Thursday, April 11, 2013

Fun & Name-Games


By Laura Spinella

Imagine if Dickens had penned Otto instead of Oliver, or Jane Austen found herself smitten with Doolittle before Darcy ever crossed her mind.  Would these grand works of literature have been influenced by something as basic as a name? Fast forward to modern times and it’s clear that name choice is no less critical. Had Margaret Mitchell been in more of a Susan mood, Scarlett might not have resonated in quite the same manner. And what about Scout? Her name feels like a fingerprint on Harper Lee’s character, a curious tomboy through whom the reader views the world. While all the parts have to come together, nothing cues the music or gets us on board like a character’s name.  It’s one of my favorite parts of the writing process, and something I stumbled on by accident… or error.
Years ago, my staple income was writing for a regional magazine in Salisbury, Maryland. After yet another yawning interview with hospital’s latest CEO, or maybe it was the manager of a restaurant in town, I did what I always did. On the drive back to my desk, I recast the subjects. Along with savvier bios and backgrounds, I gave them far more illustrious names. They weren’t necessarily exotic or catchy, just a better fit for the personal history I’d embellished. This was all fun and games until an intriguing alias ended up in the piece I’d been assigned. I told the proper story about the new director of parks and recreation, but I'd accidentally given him the name I conjured up. Yeah, it wasn’t good. You can misspell someone’s name, an unprofessional but forgivable faux pas. But dish up a Sunday spread, photos included, and call him something other than the name his mama gave him and, well, it’s an embarrassing clue that maybe you’re not cut out for real news
      It’s all good now as I’ve traded those tarnished credentials for the kind of writing that embraces a bad habit. Deciding a character’s name is one of the perks of the job and, I think, one of the most critical elements.  I don’t revisit a character’s name once I’ve handed a story over to my editor or filed a wannabe book in a drawer, but in the moment nothing seems quite as important.
 In BEAUTIFUL DISASTERwas fortunate to have a Madonna moment—no, not an epiphany, just a character strong enough to stand on one name: Flynn. He actually has a first, middle and last name, but Flynn’s single call sign ended up being as integral to his character as his dark past and questionable psyche. There’s an interesting footnote here and why I mention it, perhaps highlighting how deep the name process goes. Flynn’s name was fashioned after a professional baseball player I admired as a teenager. The book’s protagonist and real-life Flynn have about as much in common as a Kardashian and Supreme Court Justice, but that just demonstrates how something so small can trickle down to the heart of a novel.  
With my current WIP, the name hunt is no less intense, as if I might have to swear to it on a bible. Some of those names—Levi St John, a surname my husband suggested over burgers at the British Beer Company, Aubrey Ellis, swiped from an author I admire, and Frank Delacort,  guttural and obstinate—floated in on a breeze. Others, like Dustin Byrd, had to be coerced and cajoled. It was an effort to capture the right combination of syllables and sounds to attach to his quirky character. Curiously, Violet Byrd, Dustin’s mother, also plays a part in this book. As I wrestled with this task, casting and deleting a dozen possible choices, it occurred to me how much easier the name-game would be if I could have just asked her.  

Laura Spinella is the author of the award-winning novel, BEAUTIFUL DISASTER and upcoming novel, PERFECT TIMING. Visit her at www.lauraspinella.net       
   

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

Your Vote Matters!

By Bethany Maines


The good news: I have a new short story coming out on Tax Day!  Yes, that is an infamously black day, but I thought I’d give people something to look forward to.

The bad news:  I’m having serious second thoughts about the story title.

