. "Some chapters are written entirely in Farsi, I tried to write some notes in the margins, but I gave up after the first 300 pages.""I'm not surprised."Memoir guy leaves, looks disappointed. 3. Mr. 007 "You really should write my life story," he tells me, "we could make millions." He vaguely looks like a guy who knocked on my door last week, trying to sell me magazine subscriptions."We could?""Sure! With your looks and my brains, we could clean up.""Hmmm..."(pretending to consider). "You said, 'with
my
looks and
your
brains,' why couldn't I be the one with the brains?""Well, it just doesn't work that way," he says irritably. "Now here's the thing, I'll give you the ideas and you just write them up. You have the easy part," he adds generously. "We'll split the profits 50-50. Are you with me, so far?""I think so." (wow, he really knows how to tempt a girl.)"My life is so exciting, my friends call me 007."
"They do?" "Yes, and I'll tell you why. I love excitement and danger, I love to explore new places and I'm the man of a million faces. Women throw themselves at me everywhere I go.""Really? That's fascinating. Are you a spy or something?"
"Not quite." For the first time, a note of doubt creeps into his voice."But what do you
do
?" I persist. "Do you have a business card?""Sure." He pulls out a card and hands to me.I read the card. 007--the man of a million faces--sells Venetian blinds. I hastily get rid of him.
4. ZZ Top
walks up to the table. Okay, it's not really ZZ Top. but he has a long white beard.
"Hi there! We went to high school together." "I don't think so," I say politely. "We did, we did!! I sat right behind you in algebra."I smile. "I went to a Catholic girls' school, a boarding school, actually.""Oh." He looks crushed and I feel vaguely sorry for him. "Maybe I got it wrong, I'm getting sort of forgetful.""That's okay. Have a nice day." He looks at least 120 years old and thinks we went to school together. (Note to self: look into Botox immediately and get the name of a good plastic surgeon.) So "another day, another dollar," as they say. Except this time, I didn't make a dollar, I didn't sell a single book. But in the end, it all paid off. Book sales? Zero. Weird characters? Priceless! Mary Kennedy
As promised here are some more "book signing horror stories." The response to last week's post http://tinyurl.com/ofrdge5
was so great, I thought you might enjoy a few more.
1. Tantric Sex Guy approached me and cut right to the chase. He didn't even bother looking at the neat pyramid of my books and said bluntly, "Are you into tantric sex?"
Answer: (after taking a deep, calming breath). "No, afraid not. I'm here to sign books." (hoping to redirect him). "Is your husband around?" He looks nervously from side to side."Yes" I say brightly. (improvising madly). "He's two aisles over, checking out the military history books. He's an ex-Navy Seal."
"You're married to a Navy Seal?""I sure am!" (I give a big fake smile. Actually I'm married to a British scientist, but that didn't sound deadly enough). "And he's wildly jealous. He nearly killed a man in Dallas, just for looking at me.""Maybe I better come back later.""Good idea! Bye, now!" I give a cheery little wave as he lopes off. He has a strange gait, like a feral dog or a wolf and I remember to make a note of that detail for a future book. (Luckily, for writers, everything is material.) 2. The Guy with His Grandmother's Memoirs. He plunked down an enormous manuscript on the signing desk--it was the size of three Manhattan phone books.
"My grandmother in Iran wrote her memoirs," he begins, "and her English isn't so good. I'm having trouble finding an agent." (what a surprise.)"Yes?" I say, trying not to show too much enthusiasm."I thought maybe you could read her book and recommend it to your agent.""Well, I'm afraid I really couldn't do that--""You'll need a Farsi dictionary," he says, cutting me off, "so I brought you one." (what a thoughtful guy!)
Sure enough, he plunks a Farsi-English dictionary on top of the ginormous manuscript. "Some chapters are written entirely in Farsi, I tried to write some notes in the margins, but I gave up after the first 300 pages.""I'm not surprised."Memoir guy leaves, looks disappointed. 3. Mr. 007 "You really should write my life story," he tells me, "we could make millions." He vaguely looks like a guy who knocked on my door last week, trying to sell me magazine subscriptions."We could?""Sure! With your looks and my brains, we could clean up.""Hmmm..."(pretending to consider). "You said, 'with
my
looks and
your
brains,' why couldn't I be the one with the brains?""Well, it just doesn't work that way," he says irritably. "Now here's the thing, I'll give you the ideas and you just write them up. You have the easy part," he adds generously. "We'll split the profits 50-50. Are you with me, so far?""I think so." (wow, he really knows how to tempt a girl.)"My life is so exciting, my friends call me 007."
