A Life on Vacation

By Kait Carson

I was casting around for a last-minute blog topic this morning so I could finalize my Newsletter this afternoon and coming up empty. What a surprise, I thought. My brain is on vacation. That’s when the light bulb lit and pulsed. Vacations. Past. Present. Future. How perfect.

My Dad worked for the Otis Elevator Company. Like most 1950s kids, I’m clueless about how much annual vacation my father received, but I knew that somewhere in the two-week period that surrounded my July birthday, we’d be packing the car for a road trip.

Road trips were the quintessential defining events of the era. We drove from our New Jersey home to Miami, Cuba (the auto ferry assisted with the watery parts), Washington D.C., Northern Virginia, Upstate New York, Montreal, the 10,000 Islands, Boston, Philadelphia, and of course, the Jersey Shore (pronounced goin’ dinna shore). Many of these trips were pre-interstate highway systems. Traveling back roads was a joy for a kid, and Dad turned off at any place the AAA TripTik suggested a historical or scientific location. Sometimes he even found them! I didn’t appreciate the magic of those trips until I became an adult and air travel replaced the open road.

By the time my generation was self-supporting, recessions, sky-rocketing oil prices, and economic downturns plagued the world. So, let me begin by saying unless you consider retirement a vacation, I may hold the record for taking a grand total of one during my working life. Quite the accomplishment when you consider my work life began in 1974. But don’t hang out the hankies for me. My lack of vacations didn’t equal a lack of travel. Between 1980 and 1989, I had a part-time job running a friend’s company in Europe and the Caribbean. Every weekend and most holidays found me in St. Thomas, Sint Maarten, Saba, Stasia, Milan, Florence, Paris, and London. Cue the hankies. It was exhausting.

During the 1990s, I became a rabid scuba diver and spent most weekends in the Florida Keys. This hobby led to my only real vacation. A live-aboard dive trip to Belize in 2004. Maine beckoned soon after, followed by a return to Florida. The pandemic brought me full-circle with a return to Maine. In many ways, life turned into a vacation. Talk about good fortune.

These days, I’m retired, living in Maine and grateful for the journals I kept of my travels. When you’re a writer, no experience goes unrewarded, or unplundered. I’m in the vicarious vacation stage of my life. Giving the odd nuggets of past events to my characters and watching them grow into scenes and plots.

Writers: Do you plunder your past in the service of your art? Readers: Do you enjoy ripped from real-life events in fiction?

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, and a current member of Sisters in Crime and Guppies.

DNA and Me: Solving Personal Mysteries

By Kait Carson

Last December I opened my email and discovered a message with the subject line ‘cousin’ from a Gmail account I didn’t recognize. Hello, red flags. The only reason I didn’t delete it immediately was the sender included my original family surname. One I hadn’t known existed for years. Still, something about the message arriving so close to the holidays made me think of: 1) the millions of bogus AI marketing emails that clogged my inbox daily, and 2) the bogus inheritance emails seeking either a finder’s fee or bank account numbers. I left it to marinate in my inbox, unopened, for a week or more.

As a bit of background, my family history is convoluted. My mother’s maternal side is well documented. My cousin is a genealogy buff, and she’s taken the family back to the early 1800s. Not much mystery there. Her paternal side is a different story. In a ripped from the headlines moment, my grandfather was U.S. born because my French great-grandmother visited her husband’s Italian family in the states, either because of a miscalculated due date or by design. Who knows.

My paternal grandmother’s heritage is an open book. She maintained contact with her middle-European family throughout her life. My paternal grandfather, the side of the family my ‘cousin’ represented, is an entirely different story. My grandfather never spoke about his life prior to his arrival in the U.S. On census forms he variously styled himself as German, Austrian, or Czech. He spoke German, and that was my father’s cradle tongue, so German made sense, but our family name was Hoyo, and there is no ‘y’ in the German alphabet. There was no record of him coming through Ellis Island or Castle Garden, which could have offered a clue to his origins. The only tidbit he did share was that when he came to the U.S., he went to Wyoming, where he married and had a son named John. The boy was taken from him as an infant when his wife died.

The knowledge of a potential cousin with the original family surname led me to open the mysterious email. Rather than discovering a possible cousin with a connection to the American West, I discovered a possible cousin with a connection to modern Slovakia with an insatiable thirst for genealogy. He’d compiled quite a dossier of facts and newspaper clippings about his extended family, and about my more limited one. His great-grandmother, who would have been my grandfather’s niece,shared some photos she had received from family members in the U.S. before WWII. The collection included photos I had seen in my father’s personal photo collection, and newspaper clippings that were new to me. Including one of my parent’s wedding announcement, complete with a photo of my mother. Gobsmacked doesn’t describe my feelings.

All of this, and a really great sale, encouraged me to have my DNA tested. I’d been on the fence about testing, but I took the plunge. My results have come back, and while I’m still digesting them, there were some surprises right on the first page. My results returned only six regions. As it turns out, I have no German heritage on my father’s side, and no French heritage on my mother’s, but I am 1% ‘Germans in Russia’ on her side. That was a startling development. The testing also turned up a handful of cousins in the American West. Intriguing, but I’m not sure what I’ll do with the information.

