The Dilemmas of Candy Season by Nancy L. Eady

Today, Friday, October 31, is a Very Important Day. No, I’m not talking about Halloween, although Halloween plays a part in it. Today is a Very Important Day because it marks the official start of “Candy Season.” Candy Season stretches from October 31 (Halloween) until Easter Sunday every year. I have mixed feelings about it. 

I like candy (at least chocolate candy) as much as the next person, but for the next six months, we are inundated with it. Candy seems to be a required part of almost every celebration, except for Thanksgiving—but even then, pie or cake of some kind is essential.

Ethical questions abound during Candy Season. Is it really evil to go through the Halloween candy left from the trick-or-treaters who never came and hide the Three Musketeers and Hershey bars from the rest of the family? Does Kayla really need the entire chocolate Santa that appeared in her stocking or the chocolate bunny that appeared in her Easter basket? Aren’t I really doing her a favor, saving her all those extra calories, if I eat at least part of it? Besides, it’s a jungle out there. Experience has taught me that my daughter is rifling through my candy quicker than I can rifle through hers. 

I suffer internal struggles during Candy Season as well. The following conversation occurs more than I care to admit.

Sweet Tooth Self: “Did you know we have candy in the house?”

Healthy Self: “Have an apple.”

Sweet Tooth Self: “I repeat. Did you know there is candy in the house?”

Healthy Self: “It’s not chocolate; you don’t like other types of candy. Have an apple.”

Sweet Tooth Self: “Yes, there is chocolate. I buried it at the bottom of my sock drawer so Kayla and Mark won’t find it.” 

(Note: Kayla is my daughter, and Mark is my husband.)

Healthy Self: “That was last month, and you have pretty well demolished all of that chocolate you put back. Besides, Kayla and Mark are getting suspicious—it’s hard for them to miss the fact that they haven’t been able to find chocolate since Halloween. Have an apple.”

Sweet Tooth Self: “I’ll show you!” (Reaches to the bottom of the sock drawer.) “Here's a mini-Snickers bar."

Healthy Self: “Show off! Have an apple.”

Sweet Tooth Self: “But it’s a mini-Snickers bar!”

Healthy Self: “Well, nuts are part of a healthy diet….”

Sweet Tooth Self: “I told you!”

Healthy Self: “Eat it, quick. We'll give Kayla the apple. It will keep her healthy.”

Do you have candy season at your house? How do you deal with excess chocolate when it floats through your life? 

There’s More Than One Way to Tell a Story

By M.E. Proctor

We had dinner with friends a few days ago and Carol (not her real name) said, out of the blue, “I don’t need the crutches anymore.” I looked at her, and she was the same as always. She’d walked in without giving a hint that anything was wrong. We’d been talking about kids and travel. Regular conversation between people at ease with each other. She continued with another non sequitur, “I’ve had a stiff neck for a long time.” That statement was followed by, “I broke two legs.” At that point, my mind was doing cartwheels.

It isn’t the first time I’ve had to fasten my seatbelt when Carol launches into stories. They often ramble in search of a plot. Sometimes they get somewhere, but if they don’t, it’s okay. The journey, not the destination. This episode had a compelling narrative. I hadn’t seen her in almost a year, and a lot had happened. Eventually, the puzzle pieces fell into place, but in IKEA fashion it took some assembly work.

After the couple left, I turned to my husband and said, “It’s like Pulp Fiction.” He deadpanned, without missing a beat, “The world needs non-linear thinkers.”

I pictured a scene. Apartment, night, lights dimmed. Carol has witnessed a crime. She’s being interviewed by a cop. He’s a solid, no-nonsense type with a hangdog face. A guy who has seen everything in a long career of getting sore feet from beating the pavement. Walter Matthau in the role. He listens to her. I see him pushing his hat back, going ‘uh?’.

We’re taught from a young age to put things in chronological order and focus on what’s important. In French, it’s called ‘esprit de synthèse’ (ability to synthesize). Example: a kid’s running home, flushed red, screaming, ‘Mom, you gotta see this, Jake’s up there, Billy’s in the pond …’ Mom raises a hand and says, ‘Breathe. Now, what happened? Make it short.’

Why is this the recommended approach? Because it’s efficient, it saves time. In the Billy-in-the-pond case it might even save a life. In an emergency, you don’t want a long-winded explanation before sending Lassie to the rescue. But does conciseness make for good storytelling? Not necessarily, unless Hemingway does it. And we’ve known what works since cave dwelling times. I doubt our forebears served the tale of the hunt straight up. I bet they enjoyed a bit of suspense. After supper.

We all have quirks, and they manifest themselves in our particular ways of telling a story. How we react is also largely dependent on how our minds are wired. What entertains some will irritate others.

My friend Carol is not incoherent. She knows what’s going on—in fact she knows it too well. She doesn’t need a tidy narrative. She’s telling you what’s most important to her, in the moment, and expects you to follow along. My mother was also an unorthodox narrator. She trained as a seamstress, had a keen eye for design, and loved historical movies. If you asked her for the plot, she’d start at the beginning but would never complete the tale because what she really wanted to talk about were the gowns, in crushed-velvet and lace detail. Mom wasn’t alone. I once worked with a girl who was the most tortuous storyteller I ever met. She’d stuff side plots inside side plots, like nesting dolls. I must have told her a hundred times ‘for heaven’s sake get to the point.’

Decrypting Carol’s story made me think about forms of storytelling. The classic beginning-middle-end structure, the three- or five-act model, the linear narrative. All familiar. Boring?

Laurence Sterne in The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman used linearity for comical effect: “I wish either my father or my mother, or indeed both of them, as they were in duty both equally bound to it, had minded what they were about when they begot me …” Start at conception, you can’t be more chronological than that. Dickens did it too, a hundred years later, when he titled the first chapter of David Copperfield: I Am Born.

