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Something A Little Different

April 11, 2015
A new season is beginning. The landscape is changing daily, almost hourly. I think a change of blogging pace is appropriate too … so, instead of the usual blog post, I’m sharing a short story I wrote some time ago.
 Best Laid Plans
Best Laid PlansIt started out simple, a typical Saturday morning. I was sorting laundry, holding socks up to the light so that I could distinguish the subtle variations of navy, black, and gray that make up my husband’s wardrobe when I heard his footsteps coming up the basement steps.
     The door opened; his face appeared. I took a deep breath and hit him with it: “Wanna go to the boat show?”
     “Today?” His response was so long in coming that I knew the answer was No.
     Then Todd, who, like most four-year-olds, hears better from another room, especially if the television is blaring, came running. “Hey, I heard about the boat show on TV. I wanna go!”
     Howard’s eyes took on that trapped husband look that he does so well and (to give him credit) tries so hard to hide.
     I heard myself explaining, justifying, “I thought this was something we’d all enjoy.”
     “You know we can’t afford . . .” Howard began in his most reasonable voice, the one I’d never heard before we were married.
     “It could be fun just to look around.”
     Todd watched us, eyes bright, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
     “Bathroom?” I prompted.
     “Oh yeah.” He trotted off down the hall.
     Howard did a U-turn in the direction of the basement.
     “So? What do you think?” I asked, catching him on the third step.
     “About what?”
     “You know what.”
     “I didn’t know you were interested in boats.”
     He had me there. I don’t even swim.
     “You don’t want to go?”
     “I didn’t say that.” Howard runs five miles every morning but the three steps back up to the kitchen seemed almost beyond his strength. “It’s just . . .” He stood with one hand on the door, not looking down toward the workbench at the foot of the stairs with all of those perfectly aligned screwdrivers, wrenches . . . whatevers. He was looking at me, even smiling, but I wasn’t fooled for a minute. Finally, he asked, “How long will the show be here?”.
     “I don’t know. I saw the ad in the paper and I thought you’d be interested.”
     Todd was back. “I’m interested.”
     “You forgot to zip your pants,” Howard told him, then turned to me. “Where is it?”
     “Civic Center.”
     “Parking could be a mess . . . day like today.”
     “When is parking anything else?” I had him there.
     He rubbed his fingers over his forehead, ironing away any sign of irritation.
     “I’ve never been to a boat show,” Todd pointed out, his eyes darting from one grown-up face to the other.
     Howard tousled the flyaway red-gold hair, thought a minute, and said, “Okay. We’ll go. But not today. We’ll plan it.”
     “What’s to plan? All we have to do is put on our coats, get in the car, and go.” I hated the sound of my voice: absolutely level, even as a string stretched taut.
     “Does it have to be today?” Howard prowled the kitchen, picked up the newspaper, and scanned the pages, “Here . . . let’s see . . . until the end of the month.” He held the paper out toward me. “We can go next weekend.” He was not exactly gracious in triumph.
     Nor was I gracious in defeat. “It would be nice to do something today.”
     “There are couple of things I’d really like to get done . . .” He pulled the ever-present list from his shirt pocket, studied the crumpled paper lovingly for a moment, then looked at Todd and me. “Why don’t you two go?”
     I thought of the week he’d just been through—deadlines, demanding clients—felt a brief flicker of sympathy, but brushed it away. “You’re the one who’s interested in boats.”
     I could almost see my words making their way through the intricate labyrinth behind the patient blue eyes.
     When the last syllable clicked into place, he said (reasonably, of course), “You guys can pick up all the pamphlets, bring them home, and we’ll look at them together.”
     “What’s the point of that? We’re not buying a boat.” (In a pinch I could be reasonable myself.)
     “I’d like a boat.” Todd, bless his heart, tried to keep it alive.
     Howard nodded, “I know.” He put the list back in his pocket and smiled (reasonable still). “It’s fine with me if the two of you go. You can tell me all about it.”
     Todd kept trying. “There’s gonna be a singing dog contest. The guy on TV said so.”
     Howard smiled down into the small earnest face. “I’m sure Mommy will love that.” He didn’t look at me.
     It seemed settled. I was stuck, going to the boat show, fighting traffic, parking the car, trying to explain a bunch of stuff to Todd that I don’t know beans about myself—not to mention those singing dogs. Well, I did bring it up. Not fair to disappoint Todd.
     But it wasn’t quite settled. I heard my son’s voice, ominously reasonable, “Next week’s okay, Daddy. It’ll be better if we all go.”
     So—that’s it. We’re all going to the boat show. Next Saturday. The newspaper article is neatly clipped and stuck on the refrigerator door, yellow highlighting at strategic spots. The doors open at ten. If we leave the house at nine fifteen, we’ll beat the crowd. Parking won’t be a problem. Howard and Todd are happily planning, laying the day out like a blueprint. I hear their voices humming in the next room, soothing and disturbing, as I reach for a dark sock.
     Something bright catches my eye. I pick up the car keys and run my thumb along the pleasantly irregular edge.
“I’m going out for a while,” I call over my shoulder.
     Howard says something, but the door closing behind me cuts off his words.
     I stride forward, lifting my face, defying the wind. The brisk air makes my cheeks tingle. I’m on my way. Somewhere. By myself. I can do that. I don’t need an escort. Or a destination. Next Saturday is planned, but today is mine. Unplanned. Full of possibility.