 The results were different to what I had been expecting, and exposed many of the stories I grew up with as false. Oddly enough, I think that’s part of the charm of being an American. When our ancestors came to this country, they had a golden opportunity to recreate themselves. Arguably, that was part and parcel of the Great American Dream, and their re-creations became intertwined in the fabric of their descendants' lives until the myths became reality.

Have you taken a DNA test, and did you find any surprises? Would you consider taking one?

How Fast Do You Write?

By Kait Carson

“The mind travels faster than the pen; consequently, writing becomes a question of learning to make occasional wing shots, bringing down the bird of thought as it flashes by.” — E. B. White

“There is no rule on how to write. Sometimes it comes easily and perfectly; sometimes it’s like drilling rock and then blasting it out with charges.” Ernest Hemingway

“Writing is easy: All you do is stare at a blank sheet of paper until the drops of blood form on your forehead.” — Gene Fowler

I always knew I wanted to be a writer. My parents were great readers and my dad taught me to read at age 2. In his defense, teaching me to read was his best offense. He hated the Prince Valiant comics in the Sunday paper and, being possessed of curly hair, I loved the Prince’s stick-straight do. Toddlers pitch epic fits, and he turned mine into a teaching moment. Once I discovered that all those marks on the page made words, I was hooked. And I wanted to make my own marks.

By the time I turned nine, I had read Little Women and set my goal higher. I proclaimed I would be just like Jo March and write for a living. Every day after school, I would hurry home, put on the remains of my mother’s wedding dress (she had cut the train for chair covers years before, but kept the gown), pull out my fountain pens and ink, and write. I don’t remember any of the stories, but I remember lots of gigantic exclamation points.

Writing, I decided, was easy. I mean, look at all the books out there. How hard could it be? A monster stroke of luck confirmed my assessment. I wrote a letter to the editor, and the publication resulted in an offer of representation. I accepted. The poor guy never knew I was twelve when I signed the contract. What followed were sales to various teen fashion and lifestyle magazines. All that changed when I went to college. My agent passed away, and I put writing aside in the name of fun and experience.

The writing bug remained dormant until I hit middle age when it returned with a vengeance. In my memory, the only requirement for churning out stories was sitting at a typewriter. No plotting, planning, or even a topic required to unleash the flow of words. I can’t say if maturity, or computers and keyboards changed my style, but suddenly, the Gene Fowler quote made perfect sense.

Writing, I discovered, is not only hard, it’s glacial. At least my writing. I have writing friends who write ten to sixteen books every year. Good books, well-written and edited books, and since I’m writing this in 2026, I need to emphasize the books are NOT the product of AI. How can I know that? Easy. They’ve been keeping up the pace since before AI was a gleam in Silicon Valley’s eye. These authors are simply fast writers. And I envy them.

As for me, my writing speed stalls at a book every two years. At first, I blamed the day job, but that hasn’t been an issue since 2020. And I’ve taken steps to speed up the process: classes, how-to books, bullet-point outlines, detailed outlines, no outlines but shooting from the cuff. Nothing works. I putter along at the same snaillike pace.

If you’re looking for a big reveal here about how I solved my problem, you’ve come to the wrong place. I finally accepted that every writer has their own style and pace, and wishing does not change that. All of this introspection and speaking with another writer friend offered a clue to my less than snappy pace, and it’s one I’m fine with. Against all writing advice, I edit as I write and refuse to leave any chapter until it’s as polished as I can make it. Slow in the execution, but fast in the editing.

Have I gotten faster? Yes. Part of that is learning the craft, but most of it is consistency, and it’s possible that my secret sauce is working on more than one project at a time. Right now, I have two books in the works, and I get up every day looking forward to reconnecting with the characters and stories of each book. Variety is the spice of my creativity.

I will never write sixteen books in a year. Heck, I can’t type that fast!

Writers, do you stress over your production? Readers, how do you feel about slow writers?

 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, and a current member of Sisters in Crime and Guppies.

How Writing is Like Running

By Kait Carson

Many of you know I’m a runner. More when I lived in Florida than now. Maine has these things called hills. Something I never trained on and tend to avoid. Still, come spring and early summer, I’m out there running the circumference of our mowed field. On the hill. I should know better.

My running days began in the 1970s. I belonged to The Book of the Month Club, and I bought Jim Fixx’s book, The Complete Book of Running. I ran daily until Son of Sam appeared and murdered women in Kissena Park, six houses from mine and home to my running trail. Screech. Slide to a stop. After Sam’s capture, I took up the sport again, and then we lost Jim Fixx. Running might not be all it was cracked up to be, and I stopped.

Then I started working for lawyers. I’m sorry. I know several of my blogmates are Bar members, but truly, lawyers were the proximate cause of my rededication to the sport. Legal work is stressful. Running provided an outlet, and all the law firms I worked for fielded teams for the Miami Corporate Run. I never was much for racing. Not that I’m not competitive. Boy howdy, I am. It’s just that I’m SSSSSLLLLLOOOOWWWW, but preparing for and running is a great team-building exercise and it’s fun. Group suffering is the best.

What in the Sam Hill (who was Sam Hill? Anyone know?) does any of this have to do with writing? Oh, more than you think.

The hardest part of running isn’t ticking off miles. It’s lacing up the shoes. The hardest part of writing isn’t accumulating the word count. It’s butt in chair, fingers on keyboard. Once you get past the prelims, clear sailing. Not.

