THE CALL

Two years ago, the RT Convention was in Kansas City, where I live. How could I not go? RT is one of the largest reader conventions in the country. There would be authors, and editors and industry professionals.

At the time, my first book, a New Orleans-set historical romance with a dash of murder, was making the rounds with editors in New York. One had even asked for revisions. I was sure I was days away from THE CALL.

In the meantime, what better way to spend my time than with others who loved books?

The convention was…eye-opening. I met best-selling authors. I met new authors. I learned so much in three days that my head hurt.

The convention ended and THE CALL did not come. In fact, the editor who’d requested revisions called and said that the sales department couldn’t figure out what to do with my historical romance/mystery with a few ghosts floating around. She passed.

I tried to write a straight up romance. I did. But, the characters kept finding themselves in the library with a candlestick or the upstairs hallway with a rope. I put that book aside and wrote The Deep End.

THE CALL wasn’t really a call. My agent messaged me while I was at lunch with a writer friend…on my birthday.

I know it sounds incredibly rude, but if you’re a writer with a book on submission your phone is always on. My writer friend understood. Especially when—with shaking hands and tears in my eyes—I slid the phone across the table so she could read my agent’s message. Henery Press wanted The Deep End plus two more books. BEST BIRTHDAY PRESENT EVER!!!

This year, I’ll return to RT as a published author. So exciting! If you’re there, please find me and say hello!

As for the historical romance with a dash of murder, it too sold. It will release July 28^th.

 

Julie Mulhern is a Kansas City native who grew up on a steady diet of Agatha Christie. She spends her spare time whipping up gourmet meals for her family, working out at the gym and finding new ways to keep her house spotlessly clean--and she's got an active imagination. Truth is--she's an expert at calling for take-out, she grumbles about walking the dog and the dust bunnies under the bed have grown into dust lions.

Memories of Malice Domestic 27

Memories of Malice Domestic 27 by Debra H. Goldstein

Not enough sleep as toastmaster Toni L.P. Kelner urged all of us to get during the weekend, but there definitely was plenty of fun, friends, and sharing of stories, beverages, and new experiences at the 2015 Malice Domestic Convention that now is in the history books.  Held in Bethesda, Maryland, Malice is billed as a fan conference.

Since I began attending in 2012 when I was on the Academic Panel talking about my mystery on the University of Michigan’s campus, Maze in Blue, I haven’t been certain who the fans really are because I think the writers and the non-writers equally qualify as fans.  I know I am thrilled when the two non-writers who met me at the 2012 New Authors Breakfast make it a point to find me and tell me that they have followed my career this year (For their loyalty, they both will receive free copies of my new book, Should Have Played Poker: a Carrie Martin and the Mah Jongg Players Mystery, when it is published by Five Star in February 2016). But, the truth is that I am personally excited to meet writers I have held in esteem for years and newbies that I can’t wait to follow. See if you recognize a few of both in these pictures that capture some of my Malice Domestic 27 memories:

2015 Academic Mystery Panel - Susan Van Kirk, Lori Rader-Day, DHG, Triss Stein, Neil Plakcy

Jungle Red Writers Game with Hallie Ephron, Rhys Bowen, Charlaine Harris, Roberta Isleib/Lucy Burdette, Hank Phillippi Ryan and the game players including DHG

Picture One:  Nikki Bonnani, Susan Van Kirk, Marilyn Levinson, Grace Topping

Picture Two: DHG, Catriona McPherson, Barb Goffman

Picture Three:  Maggie Toussaint, Nancy J. Cohen, Maggie King, DHG

Picture Four:  Terrie Fairley Moran & DHG

Picture Five: Kathy Waller & DHG

Picture Six:  Edith Maxwell & DHG

Picture Seven:  Leslie Budewitz & DHG

Look at my grin --- who says writers aren't fans?  Do you admit it, too?

Anyone for tea and crumpets...and murder?

by Sparkle Abbey

We're so excited about our new book, Downton Tabby, which is due out in June. Our fab publisher, Bell Bridge Books, is doing some fun promo with a cover reveal at Goodreads on May 15th, a blog tour, special pricing on our backlist, and the placement of a short, featuring Toria, the feline star of Downton Tabby.

