Emilie Richards's Blog, page 97

Watering the Newly Planted Seeds of a Novel

Next to “where do you get your ideas?” the question I am most asked is how long it takes me to write a book.

That question is asked a variety of ways. Some people, when learning I’ve published more than seventy novels, seem to believe I walk into my study every morning, press a button and a new book shoots out of my printer as I finish my first cup of coffee. Writers struggling with their own books want reassurance that someday their own books will be finished. Readers hungry for more in a series or simply more of my writing want reassurance I’m working hard enough.

The honest answer to the question is this:  A book takes as long as it takes.  Some come quickly.  Some take years of starts and stops, hair-pulling and foot stomping, far too many moments of elation and despair.

And the truth about that?  The hardest to write are not necessarily the best.  Ernest Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises took barely two months to write.  Nobody’s complaining about the finished product.

Writing is hard work.  So is not writing.  In the past few months I’ve done a lot of the latter.  Here’s how that’s gone.

Before I turned in No River Too Wide I brainstormed the next book in the Goddesses Anonymous series.  And since that time?

The story has percolated.
New bits and pieces have magically appeared to round out the ideas I took away from BSing.
New insights into the lives of the characters have appeared to me
Characters from past books have stopped by to give me their thoughts

And finally?  Finally, last week, almost five months after that brainstorming week, I sat down and wrote a nine page proposal for my editor, explaining who the characters were, how the story begins, what the major conflicts are, the most important plot points and of course, the ending.

Five months went by.  I could have done this four months ago, or even immediately following my brainstorming session.  Instead I let it sit while I finished No River Too Wide, moved back to Florida, had knee surgery, worked on my new website (coming soon) and responded to and checked/rechecked final edits of River.  By then my editor was ready for the next book and I was ready to begin it.

Did having those extra months to consider the novel help?  Was I aware of the story at every given moment?  Making mental lists, constantly trying on new backgrounds for characters? Truthfully? No, I wasn’t.

But every once in a while something major would occur to me.  I would read a piece in the paper that reminded me of one of my new characters, and I would deepen my perspective.  I saw several items online that encouraged me to go in a different direction in one important place in the story. I paid close attention to anything in the news about an issue that affects the story.  In short, while I wasn’t consciously thinking about the novel at all times and in all places, it was still simmering on the back burner of my unconscious, growing tastier, meatier, and more complex in flavor and texture.

Writers all work differently.   This is is my way.  Now I wait for my publisher to decide whether they want this novel or any novel.  In the meantime the story is no longer simmering.  Now it occupies a front burner. My editor likes it.  I like it.  Most important I think you’ll like it.  I’m ready to write.

And the Winner is. . .

Congratulations to Sandy Heringer who was the winner of a copy of Tear Down and Die by Joanna Campbell Slan.  The first book in Joanna’s new mystery series was featured on Fiction Friday a week ago.  As always random.org made the selection.

Sunday Inspiration: Don’t Forget To Say I Love You

If you’ve read One Mountain Away, the first book of my Goddesses Anonymous series, you know that Charlotte, the main character, looks back on her life and the mistakes she’s made.

I stumbled across this passage and decided to post it  for Sunday Inspiration just before Valentine’s Day. Not because the quote is sentimental or effusive, which we often expect. Because I think what Charlotte says here in her First Day Journal is so important to remember as we approach the holiday.

When Ethan and I lived together, I was always in charge of coffee and Taylor’s school day while he cooked. Ethan’s culinary skills vanished at noon, but his breakfasts were extraordinary.

I’m sorry now that I didn’t eat more, that I worried about my weight or my schedule too much to sit across from him at the breakfast table enjoying his omelets or waffles. That whether Taylor’s hair was perfectly combed or her homework in the right section of her backpack mattered more to me than gratitude.

I ‘m sorry now that before we walked out the door to start our days, I so often forgot to tell them both how much I loved them.

Today’s inspiration is simple.  Forget the things that don’t matter, and remember to notice and celebrate the things that do.  Most important let’s never cease telling the people we love how much we love them.  Not just on Valentine’s Day, but every day we’re together.

Charlotte was given a second chance to make things right.  If you need a second chance, could this be the day to make it happen?

Fiction Friday: A Tale of Two Biddies

Happy Friday, avid readers. Casey Daniels/Kylie Logan has visited us before, but today I asked her to return with the second book in her new mystery series, A Tale of Two Biddies. I love Kylie’s titles. Does this one sound familiar? Not surprisingly. Each title and each novel, for that matter, owes a little something to a literary classic, and this is no exception. But I’ll let Kylie introduce you to the idea behind the series herself.