As with running, writing, at least my writing, proceeds in fits and starts. New ideas bring endless hours of plotting, pounding out chapters, working up characters, red herrings, clues, and research. Then, here comes the hill. Life gets in the way, or something doesn’t flow, or, and this happened to me twice, a key bit of story changes or disappears and it’s back to the drawing board. The setbacks may be temporary or permanent, but either way, they slow you down, or, in the case of losing a publisher (or agent) put your writing life on hold.

Then there are the days, weeks, and months when the ideas flow and you wish for a second set of hands to pound the keyboard. In running, this is called the runner’s high. It’s a real thing, and it is directly analogous to a writer’s high. When it’s good, it’s good, and the author knows it. Those are moments to crave and cherish. True confessions—I’m in one of those periods now, and I wish I could bottle it.

As an aside, lawyers figured in my writing life as well, and they are the reason I use a pen name. You see, in my first book, I killed off a lawyer. The book was a work of fiction, but after twenty years in the legal field, people knew me, and the firms I worked for, and I wanted to avoid the ever-popular game of pin the crime on the attorney!

How about you? Where are you in your writing life? Smooth sailing, on hold, or laboring up the hill?

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.

 

Stephen King Wants to Talk Writing with Me

By Kait Carson

So does Janet Evanovich. So does Robert B. Parker. Who, what, Robert B. Parker? The Robert B. Parker, the one who died in 2010? How is that supposed to work? Ouija Board? Seance? Telepathy? No matter. I’m sure Hawk and Spencer will figure it out. How do I know these requests are real? Easy. Their emails specifically reference the solitary journey of writers and how happy we are to build a society of like-minded people to ease our lonely toil. I mean, who other than fellow writers would understand the pain of creation? Even better, these writers want to follow my work. Can you imagine how valuable these networks are? Stephen King is a fellow Mainer. He knows the isolation of Maine winters. Janet Evanovich lived near me in Florida. I bet that’s how she found my books. Seeking other Florida authors. Not sure about Robert B. Parker. Still, there’s that supernatural connection. Never look a gift sale in the mouth.

But Wait! It gets better. Book clubs, including Reese Witherspoon, oh sorry, Witherspoon Reese’s are vying for my attention. My books are so well-known that European book clubs are begging me to attend. I gotta tell you, I’m holding out for an invitation from the Oprah Book Club. If that happens, with all the buzz my books are generating, I’m sure she’ll fly me out in her private jet. Maybe she’ll even do my interview on her back patio, just like she did with Harry and Meghan. Oh, I can’t wait. I’m going to be famous. How can I miss? Several readers have shared that they almost got sacked because they couldn’t stop reading my books. Now, if only they’d put that in their reviews.

But Wait! It gets better. I’ve heard from Kash Patel, yes, that Kash Patel. He’s holding three million dollars for me. I’m certain it’s royalties for my book sales. Maybe I shouldn’t be sharing information about this email. The offer is so secret that Mr. Patel doesn’t want me to reply to the same old FBI email address. I guess he’s worried it could end up in spam files. Instead, he gave me a special email address. One that ends in currently.com instead of fbi.gov. See, this spy stuff gets really tricky.

But Wait! Reality check. All of these emails are spam generated by AI bots, and some are so obvious that if you scroll down, you’ll see they’re sent from Uganda, Nigeria, or Palau. Others are better at hiding their originating sources. The key takeaway is that none of them are real, but all of them can have tragic consequences.

These folks are good. The emails mention details about the books with sufficient accuracy to make an unsuspecting author believe they are from legitimate fans or book clubs. As a child raised by a strict mother in the 1950s and 1960s, I had to fight the urge to respond. As a seasoned writer who matured with the internet, I knew better than to answer. While the emails appeared benign on their face, I understood that if I scratched the surface, endless offers of can’t-miss marketing schemes would fill my mailbox. At worst, there’d be viruses to combat. Sorry, Santa Claus, this isn’t my first rodeo. But for every suspicious old bat writer like me, there’s a newbie hopeful who sees these offers as legitimate and a way to get exposure and pays the fee. It’s cruel, out of control, and without recourse.

Do I worry that some of these offers are legitimate? Sure. But that brings me to the biggest tip-off. So far, these emails have originated from Gmail accounts. Bogus, I’m sure, but it’s a huge red flag that they don't have name.com addresses. The sheer volume of requests is the second red flag. I receive ten to fifteen a day. And the third, legitimate companies have all the work they can handle. It’s unlikely they’re sending out a zillion cold-call emails.

The adage: if it seems too good to be true, it is, holds here.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I owe Mr. Patel an email.

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.

It’s a Plan

By Kait Carson

"If you don’t know where you are going, you’ll end up someplace else."—Yogi Berra

Sometimes, Yogi, you can end up someplace else even with a roadmap. Sigh—sad truth. But then again, unintentional trips down sideroads can provide the best scenery. That’s as true of the writing life as it is of real life. I confess I’m the type of person who would get in a car and go. Turn wherever suits my fancy, stop at the cute bed-and-breakfast, picnic on the grass beside a babbling brook. There was a time in my life when I would go to the airport and book on the next departing flight. In short, I’m flexible, and that’s served me well. As random as it sounds, it wasn’t. I always had a plan. The plan was always flexible, but the aim was to collect experiences.