We thought you might enjoy reading the short so here goes...

The Pawleys 
A brief episode in the British family history of Lady Toria Cash, the feline fatale of Downton Tabby

“Can you believe that alley cat?” Lady Meow Grandcatham lifted her whiskers in disdain. “Thinking I’d simply fall under the spell of his gorgeous green eyes.”

I shook my head. “He does seem rather cheeky.” I’m Annakatrina, Lady’s Meow’s lady’s maid, and the alley cat she was referring to was Alexander Kittingham who’d apparently made a play for Lady Meow in a big way.

I carefully folded the lace frill she’d worn to dinner and reached for the brush I used every night on her silky black fur. Though I would never bring it up to Lady Meow, talk below stairs was that Alexander Kittingham was not actually a purebred British shorthair. He was often referred to as “Alley” in a disparaging tone, by Thomas Cat, Lord Grandcatham’s valet. Alexander was quite a handsome fellow and a favorite of the ladies around the dinner bowl.

He was nice looking with dark brown fur and deep green eyes, but I was not impressed. You see I’m madly in love with Mr. Bait. Poor Mr. Bait is currently locked up in the pound, but I had no doubt he would soon be freed.

“Beyond cheeky, I’d say.” Lady Meow lifted her paw to her neck. “Would you help me get out of this collar?”

I pulled on the diamond collar with my teeth and it snapped off easily. Carefully placing it in the ornate trinket box, I picked up the brush again.

Suddenly, there was a scratch at the door and I moved quickly to open it.  Lady Vi, Meow’s grandmother, stepped into the room. She was a formidable feline and referred to as the Dogwagger Countess because even the dogs at the neighboring estates were afraid of her. I don’t believe she’d ever actually bitten anyone, canine or otherwise, but all it took was a hiss and the very slight unsheathing of her claws and it was clear she meant business.

“Grandmother.” Lady Meow purred. “What a surprise.”

“Not an unpleasant one, I hope.” The older feline stepped closer so Lady Meow could bump noses with her.

“I’ll leave you.” I moved quietly on soft paws toward the door.

“No, please stay.” The Dogwagger waved her tail in my direction. “I know Meow trusts you.”

“What is it, Grandmama?” Lady Meow dropped on her haunches. “Is something wrong?”

“What is wrong is my sources tell me someone is publishing a catty tell all tome about the Britain’s aristocats. I am told there’s a whole chapter devoted to the Grandcatham Family.” She leaned on the edge of Lady’s Meow’s bed and smoothed her fur.

Lady Meow began to pace. “Have you told Pappa’?

The Dogwagger shook her head. “No, nor your mother. It will be up to us to sort this out.” She gave a deep sigh and tipped her head to look at me. “We must find out who this low-life is and stop him or her before our good name is dragged through the litter box.” Sharp blue eyes pinned me in place.

“What can I do to help, M ‘lady?”

“My dear, you must be our eyes and ears.” The Dogwagger put her paws together as if it were all settled. “You can go places we must not and you will never be noticed.”

I had the thought that not being noticed was hardly complimentary, but knew she was right.

“You will help us, won’t you, Anna?” Lady Meow crossed the room in a single smooth leap to stand in front of me. Her golden eyes searched my face.

“Of course, I will.” I bowed my head.

And thus began my new career as Annakatrina, Cat Sleuth.

What would Mr. Bait think?

Downton Tabby, book seven in The Pampered Pets Mysteries by Sparkle Abbey, is now available for pre-order at Amazon. Pre-order now and send us an email with "Downton Tabby Pre-Order" in the subject line and you'll be entered in the drawing for this adorable Andrew Cardew teapot and a canister of special blend, Downton Abbey tea.

Also, if you're missing any of our backlist this is a great time to grab them. Details here.

And if you want to make sure you're up on all the Sparkle Abbey news, stop by our website and sign up for updates at sparkleabbey.com.


Art credits: 
Siamese Cat in a straw hat © Nizhava1956 | Dreamstime.com 
Loving cats in 1900 © Lestoquoy Véronique | Dreamstime.com

Treat Yourself for Mother's Day!