Welcome to South Bass Island, the Key West of Lake Erie! Relax, enjoy the boating and the bars and the restaurants, but don’t forget, even paradise has a dark side. Just ask the League of Literary Ladies, the island’s one and only court-ordered book discussion group. These Ladies–Bea, Chandra, Kate and Luella–have a taste for classic books, and a nose for murder. As they demonstrated in their first adventure, Mayhem at the Orient Express, they also have a talent for using what they learn in their reading to investigate.

And here’s a little background for Biddies, itself.

It’s summer on South Bass Island and the chamber of commerce is hosting a week-long Bastille Day celebration. There are fireworks, parties, even a Charles Dickens look-alike and trivia contest. In honor of the event, the League of Literary Ladies is reading “A Tale of Two Cities.” Secrets lead to murder, and solving this mystery will be a far, far better thing than the Ladies have done before. They’ll just have to make sure to keep their heads while they try to stop a killer’s reign of terror!

In this scene, Bea, owner of an upscale B&B and main character in the series, is discussing the murder of island handyman Richie Monroe with hunky restaurant owner, Levi Kozlov. Both Bea and Levi are new to the island, and fitting in isn’t always easy. It’s not always easy to get a handle on Levi, either. Levi is the most interesting and intriguing man Bea’s met in as long as she can remember, but he’s also the most annoying. He doesn’t like the fact that she’s poking her nose where he says it doesn’t belong, into investigating island murders.

Bastille Day celebrations? Definitely a wild and crazy place. (And having actually been to this very real island, I will have to say it most decidedly is.) So now read on and see what’s afoot on South Bass and with the League of Literary Ladies.

******

“Dino says he doesn’t know who Richie is,” I told Levi. “But after that watermelon got whacked, Dino looked into the audience. Right at Richie.”

More silence. 

“You have to admit, it’s intriguing. If Dino thought Richie wanted to hurt him, Dino might have decided to strike back.” 

I guess there’s only so long even a Norse god can play the strong, silent type. “So you’re going to . . . what? March back over to your B and B, corner Dino and beat him with a wet brioche until you get him to talk?” 

Apparently I wasn’t the only one feeling just a tad sarcastic that morning.

“I had planned on talking to him. The brioche is a new thought. Thanks.” 

“Always willing to help.” 

“You know, I can be subtle.” 

“I hadn’t noticed.” 

I didn’t spare him a look. “Mike Lawrence left the bar early,” I said, changing the subject oh-so-smoothly. 

“So you think he looks fishy, too. You’re wasting your time on that front.

Mike called this morning to explain. One of his kids was sick and he had to go home. No mystery there.” 

“If it’s the truth.” 

I heard him mumble a word I didn’t quite hear but could pretty much figure out. “You don’t trust anyone, do you?” 

Rather than explain that I had my reasons, I stuck to the subject at hand.

“Mike has motive galore. He lost his business because of Richie. And his home. And his reputation. Richie gets poisoned, Mike leaves the scene of the crime. You can see where this is headed.” 

“Bea, just because there’s a mystery to solve–” 

“Doesn’t mean I should be the one to solve it. That’s what you’re going to say, right?” 

Though it made plenty of sense when I told Chandra the same thing, it grated on my nerves now, and I knew exactly why. It was that darned photograph of Richie, the one taken when he was a kid, and try as I might, I couldn’t help but take another look at it. 

Though there were plenty of people who probably didn’t believe it, I did have a heart, and I swear, just looking at the cute, goofy looking kid in the picture made it break in two. Like all kids’ lives, Richie’s contained an endless amount of possibilities. No, he may not have lived up to them.

But that didn’t mean his death didn’t send ripples through his community. 

I guess that’s why I lifted my chin and defied what I knew to be Levi’s unarguable logic with a look that told him that if I wasn’t dead-set on investigating before, I sure was now. “Like I said before, nobody said anything about investigating. So who says I’m looking to solve Richie’s murder?” 

One corner of Levi’s mouth twitched. “Maybe you should mind your own business.” 

“Maybe.” 

I turned and went to the car. I didn’t bother to add the rest of what I wanted to say to Levi, but then, the stormy look in his eyes told me he probably caught the subtext. 

Maybe I would mind my own business. 

Right when Hell froze over.

