And so I have FINALLY (after about a bazillion years) finished the next Booktown Mystery (just working on the recipes before I hand it in) and I need to start writing either a Jeff Resnick or Lotus Bay book ... but my Tales of Telenia characters are SCREAMING at me to work on their story. I've been putting it off for over two years, and they've just about had enough.
I lost a lot of sleep during the last months of my mother's life and would lie in bed during the wee hours distracting myself from thoughts of death by plotting the story. Yesterday I wrote most of the first chapter longhand (while engaged in another pursuit), Of course, then I remembered that I'd already WRITTEN part of the first chapter back in August. So now I've got to merge the two because they're both pretty good.
I love these characters. I love the stories and yet THEYDO NOT SELL, and I have not been able to convince my cozy readers to give them a try.
It's not smart to write something that doesn't bring in income, because let's face it: writing is my job. I couldn't afford to take time away from a day job to do something like this. So I guess I'll have to make it a hobby piece that can only be worked on AFTER I write something that brings in grocery money. (Did I mention I had to have my brakes replaced last week???)
It's okay, Mandy ... I haven't abandoned you (and Dohmas). It's just going to take a while longer until I can tell the rest of your story.
One of the best things about being an indie author is you can change things up. I decided to change the cover on Recipes to Die for. I wanted it to reflect Katie's dream of opening the English Ivy Inn ... something that probably will never happen. Still, this is what she would have wanted.
Katie Bonner and the rest of the locals from Victoria Square invite you into their kitchens to share tantalizing recipes and intimate stories about food, family, and life. So tie on your apron and sharpen your knives, because Recipes To Die For is chock full of culinary treasures such as Andy Rust's Cinnamon Rolls, Vance Ingram’s Barbequed Ribs, and Sweet Sue’s Toffee Squares. And you don't want to miss Aunt Lizzie’s Cream Scones.
My friend Mary Kennedy and I are celebrating because we've both got new books out. As this is my blog (tee hee), I'll go with mine first. My readers asked for it, and I've delivered. A Jeff Resnick Six Pack features all six Jeff Resnick "short" stories. (Some are a lot longer than others.)
This collection of short stories bridges the gaps between the Jeff Resnick novels of suspense and intrigue.
When The Spirit Moves You: Does Jeff believe in ghosts? Bah! Humbug: Christmas with his girlfriend Maggie’s family is anything but merry. Cold Case: A small boy is missing. Can Jeff find him? Spooked!: A malevolent spirit visits for Halloween. Crybaby: Have diaper bag—will travel! Eyewitness: Jeff can’t move ahead in live until he finds out who murdered his wife.
And second in the Hollywood Nights series from Mary Kennedy ... MOVIE STAR!
Jessie Phillips and her friend, Tracy, go Hollywood when a film company chooses Fairmont Academy as the setting for a sizzling thriller. Sparks fly off and on the set as the teens become embroiled in a mystery fit for the big screen, and things heat up for Jessie when the film’s star Shane Rockett takes a shine to her. Will Jessie score more than her fifteen-minutes of fame?
(This novel won an award and grant from the National Endowment for the Arts for "artistic excellence in literary fiction.”)
YAY -- Today the 4th Book Collector Mystery, THE MARSH MADNESS, by my pal Victoria Abbott, is available in ebook, paperback, and audio.
The national bestselling author of The Wolfe Widow presents another spine-tingling mystery featuring rare book collector Jordan Bingham and some Ngaio Marsh first editions worth killing for…
Jordan works hard to improve Vera Van Alst’s collection of classic detective stories. So when Chadwick Kauffman—heir to the Kauffman fortune—offers a very good price on a fine collection of Ngaio Marsh first editions owned by his recently deceased stepfather, she is thrilled to meet with him at his fabled summer estate, Summerlea.