The Other Side of Humility

April 4, 2015

I just posted about humiliating your heroes. It occurs to me that it’s not just heroes who benefit from an Kaliedascopeoccasional dose of humility. Sometimes you have to put yourself out there and risk personal humiliation. Not an appealing prospect, is it? No one likes that feeling, but there are times when a lesson in humility can be helpful to a writer. It’s part of the kaleidoscope of emotion that make up humans and, to be a really good writer, you have to use them all.

The feeling of being slightly off-balance comes in handy when you’re plotting a murder mystery. I don’t think I’ll ever go as far as murder, but’s not too hard to imagine humility mushrooming into a sense of total inadequacy, and I’m convinced that a sense of inadequacy is at the heart of most crimes. Think of the usual motives: greed, lust, jealousy, revenge, shame. All have at their core a feeling of being not quite enough – an emotion most of us experience at least occasionally. I know I do and, as much as I hate the feeling, experiencing it helps me empathize with my villain and make him/her a fully-rounded character, someone the reader may not like, but will believe.

Fortunately, there are people in my life who are quick to reassure me that my good qualities outweigh my shortcomings. And that is something I acknowledge with grateful humility.

People who grant unconditional acceptance are a wonderful gift – one that I wish I could guarantee to every person on this planet. It might not wipe out crime. but I’m willing to bet it would reduce it dramatically.

Humiliating Your Heroes

March 19, 2015

In a slightly different twist to Throwback Thusday, I’m going to start featuring some posts from the past on Thursdays – probably not every Thursday, but every now and then, say once a month. Here’s one I wrote back in June 2010, right after I finished reading Suite Francaise by Irene Nemirovsky. In this book, one of the characters, a writer, muses on his craft:Suite Francoise

“In a novel, there is nothing more valuable than teaching the lesson of humility to the heroes.”

I had to stop reading to think about that. For me, it was a different way of looking at what writers do to characters in order to tell their stories. Is the statement true? I felt that it was, but, needing to test it, I thought about some of the fictional heroes (both male and female) who have seemed particularly alive to me and whose stories have stuck with me through the years.

Jane Eyre, a long-time favorite, certainly fits the profile. Bronte begins the story when Jane is a child, an orphan, forced to live with relatives who never let her forget her dependent status. Bessie, one of the servants, tells her: “You ought to be aware, miss, that you are under obligation to Mrs. Reed; she keeps you; if she were to turn you out, you would have to go to the poorhouse.” How humiliating is that! But what a great way to begin a story–we have an appealing character to sympathize with, an underdog to root for. A little later, Bessie tells Jane, ” …you ought not to think yourself on an equality with the Misses Reed and Master Reed . . . they will have a great deal of money and you will have none; it’s your place to be humble, and to try to make yourself agreeable to them.” Does Jane take Bessie’s advice? Of course not. She fights back–and thus begins a life filled with one humiliation after another until, at the book’s end, she has faced every imaginable adversity–and we, the readers, feel an almost personal pride in the woman the child has become.