If these guys poked fun at the straight timeline, why shouldn’t Carol dynamite it? Writers do it all the time. They all borrow from Carol, my mother, or my office colleague. In crime fiction, stories often start in the meat of it and jump around: flashback, flash forward, quick cuts, diversions, subplots. Last week, I rewatched Sunset Boulevard, which starts one scene from the end. Double Indemnity is one flashback, so is Murder, My Sweet. Memento plays backwards. I used to own a deck of Brian Eno’s Oblique Strategies (must have lost it in a move, which is quite ironic), and it’s all about reshuffling: plot, time, characters. Exactly what Carol did, in my dining room. I might not tell my stories her way, but a character who hopscotches like she does? Absolutely. I think I’ll revisit with that flabbergasted cop, the one with Walter Matthau’s cocker spaniel eyes … 

Now is your turn, how do you tell a story?

 About Catch Me on a Blue Day

 According to one reviewer:

“Catch Me on a Blue Day is a speedboat of a detective yarn, sleek and sexy and fast as hell. You'll love it.”

“For Ella and all the innocents slain by soulless men.”

It’s the dedication of the book on the Salvadoran civil war retired reporter Carlton Marsh was writing before he committed suicide.

A shocking death. Marsh had asked Declan Shaw to come to Old Mapleton, Connecticut to help him with research. He looked forward to Declan’s visit.

Now Declan stands in the office of the local police chief. The cop would prefer to see him fly back to Houston. He’s never dealt with a private detective, but everybody knows they are trouble. In Catch Me on a Blue Day, Declan is far from his regular Texas stomping grounds. He’s off balance in more ways than one, and the crimes he uncovers are of a magnitude he could not foresee. Between the sins of an old New England town and the violence of 1980s El Salvador. And the links between the two.

Amazon link: https://www.amazon.com/Catch-Blue-Declan-Shaw-Mysteries-ebook/dp/B0FR3DWYGD/

M.E. Proctor was born in Brussels and lives in Texas. She’s the author of the Declan Shaw detective mysteries: Love You Till Tuesday and Catch Me on a Blue Day, the author of a short story collection, Family and Other Ailments, and the co-author of a retro-noir novella, Bop City Swing. Her fiction has appeared in Vautrin, Tough, Rock and a Hard Place, Bristol Noir, Mystery Tribune, Shotgun Honey, Reckon Review, and Black Cat Weekly among others. She’s a Shamus and Derringer awards short story nominee. Website: www.shawmystery.com. On Substack: https://meproctor.substack.com.

A Book Review of Gary Gerlacker's Last Patient Of The Night by E. B. Davis

 

The death of a nameless young woman in his emergency room spurs physician AJ Docker to seek answers. Together with his policeman friend and a police dog, he sets out on a quest for justice for his lost patient, but he discovers more questions than answers as he delves into the criminal world.

 

Last Patient of the Night is an action-packed thriller interspersed with lighthearted stories from the emergency room, featuring a cast of interesting characters.

 

Gary Gerlacher's experience as an emergency physician lends authenticity to the ER culture. His debut novel is the first in the AJ Docker series, and will leave you turning pages late into the night.

                                                                                                                                    Amazon.com

 

The truth—I downloaded this book (on Kindle Unlimited) because of the police dog. I’d read an article about the addition of a K9 unit on a local police force—Sailor—a female Lab, which got me in the mood to read a K9 story.

 

But the story is really about the main character, Doc, who is an ER doctor. While on a ski vacation, an inexperienced skier runs into a tree crushing his windpipe. Readers quickly understand that author Gary Gerlacker is an experience ER physician because he describes the detailed procedures for a tracheostomy Doc performs on the trail using a kit from his backpack. It’s an action-packed start, which doesn’t end until the last page.

 

The ER is filled with staff who are good at their jobs and have a great respect for Doc, even if they constantly take bets on the actions Doc will take. Doc’s adversary is a hospital administrator named VP Lou, who is concerned that the ER isn’t profitable and they need to increase their admissions rates. Sarcasm among the staff is unavoidable.

 

Doc’s best friends are police officer, Tom Nocal, and his K9, Banshee, a sixty-pound Belgian Malinois, who leaves wounds on criminals that Doc is used to stitching up. 

 

A young woman comes to the Houston ER, where Doc works, with a fractured wrist. Doc thinks she is an abuse victim. But she leaves the ER without saying anything and is later found dead in the ER parking lot. Doc attends the autopsy and takes a picture of her unusual tattoo, through which he tracks her and finds her real identity. Without family, she is a dancer in a warehouse club owned by Ukrainian mobsters. Tom and Doc go to the club. After Doc pays for a woman’s “service,” to get her alone, she tells him that they may as well be slaves. Later, away from the club, she tells him of a club spinoff of call-girl services, which was another duty the victim filled. From there, Doc traces a blackmailing scheme paid to the Ukrainian mobsters through Bitcoin accounts, making them billions. Of course, in the end, Doc, Tom, and Banshee get the bad guys and also take care of sending VP Lou to jail.

 

This is the first of six books in the series. If you want a fast, action-packed read with interesting medical detail, this series is for you. 

 

Cracking the Paleolithic Dot and Dash Code by Martha Reed

I love amateur sleuth detective stories, especially those sleuths like Agatha Christie’s Miss Marple who used their intelligence and plain old-fashioned common sense to solve the mystery.

I also believe that humans are hard-wired to share key information, especially back in the day when recording and sharing such data was critical to survival. Knowing and planning for the timing of herd animal and spawning fish migration patterns would’ve been critical for hunting these food resources.

Now, according to the BBC, a London furniture conservator named Ben Bacon is being credited with deciphering the reason that Ice Age hunter-gatherers added dots and “Y”s to their cave paintings.