The next day, Jordan and Vera are shocked to read that Chadwick has died in a fall from the grand staircase at Summerlea. But when the picture in the paper is of a different man, it becomes clear that the ladies are victims of a scam. And they’ll have to unmask the imposter fast, because someone is trying to frame them for murder…
With Valentine’s Day just around the corner, Jane Steward is organizing a week of activities for fans of love stories at her book-themed resort. But her Regency readers barely have time to brush up on their Jane Austen before tragedy strikes Storyton Hall. Rosamund York, one of the most celebrated authors in attendance, is killed. Rosamund had as many enemies as she did admirers, including envious fellow novelists, a jealous former lover, and dozens of angry fans. It’s up to Jane, with the help of her book club, the Cover Girls, to catalogue the list of suspects and find a heartless killer quickly—before the murderer writes someone else off…
Behind her down-home folksy persona, celebrity chef Sonia Scott is a real Dixie diva who’s made plenty of enemies in her climb to the top of the culinary world. One of them is the newest member of the Dream Club, Etta Mae Beasley, who claims Sonia stole her family’s recipes and used them in her latest cookbook. After Sonia’s suspicious death from anaphylactic shock at a book signing held at Taylor and Ali’s retro candy store, Etta’s revelation sows seeds of doubt in Taylor Blake’s mind. Now the Dream Club needs to put their heads together to determine if one of their own decided to give the chef her just desserts…
Jillian Hart and Tom are finally tying the knot, but first they need to make sure Tom’s stepson, Finn, is as comfortable as possible in the lake house they will all call home. So when it becomes clear that Finn has fallen for a pretty cat from the Mercy Animal Sanctuary, Jillian and Tom readily agree to make room for one more—even though the tortoiseshell kitty is a notorious kleptomaniac. So far, the cat has sneaked out of the adoption center time after time, bringing back trinkets, shoelaces, and socks. But when she brings back an antique locket, Finn enlists Tom’s and Jillian’s sleuthing skills. They hope to return the treasured item to its owner, but their search for answers is sidetracked when a body is found. Still, their sneaky cat’s find may just lead them to a killer.…
Sometimes I think Mr. L and I might drink a wee too much. I mean, he was making us a second drink the other night and looked out the front door (in our quiet suburban neighborhood) and did a double take. Wouldn't you?
Yes, suddenly there's an Amish buggy living next door. Mind you, Mr. L and I aren't adverse to a little kitsch ourselves.
But a buggy?
I suppose buggies and flamingos CAN live in harmony.
If you've been reading the Cozy Chicks blog on a regular basis, you know that Maggie recently lost her mother. Well, now so have I.
Maggie's Mom was in relatively good health until recently. So was my mother, except she'd been living under a death sentence since August, with the oncologist (a particularly unpleasant woman) telling her in September that she had six months to live. My mother took the news with grace. She said, "I've had a wonderful life and I feel very lucky." She never cried. She never felt sorry for herself, and she rarely even mentioned when she was in pain.
So, we made the best of the time she had left. We spent time at our family cottage (until it got too cold). We went out to lunch and had toasts. She made her famous bread stuffing and creamed onions for Thanksgiving, and again for Christmas. She was happy. She had the greatest attitude.
I wish I could say I felt the same way. I woke up every day with dread. When will I lose my mother?
Mum did well until mid-February when she started saying, "I don't feel right." The cancer was beginning to spread, but we went out to lunch one last time and she ate her entire fish fry. I think that was the last decent meal she ate. Soon after, she had to deal with nausea that wouldn't go away. Those in charge of her care kept insisting my mother use over-the-counter meds. They didn't help. She started losing weight. She lost twenty pounds in about three weeks because even the thought of food made her nauseous.
I did everything I could to find something she could eat. I even learned to make the perfect poached egg Julia Child style. (Although it was actually a Gordon Ramsey video on YouTube that make that possible.)
Then she entered hospice care. A nurse came to visit her twice a week. Things didn't get better. The nurse had no better luck at getting someone to treat Mom's increasing pain and the nausea. I had to throw a temper tantrum to get SOMEBODY to listen, and my mother was finally put on a different medication that made a world of difference. But by then she'd lost the will to eat.
Mom started feeling weaker, so my brother and I asked her to abandon her cane and use my Dad's old walker if she was alone in the house. A week later, we hired home health aids to stay with her at night, while my brother and I kept after the social worker about finding a bed in a hospice home. Ten days later, Mum was invited to go to Mt. Carmel House. A place to die.
The day I drove her away from her home of 15 years for the last time, she never even looked back.
For me, it meant I no longer had to run down the road four or five times a day to make sure she was okay. That she was eating, that she took her meds. To put on and take off her compression stockings. I was pretty frazzled, but then suddenly -- she wasn't in my care anymore. Though I went to visit her twice a day (put a lot of miles on my car and listened to a bunch of audiobooks on the way to and from the home), it was very stressful ... because once she went to Mt. Carmel, she gave up. Every day she slipped away a little more. Every day I left Mt. Carmel in tears.
Mum stayed at Mt. Carmel for six weeks. Six weeks where I felt helpless and like I'd failed her. Our last real conversation happened about ten days before she passed. In her own way, she knew if she didn't say what she needed to say, I would never hear it. It was difficult for her, but she told me she loved me. She told me she was proud of me. She told me she wanted me to have a lot more success in my career.
The nurses gave her exceptional care. I know how my Dad suffered in the hospital and the nursing home. The care he received was adequate (by their terms, not mine). The nurses and volunteers at Mt. Carmel were absolutely selfless. If there was anything my mother wanted (such as Bird's Custard), someone jumped in the car, went to the grocery store, and bought it. She wanted lemonade? They made her lemonade.