In Grapes of Wrath John Steinbeck tells the story of the Joad family, forced out of their home in STEINBECK, JohnOklahoma by the economic desperation of the dust-bowl years. I can’t think of a character who faces more humiliation than Tom Joad–or a hero I admire more.

Who can forget Tom Sawyer, forced to paint the fence on a Saturday morning while his fancy-free schoolmates stop by to gloat? We all know how Tom turned that humiliation into a boy’s dream of riches.

Think of Toni Morrison. Her novels are filled with characters who face humiliation with heroic dignity. We cry with them. We root for them. We remember them.

The list could go on. I’m sure everyone has a personal favorite they could add. So the statement must be true, but I have to wonder why. Do we enjoy seeing other people humiliated? I refuse to believe that. Maybe it’s because, while we all dream about the guy on the white horse, the hero we hold in our hearts is the one with whom we can identify. That makes more sense to me. And it makes a much better story.

A note: In case anyone wonders, I heartily recommend Suite Francaise. The book is set in France during World War II and is populated with complex, vulnerable characters. They’re not all likable, but they are totally believable–and memorable.

So … that’s what I said almost five years ago. I love looking back and thinking about books I’ve read. For me, it’s another one of the many joys of reading.

Happy reading, everyone.


March 13, 2015

I’ve let this blog lie fallow too long. It’s time to start cultivating it again. It is, after all, almost Ellis Vidlerspring.

My good friend, Ellis Vidler, very kindly agreed to help me get things started by sharing her ideas on a topic writers find endlessly fascinating, but often elusive.

 Inspiration comes from many places, often when you least expect it—a face in a crowd, a news article, an issue, sometimes a vivid scene. Looking through Flickr one evening, I stumbled across a photograph, not related to anything in particular, and the idea for VIDLER-Prime TargetPrime Target was born.

It suggests a refuge, a place of peace to me. I dreamed about it, thought what had to happen, what kind of people would live there. And most important to me, why they would live there.

Not far from my home is a large apple-growing area around Hendersonville, North Carolina, so I set my novel there. It made research convenient, and it’s a beautiful area, so it was fun to visit. I met some gracious apple farmers who shared some of their experiences and took time to answer my questions. We did eat a lot of apples that autumn, and I sampled many varieties I wasn’t familiar with. The apple farms always offer a slice if you want to try something different. Aside from just eating apples, we made apple pie, apple cake, apple butter, fried apples. My favorites are Mutsus and the tangy Pink Ladies, which we’re eating now.

For a novel though, I need more. I wanted a character with a contrasting life style, so Madeleine Schier, a sophisticated New Yorker, was born. A smart, knowledgeable advertising executive, she has a comfortable life with her accountant husband, no worries. Then one afternoon, her husband, in a panic, calls her to come home. She rushes to their West End condo with no idea what’s wrong, only to witness his murder. Now she’s the killer’s target. When the police are unable to protect her, she believes her only choice is to disappear.

Then came the second picture, but it wasn’t an accident. During a search for victims of improvised explosive devices (IEDs), I found a photograph of an actor made up to have shrapnel damage. He was portraying one of the crew in the movie Master and Commander. My character is badly damaged, both physically and mentally, but the tied-back black hair and general look suggested Charlie Dance, the other main character, someone quite different from Madeleine but still compatible. Even though they’d be unlikely to ever meet during normal times, the events directing their current lives put them on a collision course, which is what makes the story.

The deer with apples picture is by a photographer who uses the pseudonym Jan Tik; so many people VIDLER-Deer-72-4x6wanted to use it, he graciously put it in the public domain. is a site where people upload all kinds of photos, amateur and professional. It’s an excellent source of information and inspiration. But be warned—most are copyrighted and you can’t just snag them to use publicly. I’ve written to several photographers for permission to use a particular picture. Some people say yes, others don’t.