******

You’ll find A Tale of Two Biddies for sale right now at Amazon, B&N, BAM, your favorite Indie bookstore, and all the usual online suspects.  

I’m Posting, but I Can’t Get Up (on your Facebook Newsfeed)

So, you’ve liked my Facebook Page, but you’ve stopped receiving my Page posts in your Facebook newsfeed.  Have I given up on Facebook?  Discovered the joys of trying to communicate in 140 characters on Twitter? Decamped to Google+?  Not at all? It’s not me posting less, it’s Facebook’s new algorithm program.

Don’t stop reading. I won’t use the “A” word again, I promise. This is not high school calculus.

A quick lesson. FB uses a program that determines the value of our posts and spreads them out accordingly. The program looks at what we post, how often we do and how much our “fans” interact by commenting or liking or sharing what we’ve said.

No pressure there.

Oh, and about the same time, FB began suggesting that we “promote” our posts by paying to make sure they get to all the people who like us. I’m sure that paying a fee for more coverage has nothing to do with this, right?

In a nutshell this means that if you want to receive my posts in your newsfeed  you should visit my Facebook Page often, click on share, click any links (like the ones I post every time I blog), or comment. Sounds a little like work, doesn’t it?

So what else can you do? Well, here’s something that might help.

If you want to get more posts from Emilie Richards Readers Page ( the new title of the Facebook Page formerly known as plain old Emilie Richards) the next time you see a post in your newsfeed, click on the little downward arrow beside it.  It looks like a V.
A menu rolls down and the top choice is “Get Notifications.”
Click that and your chances of receiving my posts will be better. I hope. Sometimes there are other choices, including “I don’t want to see this,” “Unfollow” “Hide all posts from. . .” You don’t want those, right?
You can also take a survey to help FB determine what to show you. I took it and got rid of several offensive political posts I did not want to see. So far it’s worked for me.

For my part?  Well, I may be in a minority, but I don’t mind “promoting” the occasional post.  Facebook has been completely free and still, theoretically, is.  So if you see a promoted post, don’t worry. That will be something I’d like to spread around for people to see.  A new book.  Pre-newsletter sign up reminder.  A blog I think you’ll particularly like.  I haven’t gone over to the dark side.  I’m just rewarding Facebook for giving me the chance to meet and converse with my readers, which I love to do.

I hope you enjoy the conversation, too.

Sunday Inspiration: Take A Chance On Me

This video is going viral on Facebook, and I found it both moving and inspiring.  Clearly many of the people who appear here are volunteers with great love for animals and the willingness to work with them even when the outcome isn’t always a happy one.  Not only that, they took the time–and it must have been considerable–to be part of this powerful, uplifting production.

So if you weren’t lucky enough to see this already, be inspired today by the goodness of people banding together to help our animal friends.  Nemo, a rescue dog himself, gives this video the beagle seal of approval.

Enjoy.

Fiction Friday: Tear Down and Die plus a Giveaway, too.

Good morning fellow fiction fan.

Today we’re featuring a Kindle original from my friend Joanna Campbell Slan. Joanna and I met at a West Virginia Readers/Writers conference some years ago before she was writing fiction, and I’ve so enjoyed watching her career bloom.

Joanna is offering to gift a copy of today’s featured book, Tear Down and Die to one randomly chosen commenter. Comment about the book, the author, your favorite mystery series or anything else before the next Fiction Friday and you’ll be entered to win. As always the friendly website random.org will choose the winner.

Be warned, though, you will need a Kindle or the Kindle app for your computer, smart phone or tablet (app is free) to read this novel. If you don’t and you win, we can cheerfully send it to a friend who does.

Even better? If you’ve already read Tear Down and Die or you buy the book before the contest ends, Joanna will gift you with a Kiki Lowenstein short story, instead.

Without further ado, here’s Joanna in her own words.

Award-winning and National Bestselling author Joanna Campbell Slan is the creator of three mystery series. Her first mystery—Paper, Scissors, Death—was shortlisted for the Agatha. The first book in her historical romance mystery series is Death of a Schoolgirl, winner of the 2013 Daphne du Maurier Award for Literary Excellence. Her newest series, featuring Cara Mia Delgatto and beginning with Tear Down and Die, has quickly become an Amazon Bestseller. In her past life, Slan has been a television talk show host, an adjunct professor of public relations at Illinois State University, a sought-after motivational speaker, and a corporate speechwriter. Sharing Ideas Magazine named Joanna “one of the top 25 motivational speakers in the world.”