Mum passed away last Saturday evening, nine months and three days after the oncologist gave her six months to live. She used to joke that she didn't know if she should die sooner or hang on much longer just to thwart that woman who couldn't seem to muster an ounce of compassion. (Believe me, she will die horribly in one of my future books.)
Mum asked me not to talk about her publicly until she was gone. She didn't want her Facebook friends to feel sorry for her, as a bunch of them were also my readers. That was the kind of person she was. She never wanted to stand in the limelight, but she supported me in everything I ever wanted to do.
But my Mum was a superstar to me. She and my Dad both were. My mother could sew. She made a lot of her own clothes when she lived in England, and when I was a little girl, she made a lot of mine, too. She once worked in a tailor shop and learned a lot. She made beautiful quilts, like this one I gave to Mt. Carmel so that other people would know that Valerie "Pat" Bartlett was an extremely talented needlewoman. She like to hand- and machine knit and made some beautiful sweaters. (For more than forty years, she hand-knitted all my Dad's socks.)
Mum was a great cook. Her prime rib dinners were the stuff of legend. The only thing that eluded her was baking cookies. For some reason, hers never came out all that good -- but who cared, because everything else was great.
My Mum also had two green thumbs. She was a great gardener. She could grow anything. She and Dad were organic gardeners long before organic became mainstream. Her orchids bloomed again and again. She kept African violets for years and they bloomed and bloomed and bloomed, too.
My Mum gave me the wonderful gift of a love of reading. She introduced me to mysteries (well, romantic suspense) when I was 11 or 12. I was bored one summer day and she thrust a Readers Digest Condensed book in my hand and said, "Read this." It was Ammie Come Home by Barbara Michaels. I loved it so much, she bought me the hardcover (unabridged) edition (and probably another eight or ten of Ms. Michaels books--in hardcover!). I'm a writer today, because I came from a house where reading was encouraged. We took both newspapers, Time and Newsweek (and a bunch of other) magazines, and our house was filled with books. When I brought Mr. L home to meet the parents, he knew he was going to like them because there were so many books on their shelves.
Not many people I know would have wanted to take a vacation, let alone 10-15 vacations, with their parents. But I did. Mr. L and I traveled with my parents to England (Scotland and Wales) twice; Italy, Canada (several times), Washington, Williamsburg, San Francisco, Lancaster PA, Bar Harbor, Portland, Boston ... I can't remember them all right now, but we kept going with my Mum and Dad because they knew how to travel. We always had a great time. Mr. L did not have a happy relationship with the in-laws from his first marriage. He considered my Mum and Dad to be his best friends. (How lucky is that for a daughter?)
My Mum was almost 80 when she got her first computer. She loved to play Mahjong and do jigsaw puzzles online. She checked her email a couple of times a day, and she loved to read about what family and friends and her favorite authors were doing on Facebook. (The last book she read was Duffy's Demise in Denim. She told me, "That Bruce Willis is always up to something!")
I have many, many happy memories of my mother. Like this picture that I took last summer at our family's summer cottage during a "girls only" weekend. Look at that smile. That's how I want to remember my Mum.
But right now I'm hurting. Like Maggie, I haven't been able to do much writing for the past couple of months. Back in January, I started a piece that came out earlier this week. Thinking about death so much, I knew the only way I could get through what was to come was to write about it. I turned to Jeff Resnick to channel my upcoming grief. I literally wrote that story one paragraph at a time. One day I might write 100 words, the next I might write only 25. I kept going and tried to work on other projects, but as my Mum weakened, it was all I could do to get through the day. (Thank goodness I have the most compassionate and the best editor on the planet.)
As Maggie blogged earlier this week, she's trying to adjust to the new normal without her mother. Me, too. Like Maggie, I'm trying to find some structure, a new routine. It's still too new and raw, but I'm hoping that I can find that new normal and adjust. Time is my best ally right now. I need to get back to writing. It's what keeps me going. What keeps me sane. Tricia and Angelica are waiting. So are Katie, Tori and Kathy, and Amanda.
Mr. L (and Leann and Ellery) keep telling me to stop beating myself up, and it was actually Mr. L that said something that really resonated. "No matter what you or anyone else did, the outcome was going to be the same." And I can hear my Mum telling me, "Oh, Lorraine--please don't cry." (But I still can't help it.)
I'm not the only person who ever lost her Mum, and many people left lovely condolences on Facebook that made me cry and made me smile. The ones I like best were the shared memories of their mothers.
Do you have a memory of your mother you'd like to share? If so, please leave a comment.