After studying hundreds of cave painting images and looking for repeating patterns, Mr. Bacon surmised that the number of dots associated with each image corresponded to one of the 13 months in the natural lunar calendar. He suggested that “Y” symbol represented the animals giving birth. So for instance, if you were hunting aurochs (ancient cattle) you would travel to their traditional calving grounds during the fourth lunar cycle to find them.

Or with salmon, you could expect to see their river migration during the third lunar month:

According to some researchers, this dot and dash code may actually represent our oldest written language.

What do you think? Too far-fetched or is this blast from the past theory possible?

Comma Curmudgeon by Nancy L. Eady

 My legal writing and creative writing rarely cross paths, but the comma is a topic of interest in both spheres. Sometimes the lack of a comma calls itself to my attention, as per the billboard campaign of an attorney in this state whose slogan is “Call me Alabama!” Of course, his name is not Alabama, and I am not sure why people call someone who doesn’t know his own name, but the slogan pops up everywhere in the state. 

I needed help with proofreading a brief the other day, and the paralegal doing the proof-reading returned the brief with 50 additional edits, which confused me until I realized that she was a rigid Oxford comma adherent. The Oxford comma is also known as the serial comma and has been a topic of hot debate for decades. I personally take a flexible approach. If I need a serial comma to make my meaning clear, I use it. If it’s unnecessary, I don’t. However, writers in both the legal writing field and the creative writing field are passionate in their beliefs about the Oxford comma. An Instagram appellate writing group debated the issue for three consecutive days, but no consensus was reached. Even the arbiters who usually win such arguments (the ones whose names begin with “Judge”) were divided on the issue. 

The Oxford comma has played a pivotal role in certain legal cases. For example, in 2012, a case dealt with the meaning of a New Hampshire law that exempted certain activities from time and a half overtime pay. The disputed part of the law stated that overtime pay was not required for:  

the canning, processing, preserving, freezing, drying, marketing, storing, packing for shipment or distribution of:

(1) Agricultural produce;

(2) Meat and fish products; and

(3) Perishable foods.

Did the law mean that packing for shipment of agricultural produce, meat and fish products, and perishable foods as well as distribution of the same three categories was exempt from overtime pay? Or did the law mean that only packing was exempt, whether that packing was for purposes of shipment or purposes of distribution? It mattered because the dairy truckers who sued for backpay did not pack their loads; they only distributed them. If the dairy truckers were correct, then they were owed a great deal of overtime pay. (The court held that the phrase was ambiguous, siding with the dairy truckers. However, the case was settled before a final ruling was obtained, leaving the Oxford comma in legal limbo.) 

In creative writing, comma use can be equally important. For example, “Let’s eat, Grandma” means something entirely different from “Let’s eat Grandma.” One sentence conjures up warm fuzzy images of Sunday dinners with the family gathered around the table; the other is cannibalistic. Similarly, the clarity of a headline that reads “Susie Smith finds inspiration in cooking her dog and family” would be enhanced with commas, i.e. “Susie Smith finds inspiration in cooking, her dog, and family.” (That was a bona fide headline in a real magazine; only the name of the celebrity has been changed to protect the innocent.) The litany of thanks by most award winners also benefits from comma use. Most thinking people would do a double take upon reading the sentence, “I’d like to thank my parents, Christina and God.” The phrase “I’d like to thank my parents, Christina, and God” is less startling. 

I am not and never will be a grammar/punctuation expert. My rule of thumb, whether I’m writing a legal brief or a novel, is simple: when in doubt, use whatever it takes to make the reader understand. That’s probably not the answer a true grammarian wants to see, but at least it’s an honest one. 

What are your comma pitfalls, mistakes, and pet peeves? 

Writing Retreat by Annette Dashofy

Last weekend, I joined six of my local Sisters in Crime for our annual retreat. For four years now, we’ve rented the same house, which is literally out in the middle of nowhere, for a couple of days of writing, brainstorming, and workshopping our current projects. 

Our Retreat House

We arrived on Friday afternoon, loaded with enough food to feed a small army. The first hours were spent unloading the food and our gear, drawing cards to determine which room was ours, and lots of gabbing and catching up with each other. 

My bedroom for the weekend

In the weeks leading up to the retreat, we’d created a meal plan with a spreadsheet of who brought what. I always pick Friday’s dinner as my contribution. I brought Naan bread with marinara sauce and shredded mozzarella for individual pizzas. There were also a couple of cauliflower-crust pizzas to accommodate those who are gluten-intolerant.

Once the kitchen was cleaned up, we gathered with our laptops in the comfy living room for a read-and-critique session. For this, we’d submitted twenty pages several weeks in advance to give us time to read and make comments, which we shared and discussed in person. It was also a wonderful way to find out what everyone was working on, and in the case of a couple of new members, to learn how we could help improve their craft as needed. 

For Saturday, another attendee provided quiche and frittatas for breakfast. Then, after a few hours of retreating to our solitary spaces to write, I offered the first half of a workshop on characters. In past years, various attendees have shared presentations. And one year, we opted to have a JUST WRITING retreat. I stressed that the workshops were optional. If anyone preferred to pass and simply keep writing, my feelings weren’t hurt at all. 

A third attendee took charge of a lunch of soup and sandwiches. The afternoon was more writing, the second half of the workshop, and even more writing. A fourth attendee prepared a pasta dinner for us. 

There was a lot of pairing off to discuss plot, character, dialogue problems, etc. It’s so gratifying to see someone, who discovered a major problem in their story during the critique, appear smiling and excited later in the weekend because they had figured out the solution! 

Sunday, our own Martha Reed played short-order breakfast cook, whipping up a variety of egg dishes or steel-cut oats. 

(The other attendees, who didn’t cook, brought snacks and wine and beverages and more snacks. We had enough food to stay the whole week!)