Up until now it’s been known rather blandly as Cops & Robbers.  The story – part of my Tales From the City of Destiny series – features Sam Roseberry, a Tacoma Detective and Native American shaman in training, as he hunts down a killer who’s been murdering people for their magical powers. Not only does Cops & Robbers sound like the wrong genre, it sounds about as boring as butterless popcorn. The truth is that when I’m writing, the name of the story is the farthest thing from my mind. When I call a story something initially, it’s usually something like, “The One With Sam.”  Which is an even less sellable name than “Cops & Robbers.”  Once my writing group insists on a name (apparently, “The One With Sam” doesn’t clarify things for them), I slap a working title on the thing and move forward. Sadly, my working titles are frequently extremely literal with a dash of cliché for easy memorization. Sam is a Cop and people are Robbing magical powers.  One title – check. 

My first novel was called something hideous like “Espionage Purple” and my agent delicately suggested that perhaps that maybe… er… that wasn’t the best title for the book and maybe… er… it could be changed. To which I said, “Oh, yes.  That’s a terrible name.  I’d love to change it.”  And she said, “Great, so you should come up with some alternate titles!”  I was so crestfallen. I was really hoping she would tell me what to call it. What do you mean I have to name my own book?!! The horror! The suffering! I ended up mass emailing my friends and listing out words that connected to the themes of my book. Then we all played MadLibs until we’d arrived at the far more appropriate and fun Bulletproof Mascara.

But I have to admit that the horror of naming my own stories remains. Toward that end I have narrowed down the field of names to a top three and I’m hoping that you – my internet friends – will help me pick.  What’s your vote?  Which one would you want to read?


Bethany Maines is the author of The Carrie Mae Mysteries, as well as Tales from the City of Destiny. You can also view the Carrie Mae youtube video or catch up with her at www.bethanymaines.com.  

Tuesday, April 9, 2013

Confessions of a sort of ill, but totally in denial writer


By:  Joelle Charbonneau

I’m sick.  For those that follow my twitter feed or are Facebook friends for me, I doubt this comes as a newsflash.  In the last three months, I have managed to come down with a sinus infection, bronchitis, pneumonia and pleurisy.  (Who gets pleurisy???)   I’m now on my third course of antibiotics (this one is also used for anthrax) and my third inhaler. (Go steroids.)

Yep.  I’m sick.

The one thing I’ve learned over the course of this three-month odyssey is that I suck at being sick.   Not because I whine or cry or pout.  (Well, okay, the pouting thing might have happened when the steroids wore off this last time and my breathing stopped working so well.  Sue me!)  My problem is that I’m stubborn.  I don’t want to be sick so I try to pretend that I’m not.  I mean, there are still pages to be written, pages to be edited, books to be promoted, dinners to cook, an entire house to be moved, a five-year-old to run after and…

You get the point.

Perhaps my real problem is that I like work.  (Yes, I’m deranged.) And really, when you think about it, writing a book involves a lot of sitting.  That’s rest—right?  I mean, how much better would it be if I were to just sit in a chair and do nothing as opposed to typing away on my keyboard?

Okay, I know I have a problem.  But I can’t help it.   So many people that I know hate their jobs. 
When they’re home sick, they love the excuse to get away from their typical daily grind.  I LOVE my job.  Never in my wildest imaginations did I think that someone would ever pay me to make up stuff or that readers would want to spend time with the characters I’ve created.  So when someone suggest that I stop writing in order to rest….I can’t!  I just can’t. 

But I’m trying.  And if you have any suggestions as to how to best do that (without giving up the fun stuff like writing), I’m listening.  And I’m pretty sure my mother is, too!

Oh – and in case you missed it – END ME A TENOR came out last week!  Hurray.  Also, the trailer for my first young adult novel- THE TESTING – debuted on EW.com in case you want to check it out.  See…who has time to be sick when such fun stuff is happening?  (Sigh…back to resting….)

Monday, April 8, 2013

COMING SOON - MURDER DOUBLES BACK!

 
 
 
It's been a long time coming but if you listen carefully you can hear the sounds of an Irish wolfhound running towards you. Whiskey is back!

