They Can’t All Be Red Herrings, Right?

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By Lois Winston

I’m currently writing my 12th Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mystery. This one is tentatively titled A Crafty Collage of Crime. As some of you may remember, I moved from New Jersey to Tennessee a year and a half ago. Since then, many people have asked if Anastasia will eventually make the move south. My answer is an emphatic, “No!” Anastasia is a diehard Jersey Girl and will remain firmly planted in the Garden State.

However, I have decided that in this book, Anastasia and Zack will take a trip to Middle Tennessee wine country. Yes, there are wineries in Tennessee. Who knew? Certainly not me until I moved here, but it turns out that there were quite a few wineries in the area before Prohibition, and after Prohibition ended, the wine industry slowly began to revitalize. It’s now once again thriving.

Anastasia and Zack find themselves in Tennessee because Zack has accepted an assignment to photograph the local wineries for a spread in a national wine publication. Anastasia travels to Tennessee with him. Of course, she immediately discovers a dead body. (Doesn’t she always?)

Now, here’s my dilemma: I have a basic plot and characters fleshed out, but I have so many potential suspects, that I’m finding it difficult to choose which will be the killer. Any one of them would work. I’m thinking I may have to write the book several ways, with a different killer for each version, before I settle on the real killer. That’s a lot of extra work. So I’m hoping that as I continue to work on chapters, the killer will eventually reveal himself to me.

If you’re a reader, have you ever read a mystery where you thought one of the other characters should have been the killer? If you’re an author, do you always know right away who your killer will be, or does the killer sometimes change as you write the book?

Death by Killer Mop Doll, the second book in my Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mysteries, is now available as an audiobook through Audible, iTunes, and Amazon. If you’d like a chance to win a promo code for a free download, post a comment.

~*~

USA Today and Amazon bestselling and award-winning author Lois Winston writes mystery, romance, romantic suspense, chick lit, women’s fiction, children’s chapter books, and nonfiction under her own name and her Emma Carlyle pen name. Kirkus Reviews dubbed her critically acclaimed Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mystery series, “North Jersey’s more mature answer to Stephanie Plum.” In addition, Lois is a former literary agent and an award-winning craft and needlework designer who often draws much of her source material for both her characters and plots from her experiences in the crafts industry. Learn more about Lois and her books at her website www.loiswinston.com where you can also sign up for her newsletter and follow her on various social media sites.

Happy Holiday!

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A Husband’s Tale —by T.K. Thorne

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Yes, I am Jewish and don’t “officially” celebrate Christmas, but well, I’ll let my husband tell it [except for my added comments, of course.]:

“She had me at Dickens. You need a bit of backstory to understand that.

During some of my wife’s travels earlier this year, she discovered a Dickens festival in some far away world called California. Being a wonderful wife, [this is my favorite part] and knowing my deep affinity for anything related to Charles Dickens, Mrs. Thorne started formulating a plan to get us to that festival as a way to celebrate our 30th wedding anniversary and my birthday. I choose not to release the number of anniversaries of the day I made my appearance on this planet, but suffice it to say this year was a milestone.

Saying I sorta like Dickens’ writing is like claiming Elmer Fudd sorta likes to hunt wabbits. I’ve read everything Dickens wrote (more than once) especially all the works regarding Christmas. Yes, there is more than A Christmas Carol, but I’ll spare you the list. I also love to watch the many, many, many versions of ACC that have been produced on film. I dare not tell you my favorite for fear of influencing you, but suffice it to say I watch them all, every year. My darling wife  [Why doesn’t he talk like this the rest of the year?] flees in distress when she hears the opening line, “Marley was dead, to begin with.” I can “hear” her eyes roll even though she may be in another room when she realizes what I’m watching.

The problem for her was to get me to the mystical land of California and keep it a surprise. I suppose after discarding the idea of using a baseball bat and burlap sack, she decided the best course of action was to just ‘fess up; she told me about the event and asked, “Would you be interested in going?” My heart skipped a beat and I tried to contain my joy. I replied, I think in an even voice, “Yes, but why don’t we go to the one here in Alabama?”