 By the way, if you’re wondering why my pictures don’t include our retreaters, it’s because none of us were photo-ready. Our dress code was pajamas or yoga pants and NO MAKEUP. 

I hope everyone headed home late Sunday morning as inspired as I was. 

Fellow writers and readers, have you ever attended a retreat, writing or otherwise? If so, tell us about it!

 

 

 

 

 

  

The Birth of a Writer

by Kait Carson

For a dreamer lives forever. And a toiler dies in a day. John Boyle O Reilly

My mother used to say this to me. I think she considered it her motto. But I never knew what she dreamed of. I wish I had asked. Like many of her generation, she was schooled in poetry. To her dying day, she quoted entire poems, The “Charge of the Light Brigade” being a favorite, most anything by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, and Carl Sandburg. We lived on a river, and at certain times of the year, fog formed a wall between the banks. I never look at fog that I don’t see a gray cat, tail curled around its feet, floating in the mist. Her quotes were cryptic comments, but they’ve become clearer as they followed me through life.

Looking back on the dreamer quote, I think it was my mother’s way of encouraging me. I was a late child, born nine years after my only sibling. My parents were well into middle age at the time and unsure of what they needed to do about this tiny bundle of energy born when they thought their lives would be slowing and settling. The kids in my neighborhood were older and male. As the lone girl child, I needed some serious coping skills to keep up. I became an over-achieving daredevil of a kid. Nothing was too hard or too dangerous. To fail meant being left behind.

Add an overactive imagination, and learning to read at the tender age of two into the mix, and this girl-child had a setup for adventure. We built snow forts, igloos, and practiced skiing down snow-packed stairs. Yes. Stairs. We’d heard of the Tenth Mountain Division, and although we had little knowledge of the men who served with them, we invented battles and stories for our snowy play forts.

Then came Mark Twain. What better books for children growing up along a river? We lashed fallen branches together and built rafts, all of which met watery deaths. None of us did, though. I had the honor of being rescued by the tugboat captain once. I’m sure we were the bane of the bridge tenders' existence. Given we played in the Passaic River, I’m surprised we don’t glow in the dark! We paid homage to Tarzan by building platforms in trees and swinging out over the river on ropes. My parents took much of this in stride. They drew the line when I jumped out of the second-story window. I landed unbroken and unfazed, rescued the wagon train from Billy the Kid and had heck to pay when I knocked on the front door to be let back into my house. Ended up spending two weeks in my room. That would have been acceptable, but they took my books away.

I met Jo March about the same time most of my older friends were entering middle school. The difference in our ages became an insurmountable chasm. My endless imagination turned inward and emerged as words on the page. School always came easily. I excelled at the work. Math, science, and English all flowed effortlessly. My teachers were thrilled, but they all had one negative comment. She’s a dreamer, they would write on my report card. My parents attended more than one conference where teachers expressed frustration. Once I understood something, I lost interest in the rest of the class and scribbled stories. Stories I was forced to read aloud as punishment. One or two paragraph flights of fancy that often drew applause from my classmates.

My parents would come home from these meetings at a loss how to discipline me. My mother would say, “She’s a dreamer, Bill, and a dreamer lives forever, a toiler but a day.” I’m still a dreamer. Now my dreams take the form of books and short stories. Some of them sell, some do not, but they are all a part of me. Some, like this post, are deeply rooted in the heart of the child.

How about you? Are you a dreamer? Do you still follow your dreams?

Kait Carson writes the Hayden Kent Mysteries, set in the Fabulous Florida Keys, and is at work on a new mystery series set in her adopted state of Maine. Her short fiction has been nationally published in the True Confessions magazines and in Woman’s World. Kait’s short story, “Gutted, Filleted, and Fried”, appeared in the Silver Falchion Award nominated Guppy Anthology Hook, Line, and Sinker. Her nonfiction essay was included in the Agatha Award-winning book Writing the Cozy Mystery. She is a former President of the Guppy Chapter of Sisters in Crime, a member of Sisters in Crime, and Guppies.

Flow by Nancy L. Eady

I started a new job last week—my first new job in thirty-four years. The biggest change in this transition among many other changes is the drastic increase in my commute. I am now traveling just under two hours each way. 

Most of the journey, except for the first mile from my house and the last three miles towards my workplace, is on three interstates. I travel through two major metropolitan areas, Birmingham and Montgomery, while doing so. 

The thing that has fascinated me so far is the way traffic flows on the interstates. Most of my travel time is outside of rush hour, so in a perfect world, me and my fellow travelers would roll along at a pleasant, steady clip of seventy miles an hour until we reached our exit, at which point we would cheerfully tootle onto the secondary road of our choice. Nope. 

As a group, we just can’t pull that off. We’ll all be rollicking along at a fair clip, and suddenly, traffic slows. Sometimes it slows to a crawl; sometimes it slows only twenty miles an hour below the speed limit. Occasionally, a police car or accident or construction will explain the slowdown, but more often than not, just as suddenly, traffic opens back up with no explanation. 

So, rather than the fast, steady clip I hope for, my drive breaks itself into a different pace: the beginning is quick, then, when I transition onto the interstate that circles Birmingham, things slow because of the unexpected—a piece of trash in the middle of the road, a police car watching us on the side of the road, a car pulled to the shoulder with its hazard lights blinking, a group of five tractor-trailers limited to speeds of fifty-five miles an hour in both the right and left-hand lane, or some poor soul who hasn’t figured out that driving forty-five miles an hour on a seventy mile an hour interstate just should not be done. When I transition back to the north/south interstate at the end of the bypass, we speed back up as a group, finally reaching the high point of our collective travel about ten miles from the office, after which we all slow down rapidly as we near downtown Montgomery and my office. 