Okay, not WE -- I had a bit of a toaster mishap recently. I usually have green (*shudder*) juice for breakfast, but yesterday I was in a hurry. (Green juice takes between 15-20 minutes to make. A nuked egg and a slice of toast takes about two minutes.)
I have an elderly toaster. I don't consider a 58 old for a person, but let's face it, it's old for a toaster. I bought my toaster in West LA more than 30 years ago and it has been a trusted friend ever since. How do I know the toaster is 58 years old? Because the first owner wrote the date they bought it on the bottom. It's a Sunbeam, and isn't it a beauty?
Of course, like the rest of us--it's had it's little problems. The cord has been replaced, and the plug has been replaced more than once. In fact, the current plug is REALLY snug in the wall socket. It takes quiet a bit of tugging to get it out.
Okay, so I was in a hurry. The last slice of bread in the bag was a little bent, but what the heck--I put it in the first slot. You'll notice there no little lever. Nope, my Sunbeam has a little thingy INSIDE the toaster that senses toast and gently takes it down into the depths to bask in the heat of the glowing elements. After 58 years, my toaster is a little temperamental. You kinda have to watch it. But I was nuking my egg,and kind of forgot. Next thing I know, the kitchen is filling with smoke from my charred toast. So ... I yanked the plug. Only ... the plug stayed in the socked, and I held the cord in my hand.
Mr. L was not a happy camper. (He's the one who gets to fix the Sunbeam when I have a faux pas.)
I was out most of the day and came home to find this sign over the wall socket.
Yeah. I want toast.
What hoops do you have to jump through to get toast?
I'm so pleased to announce that With Baited Breath is now available as an audiobook. It took about three months for me to find the right narrator, but Heather Masters did a wonderful job. I'm particularly fond of the way she voiced Anissa and Kathy. She nailed them perfectly.
Here's the description:
Tori Cannon and her grandfather return from her grandma’s funeral to find a body jammed in one of their derelict motel units. The victim had no enemies except for maybe the rich woman who wants to level his eyesore of a home, a resentful daughter, and friends who were anything but. Tori’s BFF, Kathy, arrives to help spruce up the place and they are soon mixed up in the deadly consequences that murder entails. Can they save the business and find a murderer or will they, too, sleep with the fishes?
Jeff Resnick needs one thing to help him move on with his life ...
It's a terrible thing to have to face death. That's what I've been doing for the past nine months since my mother was diagnosed with late-stage cancer. She lost her fight this past weekend, but she was feisty right to the end. Given six months, she snubbed her nose at the oncologist and lived an extra three months and three days. I told her, "You go, girl!"
I know from past experience how grief can take a toll, and maybe that's why I wrote Eyewitness during this terrible time of uncertainty. Jeff Resnick never really recovered from the loss of his wife, Shelley. She left him. She stole from him. She did everything she could to ensure that he would hate her forever. And yet ...there's only one way Jeff can find closure. He has to find the man who killed Shelley Resnick.
If you're a Jeff fan, I hope you'll give Eyewitness a chance.
I love the first Tuesday of the month because that means ... new books are available (at least from my publisher). And this month I've got a new one out, too!
A Fatal Chapter Booktown Mystery #9
While out walking Sarge, her sister’s Bichon frise, Tricia is led by the agitated dog to a man lying in a gazebo. She’s startled when she recognizes Pete Renquist, the president of the Stoneham Historical Society, who appears to be suffering from cardiac arrest. When Pete later dies in the hospital, the discovery of a suspicious bruise and a puncture mark on his arm suggests he may have been murdered. Haunted by Pete’s enigmatic last words to her, Tricia begins to consider who had a motive to kill her friend. Did Pete take his flirting too far, only to have a jealous husband teach him a lesson? Or did he discover something in the town’s historical records that his killer wanted kept secret? Tricia is determined to get to the bottom of things before someone else becomes history…
Purl Up And DieLucky #13 in the Kelly Flynn Knitting Mystery series
Kelly Flynn’s summer in Fort Connor, Colorado, is off to a great start with romantic celebrations with her boyfriend, Steve, and enjoyable—albeit challenging—knitting classes taught by her friend Barb at the House of Lambspun. But while Barb’s advanced stitches are giving Kelly the slip, a more deadly problem soon has her friend coming apart at the seams. A young woman has accused Barb’s son, Tommy—a young doctor doing his residency—of assaulting her. The yarns spun by the local rumor mill are bad enough, but when the young woman is found dead in her ransacked apartment, Tommy becomes the number one suspect. The police are ready to close the case, but Kelly is convinced that there are a few more likely suspects. Now she has to knit together the clues herself to uncover a killer who doesn’t seem to drop a stitch...