Thank you, Ellis. I appreciate your taking time to share your ideas about writing. As always, I’m encouraged – even inspired – to hear from a fellow writer.

Readers, if you’d like to know more about Ellis and her books, here’s a link to her website: 

Here’s a link to Prime

Quick Reads for Busy Times

December 15, 2014

Most of the time I reach for big, thick books, the ones with lots of pages, complicated plots, lots of twists and turns, where I can lose myself and forget the rest of the world for hours. But there are times (like the present holiday season) when that just doesn’t work. I can’t afford to forget the rest of the world for hours. I’m lucky to squeeze in a few minutes of reading time. That’s when I appreciate writers who have mastered the art (and, believe me, it is an art) of the short and sweet. Short stories and novellas are perfect for busy times. If, like me, you need a short fix to get you through the season, here are a few suggestions:

DEATH KNELL V Death Knell V is a collection of short stories by members of the Delaware Valley Chapter of Sisters in Crime. There’s quite a variety here:  psychological suspense, historical mystery, paranormal, humor, horror. Longtime favorite novelists, like Charles Todd and Robin Hathaway, as well as those just beginning to make their mark–J.D. Shaw, Augustus Cileone, and Kathleen Heady, among others–but also, many fresh new voices, in print for the first time. The settings take you to three continents. Something to please every reader.

Leigh Verrill-Rhys has written a collection of short stories titled Nights Before. Each story stands alone, but all feature the same characters and, read together, they form a novel. The first one in the series is Twas the Night Before New Year – New Year’s Eve is a time for reflection and change. Jocelyn has more changes coming at her from all directions on this Portland, Maine winter day than she’s faced since her mother’s death. None of it bodes well for the junior editor’s fledgling career when her fiancé abandons her to spend this holiday alone.


Here’s a novella for mystery lovers by Jayne Ormerod: Behind the Blue Door – Can you have a future if you can’t remember the past?  When Skye Crenshaw Whitmore is shown a picture of a house with a blue door, she recalls living there as a young girl. At first the memories are of the warm and fuzzy variety; little moments spent gardening or reading with her mother. Upon learning that the house on Periwinkle Lane is where her mother died, darker memories bubble to the surface but fail to assemble into a complete picture. With more questions than answers, she sets off to find out what exactly happened in that house thirty years ago.

Another novella, this one’s a Christmas romance (especially for those of you who are not dreaming of a white Christmas): Hot Hawaiian Christmas by Victoria M. Johnson  – It’s Christmas in Hawaii, but Lindsay Clark’s Hawaiian-Christmasvacation turns out to be anything but relaxing. With her uncle absent, she finds herself managing the hotel—a task at which she’s normally very successful. However, Lindsay’s life is turned upside down by the unfamiliar environment, Christmas festivities, and a very tempting guest—Chandler Lewis. He’s the honorary Santa for the Kona Christmas parade and has a great life back home in California. Romance is the last thing on his mind. But when he meets Lindsay, he begins to wonder if life could be sweeter in Hawaii.

One more suggestion, if you’ll forgive a bit of BSP – EFairy Light-with fairyvery now and then, I take a  break from murder and mayhem and write a  short story or two.  Beyond the Fairy Light – is a trio of short shorts, one of which, All is Calm, is a holiday story. You’ll notice that I said holiday – without mentioning a specific holiday – for this is a story about a family with mixed, sometimes conflicting, traditions.

Hope all of you have a wonderful holiday, whatever holiday you celebrate – and if you don’t have a special day to celebrate – hope you’re healthy and happy.

After Thanksgiving

November 30, 2014

tree & mantelWell, here in the US, Thanksgiving is a memory and we’re rushing toward Christmas. It’s that time of year when we try too hard to cram too much into too little time. While I love the parties and sharing good wishes with friends and family, I can’t help but wish we could all slow down and savor each experience instead of dashing off to the next one. Unfortunately, the only way to do that is to whittle down our “to do” list.