The traffic reminds me of the pace of the mystery novels that I enjoy. The beginning sets the scene, and the event that unsettles the fictional world I am in occurs quickly. Then I travel through a series of unexpected twists and turns with my protagonist sleuth as we investigate the crime. Following these twists and turns, we reach the climax of the novel, where the criminal is unmasked and the mystery solved.  After the climax comes the denouement, the tying up of loose ends that brings the novel to a satisfying close. 

And those days when traffic comes to a complete halt or stays a snarled mess from the beginning to the end of my drive? Those drives are the rough draft of something I’ve written before I take it in hand and wrestle it into a pace and flow that meets readers’ expectations. 

What suggestions do you have about the pace and flow mystery novels should follow? 

An Interview with Marilyn Levinson/Allison Brook by E. B. Davis

 

A divorced sleuth in her thirties must bring peace back to her small town after a murder tears neighbors and family members apart in this series debut from Agatha Award nominee Allison Brook, perfect for fans of Cynthia Riggs and Eva Gates.

Delia Dickens has come home to Dickens Island, a small island in the Long Island Sound, after a twelve-year stint in Manhattan. She’s looking forward to helping her father revitalize the general store that the family owns as well as curating a small book nook. Most importantly, she wants to reunite with her fifteen-year-old son. But Dickens Island isn’t the peaceful town Delia remembers–and she might be in more danger here than she ever was in the big city.

Delia’s Aunt Reenie and Uncle Brad, both prominent community leaders, are at odds over the sale of a farm and its future use. This has created friction, not only in their marriage, but amongst the citizens of the town. When a young woman, new to the town council and friendly with Brad, is found murdered, everything escalates and reaches a new boiling point.

With Reenie and Brad both suspects in the case and at each other’s throats, the townspeople start to take sides. When the ghost of her grandmother visits her, Delia learns how past events have impacted the present, and it is up to her to expose the farm’s sordid secrets in order to catch a murderer and restore peace to her beloved island.

Amazon.com

 

I thoroughly enjoyed reading Death On Dickens Island by Allison Brook, a pseudonym of WWK’s Marilyn Levinson. It is the first novel in her Books on the Beach mystery series. Set on an island near to New York City, it is isolated and yet near everything. The cast is composed of small-town characters of family, town officials, friends, and employees.

 

Delia Dickens, the main character, has a problematic past involving a psycho ex-husband and an estranged fifteen-year-old son. When she inherited her grandmother’s house on the island, she decides to move from her Manhattan apartment to the island and reestablish a relationship with her son, who was staying with her parents on the island. Her father asked for help in restoring the family’s general store’s profitability. But before she can do any of that, she must solve a murder.                                                                                          E. B. Davis

 

Dickens Island is located between Long Island and Connecticut in Long Island Sound. Is the island based on a real island in a similar location? Since no bridge exists, a ferry must be taken to get to Long Island. How long would it take to get into Manhattan from Dickens Island?

 

Dickens Island is purely my creation and not based on any actual island. There is a ferry from Dickens Island to Long Island. The ride is half an hour long. From there, commuters can get the Long Island Railroad in Riverhead and travel to Penn Station in Manhattan. The train ride takes about two hours.

 

Delia Dickens, your main character, is thirty-eight years old and divorced. She owns an apartment in Manhattan, but she moves into a house on Dicken’s Island that she inherited from her grandmother. What job did Delia leave when she moved from Manhattan?

 

She had an important position in marketing.

 

Delia’s mother and father both have younger siblings, who also married. Because they were the older
siblings, did they assume the role of overseers of their siblings’ relationship? Or at least her father, Graham, took on that role, but why does he then put the mediating to his wife and/or daughter?

 

As the older brother, Graham is the patriarch of the Dickens family and feels responsible for the welfare of the island's residents. That said, he's basically mild-mannered and dislikes confrontation. Which is why he has depended on his wife to mediate family differences and other matters. Now that Gillian is living in Manhattan, he's put his daughter Delia in the position of mediator.

Conner, Delia’s fifteen-year-old son, feels that Delia abandoned him. Why does he feel that way, and has he given her the chance to explain?

 

Delia has escaped from a marriage that turned abusive when her son was born. After divorcing her husband, Delia lives and works in Manhattan. After Connor's daycare folds, and many babysitters have simply not shown up, Delia finds herself leaving Connor more and more often with her parents on Dickens Island. Because of her long working hours and the trauma of her divorce, Delia believes her son will have a more settled life living with his grandparents. But Connor, while loving his grandparents, feels that Delia has abandoned him. He's resentful toward her when, at the age of fifteen, he's once again living with Delia. Though Delia has tried to explain that she had his welfare at heart when she arranged to have him live with her parents, Connor refuses to hear her out. Their relationship improves when a stray dog enters their lives.

 

When a farm comes up for sale, Delia’s Aunt Reenie is for commercial development of the site. As town manager, she supports businesses and increased revenue for taxes. Her husband, Delia’s Uncle Brad, is the head of the town council. He doesn’t want the island over run by tourists and supports a historical farm site for tours. This opposition is very realistic. Here on Hatteras Island, we’ve had the same problem. Did you imagine the problem or did you research island commercial issues?

 

This was one aspect of the book that I didn't have to research because the reason the two Dickens brothers, each in his own way, does his best to stop progress is emotionally driven.

 

Like Blackbeard, Captain William Kidd started out as a privateer and then became a pirate. But I never knew Captain Kidd lived in Manhattan. Is it true? It somehow seems incongruent with the image of pirates?

 

Yes, William Kidd married a wealthy woman and lived in lower Manhattan and owned property there.

 

Delia is trying to update the General Store’s stock to increase sales and move merchandise. Although her dad asked for help, he seems resistant to change and the updates Delia makes, even though her sales are increasing. What is with Graham and Brad—are they both not being realistic?