Got your attention? Here’s an intro to Joanna’s new series.

After her parents die within six months of each other and her son goes off to college, savvy entrepreneur Cara Mia Delgatto decides she REALLY needs to get a life. A road trip leads to her grandfather Poppy’s home on the picturesque Treasure Coast of Florida, where she impulsively snaps up an abandoned building—only to discover it’s already occupied by a fresh corpse. While a murder investigation swirls around her, Cara Mia enlists the help of two new friends to open The Treasure Chest, a store specializing in one-of-a-kind recycled, repurposed, and revived décor items with a beachy-keen theme. But before Cara can get the doors of her shop open, she bumps into an old boyfriend, Cooper Rivers, who claims to still love her. Then Cara learns that Cooper’s affection might be a ploy to save himself from a murder plea. Is it possible that Cara’s second chance at love has come too late?

Thanks to Joanna for this excerpt and for gifting one of you with this ebook. Don’t forget to comment before next Friday.

******

While my grandfather finished his work on my car, I scooped limp and decaying fish carcasses out of the water in his bait tank. Even though I tried to be careful, yucky fish parts got on me. Mucky water splashed on the floor. My mop only moved the big puddles around, spreading the goop farther and farther, as rivulets escaped and ran under Poppy’s desk. There was only one way to tackle a problem like this.

I got down on my hands and knees.

Poppy stuck his head in the door and said, “They sent me the wrong part for your car. Got the old one out before I discovered the mistake. I’m going to drive to the auto supply shop over in Jupiter and pick the right one myself. I don’t want you without wheels any longer.”

“Okay,” I said, wishing I could leave, too. The dead fish had been double-bagged, so the smell was not as bad as before, but the water sloshed on the floor still stunk. And so did I.

“Right,” and he was gone.

The mop proved almost useless at getting up all of the water. I found a couple of old rags in Poppy’s pile of junk. With one in each hand, I crawled around on the floor and sopped up liquid. My butt was up in the air and both hands were covered in goop when a visitor walked through the door.

“Cara?” His voice had deepened over the years, but even with my back to him, I knew it was Cooper Rivers.

I rocked back on my heels, but I couldn’t turn around. Suddenly I was sixteen again and hopelessly in love. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. So I stayed perfectly still, my lower lip trembling. A wild fury of emotions hit me so hard I thought I’d die on the spot.

“Go away,” I said.

“Cara Mia. It’s been a long, long time, hasn’t it?”

“Go away,” I said again.

But over the sound of my heart pounding, I heard him come closer.

“Cara?” It was a plea.

“No.” I responded with cowardice.

Neither of us knew how to move forward. The momentum we’d had years ago was lost to us. The pain was fresh. In my awkward position, my toes complained about my pose. Pretty soon I would have to move, but I couldn’t bring myself to get up and turn around. What if he wasn’t there? What if I had imagined Cooper’s presence?

“Please, please, go away,” I whispered.

“Why?” He sounded genuinely curious.

“You lied. You told me you loved me. But you let me disappear. You never even wrote to me!”

“I did, too!” In a flash, he was next to me. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw him, but I still couldn’t bring myself to face him. His tug on my arm was gentle but insistent.

I couldn’t turn around. I just couldn’t!

“Cara? Please?” He slowly turned me toward him. I dropped my gaze to the floor, hoping to postpone the moment. When I couldn’t keep my balance any longer, I sank back onto my butt. It was a movement that should have pulled me out of his grasp. Instead, he gathered me to his chest and lifted us both to our feet. 

******

You’ll find Tear Down and Die for your Kindle right here.

For more information on Joanna’s career visit her website at www.JoannaSlan.com. See all her books at http://tinyurl.com/JoannaSlan. Follow her on Pinterest (www.Pinterest.com/JoannaSlan). Join the conversation at http://tinyurl.com/JCSlan. Or communicate directly with her at JCSlan@JoannaSlan.com.

Where Writers Get Ideas: What Do You Do on Vacation?

Emilie in St. Thomas

Let’s take a little quiz.

Do you drive through a new town and:

Pay complete attention to road signs, because heck, you’re on your way elsewhere
Look for familiar shops and restaurants in case you have a few minutes to enjoy yourself
Examine architecture and look for historic buildings
Imagine what it’s like to live there

When you’re on vacation do you mostly:

Visit the tourist attractions
Enjoy the boutiques and nightlife
Revel in whatever nature has to offer
Drive or walk through unfamiliar neighborhoods to see what you can learn about the town and its inhabitants

I won’t go on.  Of course you know where I’m going, right?  Even on vacation many of us revert to type.