We're celebrating the upcoming publication of our third book in the
Sullivan Investigations Mystery series,
MURDER DOUBLES BACK
with excerpts
from the first book - MURDER OFF THE BOOKS
and the second book - MURDER TAKES THE CAKE. 




"The gun should be right about there." Edgar pointed to a spot under a rose bush about a foot from where Mac was kneeling.

"Gun!" Mac's voice was a little louder than he'd intended, but the old man had failed to mention a gun before.

"What did you think we were digging for? Bulbs?" Edgar cackled and then coughed.

"Shush. We don't want to wake her up," Mac warned, glancing at the dark house, glad he'd left Whiskey in the truck.

The old man nodded, lowering his voice to a whisper. "It was late, just past 11 P.M. on Saturday night. The brother drove up and instead of going to the front door, he came around to the side of the house and started digging by that bush. I saw him pull a gun out of his jacket, wrap it in one of those knitted caps, and stick it in the hole. He covered it up real nice with some of that cedar mulch you see there."

"How did you see all that? The goggles?"

"Nah. Didn't need them. The Wilsons'," Edgar pointed to his right, "have one of those motion detector lights. When the brother walked across the yard, it lit up."

Mac looked towards the house the man had indicated. He didn't remember any light when Whiskey was busy stealing a ham on Sunday night. "It must not be working now."

The old man shrugged his bony shoulders. "Hasn't worked since the burglary. Think the thieves did that?"

"I don't believe in coincidences. What happened after you saw Thayer bury the gun?" Mac continued sifting through the loose soil and mulch around the bush, trying to avoid catching his coat on the thorns.

"He left. Just got in his car and drove away."

Mac leaned back on his heels. "Okay, I've found the hole but nothing is here now. How come you didn't call the police?"

"Did call–twice. They put me on hold–twice. I don't have enough time left in this world to be spending any of it on hold."

Mac dusted off his hands on his jeans. "You didn't see anyone around later that night? Or how about the burglary on Sunday night?"

Before the old man could answer, the lights in the house began coming on.

"Let's go," Mac whispered, scrambling to his feet.

The sound of the back door opening panicked both men.

"Save yourself," Edgar gasped, waving Mac towards the nearby oak tree. "Get up there. I'll divert her."

Feeling as foolish as he probably looked, Mac climbed the tree, hoping there were enough leaves left on the branches to hide him.


 
"Like I told you on the phone when I asked you to come in, Mac left me in charge until he gets back tomorrow," JJ announced to the man and the Irish wolfhound sitting in front of her desk. "He's in Boston checking out the police corruption Bridget was involved in. We're supposed to work on the turkey farm murder and try to keep tabs on Bridget without being too obvious about it. He also wants you to finish up that background check on Joshua Lasky." 

Edgar and the dog stared at her. 

"What?" She didn't need to ask why they were staring at her. After Mac's order to change her wardrobe, she'd visited a consignment shop. Currently she was wearing a circa 1930s, knockoff, Chanel suit. Even though she'd had to re-sew the seams, the old suit had still cost her more money than she was comfortable spending–especially just to make a point. It was black wool with gold metal buttons. She'd added a white silk blouse. Around her waist she'd cinched a black leather belt to hide the fact the jacket was a little large. The four inch heels were already killing her feet and it wasn't even noon yet. She'd left her jet-black hair in its normal spiked style, but she'd replaced her large hoop earrings with fake pearl studs and a matching double strand necklace. 

"You got one of those little hats with the black netting?" Edgar asked, waving one gnarled hand across his eyes showing where the netting would be. 

"Maybe." She had seen one of those at the shop and thought about buying it. But she wasn't about to take fashion advice from the old man. "Why?" 

"Widow's weeds. You could get a job as an extra at O'Herlihy's when Mac fires you. You know, as one of those paid mourners." He chuckled, and then coughed. "They still have those?" 

"I don't like you very much. If anyone is going to get fired around here, it's going to be you. You were the one who was supposed to research Brian Crager. Instead, at the least, you let us get fooled by an imposter and at the most, let a killer escape." 