Now that I’ve morphed into a full-time writer, those experiences are useful. So are the thirty years of journals lining my bookshelves, but that’s another blog for another day. This blog is about planning. And welcoming 2026.

As you have probably guessed, I’m not good at ironclad structure. Gives me hives. What I crave is flexible accountability, and lots of color. After all, I came of age in the era of Carnaby Street and Peter Max. My idea of a perfect plan combines two desk calendars, one wall calendar, and one wall chart. Full disclosure. I have two wall charts, but the second one is only for word count, and I wish they made more colors for dry erase markers. Alas, there’s not much to choose from in that regard. That aside, this is how my plan to plan or not works.

It all begins with the Quo Vadis Minister agenda. The new ones usually drop in August, and in my mailbox soon after. The first pages feature an annual page a month calendar. I use it to record birthdays, deadlines, and appointments. I use the interior weekly pages to keep track of how I spend my time and record my word count. A nice, big column on the right side lets me write my aspirations and cross them off when I accomplish them. At the end of the week, I transfer those hours into a spreadsheet. I aim for four hours of writing work daily and another two of marketing. If the spreadsheet is falling short, I do a deeper dive to figure out what happened and what, if anything, needs to change. Items like health, weather, power outages, and multiple non-writing appointments happen. If I’m spending too much time on Wordle. That needs to be addressed. There’s only so much slack my flexibility will permit.

 The Happy Planner is my true planner. It’s perfect for figuring out my writing process so I can set realistic deadlines. Last year I learned that for the first draft, plotting takes ten days, writing takes sixty, and editing another thirty. I map those events out in big blocks and decorate them with stickers and colored pens. Each day has a blank box where I fill in the word count. Empty blank boxes make me itch.

My final calendar is by Suzy Toronto. By now you can guess the attraction. It also serves as my at-a-glance calendar. The blue boxes are birthdays, the pink deadlines, and the orange stripes at the bottom have the names of our fifth weekday bloggers. The boxes are big enough for me to see them without my glasses. A huge plus for a writer of a certain age. Besides the colorful format, I love the upbeat introductory essays.

The last link in the chain is about writing. I have an old-school whiteboard calendar hanging on the wall behind my door. Instead of dates, the boxes each represent a chapter, and the Post-It notes serve as guides for the events that need to happen. As I write each chapter, I remove the Post-Its for everything except red herrings and clues, and add a different color Post-It representing red herring resolutions. By the time I finish the first draft, I have a visual skeleton of the book, and I’m able to spot those pesky plot holes. And if the book takes an unexpected sideroad midway through, rearranging Post-It notes to suit is a simple solution.

What about you? How do you plan your time and production?

 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.

Memories of Thanksgiving

By Kait Carson

This will be my last post until the New Year, and I want to say thank you. To all of my readers, and to my blogmates. To my friends and family. To people I know and to those that I don’t. You all have taught me so much and enriched my life in so many ways. I am so very grateful. They say everyone needs a crew. I’m lucky to have found mine. Thank you.

2025 has been a helluva ride. On November 27^th, I’ll be sitting at my Thanksgiving table with my husband (closely attended by three cats and a dog because, well, food) and reflecting on all the wonderful, crazy, breathtaking experiences of 2025. Our traditional Thanksgiving dinner is simple. Roast chicken, mashed potatoes, homemade cranberry sauce, stuffing, and pumpkin pie. If we’re lucky, a light snow will be falling. We may dream of a white Christmas, but I’m here to tell you that a white Thanksgiving has a charm all its own.

We’ll talk about Thanksgivings past. The days when I worked with law enforcement as a civilian volunteer and issued an open invitation for anyone working the holiday to stop by for a bite. A police car occupied every bit of lawn and parking space at my house. My newly moved in next-door neighbors, understandably concerned that something awful had happened, called in a panic. When I explained what was going on, they came over to join in the fun. Turned out they both worked for the District Attorney’s Office and knew a lot of my guests.

Then there is the indelible childhood memory of watching the turkey go up in flames. I grew up in apartments, and they had tiny galley kitchens with even smaller appliances. My mother had a big family. Dad would cook the bird outside on the grill when he could, but some years, that didn’t work out. As a religious devotee of Gourmet Magazine, my mother spatchcocked the bird, baked it, and intended to finish it under the broiler. It went well until a wee bit of the skin got too close to the flame and ignited. Still would have been fine, except Dad reached for the first glass that came to hand. Scotch. Yep. Turkey Flambé. I liked it, but I think I was alone in my preference. Sometimes it pays to be seven.

While we eat, we’ll talk about our plans for Christmas and the year ahead. After dinner, we’ll light the Christmas houses display my husband inherited from his mother. Then we’ll watch Planes, Trains, and Automobiles for the twenty-something time and debate whether Die Hard is a Christmas movie. I’m a no. Hubs is a yes.

What does this have to do with writing? Nothing and everything. It’s moments like these that fill the well and sometimes provide scene fodder.

What are your holiday traditions? Have any of your holidays been blessed with outlandish events? Will you dish?

 Hope that all have a very wonderful holiday season, and that the balance of 2025 brings all you desire. See you in 2026!

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.

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.

I am an Imposter.

By Kait Carson

Imposter syndrome: a psychological condition that is characterized by persistent doubt concerning one’s abilities or accomplishments accompanied by the fear of being exposed as a fraud despite evidence of one’s ongoing success. Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary.