If we rush through life to get to the next destination, then on vacation we’ll probably rush from one place to the next.  We will have our itinerary planned and most likely we won’t deviate.  Those folks are the number ones among us.

If we heavily learn toward hunting and gathering and appreciate a good meal and a good time, we will probably look for shops, familiar and unfamiliar, to see what’s a bargain or brand new for us to purchase.  And in the evening once the shops close, we might hunt and gather a little fun and a few good memories.  Those folks are our number twos.

If scenery, either natural or man/woman made brings us peace and joy, and if we marvel easily over the accomplishments of others or of nature?  Those folks are the number threes.

But if we drive through neighborhoods, or on unfamiliar highways, and wonder about the lives of the people we pass, even the ones zipping by in cars or sixteen-wheelers, if we yearn to hear the history of a place, who settled it and why, how it grew and what it’s hoping for in the future?  Those folks are the number fours.

The writers.

A slightly heavier me (the photo attests) got back from my cruise last week with a mountain of laundry, a lot of paperwork on my desk, and a happy smile.  I also came back with lots of random thoughts.

For instance:

Suppose a passenger were sitting on her balcony minding her own business and a body floated by.  What would she do?  Not to mention who was the “body,” why was it there, was the person still alive, could a rescue be attempted, who would hear the person’s final words if they expired afterwards, and if foul play was suspected, was the foul player on board?
What if the heretofore happy passenger was now worried that said foul player KNEW she’d heard the victim’s last words and wanted to be certain they were never repeated.
Why does the port authority require identification for individuals driving through the gates to the ship, but a parking garage shuttle didn’t have to show identification for any of its passengers.  Could a terrorist use that to his advantage?
What would happen to a passenger who was robbed in a foreign port and left with no identification?  And what if that person strongly resembled someone the local police had been looking for?  And . . .

There’s no right or wrong way to BE on vacation.  Many of my fellow cruisers were thrilled to visit the multitude of Caribbean jewelry stores so that they could avoid paying duty and taxes on their purchases.  Others reveled in the most strenuous shore excursions, scuba diving through shipwrecks, climbing mountainsides.  Still others had carefully researched where to go, what to see, and never dallied at the markets or docks.

Then there was me.  When I wasn’t wondering about murder on the high seas I spent the trip wondering what it was like to work on a ship, and what my steward went home to when his time on board was finished.  What did his family look like?  Did he make adorable little lobsters out of beach towels for his children?  Was our wine steward working her way up to a higher position?   And why did the captain and most of his top crew members come from Greece?  Were they from the same island?  Is this a family biz?  What does this do to a marriage?

Are you a 1, 2, 3 or 4?  Or a mixture?  Since I’m a 4, I’d love to know all about your vacation personality.  We fours want to know everything.  After all, there might be a book in it.

Sunday Inspiration: One Simple Wish

A Fairfax County, Virginia Foster Mother Who Cared for Over 20 Children at a Reception for Foster Care Parents

Sometimes inspiration comes in small doses, as small as a child who needs something and has no place to turn.

Can you imagine wanting something as simple as a suit to go to a family member’s funeral or music lessons or supplies for school and not being able to have them because you are a foster child?  In a life that most likely has been confusing and emotionally difficult, small wishes answered by small gifts can make all the difference.

Danielle Gletow had raised foster children and knew that their wishes were often so simple and yet so vital. So she started raising money from people who couldn’t be foster parents  but who wanted to help in some way.

Her organization One Simple Wish usually give gifts worth $10 to $100, not much money, but they mean so much to these kids who have so little.

Check it out at  One Simple Wish and I’m sure you’ll feel inspired.

Thanks to CNN for finding and covering this story.

Fiction Friday: Still Life with Murder

Welcome to Fiction Friday, my opportunity each week to post an excerpt from one of my own books or those of my friends, present-day or long-departed colleagues.

Today’s excerpt is from my friend and fellow book tour survivor, P. B. Ryan, who was one of a multitude of authors I met on a bus tour of the Midwest some years ago. Great book tour, great authors and a wonderful chance to get to make new friends.