By Kay Kendall

In celebration of my second mystery coming out in July, my publisher is offering through Mother's Day my first mystery at 99 cents on Amazon. Imagine--the Kindle version of Desolation Row, for less than a dollar. 

I have officially hit the fun stage for the new book, It is edited within an inch of its “life,” and proof read backwards and forwards. Eight authors read the ARC (Advanced Reader Copy) and wrote fantastic blurbs for Rainy Day Women. I'm excited and eager for its birth.

All of a sudden, I’m in a very different life. I had become accustomed to sitting holed up in my (messy) writer’s lair, composing in solitude. Those early drafts are sheer terror. That blank computer screen, waits impatiently to be filled with thousands of words. Sometimes when I've written a few paragraphs that are really tough to pull out of my teeming brain, I stagger to the door out of my cell—er, I mean, writer’s lair—and clutch the frame, stopping to catch my breath. This doesn't happen often, but it does occur. I am astonished at how difficult the early drafts are, and I don't enjoy them. This alone stage lasts a very long time, like forever!

Obviously, this is a stage I must burst through in order to get to the good stuff. I love editing and can do it for hours on end. I love playing with words, choosing just the right ones. I adore working with my editor, and we have conversations back and forth about points I might never have pondered without her questions. This is stage two—with a partner for company, my editor. It lasts only a few months.

Then there is the stage I've just entered now—the third and highly public part. I get to introduce my new baby to the world. Talking about what I put into my mystery is a treat. After all, I wouldn't have written what I did if I weren't eager to share my thoughts with the world. When someone wants to talk about my writing, my goodness, there is nothing better. Ever since I took three years of debate in high school, I have loved public speaking.

Since I already have one book published, I know better what lies ahead for this second one. I am surprised that I am as excited with the new book, however, as I was with the first. With luck, this excitement will never go away for any future books. I never want to grow jaded with the process.

Stage three lasts six to nine months, while the book is new. I go to mystery conferences and meet readers, hold events at bookstores, and generally have a whale of a great time. I came late in the day to my career as a writer, but thank heavens I got here. Better late than never!

Speaking of better late than never, if you've never read Desolation Row, and take advantage of the Amazon Kindle special pricing, then you will be ready when the sequel, Rainy Day Women, launches on July 7.

In the second book, intrepid amateur sleuth Austin Starr searches for a killer of female activists in 1969, a year after Desolation Row took place. A murderer stalks the members of women’s consciousness raising groups at the University of Washington and the University of British Columbia.

During the week of the Manson murders and Woodstock, new mother Austin bundles up her infant son Wyatt—just three months old—and flies with him across the continent to help her dear friend Larissa during her personal crisis. The Mounties have fingered her as their chief suspect in at least one of the murders. More trouble ensues. 

=======================

                                                                                                                                  

 Kay Kendall is a long-time fan of historical mysteries and now writes atmospheric mysteries that capture the spirit and turbulence of the sixties. She is also an award-winning international PR executive who lives in Texas with her husband, three house rabbits, and spaniel Wills. Terribly allergic to the bunnies, she loves them anyway! Her book titles show she’s a Bob Dylan buff too. 

Who Should I Kill Off Next and How Should I Do It?

Having just written the end on the next Deputy Tempe Crabtree mystery, it's time I started thinking about the next Rocky Bluff P.D. mystery. When you write two series--two books a year, one has to come right after the other.

Oh, I'm a ways off from sending the Tempe book to the publisher as my critique group hasn't finished hearing all the chapters, but I'm reading two each time we meet. I've also gone over all the chapters looking for inconsistensies and glaring errors and typos. Of course I'll do that again before I send it off.

In the meantime, I need make some plans for the Rocky Bluff P.D. mystery. In the last one, Violent Departures, the murder victim was female and drowned in her bathtub. So maybe I should find a male victim this time.

And how to do away with him? I've used many methods in the past to kill off victims: poison, decapitation, so many ways I can't remember them all. But my hope, of course, is to come up with something new and unusual.

I always like to have some sort of twist in any mystery I write--and to be honest, I seldom know what that will be until I'm actually writing the book.

Once I start coming up with characters: their names and who they are, the relationships, etc. the ideas will start to flow. They always have and I don't expect anything different this time.