 

They aren't realistic. While their wives see the need to keep up with the times, Graham and Brad have a problem moving ahead. Though Graham tells Gillian and then Delia that he welcomes their suggestions to improve and update the Dickens General Store, he does everything he can to maintain the status quo. Brad does the same when it comes to supporting new housing and a ferry to Connecticut. Their mother Helena, who appears to Delia in ghostly form, says her sons are trying, each in his own way, to keep the island how it was when their father was alive. Ironic, Helena says since their father was always for progress that would bring more residents and visitors to the island.

 

Wayne, Delia’s brother, a successful novelist and local newspaper owner, warns her not to get involved in their father’s plots to save his brother’s marriage or the fractured locals. Their mother has taken over Delia’s Manhattan apartment for the last four months. How does Wayne’s warning to Delia relate to their mother?

 

Wayne has the wonderful ability to lead his life exactly as he likes, while maintaining a good relationship with both his parents. Now that their mother isn't around to smooth things over, Graham has asked Delia to "do something" about the rift between Brad and Reenie. Wayne tells his sister that she doesn't have to take on the role of arbiter simply because their father wants her to.

 

The same day a local woman, who serves on the town council, is murdered, Conner goes missing. Conner said he was going to school and then would spend the afternoon with his friend Trevor, who has a rough and somewhat criminal family. But when the school calls wondering why Conner didn’t come to school, Delia covers for him, letting them think Conner was sick. Why did she do that?

 

Delia is surprised to find herself lying to protect her son from being considered truant that day. Her maternal protectiveness has taken over. Of course, Connor is glad that Delia has covered for him, and it goes a long way to improve their relationship. But Delia insists on giving him a punishment for cutting school--finally removing his possessions from the garage.

A stray dog finds Delia and her house. She takes him in and buys him food and treats and then names him Riley. She likes the dog, but does she think having a dog will bribe Conner into trusting her?

 

Delia has no intention of bribing her son. Both she and Connor fall instantly in love with the Bearded Collie that follows Connor home one day. This new shared interest brings mother and son closer together. Delia takes the dog to Jack Morrison, the local vet who's her former boyfriend, to be examined and groomed. When Jack finds out that Riley's owner has died, Delia arranges to adopt Riley.

 

Conner found a secret room he shows to Delia. It stores her grandmother’s correspondence and historical books and journals. Does sharing that secret draw Delia and Conner closer?

 

The secret room and Captain Kidd's journal bring mother and son closer, but Delia doesn't tell Connor that her grandmother Helena appears in the room as a ghost. Reading her grandmother's journals and speaking at length with Helena, Delia learns Helena's secret. She doesn't share this information with anyone.

 

Jack Morrison, the local vet, and Delia had a hot and heavy teenage romance, until he went to college and emailed her breaking it off. He basically ghosted her. For Delia, who loved him, it was a devastating experience that set her up for the bad relationship she had with her ex-husband. But she has to see him to find out if Riley has a chip and if he was a patient. How did it set her up for a terrible later relationship? When he asks her out, why does she say yes?

 

When Jack ended their relationship, Delia was devastated. She thought their love would last forever. She convinces herself that the break up happened because she doesn't have what's necessary to keep a man interested in her. And so her self-confidence flags. When she meets her future husband in college, she ignores small signs of danger, unconsciously telling herself that she can't afford to be too picky. Things are okay until she becomes pregnant and becomes aware that her husband won't tolerate anyone who takes her total attention from himself, including their infant son.

Delia's first reaction when Jack asks her out is to say no. She's been burned once by him. But at the reception following the funeral service for the murdered woman, Jack tells Delia that he regretted breaking up with her all those years ago, and he did it because he was afraid he'd fallen in love with her. Hearing this, Delia agrees to go to dinner with him.

 

When Delia enters her grandmother’s secret room with Riley, she encounters her ghost. When Riley bolts for the door, Delia opens the door for Riley to escape, but her grandmother pleads with her to stay and tell her what has been happening in town. Why does she want to know about the town’s current events?

 

Helena was always actively involved in Dickens Island affairs. She taught elementary school on the island, ran the Dickens General Store, and became the island's first manager (mayor.) When Delia was young, her grandmother told her she'd return to Dickens Island and would be involved in its management. Delia insisted this would never happen, but it seems Helena might have been right. Helena, while wanting to know that her sons' marriages will be all right, is also sort of the island's Guardian Angel

 

What’s next for Delia, Conner, and Riley?

 

More mysteries and adventures.

 

 

 

 

Mystery in the Midlands: Writing Short Mystery Fiction 2025

by Paula Gail Benson

For the second year in a row, author and editor Michael Bracken joined with the Palmetto Chapter of Sisters in Crime and the Southeastern Chapter of the Mystery Writers of America to present a virtual program on writing short mystery fiction. We were delighted to have 189 registrants. Between 65 and 75 attended the sessions live on Saturday and dozens have asked for access to the recording.

The lineup of speakers and panelists was phenomenal. After resolving a few technical difficulties, we began with John M. Floyd, author of more than 500 stories that have appeared in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, Strand Magazine, Best American Mystery Stories, Best Mystery Stories of the Year, and many other publications. He gave us a primer on plotting, saying that he began with a plot first, then populated it with interesting characters.

John recommended Ronald B. Tobias’ Twenty Master Plots and How to Build Them, which defined a story as a series of related events. For example, the king died, then the queen died was a story. However, the king died, then the queen spit on his grave became a plot, or a series of related events that introduced suspense and made the story readable and interesting.

He emphasized the importance of remaining observant because ideas might come from everywhere. When he was working for IBM, he traveled a great deal. He mentioned two instances when he encountered information he stored away for possible plots: (1) not being able to scuba dive within 24 hours before flying, and (2) losing or gaining a day when crossing the International Date Line.