One item on my list is addressing Christmas cards. This should be pure joy. It is, after all, wishing peace and happiness to the people about whom I care the most. For some of them, it is the only contact I have from year to year. They are former neighbors, distant relatives, old friends – people who at one time I probably saw on an almost daily basis, but our lives have taken different paths and the relationships have faded. That doesn’t lessen their importance. I firmly believe we’re all a composite of the people and ideas we’ve been exposed to over the course of our lives. A note in a card at holiday time is a small way of keeping the connection alive – definitely not an item to take off the list.Isolated giftboxes

Then there’s shopping. I’m not a “shop ’til you drop” person, but there’s no way to eliminate at least a trip or two to the shops this time of year. I know, checks are an option and are appreciated, but I still like to have a little something extra for my favorite people to unwrap. (I admit this is probably more for my pleasure than theirs.)

chocolate chip cookiesCooking – I’m not a great cook, but I do love to bake and cookies are one thing I’m not about to give up.

Decorating – Who can resist decking the halls! Besides, green is my favorite color.

Housecleaning – (the less said about this the better.) Still, even I want my house to sparkle to show off those decked halls.

Parties – Another item I’m not prepared to scratch off the list.

So, as much as I say I want the world to slow down and savor the season, I have to face the fact that there’s no mysterious “they” to blame; I’m the one who makes my life so busy. The solution? Take a deep breath. Relax. Enjoy the bustle. Try to remember why I’m doing each of these things, how blessed I am to have people in my life to do them for and how lucky that my resources allow it.

How about you? What are your holidays like? How do you manage to keep the stress down?

Where Did the Idea Come From?

November 3, 2014

If you’re a writer, I’m sure you’ve been asked that question. If you’re not a writer, but have friends who are, you’ve probably asked it and have been given a different answer each time. Here’s what my friend, Karen McCullough, has to say:

Karen_McCullough_2013It’s the question authors get asked most often by non-writers: Where do you get your ideas? Most authors have some sort of flip answer: an idea store in Schenectady or the idea tree behind my house. Why don’t we just say something like, I read this story in the newspaper and it inspired me to write this book? Mostly because that’s not what happens.

The basic problem is that it’s the wrong question. Ideas are easy. They’re all over the place. I have more ideas in my head now than I’ll ever be able to write. But it takes multiple ideas to create a novel and they have to fit together in ways that are both comfortable and uncomfortable. Ideas don’t make a novel. Conflict does. Plot does. Characters do. It takes work to meld a group of ideas about conflict and character and events into a cohesive plot.

The Detective’s Dilemma started for me with the first scene of the book, when intruders in her home brutally force Sarah Martin to Detectives_Dilemma_200shoot her much older lover. I can’t remember exactly when that scene popped into my head, but it came to me as a vivid vision. From there I had to build a story, and I knew that I wanted it to be about more than just the police investigating the murder and figuring out who was really behind it. Of course, that is the spine of the story. But there’s a lot more going on.

I thought a lot about Sarah Anne Martin. Why was she living with a much older lover? Who is she? What kind of life does this young woman have and what does she want? I had to make her a person with a personality, with desires and aspirations, and with problems that would get far worse before they got better. She proved to be someone trying to rebuild a life that had been shattered more than once and struggling to create a place for herself in the world.

When the police detectives showed up, Jay Christianson walked on the scene. He has issues as well. He started with a prejudice against Sarah because he’d already been burned once when he got involved with a woman in distress. He doesn’t want to believe in Sarah’s innocence initially and he most definitely doesn’t want to fall for a young woman who is the prime witness and possibly the prime suspect in a murder case.

To add another complication, it becomes clear fairly quickly that Sarah has something the killers want. Unfortunately, she has no idea what it is or where it is, but they get increasingly desperate to get it from her or make sure she’ll never get a chance to find it.

It took a great deal of mental work to bring all those threads of character, events, conflicts and plot into a 65,000-word novel.

 The Detective’s Dilemma is a short romantic suspense novel published in paperback and ebook by Kensington’s Lyrical Press imprint. If you would like to learn more about Karen McCullough and The Detective’s Dilemma, there’s a short bio of Karen and a brief excerpt from the book on the Guest Excerpt page of my website: 


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