And by the way, for anyone who'd like to start this series from the beginning, this is the last day of Final Respects being free on Kindle.

http://tinyurl.com/opaatdv

This is the book that started it all, why not give it a try?

Marilyn aka F.M. Meredith

Barbara Vey Weekend - Notes from the other side

I have to admit, I've never been to a reader's luncheon before. So when my writer friend, Megan Kelly told me I needed to check out this event in Wisconsin, I hesitated.

Tickets went on sale so the NEXT day, I decided to check out what tables were open. I was hoping to snag a chair on Duffy Brown's table. Duffy's a cozy mystery writer, like me, and I was excited to meet her.

Besides, Tess Gerritsen was going to be the keynote speaker. Tess is great, funny and entertaining. I decided I'd go.

There were three seats left. Not three seats on Duffy's table. Three seats out of the five hundred they'd set aside.

So I nabbed a seat with Kimberly Lang, a contemporary romance writer who specializes in Southern settings.

Best decision I ever made.

Not only did I learn a lot about marketing and branding over the weekend, I had a chance to relax after a stressful first quarter. And I won a pretty amazing door prize, entry to and lodging for Heather Graham's conference in September in New Orleans.

Now that was worth the five hour drive and the price of admission.

And I got to meet an author I'd launched my career at Crimson Romance with - Kate Fellows.

Have you been to a reader's luncheon?

Hurray for Netflix—From the Woman Who Doesn’t Watch TV

By Linda Rodriguez

As some of you readers of this blog know, I’ve been through a real run of bad luck lately, battling cancer and complications and then, once free of that, breaking two bones in my right wrist. In recent months, I’ve felt more than a little like Joe Mphstlspk of L’il Abner cartoon strip fame, who traveled everywhere under a black cloud.

One of the problems these two health situations have had in common is trouble with sleep, due to pain and side effects of medication. I’ve spent all too many nights sitting up in the living room in the middle of the night in the past year or so. Normally, in such circumstances, I would read or knit or spin yarn to use in knitting or weaving.  Unfortunately, the surgeries for cancer and the lymphedema that accompanied them—and later the broken wrist—all affected the right arm/hand, and holding a book and turning pages was not an option. Neither was holding knitting needles or a spindle.

Decades ago, I gave up watching television. This was not some intellectual I-refuse-to-watch-that-trash kind of thing. Rather it was simply an I-have-to-give-up-something-to-find-time-to-write thing.  During this time I have battled these health issues, my youngest son was living at home with his big-screen TV and Netflix subscription, something I paid little attention to until I ran into these problems. Suddenly, TV has become my friend once again.

As I’ve struggled through these sleepless nights, I’ve watched all the great Inspector Morse, Inspector Lewis, and Endeavor (Morse as a young man) television series I’d missed. I’ve also taken myself out of myself with the flawless Foyle’s War, the British and the Swedish Wallander series, all the Poirots and all the Miss Marples. I’ve watched all the trite romantic comedies I never saw and all the treacly, weepy death dramas. (Remember, this period in my life has lasted for almost a year.) Finally, I sank to the lowest point and aimed the remote at a 1980s television series I’d never even heard of, Beauty and the Beast. Linda Hamilton of Terminator. Ron Perlman before his Hellboy fame. “Beautiful NYC DA falls in love with subterranean-dwelling lion-man,” the blurb said. I wrinkled my nose and asked myself, “Can it really be worse than something called Scrotal Recall (an actual TV series on Netflix)?”

Folks, Beauty and the Beast is a writer’s TV show, a show about books and reading and ideas and people trying to take care of each other in the face of a greedy world. Produced and often written by George R.R. Martin back before he was really famous for Game of Thrones, it’s the only network television series I’ve ever seen where a major feature of each episode is the reading aloud of a passage from some great book. It’s basically a romance—and I’m not a big romance fan. But this series had so much more. And it didn’t hurt that it had this hunky lion-man who recited poetry to the woman he loved.

Unfortunately, it would seem that Ron Perlman was much sexier in his pounds of makeup and lionesque prosthetics than he ever was in real life. If the man had just kept his lion mask on and stayed in costume, he could have been on one of those People “Sexiest Man in the World” covers.