Following John Floyd, Michael Bracken moderated a panel of New Voices in Short Mystery Fiction, consisting of N.M. Cedeño, whose short stories have appeared in science fiction and mystery publications; LaToya Jovena who writes about the D.C. suburbs and whose work has appeared in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine and The Best American Mystery and Suspense; and Tom Milani, who since 2022 has published ten short stories, a novella, and a novel and whose work has been short-listed for a Derringer Award. N.M. spoke about being runner up for several of AHMM’s Mysterious Photo contests. She then wrote a full story which EQMM rejected but was accepted by Analog when her brother-in-law suggested she submit it there. Latoya emphasized perseverance—never giving up in spite of the obstacles. Tom mentioned how helpful his writing critique group had been, particularly for hearing when something did not seem to work for many readers.

In the last segment, I moderated a discussion with three wonderful editors: Barb Goffman, who has won the Agatha, Anthony, Derringer, Macavity, Ellery Queen Readers Award, and the Short Mystery Fiction Society’s lifetime achievement award as well as edited or co-edited 15 anthologies; Sandra Murphy, whose stores have appeared in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, and other publications and who has edited 4 anthologies; and Josh Pachter, author, editor, and translator, who joined us from Morocco. They all emphasized the importance of following instructions but also being creative in developing a story to meet the theme. In addition, they gave viewers a lot of good information about currently pending anthologies and how to find submission calls.

If you would like to view the recording, connect to the link below by pressing CTRL (control) and clicking on the link:

https://us02web.zoom.us/rec/share/iZh6oa8BgBpUUzPDxu1nDwpbbfmq8sWcKe7KT4XdknrONPNVGTaNvsG6X-m3k3HS.OG0O8fzM1XHqDPtt?startTime=1760799152000

When prompted, enter the Passcode below.

Passcode: 7Zb@%i5f

Do you write short stories? Why do you enjoy that format? 

PIVOT, TWIRL, LUNGE, AND LEAP

PIVOT, TWIRL, LUNGE, AND LEAP by Mary Keliikoa

That headline almost sounds like a fancy dance move, doesn’t it?

As a child I’d wanted to be a dancer, so that’s likely why I gravitate to the terms. But in this case, they’re used to describe my writing journey over the past thirty years. What I left out were a couple of additional words that describe it slightly better: Evolve and adapt.

I started writing when I was in my late twenties. Having just rounded the sun now for the 60th time, that feels like eons ago—and it’s wild to think I’ve been writing for over half my life. It’s wilder to look back and see how many things have changed.

Of course, not all of those years were spent at the keyboard. In my mid-thirties, I stopped writing to open a company with my husband. I tried to maintain a writing schedule at first, but we had retail stores that were open seven days a week, ten hours a day, and that became all-consuming. Despite my best efforts, the writing had to eventually take a backseat. 

Sure, I yearned to get back to that novel I wrote in 1999 and see if it had potential, but the mental bandwidth to dive in and work on it didn’t occur for fifteen years, and shortly after I turned 50. It was that novel, however, DERAILED, that went on to be my debut in 2020 at the age of 55. 

Now nearly a decade later since I returned to my writing, my seventh book has just published, with an eighth coming next year.

The process has been hard some days, gratifying others, head-pounding-ly frustrating on more than one occasion, and all out exhilarating when I’m lucky. It’s also been eye-opening because the other change has taken some time to adapt to: It’s not just about writing anymore.

Back in the day, as I like to call it, there were no social media handles. Google had yet to come into its own. Research was done the old-fashioned way—books, libraries, and picking up the phone. Those methods still occur, but not without a computer search first. There were also no smart phones then, so my PI and detectives had to surveil and interview witnesses in person. The process of catching up to the new norm, and staying there, has been part of the challenge.

I’ve also evolved a fair amount over the years as a writer. Dedicated pantser for most of them, I’ve recently discovered that plotting might not be a dirty word. I know plenty who embrace the plotting life and can’t imagine sitting down to write without a road map. However, my previous attempts to plot often sent me spinning my wheels for days if not weeks. Soon, with my anxiety amped, I’d just give up. But in my recent projects, I’ve worked with an editor who encouraged me to try again. We did deep dives into character, and motivation, which informed the plot. I decided that my suspense novels were becoming too intricate not to have a game plan. 

Did this process take me weeks? No—it took months. Three to be exact—at least for the last few novels I’ve drafted. Was it worth it? Yes. The actual writing took nine weeks because I knew exactly where I was going. At the end of the day, about the same amount of time as if I’d pantsed it, just split differently. I’d like to say I’m a planster now, because the plot still has room for growth, and to pivot, jump, and twirl a bit. All essential in my world.

What is also true is that I never stop learning, never stop growing. At sixty, I’m realizing that the writing is the reward. With thousands of books entering the marketplace each year, AI looming, agents minimizing, publishers less willing to take risks, the fact I show up and write and create is the only thing I can control. And while it’s taken a minute, I’m finding it’s enough.

I’m not saying I’ve given up on directing that dance production I like to call my writing career. I still want to take the literary equivalent of leaps into the stratosphere and make it big.  But maybe I’m evolving and a little more relaxed as I adapt into allowing the writing to take me where it does. 

So, for now, I’m opening the window, throwing my elbow on the ledge (dog in the back seat of course) and letting the wind blow through my hair. I’m here for the journey and excited to see where we’re headed. 

Oh, and the song playing on the radio is The Best is Yet to Come because it is—and I intend to dance to it the entire way.

Eighteen years in the legal field, and an over-active imagination, led Mary Keliikoa to plot murder—novels that is. She is the author of KILLER TRACKS, the third book in the award-winning Misty Pines mystery series, the domestic thriller DON’T ASK, DON’T FOLLOW, and the multi-nominated PI Kelly Pruett mystery series. Her short stories have appeared in Woman's World and the anthology PEACE, LOVE and CRIME.