Whiskey barked and looked towards Edgar. 

"I'm not the one who signed up a dead client and traded the services of this firm for a few turkeys and a percentage of nothing!" 

Whiskey turned towards JJ and whined.

"Hey, don't you start too. Who drove you through your favorite fast food place this morning?" 

"Now you're bribing the dog so she's on your side? Come here, girl!" 

Whiskey looked from one to the other, then stood and walked into Mac's office. 

The door slammed. 

JJ and Edgar both jumped.

They looked at each other, then the door. 

"Did she just.…" 

"I'm not even going there," Edgar mumbled. "Didn't happen."
 

 
------------------------------------
 
 



 
Sullivan Investigations Mystery
Murder Off the Books Kindle - Nook - Smashwords - Trade Paperback
Murder Takes the Cake Kindle - Nook - Smashwords - Trade Paperback 
Riley Come Home (short story)- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Moonlighting at the Mall (short story) - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
 

 






Brianna Sullivan Mysteries - e-book series
I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
The Dog Days of Summer in Lottawatah- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
The Holiday Spirit(s) of Lottawatah- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Undying Love in Lottawatah- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
A Haunting in Lottawatah - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Lottawatah Twister - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Missing in Lottawatah - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Good Grief in Lottawatah - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Summer Lightning in Lottawatah - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords

The Ghosts of Lottawatah - trade paperback collection of the Brianna e-books
Book 1 - I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries (includes the first four Brianna e-books)
Book 2 - A Haunting in Lottawatah (includes the 5th, 6th, and 7th Brianna e-books)

Romances
Love Lessons - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords

Friday, April 5, 2013

Pick Me Ups

By Laura Bradford

Been feeling just a little off the last few days. The first day I managed to work around it. The second, proved to be a little harder but I still managed to make a go of my day. Yesterday, not so much. And today? Well, the verdict is still out.

Now here's the thing about me. I like to do stuff. As in real stuff. Other than writing and the time suck of social media, I'm not a computer girl. I don't have an I-Pod, I-Phone, or any of the other gadgets that take so much of people's time these days. I don't really watch TV (except Survivor and a very occasional--as in once every three weeks or so--episode of The Ellen Show). Sitting still, staring at a screen for too long bores me to tears. And sitting on a couch? Unless there's a fire nearby, I can handle that for a limited time as well.

I am, essentially, the anti-couch potato. So having something like M.S., that could, potentially, affect my mobility later in life seems rather ironic, don't you think?

Fortunately for me, I'm doing really well. The medication I take has kept the disease from progressing and I rarely have flares. Whether my current onslaught of symptoms is considered a real flare or not remains to be seen, but I'm hoping it's more of a mini-flare.

That said, I'm forcing myself to rest as I know it's the quickest way to rebound if it is, indeed, a mini-flare. So, I'm left with reading (which is great), writing in bed (which can work, too), and the pile of movies I've accumulated over the years for a quick pick-me-up.

My favorite go-to pick-me-up movies of choice?  27 Dresses, Hitch, and the still-makes-me-giggle Housesitter (Goldie Hawn and Steve Martin are awesome together).

What about you? What's your pick-me-up movie (s) of choice?

~Laura 

Wednesday, April 3, 2013

The Case of the Thin-Skinned Writer


A friend in the know—a book critic herself—once told me that Philip Roth, author of GOODBYE, COLUMBUS and PORTNOY’S COMPLAINT, to name two, never read reviews of any his books.  This was early on in my career and in a time when I devoured anything that was written about me or my debut mystery, MURDER 101.  The early reviews were good.  And then, something changed.  A negative one cropped up and then another, mostly on Amazon and Barnes & Noble.  (And by negative, I mean less than 5 stars. I was very naïve.)  The good outweighed the bad, but some people clearly didn’t find me or my book as enchanting as I found myself.