Okay, it’s not quite that bad. Just a temporary crisis of conscience. I hope. Or maybe it’s a simple case of underachievement. Hard to know. I have writer friends who produce multiple books in a year. One writes three to four well-written and edited books a quarter. Yes. A quarter. I take at least a year to write one book, and that doesn’t include editing. So, right now, I’m feeling less than writerish. Or am I?

I’ve got the first book in a new series out on submission and am midway through the fourth book in an existing series. Clanging around on my to-do list are the partial rewrites and final edits of a fun new series set in Key West. Not too shabby.

Any writer will tell you that imposter syndrome is a thing. I suspect any creative will tell you the same. When I worked in the legal field, we used to say we were only as good as our last billable hour. It’s similar as a creative, but different. No profession has guarantees, but the creative ones are more tenuous. A creative is always working on spec. The space between submitting a finished work and its acceptance or rejection gives birth to imposter syndrome. It matures with some measure of success when you have to do it all over again. Scary stuff.

Every creative overcomes it in their own way. In the words of Brene Brown, “You can choose courage, or you can choose comfort, but you cannot choose both.” When I realize I’m wallowing in imposter syndrome, I do three things. First, I enlist the help of one of the most prolific and successful writers of our time, Stephen King, and re-read his book On Writing. It always gives me energy and perspective. Second, I make a list of what I have accomplished. Third, since we’re talking about writing, I put my butt in the chair and my fingers on the keyboard. Works every time.

What about you? How do you overcome your fear that you just can’t do it again?

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.

 

Bookends and Beach Reads

By Kait Carson

Okay, anyone humming Simon and Garfunkel right now—you’re outed as being over ahem, a certain age. Not that I would know, mind you. Never heard of them myself—is that my nose that’s growing?

This is the time of the year when every newspaper, webpage, and magazine has a ‘top beach books of 2025’ list. Tables jam bookstore entrances touting best summer reads generally accompanied by poster featuring stylized beach scenes. Print ads offer popular books for your consideration. After a while, the ‘professional’ lists look alike.

The big publishing houses have the bucks and marketing staff to flog their offerings, but there are so many more books available that deserve recognition. It’s a long-held principle that the crying baby gets fed. So let’s make some noise for the little guy. Here’s my list, in no particular order, of the best five books I’ve read this summer.

Someone is Out There, by Kaye George. Darla Taylor is doing her best to  lead a quiet life and failing miserably. The only constants in her life are her dog, Moose, her best friend Gin, her career as a nurse, and her handicapped mother. Of those, only the dog can be relied on. 

The tension ratchets up with each turn of the page. It's the kind of book that keeps you awake nights and when you do manage to turn out the lights, haunts your sleep. George is known as a cozy writer, and this novel is her debut thriller. This book was a surprise, and I hope it's followed by more in the same genre. 

Demons and Ramen, by A.M. Loweecey. I hope this will be a series. As you may be able to tell from the title, it is laugh out loud funny, but it also explores serious issues. Yes, it's a book of exorcism and possession and a love story of sorts between a priest on hiatus and a thousand-year-old shapeshifter, but it's hysterical. And bittersweet. Denis Kaine, the priest exorcist, is on a quest to discover why his brother, Xavier, died. The Kaine twins were an unbeatable exorcist tag team. Now Denis is a solo act, and he needs to prove that Xavier didn't die by suicide, but that there was more to his death. Loweecey’s writing is clear and crisp. I didn’t want to put it down.

 

Shattered Sight, by Liz Milliron. This is the first of a new series by Milliron and it’s wonderful. Set in Niagara Falls, New York, the legendary tourist attraction does double duty as a backdrop and a character. As the book opens, Jackson Davis is returning to work as a detective following a lengthy medical leave. No sooner is he through the door than he’s presented with a rookie partner and a new case. The death of a woman with everything to live for but whose secrets swirl like the currents of the river that swallowed her. Is it murder or suicide? The higher ups at Niagara PD are on the fence. The clock is ticking. Jackson’s career may hang in the balance.

 Milliron deftly takes us on a deep dive into the psyche of a man struggling to overcome his own demons, reclaim his life, and do the right thing. It’s a compassionate and heartfelt book, and I’m looking forward to the second installment.

A Poisonous Palate, by Lucy Burdette. A beach read set at the beach. This is the fourteenth book in the Key West Food Critic mystery series. All the books are worth the read, but this one appealed to me on a personal level. The book alternates between Big Pine Key in 1978 and the current day. It also includes mention of two of my favorite lower Keys restaurants: No Name Pub, and The Square Grouper. Catherine Davitt approaches Haley to help solve the 1978 disappearance of her friend from a hippie camp. Catherine and Veronica had sought refuge from their Michigan lives in the laid-back Keys and joined a loosely organized commune. Veronica disappeared on the night before the authorities destroyed the commune. Almost fifty years later, many of the former members are still in the Keys. As Haley interviews the survivors, it becomes clear that someone doesn’t want the mystery solved. This was an ending I didn’t see coming and a villain I never would have guessed. A fun read, and a wonderful trip down memory lane. 