“Off the Page” with Ashley Prescott by The Wren (Sarah E. Burr)

A Note from Sarah Burr: I'm handing over the blogging reins to none other than Winnie Lark, the savvy sleuth and bookish brain behind my Book Blogger Mysteries series. Winnie runs What Spine is Yours—a literary hub often dubbed “Metacritic for Books,” but with a delightfully cozy twist. Under her secret blogging identity as The Wren, Winnie dishes out captivating content while keeping her true self under wraps. Her favorite way to spotlight authors? Interviewing them through the voices of their very own characters. And that’s precisely what’s in store for today’s feature. Settle in and enjoy the bookish fun!

Greetings, bookish friends! It’s your friendly neighborhood book blogger, The Wren, here to share a fascinating interview with a new heroine taking the thriller world by storm. I’m talking about Ashley Prescott from James M. Jackson’s new series, Niki Undercover.

Thanks so much for coming “Off the Page” with me, Ashley. Or should I call you Niki? I’ve never interviewed an undercover agent before, so I hope my questions aren’t blowing your cover too much!

Thanks for having me, Wren. I guess we both know how difficult it can be to stay anonymous. You ask the questions; I’ll answer, and you can decide with whom you are speaking.

Holy bookmarks, if that isn’t the coolest answer ever! I can tell I’m going to learn a lot today. Have you always wanted to be an FBI Agent? What brought you to this career path?

I watched the Twin Towers fall and knew I wanted to protect the country I love. At first, I thought that meant the military. My mother didn’t dismiss that idea, but she kept asking if that was the best way for me to make a difference. I decided the FBI held the most promise for me and applied to become a Special Agent.

That’s very brave of you to put your country first. How did you become Niki Foster? What was the hardest part of the process?

I made it clear from the beginning at the Academy that I wanted national security undercover work. I graduated near the top of my class at Quantico and could theoretically pick my assignment. After that, the hardest part was dealing with the boys’ club, who kept trying to push me into “appropriate” undercover roles: the hooker, strung-out druggie, desperate single mom. I persevered, got my first real assignment, proved them wrong, and here we are.

After two years of pretending to be Niki Foster, how do you hold on to who Ashley Prescott really is?

Wren, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I get steamed when people assume I pretend to be Niki Foster. I become Niki Foster—it’s the only way I can survive when even a hint of who I am is a death sentence. But your question touches on a personal concern. The longer I work undercover, the more I find that persona affecting my “regular” life. Without thinking, I now scan my surroundings for threats: a person who doesn’t belong or acts unnaturally. I’m uncomfortable sitting in a public space unless I’ve protected my back. And of course, I often struggle with chit chat—forced to avoid answering, “Ashley, what did you do today?”

Yikes! I can’t imagine the strain this puts on you during every waking second (and probably during your sleep, too). What’s the one thing you miss most from your “real” life, something Niki Foster can never have?

Real friends. As Niki, I can be friendly, but I can never share what I believe or feel or want. And to be honest, the secrets I (Ashley) carry strained old friendships. Now my circle of real friends has shrunk to a small group of people who know that I work undercover.

Trust is a dangerous currency when you’re undercover. How do you decide who deserves yours?

Working undercover involves a huge paradox: your whole being is a lie, yet to learn secrets, you must present yourself to your targets as the most reliable person they will ever encounter. Compounding this contradiction is that although you can rely on no one, you must appear open and trustworthy because people reciprocate such confidence. You mitigate the danger by always protecting yourself as much as possible.

It's why I wear body armor, carry concealed weapons, perform counter-surveillance routines, and have become an expert at disguises. You can improve the odds in your favor, but you can never eliminate the risks. And in the end, you only completely trust one or two people. That makes me sad, but you deserve the truth.

I’m relieved to read that you at least have one or two people you know are in your corner. That’s something to be treasured. And while every choice you make has consequences, which weighs heavier: the lives you’ve saved or the lives you couldn’t?

I played on a championship college softball team. You learn fast that you can’t change a previous at-bat or a fielding decision. Woulda, coulda, shoulda is a waste of time. But to improve, you study your mistakes. I just don’t dwell on them. But to answer your question, my nightmares are never about survivors.

I can’t even begin to imagine the struggle. In the moments when everything seems ready to collapse, what do you tell yourself to keep going?

Feel free to clean up my language if it doesn’t meet your standards. I tell myself, “I will not f---ing die.”

Readers, I’m sure you get the point Ashley is making here, even with my censoring. Given everything you’ve survived, Ashley, are there more adventures in store for you and your author, James M. Jackson?

Jim's proven he can handle my story without making it into some glossy Hollywood fantasy where the good guys always win and nobody gets PTSD. That matters more than you might think. After he wrote Niki Undercover, I decided to trust him with what happened next—a job that threw me into a nest of ecoterrorists willing to kill for their cause. Turns out, trees and clean water have some very dangerous protectors. Jim's calling it Niki Unleashed. I’m looking forward to reading it when it becomes available on November 11^th—assuming I survive long enough to see it published.

Thanks for the great questions, Wren. And a sisterly piece of advice: if you don’t want people to know who you are, make sure you use a VPN (virtual Private Network) to hide your IP address. It’s too easy these days to hack Internet Service Providers and link a known IP address to a real person. A VPN breaks that link.

I never thought I’d have something in common with an undercover agent, but here we are! A VPN is how I’ve kept myself somewhat undercover all these years. A great tool if you’re looking to “go off the grid.”

Ashley, thank you so much for this fascinating (and scary) look into your world! Readers, you can experience Ashley’s adventures in Niki Undercover, available now!

Purchase links:

eBook: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FNCVGVXM

Paperbacks: https://jamesmjackson.com/novels/niki-undercover.html

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/james.m.jackson.author