That hurt.

It wasn’t like I went into the book-writing business with blinders on.  I knew that there would be some people out there who didn’t like my plot, my characters, my setting…or a combination of the three…but still, it didn’t prepare me for what it felt like when I read those reviews and noted, with disappointment, the sometimes personal tone that the reviewer might take when penning their opinion.  Things like “she thinks she’s funny…but she’s not” or the person who called me anti-something regarding something that I am definitely not against.  One person told me I hate nuns.  (I don’t.  I think nuns are the backbone of Catholic education and a host of other Catholic social justice projects. Nuns kick ass, in my opinion.)  There have been other pointed comments that have made my heart hurt.  So, I stopped reading reviews unless they were sent to me by my publisher and vetted by the publicity department. I found that reading anything that took issue in a personal way or accused me of something that I didn’t believe to be true was just not good for me.

I don’t expect everyone to universally like—or god forbid, loathe—a work of fiction, even mine.  Heck, I have seen a movie recently that everyone loved—it was nominated for Best Picture this year—and I hated.  People can’t understand how I couldn’t love this movie; I can’t understand why anyone would like this movie.  And that’s as far as it goes; I won’t go on any site and detail my disgust but when it comes up in conversation, as it often does, I do give my opinion to the wide-eyed disbelief of whomever I am speaking.  However, if this particular director brings out another film that looks interesting, I may just go see it.  For the time being, however, I will only think about this movie if someone brings it up.  But other than, I watched it, hated it, and that’s the end of that. I won’t pontificate online about why I didn’t like it, or furthermore, why you shouldn’t like it either. 

I have a new book coming out in December, much different from any book I’ve ever written, so the anxiety is starting to ratchet up a bit.  I’m starting to wonder if people will like the book and what the reviews might be like.  As a result, I decided, as I often do, to ask my fellow blogstresses—the gang here at Stiletto—to see how they handle reviews, the bad ones mostly.  With one overwhelmingly consistent theme—we need wine to read or discuss reviews—there were some great insights.  I’ll share what I learned from everyone else below.

Marilyn wisely says that the good reviews outweigh the bad ones for her.  (I hope to get to that point some day in the near future and be able to compartmentalize the comments.)

Laura Spinella is just like me when it comes to reviews—and wine.  She doesn’t like to read the negative ones and enjoys wine.  (I’m thrilled to learn that.  Misery loves company.)

Joelle is happy—as is Maria—to get feedback and even a 1-star review floats her boat because at least that way she knows she’s struck a nerve with a reader.  To quote her directly, “the meh reviews really bug me.” Maria says a 1-star review  means that “I’ve gotten under someone’s skin.”  (Braver than I am that red-haired goddess [Joelle] and recent RITA nominee [Maria].)

Linda decides who’s reviewing and then makes a decision as to how seriously she’s going to take specific reviews.  She takes the comments seriously of professional reviewers and strives to make her writing better.  (Good advice.)

The Northern half of Evelyn David wisely points out that writing mysteries like we do is very personal and therefore, it’s hard not to take criticism personally. She also notes that “that we're all still learning, still struggling to find the right word, the perfect red herring, the clever ending -- and of course, characters that linger in memory long after the book is closed.”  (Perfect way to put it.)

Bethany plans on not reading reviews, but does anyway.  She considers the “headspace” of negative reviewers, which again, makes sense.  Maybe I wasn’t in the proper headspace to watch the universally loved movie that I didn’t like; anything’s possible.  But knowing that someone couldn’t suspend disbelief for whatever reason, or put him or herself in a character’s shoes due to a past experience, really makes a lot of sense. (Thanks, Bethany.)

As I always say, “It is what it is.”  But that doesn’t mean I will start reading reviews again.  I’ve discovered that for doing what I do, I’m far too thin-skinned and much too sensitive to see critiques that don’t offer a constructive way for me to make my next book better.  I’m even skeptical about the positive ones.  So, for now, I write this from my safest position—head in the sand—and hope that someone, somewhere laughs out loud, or cries a few tears, or even holds their breath as they read something I’ve written.