When I learned P.B. (also known as Patricia Ryan) was writing a mystery series, I knew these would be great reads. Right now the first book, Still Life with Murder, is free (yes, I do mean free) on Amazon Kindle, B&N, iTunes, and Smashwords.  Plus it’s only $.99 at Kobo.  What a great way to introduce a series. Here’s a little about Patricia.

Patricia Ryan is the USA Today bestselling author of more than two dozen mysteries and romances, including the #1 Barnes & Noble bestseller Still Life With Murder. Her novels have garnered rave reviews and been published in over twenty countries. A RITA® winner (for Silken Threads) and four-time nominee, she is also the recipient of two Romantic Times Awards and a Mary Higgins Clark Award nomination for the second book of her historical mystery series featuring Boston governess Nell Sweeney, which she wrote under the name P.B. Ryan.

And here’s the intro to Still Life With Murder:

Boston, 1868: When Nell Sweeney, a young Irish immigrant, earns a coveted position as governess to the wealthy Hewitts, she discovers that deadly secrets often lurk beneath society’s gilded surface. One winter’s day the family learns that their son William, a former battle surgeon thought to have died during the Civil War, is, in fact, still alive—and in jail for having killed a man while under the influence of opium. Enraged at his son’s deception and convinced of his guilt, August Hewitt is determined to see William hang and thus forbids his wife from aiding him. But Viola Hewitt believes her son is innocent and begs Nell to help her exonerate him. With little to go on, Nell must rely on her wits and her knowledge of the city’s dark underbelly to uncover the truth—before the hangman’s noose tightens around William Hewitt’s throat.

That sure got my attention.  Enjoy the following excerpt.  I’ve downloaded the novel and can’t wait to read it.

******

“A lady to see you,” announced the guard through the iron-barred door of the holding cell.

“I don’t know any ladies.” The voice from within—drowsy-deep, British-accented and vaguely bored—did not belong here. It was a voice meant for the opera box, the ballroom, the polo field…not this fetid little police station cage.

Nell’s view of Dr. William Hewitt was limited by her position against the wall of the cramped visitor’s alcove and the fact that it was only the cell’s door that was comprised of open grillwork; the walls were solid brick. From her angle, all she could make out through the barred door were two long legs in fawn trousers, right ankle propped on left knee. A hand appeared and struck a match against the sole of a well-made black shoe. The hand was long-fingered, capable—a deft hand with a scalpel, she would guess.

“Her name is Miss Chapel,” said the guard, using the false name she’d given. “She’s from the Society for the Relief of Convicts and Indigents.”

The aroma of tobacco wafted from the cell. “I don’t suppose it would do any good to point out that I am neither a convict nor an indigent.”

“You’ll be a convict soon as they can manage to drag your sorry…” the guard glanced at Nell “…drag you in front of a jury. And then you’ll be just another murdering wretch swinging from a rope over at the county jail.”

Nell clutched to her chest the scratchy woolen blanket and Bible she’d brought. She hated hated having to confront this man who may or may not have cut another man’s throat last night in a delirium born of opium—or lunacy.

“You can give him them things, ma’am, but I’ll have to check ‘em first.” The guard held his hand out. “The blanket, then the Bible.” He unfolded and shook out the former, fanned the pages of the latter, and handed them back.

“You can sit here if you’ve a mind to pray or what have you.” The guard scraped a bench away from the wall and set it up facing the iron-barred door from about five feet away. “You’d best keep your distance. If he tries anything, like grabbing you through the bars or throwing matches at you, you give me a holler—loud, ‘cause I’ll be all the way down the hall.”

Matches? Nell thought about the flammable crinoline shaping her skirt, and the newspaper stories of women burned alive when their dresses brushed candles or gas jets. She stood motionless after the guard left, listening to the receding jangle of his keys as he returned to his station at the far end of the hall.

“I’ll take the blanket.” The long legs shifted; bedropes squeaked. “You can keep the Bible.”

With a steadying breath, Nell stepped away from the wall and approached the door to the cell, staying a few feet back, as the guard had advised.

Its occupant was standing now, his weight resting on one hip, drawing on a cigarette as he watched her come into view. He was tall, somewhat over six feet, with hair falling like haphazard strokes of black ink into indolent eyes. His left eyelid was swollen and discolored, with a crusted-over cut at the outer edge. Two more contusions stained his beard-darkened jaw on that side, and his lower lip was split. They interrogated him at some length last night.

******

Still Life with Murder is available at online bookstores including:  Amazon, B&N, Kobo, Smashwords and iTunes.