You see, I knew that just up the road in Tuscumbia, they’ve had a Dickens festival for the last eight years. It’s called “It’s a Dickens Christmas Y’all!” I discovered it in a North Alabama tourist booklet last year, but knew my wife would never want to go immerse herself in my Dickens fantasy, so I stuck the information in a drawer.

Here is where this little story reminds me of another favorite writer. Do you remember O. Henry’s The Gift of the Magi? In it both husband and wife give up something important in order to buy Christmas gifts. The wife sold her long, lovely hair to buy a chain for her husband’s prized pocket watch; he sold the watch to purchase the jeweled hair combs she had long admired. The story is about sacrifice in the name of love.

In our case, my sacrifice was stifling the desire to check out Tuscumbia’s festival by tucking the brochure away and hers was a bit of her sanity in offering to go.

This story has a happy ending because we did go and both had the jolliest of times. It was the best gift I have ever received. Not only did we attend, we went in costume, which is not a requirement, but enhances the experience.

[These photos are from our return trip this year-2022.Left to right, with ghost Marley and Christmas Future, with Tiny Tim, and carriage ride.]

Thorne

There were plenty of events that catered to kids. Even though I felt like a youngster, we didn’t go to those. Instead we went to a feast on Friday night and the light and water show in the park on Saturday night. Between those two, we packed in a snack of scones, a reading of ACC, a canine costume contest, poetry, music, a carriage ride, and wandering around the town enjoying the food, the shops, and most of all, the people.

The volunteer Tuscumbia Retail Development group organizes the festival with the help of the city council. If you’re interested in going next year, give the folks there a call at 256-383-9797. They are the most sincere, friendliest, fun-loving group of ladies it has been my privilege to meet. From the moment we met, they treated us like old friends, and now we are. [Indeed!]

We will not be waiting until the Christmas season to visit Tuscumbia again though. There’s plenty to do and see anytime including the Alabama Music Hall of Fame, Belle Mont Mansion, Cane Creek Canyon Nature Preserve, Railroad Depot Museum, and Ivy Green, the birthplace of Helen Keller. As for the Dickens festival, we’ll be there next year. Hope you will join us.

Merry Christmas, y’all!”* [And Happy Hanukkah!  …You didn’t think I’d let him get the last word, did you?]

T.K.Thorne is a retired police captain who writes Books, which, like this blog, go wherever her curiosity and imagination take her.  More at TKThorne.com

*Originally printed in The Blount Countian (Dec 25, 2019) by Roger Thorne

 

The Best Thanksgiving Movie Ever?

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By Barbara J. Eikmeier

The Last Waltz was showing at the Sunrise Theater at 730 pm on Thanksgiving night. Our hostess attends every year. I was intrigued. What movie can possibly be so great that a person would go to see it every year?

As it turns out, The Last Waltz isn’t an ordinary movie, and the Sunrise Theater experience is far from ordinary.

I was in Southern Pines, NC on Thanksgiving for the second time ever. Our friend toured us through the historic downtown, with the railroad running right down the middle of Broad Street! When we turned the corner near the Sunrise Theater, I noticed, “The Last Waltz, Thurs 730” on the marquee. I remembered seeing the movie in my previous visit, so naturally I asked, “Are we going to the movie tomorrow night?”

Southern Pines, NC 2022

The Last Waltz released in 1978. If you aren’t familiar with the story, it’s about the farewell concert performed in 1976 by The Band. After 16 years of touring, The Band had decided to retire from live performances. For their last concert they wanted something special – a celebration. They chose the Winterland Ballroom in San Francisco as the venue, because that’s where they got their first big break. Then they invited other Rock and Roll legends to perform with them.

The Last Waltz, The Band – Image from wikimedia

As we filed into the Sunrise Theater with others in the 60-70 yr old set, I was amused to also see thirty-somethings and elementary school kids in the crowd. The old, refurbished theater, closed after the economic downturn of the 70s and 80s, had been saved by the community and now operates as a non-profit bringing live theater and film events to Southern Pines. Next door is an outdoor stage with a large grassy area for summer programs.