Always You and Me, by Dani Atkins. Romances are my secret pleasure and this one does not disappoint. Besides, they are always great beach reads. This friends to enemies to lovers second chance romance had me sobbing. Lili and Josh meet as pre-teen next-door neighbors. Josh carries the baggage of his past life as a badly treated foster child. When he and his foster family move away, the pair vow to keep in touch, but, well, life. Although they touch base from time to time, it’s always as friends. When Lili meets Adam, she falls hard. The relationship pushes Josh to declare his love on the eve of Lili and Adam’s wedding. Harsh words are involved and the two resolve never to speak again. Until Adam begs Lili on his deathbed to get in touch with Josh. That’s as far as I can go without the risk of spoilers, but I loved this book and am looking forward to reading more by this author.

 What’s in your beach bag this summer?

 Kait Carson writes the Hayden Kent Mysteries set in the Fabulous Florida Keys and is at work on a new mystery set in her adopted state of Maine. Her short fiction has been nationally published in the Trues and Woman’s World magazines. Her short fiction has appeared in the Silver Falchion Award nominated Seventh Guppy Anthology Hook, Line, and Sinker and 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. Visit her website at www.kaitcarson.com.

 

 

Murder is Always Popular

by Kait Carson

Do you have a collection of writer’s guides? I do. Shelves of them. Some are pristine. Purchased because they caught my fancy or because writers I admire recommended them. Others are well-thumbed, annotated, and decorated with stickies and post it flags. Most are cherry picked. I’ll occasionally run a finger across the row of spines, hoping to absorb the information without putting in the work. Hey, I’m honest. In fact, I recently read an interview by an author I like who published a book on plotting. The concept sounded interesting, and as a pantser, it seemed like a method I could adapt. Fortunately, Amazon told me I already owned the book. It’s been on my shelf since 2014. Might be time to open it.

My favorites are the Howdunit Series published by Writer’s Digest. Most of those books have my fingerprints all over them if anyone is looking to collect my DNA. Especially the books on poisons. Now, I’ve never poisoned anyone in real life or fiction—yet, but the concept is very appealing. They say poison is a woman’s weapon. The series is clearly written, well researched, and has a fabulous table of contents, index, and bibliography. Perfect to help a busy writer stay out of research rabbit holes. This is also important because, if you’re like me, you buy your reference books in trade or hard back. That means that they’re never updated. You either have to buy the newest edition or use all those wonderful research aids to frame questions of experts about updates.

My other favorite writing books are not so much instructive as they are humanizing. They’re books on writing written by writers I admire. Stephen King’s On Writing taught me nothing about the craft, but every time I read it, it’s like a shot of adrenaline. Same with Elizabeth George’s Write Away, and Anne Lamont’s Bird by Bird. Wonderful books, but with each book I learned more about my favorite authors than writing.

Lately, I’ve been reading different kinds of writing books. I’m considering expanding my writing horizons, or perhaps folding back my horizons is a better way to put it. I’m amassing a collection of books focused on writing romances. That’s where my writing life began, and while I love mysteries, I’d like to soften the edges a bit. The tropes and pacing of romance stories differ from traditional mysteries, but the similarities are striking. Body in the first three chapters? Er, not a good idea. Meet-cute in the first two chapters instead. Rather than climax with a resolution of the crime, a happy for now or ever after ending is required. Both satisfy the reader, but in different ways.

Books pertaining to different genres often contain sections about suggested plots. Imagine my surprise when I read in a romance novel guide that, ‘murder is always popular.’ I laughed out loud. Isn’t this where I came in?

Readers and writers, do you enjoy delving into a writer’s mind? Are your shelves bulging with how to books?

Kait Carson writes the Hayden Kent Mysteries set in the Fabulous Florida Keys and is at work on a new mystery set in her adopted state of Maine. Her short story, Gutted, Filleted, and Fried, appeared in the Falchion Finalist nominated Seventh Guppy Anthology Hook, Line, and Sinker. She is a former President of the Guppy Chapter of Sisters in Crime, a member of Sisters in Crime, and Guppies. Visit her website at www.kaitcarson.com. While you’re there, sign up for her newsletter. 

Monkey Mind

 by Kait Carson

Mind monkey or monkey mind, from Chinese xinyuan and Sino-Japanese shin’en 心猿 [lit. “heart-/mind-monkey”], is a Buddhist term meaning “unsettled; restless; capricious; whimsical; fanciful; inconstant; confused; indecisive; uncontrollable”. Wikipedia.

That’s the official definition of monkey mind—well, official if you buy Wikipedia’s definition. I’d first encountered the term in a meditation class. Which probably explains the Buddhist roots. The simpler definition—Oh, look! Something shiny. Or, as one of my bosses used to say when he zoned out, “Sorry, I saw a squirrel.” Yes, we can all relate. There’s nothing more enticing than the ‘next thing’.

So how does monkey mind figure into writing? Writers literally sweat words and it’s not a pretty sight. We write, delete, write, edit, write, curse, write, cry. In the old days, a small mountain of crumpled paper grew alongside our chairs. These days, we create a tree of sub files on our computers with various titles of despair. Inevitably, our monkey mind sees opportunity. It takes over, and it’s not always a bad thing.

We start out writing a dark and stormy night (not really, I hope), but our monkey mind jumps to a scene in broad daylight. There’s a man standing on a cliff, gazing at a raging storm-tossed sea below him. While we’re figuring out that scene, the monkey leaps to a hand thrusting out of wild waves, grasping desperately at nothing. Then a pale, pinched face breaks through the froth, the mouth visible as it gasps for air before sinking again. The man on the cliff laughs and turns away. So much for the dark and stormy night I’d originally conceived.