Maggie Barbieri

Tuesday, April 2, 2013

Everything Has been on Hold Because--

Our granddaughter, Jessi, her hubby Jerry, and their baby girl Aleena came to visit for a week. (Our pear tree is blooming in the background.)

Jessi lived with me and her grandpa off and one for most of her growing up years and for a short while after she and Jerry married. Then they moved to North Carolina because Jerry got a great job there.  Needless to say we spent as much time with her as possible while she was here.

Here she is with her dad, Matthew, our youngest son. He is recovering well from his near-death experience and this visit helped a lot.

Aleena at Lake Success, near our home.

This one is Jessi with her brother, Nick, and Aleena and his two kids, Julius and Kay'Lee.

And this one is with Jessi and her grandpa (my hubby, of course.)

Sadly, they left Sunday afternoon and now it's time for me to get back to work.

Marilyn



Monday, April 1, 2013

April's Fools

My co-author and I like our mysteries with a side of humor and a small scoop of romance.  In honor of April Fools Day we thought we'd share three favorite scenes from our psychic Brianna Sullivan Mysteries series:

from I TRY NOT TO DRIVE PAST CEMETERIES

Detective Jackson didn't introduce himself. I guess he figured that if I was who I said I was, I'd know his name.

He cleared his throat.

I must have missed a question; he seemed to be waiting for an answer. Trying to be cooperative, I gave him one. "Yes."

Have you noticed that most people prefer "yes" as an answer over "no"? Of course I can imagine instances where that wouldn't hold true but I think as a general rule …Okay he's saying something again. Darn, I missed it.

I nodded. "Nods" generally work well too.

He motioned for me to precede him into a small room.

In my particular case I've found it's helpful to do what's expected. People are wary enough without me smiling inappropriately–or failing to answer a direct question in some fashion. It's no comfort to them if I explain that I was busy talking to someone else–someone they can't see.

"Have a seat." Detective Jackson pasted on a smile. I'm sure it's the same one he uses for small children and blithering idiots.

I glanced at the chairs, identical to the ones in the lobby. "Must I?"

He paused, caught half-way between standing and sitting. "Huh?"

Less than a minute and I'd screwed up. He's probably never had anyone refuse to sit–at least not someone who'd asked to meet with him. I could see his eyes change. In my mind I could see him wielding a black felt tip pen; scratching my name across a folder and the word "crazy" appearing in big block letters.

I sat down.

He sat down.

And we began.

from THE DOG DAYS OF SUMMER IN LOTTAWATAH

The corndog I'd had for lunch was just a memory by the time I locked up the sales office and got back to my motor home, I was checking out the contents of the refrigerator when Cooper came barging through the door. Apparently we were past the "knocking" stage.

"I'm not fixing you dinner." My proclamation was met with a patented Cooper smirk.

"Thanks. I appreciate that." He tossed a cream-colored square down on the counter. "I need a date for a thing this weekend."

"Did you come by to use my phone? Or do you want me to place an ad for you?" Never pays to be too available. Men take you for granted. Then they don't take you anywhere.

I pulled a single Lean Cuisine from the freezer, ripped the cardboard off, and stuck it in the microwave.

"It's my high school reunion. Starts Friday night. A weekend of all you can eat barbeque, football, and beer."

"Football? It's 100 degrees outside."

"The game probably won't last long."

"How many years?"

"Not even one – twenty minutes tops before George Willis passes out from heat stroke and the game is called."

"How many years since you graduated?"

"Twenty. Want to go with me? Jack's letting us use the old pavilion."

"Depends." The microwave dinged. I tested the rice and mystery meat dinner for doneness with my finger–desiccated on the edges and icy in the center. Kind of like my mood. The guy hadn't even picked up the phone and called me for two days and now he acts like nothing is wrong.