"They do?" "Yes, and I'll tell you why. I love excitement and danger, I love to explore new places and I'm the man of a million faces. Women throw themselves at me everywhere I go.""Really? That's fascinating. Are you a spy or something?"
"Not quite." For the first time, a note of doubt creeps into his voice."But what do you
do
?" I persist. "Do you have a business card?""Sure." He pulls out a card and hands to me.I read the card. 007--the man of a million faces--sells Venetian blinds. I hastily get rid of him.
4. ZZ Top
walks up to the table. Okay, it's not really ZZ Top. but he has a long white beard.
"Hi there! We went to high school together." "I don't think so," I say politely. "We did, we did!! I sat right behind you in algebra."I smile. "I went to a Catholic girls' school, a boarding school, actually.""Oh." He looks crushed and I feel vaguely sorry for him. "Maybe I got it wrong, I'm getting sort of forgetful.""That's okay. Have a nice day." He looks at least 120 years old and thinks we went to school together. (Note to self: look into Botox immediately and get the name of a good plastic surgeon.) So "another day, another dollar," as they say. Except this time, I didn't make a dollar, I didn't sell a single book. But in the end, it all paid off. Book sales? Zero. Weird characters? Priceless! Mary Kennedy
Lap sitter
by Lorraine Bartlett / Lorna Barrett / L.L. Bartlett
In early May, I broke my office heater. I had taken it to our family's cottage for the weekend (it gets REALLY cold there) and brought it home. My office is the farthest from the furnace and it's COLD there from October through May.
The heater's wheels idn't turn as well as they should and as I was pushing it toward the door to the house -- oops! It tipped over. The next thing you know there's oil allllllll over the driveway. Luckily, There was cat litter in the garage. I tossed it on the oil and the next day you wouldn't know it had ever spilled. Of course, the heater was a goner. It went out with the trash on Tuesday, but it was rescued by someone looking for metal to recycle so I guess alls well with that. Except for one thing.
My cat Betsy was very fond of that heater. In fact, she practically lived next to it all winter. She's got a cushion she sleeps on on one side, and a towel on the other. Sometimes there's a bit of snarling if Chester decides HE, too, wants to sleep there during office hours.
Since there was no more heater, Betsy decided she was going to sit on the only other warm object in the office. ME.
Betsy takes a break on Mr. L's foot for a change.This is all well and good for five or ten minutes. But even a 7 pound cat gets heavy after a while. And it's extremely difficult to type when said cat decides to CONTINUALLY rub her head on your hands WHILE you're trying to type. And when typing is a VITAL part of your job ... well, let's just say productivity goes down pretty quickly.
Betsy likes to sit on my lap first thing in the morning. All morning. Right after lunch, most of the afternoon, and then in the evening when I'm trying to read the newspaper. I figure she puts in 4-5 hours a day on my lap.
I often sit in the living room to edit what I've written. My butt isn't in the chair 30 seconds before there she is ready to spend the next hour on my lap.
I'm not really complaining. Betsy is almost 18. I don't know how much longer we'll be blessed with her company, and I want to make her happy. So ... I guess she'll continue to sit on my lap for as long as it pleases her ... and me.
Have you got a lap sitter?
In early May, I broke my office heater. I had taken it to our family's cottage for the weekend (it gets REALLY cold there) and brought it home. My office is the farthest from the furnace and it's COLD there from October through May.The heater's wheels idn't turn as well as they should and as I was pushing it toward the door to the house -- oops! It tipped over. The next thing you know there's oil allllllll over the driveway. Luckily, There was cat litter in the garage. I tossed it on the oil and the next day you wouldn't know it had ever spilled. Of course, the heater was a goner. It went out with the trash on Tuesday, but it was rescued by someone looking for metal to recycle so I guess alls well with that. Except for one thing.
My cat Betsy was very fond of that heater. In fact, she practically lived next to it all winter. She's got a cushion she sleeps on on one side, and a towel on the other. Sometimes there's a bit of snarling if Chester decides HE, too, wants to sleep there during office hours.