Monkey mind often takes my stories in different directions than I intend. It never gives me complete scenes, just little itchy brain bits with tantalizing hints of complications. The monkey has a mischievous side. It’s just as likely to lead me into a rabbit hole as it is to the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Whenever I’m stuck, I can count on my monkey mind to kick in and demonstrate the answer to the question, “What’s the worst thing that could happen here?” We make a good team. My monkey and me.

Do you have a monkey mind? How do you feel about it? How do you control it? Do you even try?

Kait Carson writes the Hayden Kent Mysteries set in the Fabulous Florida Keys and is at work on a new mystery set in her adopted state of Maine. Her short fiction has been nationally published in the Trues and Woman’s World magazines. Her short story, Gutted, Filleted, and Fried, appeared in the Falchion Finalist nominated Seventh Guppy Anthology Hook, Line, and Sinker. She is a former President of the Guppy Chapter of Sisters in Crime, a member of Sisters in Crime and Guppies. Visit her website at www.kaitcarson.com. While you’re there, sign up for her newsletter and receive a yummy, authentic, key lime pie recipe.

When Art Imitates Life

  by Kait Carson

Are you a true life junkie? I am. My idea of a good time is kicking off my shoes and watching a show that purports to depict real life. I’ve watched Miami Vice, Bloodline, Cops, Boston Legal, LA Law, and currently, Matlock. Okay, including Miami Vice on this list is a stretch. It couldn’t have been further from the truth of real-life cops, but hey, Don Johnson and Philip Michael Thomas. Who cared! Besides, it was funny. I’ll forgive a lot for a good laugh. 

Bloodline was the same. I had great hopes for that show. It was set in the Keys, my old stomping grounds as they say, and in the first season featured some of the biggest legal bloopers I ever could imagine. It was more a drama about a family with secrets falling apart than a legal drama, but still. The mistakes were so glaring they were funny. I was a probate and litigation paralegal, had been for fifteen years at that point. When the plot of an early show had to do with the consequences of not timely filing the recently drafted will of a living testator, I roared. I can’t say if any state requires testators to file wills while they are alive, but I know Florida doesn’t. 

Cops sort of got it right. At least the episodes that were shot in South Florida. Although seeing former sheriff Nick Navarro at a takedown. Well, as I said, I’ll forgive a lot for a good laugh. 

Boston Legal was fun. I don’t think it was meant to be anything else, so if their law practice was off, I was fine with it. Same with LA Law, but they got a lot of things right. When it was at the height of its popularity, I was working for a law firm that specialized in tax law as it pertains to estates and trusts. One character delivered a eulogy referring to the decedent as someone who exemplified the meaning of fiduciary—dry matter, I know—but the writers hit a bullseye on the target. In fact, they described my boss to a tee. 

Matlock—the Kathy Bates incarnation, I never watched the Andy Griffith version—started out with a bang. Their courtroom scenes, although fictionalized, were close enough to the truth that I felt at home. This season, though, they’ve ventured into dramatization land. It’s a television show. I know, but poor old Maddie Matlock would be practicing from behind bars in real life. Of course, it wouldn’t matter, most of her colleagues would be disbarred. I felt betrayed when the tone shifted. I’ll continue to watch, but not with the same relish. 

It’s important that movies, television, and books get it at least sort of right. Every reader has an expertise in something. It can be law, cat care, cooking, or gardening. No one expects writers to be one hundred percent accurate. The point of fiction is entertainment, not instruction, but readers and viewers have a right to expect some level of truth. It keeps you in the story. 

Readers, do you notice errors in the details and does it bother you? Writers, do you take pains to check the facts of your story?

Kait Carson writes the Hayden Kent Mysteries set in the Fabulous Florida Keys and is at work on a new mystery set in her adopted state of Maine. Her short fiction has been nationally published in True Romance, True Confessions, True Story, True Experience, and Woman’s World magazines. Her short story, Gutted, Filleted, and Fried, appeared in the Falchion Finalist nominated Seventh Guppy Anthology Hook, Line, and Sinker. She is a former President of the Guppy Chapter of Sisters in Crime, a member of Sisters in Crime, and Guppies. Visit her website at www.kaitcarson.com. While you’re there, sign up for her newsletter.

Seven Deadly Writer Sins

 by Kait Carson

I may have to borrow from Jimmy Buffett here if I run out of ideas, but hey, Jimmy, I remember you crooning at Bubbas, so ‘nuff said. Those of you who did not go to or hang out at the University of Miami in the early 1970s will have to make up your own stories. No, I did not know Jimmy Buffett, although I spent a lot of time listening to him when he played at Bubbas. I liked his style and Bubbas was across the street from my dorm. I did meet him one night in Sint Maarten. I was recovering from dengue fever, didn’t recognize him. When he introduced himself, I thought he was pulling my leg, and when he crooned Margaritaville just for me, I told him not to quit his day job. I doubt he’d ever thought of it again, but it’s a memory I cherish. Jimmy, I’m glad you didn’t take my advice, but a cappella? You didn’t sound like you!

How does that relate to writing? “Bank of Bad Habits” just played on my Spotify account and I realized writers have their own seven deadly sins. Thanks again, Jimmy, for the spark of inspiration.

