If you are interested in blogging or want to promote your book, please contact E. B. Davis at writerswhokill@gmail.com.

July Interviews

7/1 Lena Gregory, Scone Cold Killer
7/8 Jessica Baker, Murder on the Flying Scotsman
7/15 TG Wolff, Driving Reign
7/22 Leslie Budewitz, The Solace of Bay Leaves
7/29 Cynthia Kuhn, The Study of Secrets

Saturday Guest Bloggers

7/11 Mark Dressler
7/18 James McCrone

WWK Bloggers:

7/4 Valerie Burns
7/25 Kait Carson


Congratulations to our two Silver Falchion Finalists Connie Berry and Debra Goldstein!

Paula Gail Benson's "Cosway's Confidence" placed second and Debra Goldstein's "Wabbit's Carat" received Honorable Mention in the Bethlehem Writers Roundtable 2020 short story contest. Congratulations, Paula and Debra!

Susan Van Kirk's Three May Keep A Secret has been republished by Harlequinn's Worldwide Mystery. The WWK interview about the book can be accessed here. We're so glad another publisher picked up this series.

KM Rockwood's "Burning Desire," and Paula Gail Benson's "Living One's Own Truth," have been published in the anthology Heartbreaks & Half-truths. Congratulations to all of the WWK writers.

Please join Margaret S. Hamilton's Kings River Life podcast of her short story "Busted at the Book Sale" here. Congratulations, Margaret!

Look Margaret S. Hamilton's short stories in the new Mid-Century Murder by Darkhouse Books. Margaret's story is titled "4BR/3.5BA Contemporary."

Grace Topping's second novel in Laura Bishop staging series, Staging Wars, was released by Henery Press on April 28th. Look for the interview here from April 29th.

Annette Dashofy's 10th Zoe Chambers mystery, Til Death, will be released on June 16th. Look for the interview here on June 17.


Saturday, May 16, 2015

I’ve Got A yellow Streak a Mile Wide…

“…the Excuse I Dont Have Enough Time Is The Cowards Way Out
  —Geoff Thompson

I may be wrong, but I suspect your problem is that you have a life. Do away with that. Like, adios to yoga and the gym, plus stop jogging, and Pinteresting, sky-diving, stamp-collecting and so on.
—Calling Bullshit on a writers Top 10 excuses for Not Writing
Peter Mountford

You just need to set aside time every dayeight to twelve, twelve to four, whateverand write. Youd make more progress that way.
—My wife

My dear Messrs. Thompson and Montford, and my dear, dear wife, allow me to tell you about the time I set aside yesterday to write. The previous afternoon I picked my daughter up from school, one which requires uniforms. She plopped into the seat and groanedshes a rather dramatic 14-year old. Dont know where she gets it—“I really dont want to dress up for dress-up day tomorrow.” 
I replied, Look at it this way, Nik, dress up one more time, and you never have to do it again.She graduates from middle school in two weeks. Discussion over and forgotten.

This morning I popped the tab on an ice cold Diet Coke, cracked my knuckles, and placed my fingertips on the keyboard. Off to the races!

 At 8:36 I received a phone call from the school. Nikki decided not to dress up after all and the principal told her to call me to bring her the proper uniform shirt. I did. She's sorry. 

Its exam week, so I told her Id be back to pick her up at noon. She said, No, twelve oclock.Damn, that private school education is paying off. 

I return home and find the clothes I dried for an hour and forty minutes are indeed not dry. So I mash the buttons, as we do here in the South, again.

Before returning to the computer, I decided to go outside and link up Sparky, our sweet beagle mix rescue, to his lead since this morning I just let him out the door. I noticed his water bucket was filled with pollen and junk from the wind and rain we had last night. I dumped it and turned to head toward the hose. 

I discovered as I'm falling face first into my rather large brick fire pit that Sparky has wrapped his lead around my right ankle and was pulling in the direction opposite the one in which I was walking. Hes yelping, Im hopping on the free foot cussing up a storm, and still, the bricks are getting closer.
To avoid injuring my handsome face, I twisted and landed ass-and-elbows first in the fire pit, which, of course, is filled with ashy mud and rainwater. I stayed there about five minutes scratched up and wet, assessing what, if anything, was broken, and trying to determine ways to kill first the dog and then my daughter without having to serve prison time. Discovering no recourse, I got up, walked to the spigot to fill his bucket and found the first thing Sparky did this morning when I let him out was go to the part of the yard where he does not live and take a giant crap.

As noonor twelve oclock, as the case may bearrives, I picked up my dear daughter who plopped down into the passengers seat, placed her hand on her forehead and said, Oh. My. God. Ive had, like, the most terrible morning.

I left the school parking lot looking for a telephone pole to ram into to take us both out and realize the day is only half over!

Does this sound familiar, my writer friends?


Jim Jackson said...

If we really understood what having children meant, most rational adults would choose instead to adopt someone else’s – once they reached about twenty-three or so. :)

~ Jim

Warren Bull said...

Another typical day in the life of a writer.

E. B. Davis said...

I'll never forget the day my son and I were wrestling (he was about 4 years old), and he accidentally punched me in the face. I got ice cubes and wrapped them in a towel to avoid facial swelling. As a multitasking mom, I held my teething daughter with one hand, the towel in the other, and sat down. My daughter realized what was in the towel and begged for an ice cube to numb her sore gums. Yes, she choked on it and threw up all over me. It was my children's day of infamy.

Then there was the day my daughter used me as a trampoline. I was laying on the floor of our family room (for some reason I forget). She jumped off the sofa and onto my back. Back spasms for a week.

Another day my son put a stink bomb under my chair....

Or how about the time, as high school team mom, I packed the entire teams' dinner in coolers for an away game to be opened hours later, and the stupid coach immediately unpacked what I had spent hours packing. I think the kids lost that day since they ate an entire meal before the game.

Or the time one of my adorable brownie girls scouts (I hate GS, but volunteered for my daughter) kicked me in the leg for no apparent reason.

I'll stop here because I'm wondering what grandchildren will bring.

Gloria Alden said...

Your story is so funny, Sam. It had me laughing. loved it.

Since I had four kids in less than five years, my stories could fill a book. Most of the accidents are what happened to my active little ones, however I did develop a bad back from hauling kids on my hip. Because of this, a man who worked with my husband said he was able to manipulate the back and cure the problem. So he came to the house and had me get on the pool table in the rec room so he could work on my back. I don't remember if it worked or not, but I do remember one of my kids telling people some man they didn't know had their mother on the pool table. Did I mention my husband worked two jobs so I took the four little rug rats with me grocery shopping and almost anywhere else I had to go. I also was a den mother for Cub Scouts for 3 years and a Girl Scout leader for 10 years and taught CCD at my church for 5 years.

Okay, the kids are grown now and I live alone except for assorted critters, however, the interruptions of my writing time happen daily. If it's not my dog or two cats wanting attention, it's a family member or friend on the phone.

KM Rockwood said...

Yes, just set aside some time for writing. And watch it disappear.

Kara Cerise said...

I'm absolutely convinced there's a conspiracy afoot to keep writers from actually writing!

Shari Randall said...

I had planned to write all Thursday afternoon, but when I went to the doctor they were having a code white active shooter drill and I got to spend lots of time in an office with five strangers, one of whom was claustrophobic. Maybe there's a story in there somewhere….
Writing time - pouf!