"On what?" He was standing behind me now, his mouth on that spot right behind my ear, his arms wrapped around my waist.

My stomach grumbled. Obviously part of me wanted to give in. If we made up now, there would still be time to go into town and have meatloaf at the diner. Or I could maintain my pride, tell him to go put his boots under someone else's bed, and leave me to eat my microwaved delicacy in peace.

Easy decision. Meatloaf tonight and I'd worry about my pride next week. Plus I really did want to go to his reunion. What better place to learn a man's deepest and darkest secrets?

from UNDYING LOVE IN LOTTAWATAH

Great Aunt MaryEllen dogged me all the way to the Soak & Spin. She ... Look, I'm just going to call her Aunt MaryEllen from now on, and you'll have to remember the great that precedes it when I mention her. Aunt MaryEllen obviously had some unfinished business that had called her back from the great beyond. The problem was before we'd gone more than a dozen yards from Matilda; she'd forgotten her reason for the visit.

Numerous questions later, I had arrived at work without any helpful information beyond the fact Aunt MaryEllen liked gin, cigarettes, and dancing. And fashionable clothes of the best quality. Nice clothes, nothing like I was wearing according to her, well except for the gloves of course. Aunt MaryEllen was not going to be my favorite relative.

"You mentioned someone called Harry Grady? Is he about to show up too?" I tried to remember anything my grandmother might have told me about Aunt MaryEllen. There was something about her leaving home under less than desirable circumstances. People of my grandmother's generation didn't speak about certain things–especially to impressionable teens.

"You're a mite slow, aren't you dear? You probably get that from your grandmother. As a child poor my poor dear sister was always talking to people who weren't there." Aunt MaryEllen crossed her arms over her chest. "Harry Grady is dead."

"So are you, but here you are." I wasn't in the mood to placate the testy old lady. She'd insulted me and my grandmother. Plus my feet were frozen.

I opened the Soak & Spin door. "If you ever remember what you wanted, I'll be here until 7 pm. If not, well, tell all the family hello from me when you get ..." I looked up, then down. I wasn't sure what direction the old lady came from.

"He broke my heart. Harry broke my heart."

Leon, Miss Pearl's elderly bulldog got up from his favorite spot near the dryers. He bared his teeth, then started barking. Not at me, we'd reached a détente a few weeks ago over a box of dog treats. He was barking at Aunt MaryEllen.

"Heart? What?" I glanced back. Aunt MaryEllen looked irritated.

"Are you deaf in addition to being slow? I said he broke my heart!"

Leon barked louder. Apparently he wasn't deaf.

Distracted, I looked at the furious dog; worried the old guy was going to give himself a heart attack. Miss Pearl, the woman signing my paycheck, doted on that slobbering, incontinent fleabag.

When I turned back to Aunt MaryEllen a few seconds later she was gone.

I sighed, not because she was gone, but because I knew she'd be back.

I didn't even have to be a psychic to figure that one out.

Rhonda
aka The Southern Half of Evelyn David

P.S. My eye problem has been cured and I'm enjoying normal vision again. Or close to it. Can't wear my contacts for another two months - but I can deal with glasses that long. Probably. Thanks for all the good wishes.

 




Brianna Sullivan Mysteries - e-book series
I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
The Dog Days of Summer in Lottawatah- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
The Holiday Spirit(s) of Lottawatah- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Undying Love in Lottawatah- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
A Haunting in Lottawatah - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Lottawatah Twister - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Missing in Lottawatah - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Good Grief in Lottawatah - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Summer Lightning in Lottawatah - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords

The Ghosts of Lottawatah - trade paperback collection of the Brianna e-books
Book 1 - I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries (includes the first four Brianna e-books)
Book 2 - A Haunting in Lottawatah (includes the 5th, 6th, and 7th Brianna e-books)