#1 Thou shall not head hop. 

“What is head hopping?” Mavis asked. 

How can she not know? Peter wondered. She does it all the time. 

Jack shook his head in amazement and bit his tongue. Those two would argue over which way to screw in a lightbulb. 

“I have whiplash,” Kait moaned.

#2 Thou shalt not hide clues from your readers.

The key to keeping your books from hitting the wall when readers get to the end is to always play fair. This is harder than it sounds. When the sleuth stumbles across, uncovers, or develops a clue, the reader needs to have the information at precisely the same moment, even if they don’t realize the importance of the event. As a writer, I always feel as if a kick line of Rockettes is surrounding the fireworks shooting neon colored clue. My beta readers generally don’t have the same impression and only have the head-slapping aha moment at the end of the book when it all comes together.

#3 Thou shalt not make thy victim a saint.

Everyone has good and bad points. While the victim does not have to have a fatal flaw, he or she needs to be flawed enough to be a believable human. Those flaws may or may not be the reason he needs killin’, but they will generate empathy with your readers.

#4 Thou shalt not make thy criminal Satan.

Even a murderer’s dog loves him. See above for good and bad points. It’s essential that your criminal is human, and can hide in plain sight among the suspects, which brings me to number 5.

#5. Thou shalt not point thy finger at only one suspect.

Multiple suspects are required. Draw them out as if they are each the perpetrator and give every suspect motive, means, and opportunity. No one did this better than the two Dames, Agatha Christie and PD James. 

#6 Thou shalt not forget to resolve thy red herrings.

I read a book once that had more loose ends than my first attempt at knitting. Suffice it to say, I did not pick up another by that author. So, even if you don’t have a solution for a particular red herring (and there are times when life can imitate art) honor your reader and have your protagonist at least acknowledge it.

#7 Thou shalt not forget that writing is best accomplished in anticipation of chocolate and wine, or the libation of your choice.

There’s got to be some reward for long hours of sweating blood over your keyboard. A treat at the end of the day is a great motivator.

Writers, do you have a different list of sins? 

Readers, do you notice writerly transgressions?

Kait Carson writes the Hayden Kent Mysteries set in the Fabulous Florida Keys and is at work on a new mystery set in her adopted state of Maine. Her short fiction has been nationally published in True Romance, True Confessions, True Story, True Experience, and Woman’s World magazines. Her short story, Gutted, Filleted, and Fried, appeared in the Falchion Finalist nominated Seventh Guppy Anthology Hook, Line, and Sinker. She is a former President of the Guppy Chapter of Sisters in Crime, a member of Sisters in Crime, and Guppies. Visit her website at www.kaitcarson.com. While you’re there, sign up for her newsletter and receive a yummy, authentic, key lime pie recipe. 

Rinse. Repeat. How Writing Imitates Life by Kait Carson

Snow Scallops

They say that when a Mainer doesn’t know what to say, they talk about the weather. That may be so. I’m not a Mainer, I just live here. That said, I had absolutely no topic for my monthly blog until this morning. That’s when I realized that writing and life have much in common.

It’s been a snowless year up here in the Crown of Maine. November, December, and January all passed and left behind a meager five inches of snow. Then came February. Oh, my. We had over a foot of snow fall between February 13th and Valentine’s Day. My husband and I have an agreement. I operate the shovel for detail work; he operates the snowblower for the paved areas. Fair deal. On Valentine’s Day morning, I picked up my shovel from next to the house and proceeded to shovel the steps, the side dooryard, and a dog run. Then I moved to the front of the house and shoveled the porch, a path to the bird feeder, and around the trash bins in the side yard. Then the plowman came, and I got to dig through five-foot drifts to reopen the dog run, clean up the stairs, and dig out the garbage bins. Rinse. Repeat.

Dog run dug though a five foot drift

Fast forward to the next morning. Did I mention we’d had winds in the neighborhood of 25-40 miles per hour? All those nice paths I’d carefully cleared were blown over. Rinse. Repeat. 

The snow started again on Sunday. By Monday morning we had over a foot of new snow. Rinse. Repeat.

I was working my way up the hill clearing the dog run when I realized shoveling snow is just like writing. You write the first draft—aptly called the vomit draft—and when you’re done, you’re not finished. You may take a quick break, but then it’s time to edit. Rinse. Repeat. Write draft two and more edits. Rinse Repeat. Then off to betas and…Rinse Repeat. You get the picture. 

Birds gotta eat, too

At some point in time, spring arrives, and the snow falls cease. Same with writing. There comes a time when you’ve done all you can and the book is ready to bloom. It’s a great feeling, but if you’re a writer, or a Mainer, you know what’s coming. Rinse. Repeat.

Kait Carson writes the Hayden Kent Mysteries set in the Fabulous Florida Keys and is at work on a new mystery set in her adopted state of Maine. Her short fiction has been nationally published in True Romance, True Confessions, True Story, True Experience, and Woman’s World magazines. Her short story, Gutted, Filleted, and Fried, appeared in the Falchion Finalist nominated Seventh Guppy Anthology Hook, Line, and Sinker. She is a former President of the Guppy Chapter of Sisters in Crime, a member of Sisters in Crime, and Guppies. Visit her website at www.kaitcarson.com. While you’re there, sign up for her newsletter and receive a yummy, authentic, key lime pie recipe.