My son has finally moved into his own place and, after months of promising to move his stuff out of our house, has finally taken the big-screen TV and his PlayStation which ran Netflix. (Though our garage is still full of plastic bins and boxes of his stuff. *sigh*) I finally have the cast off my right wrist, although I still don’t have much use of it, and sleeping through the night is becoming more possible. But I will remember my year-long venture into television-land and, with special fondness, that there once was a major television series that celebrated writers, books, and reading.

REPLIES TO COMMENTS (because Blogger. *sigh*)

Sparkle Abbey,

Thanks so much for good wishes. May it be so!


Bethany,

Foyle's War is amazing! Perfect writing, directing, acting. It's a treasure.


Mary,

Who knew the 1980s had such a cool TV series, full of Shakespeare, Dickens, Dylan Thomas, etc.? One where the hunky male lead was willing to risk everything to meet his favorite writer who had, he said, "shone light on some dark places in life for me." Ah, if Perlman had only stayed in costume and kept reciting all that great writing, he could have been the biggest star around. ;-)

THEY'RE OUT TO GET ME!

Am I paranoid if somebody really is out to get me?

I am convinced someone has posted a large bounty to anyone who will take out me and my car.

I drive a little red sports car, a Honda Civic SI with 6 on the floor and VTECH acceleration. It’s a fun car, and I have fun driving it, especially since I got the radar detector and don’t have to worry so much about those pesky cops who like to give tickets to innocent speeders when they should be out looking for guilty murderers.

But now other drivers are out to get me, and not to give me a ticket!

One evening I was coming home from critique group, thinking about my book in progress and how to fix the egregious errors my critique partners had pointed out, in the zone as I sped around a long exit from one highway onto another. It’s a fun exit/entrance that curves sharply and is really fun to zip around.

My left brain suddenly exclaimed, “There’s a car coming toward you in your lane!”

Right brain: “Impossible. So my heroine finds another gift on her front porch…”

Left brain: “I swear! White car! Coming toward you!”

Right brain: “Leave me alone! And the gift has another note…”

Both sides of brain: “OMG! There’s a car coming toward me!”

I swerved, thwarted his evil purpose and eluded him. This was a blatantly deliberate attempt to take me out. There’s no way that driver could have accidentally turned onto the entrance ramp of the highway. He was after me.

I drove on, and in a couple of miles my heart rate and blood pressure returned to normal. Almost home, I was driving in the right lane, going past a huge U-Haul truck towing a car behind. All of a sudden the driver decided she wanted to be in my lane…while I was still driving in it.

I slammed on the brakes and slid around her with inches to spare, ending up in the left lane, the one she’d been driving in. I straightened, hit the gas and prepared to get past the second threat to my life and car that evening.

But the U-Haul driver was determined to complete her assignment. She came back over into my lane. I went into VTech mode, sped away with inches to spare, and managed to escape with my body and vehicle intact. I hope that Kamikaze woman was awake all night, obsessing about how she failed to complete her mission.

Having established that my car is fast and easy to maneuver, THEY switched tactics. One evening four Kamikaze drivers waited on side streets then, when one saw me approaching, he eased out into traffic in front of me and slowed to a crawl. Fortunately I have quick reaction time, very good brakes, a good horn and a large vocabulary of curse words. I can only imagine how much money must be offered to induce someone to look up, see a red sports car driven by a crazed redhead barreling down the street, and decide it would be a good idea to pull in front of her.

Then one afternoon I turned onto my home street and saw a car approaching from a side street. I was wary by that time, but the car stopped at the stop sign in front of her. Whew! Not one of the potential assassins. However, as I approached, she gave me an evil look and started to pull in front of me. I slammed on my brakes and twisted my wheel, turning to the side of the street. Thus thwarted, she stopped, smiled grimly and surged past me before I could get her license number.

I believe these events prove beyond a reasonable doubt that someone with a lot of money has it in for me. But who? I realize I can be a little irritating upon occasion, though never without good cause. Well, sure, it could always be the evil ex who hates me and has plenty of money, but he’s too stingy to pay to have it done.

How long can I evade these people? How many more will come after me? What cunning tactic will they employ next?

I can see only one recourse. I will put all of them in a book, expose them, and kill them. Thank goodness I have the power of words and a VTech engine behind me!