Since there was no more heater, Betsy decided she was going to sit on the only other warm object in the office. ME.
Betsy takes a break on Mr. L's foot for a change.This is all well and good for five or ten minutes. But even a 7 pound cat gets heavy after a while. And it's extremely difficult to type when said cat decides to CONTINUALLY rub her head on your hands WHILE you're trying to type. And when typing is a VITAL part of your job ... well, let's just say productivity goes down pretty quickly.Betsy likes to sit on my lap first thing in the morning. All morning. Right after lunch, most of the afternoon, and then in the evening when I'm trying to read the newspaper. I figure she puts in 4-5 hours a day on my lap.
I often sit in the living room to edit what I've written. My butt isn't in the chair 30 seconds before there she is ready to spend the next hour on my lap.
I'm not really complaining. Betsy is almost 18. I don't know how much longer we'll be blessed with her company, and I want to make her happy. So ... I guess she'll continue to sit on my lap for as long as it pleases her ... and me.
Have you got a lap sitter?
July 9, 2014
Attention Michelangelo: here are my thoughts on painting
By Mary Jane Maffini aka Victoria Abbott
I love color. The saddest year of my life was when we moved into a house with soft grey walls. It was like living in a raincloud. I was too depressed to write until they were painted yellow. Now it is time to paint again and I realized when looking at my favorite paint chips that all my walls are painted in food colors: baquette (a nice bread crust shade), guacamole, butter cream, and vanilla. In the last house, my kitchen was asparagus. I don’t care if the contemporary style is beige or grey or greige or white, I want color. I have it too.
I really love Leann’s red door.
Having said that, I don’t want to be the one to PUT that color on the walls. My painting history is not a happy one. There was the time I stepped in the paint tray. And the time I knocked the paint can over. You get the picture, before I even mention the time my dog’s (the late lamented Smudge) lovely big furry tail got into the paint can and, on hearing screams, the panicked pooch fled up two flights of stairs spraying paint everywhere on the walls and hardwood stairs.
Wasn't me!!!! It was some other dog.
So I’m nervous. Not only do I have to paint, but I have to paint some walls white. By the time you read this, I’ll be at the cottage changing our blue kitchen walls to white. It’s a long story and I’ll show and tell next week.
Will you wish me luck? I’m sure even if the walls turn out white, the air will be blue. I can’t figure out how Michelangelo managed the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel without killing himself, but I’m sure he didn’t step in the paint,
WHAT COULD GO WRONG?
What about you? Are you a skilled painter? Please supply your tricks of the trade, such as don’t put feet in paint tray. Don’t let me be alone in this. Share your horror stories and opinions. And hey, where’s the paint remover?
I love color. The saddest year of my life was when we moved into a house with soft grey walls. It was like living in a raincloud. I was too depressed to write until they were painted yellow. Now it is time to paint again and I realized when looking at my favorite paint chips that all my walls are painted in food colors: baquette (a nice bread crust shade), guacamole, butter cream, and vanilla. In the last house, my kitchen was asparagus. I don’t care if the contemporary style is beige or grey or greige or white, I want color. I have it too.
I really love Leann’s red door.
Having said that, I don’t want to be the one to PUT that color on the walls. My painting history is not a happy one. There was the time I stepped in the paint tray. And the time I knocked the paint can over. You get the picture, before I even mention the time my dog’s (the late lamented Smudge) lovely big furry tail got into the paint can and, on hearing screams, the panicked pooch fled up two flights of stairs spraying paint everywhere on the walls and hardwood stairs.
Wasn't me!!!! It was some other dog. So I’m nervous. Not only do I have to paint, but I have to paint some walls white. By the time you read this, I’ll be at the cottage changing our blue kitchen walls to white. It’s a long story and I’ll show and tell next week.
Will you wish me luck? I’m sure even if the walls turn out white, the air will be blue. I can’t figure out how Michelangelo managed the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel without killing himself, but I’m sure he didn’t step in the paint,
WHAT COULD GO WRONG?What about you? Are you a skilled painter? Please supply your tricks of the trade, such as don’t put feet in paint tray. Don’t let me be alone in this. Share your horror stories and opinions. And hey, where’s the paint remover?