We found our seats as the lights dimmed. When The Band took the stage (in the movie) and shouted, “Happy Thanksgiving!” The crowd (in the movie and in the present-day movie theater) cheered wildly! That was my first clue that this was not going to be an ordinary movie going experience.

The audience held nothing back, hooting, hollering, cheering and whistling as their favorite singer appeared in the movie. When the camera panned in on drummer, Levon Helm, from the back of the theater a deep, masculine voice bellowed, “Yeah! Leeeeeevoooon!”

From the clusters of audience cheers we could tell where the Neil Young fans were sitting. And Joni Mitchell’s. When Van Morrison took the stage, the man two rows behind us yelled “Van the Man!” As Morrison spiked the air with his arm and kicked one more time, loud clapping and cheering filled the theater. Enthusiastic appreciation continued for Emmylou Harris, Muddy Waters and Dr. John. Fans sang along with Eric Clapton and Neil Diamond. When Bob Dylan sang “Forever Young” I sensed the end nearing.  I dabbed at my tears, caught up in the moment, cheering just because those around me were cheering. It was fantastic!

When asked how long it’s been a Southern Pine Thanksgiving tradition my hostess said, “Maybe five years.” But I knew that wasn’t right because when I saw it five years ago it was “at least ten years.”

A bearded man holding his sweetheart’s hand said, “Well, I’m 30 and I’ve been going since I was a kid.”

An attractive older woman, her grey hair pulled into a long braid, said, “Pretty much forever.”

Each year the showing is free to the public thanks to sponsorship by local business, Howell Masonry. During 2020, in spite of the Covid-19 pandemic, the show went on, playing on a screen at the outdoor stage.

There’s something heart-warming about being in a crowd of jubilant people. These are people who love Rock and Roll or holiday traditions or just being a part of a community. They were little kids, who had become adults and now attend with their parents and their own children.

Small town rituals are rich with material for writers. While I don’t have plans to write the Sunrise Theater into a novel, I can harvest the memory of this event for character traits (“Yeah! Leeeeevooon!”), dialog peppered with dialect, a hometown setting and a unique holiday tradition. After all, in Southern Pines they say The Last Waltz is the best Thanksgiving movie ever!

Barbara J. Eikmeier is a quilter, writer, student of quilt history, and lover of small-town America. Raised on a dairy farm in California, she enjoys placing her characters in rural communities.

Creating Colorful Characters

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For novelists, creating a memorable character that jumps off the page and into a reader’s imagination is darn hard to do. Which is why I frequently envy the person working at his desk in the other room, who always seems to be having fun.

Critters by Don

When my husband retired, people who knew him speculated on how he would spend his time once he left the company he’d founded. Write a book about his ground-breaking career? Open a restaurant? Learn to sail?

Nobody expected him to become a trash collector, but that’s exactly what he did. And then he created colorful characters from what he found.

The first creations came from a long-neglected “junk” drawer. Once he had repurposed most of that supply into a few funny faces, he expanded his search for more bits and pieces outdoors, where he struck it rich.

Don’s Doo-dads

We live near a big city park with hundreds and sometimes thousands of visitors daily: runners, joggers, walkers, golfers, picnickers, folks pushing strollers and herding children. They come to ride the zoo train, see the animals, meditate in the Japanese garden, steer the paddle boats, or simply sit under a 100-year oak and feed the squirrels.

After a day of family fun, there’s always stuff left behind: a random baby shoe or sock, an odd earring, a broken barrette, the cap from a juice drink, the innards of a smashed calculator or mobile phone. If he comes across an interesting piece of detritus, he’ll bring it home and turn it into a piece of whimsy.

Besides the stand-alone Critters, he’s made magnetic Doo-dads that can be worn on clothing or stuck on the fridge. These funny-faced eye-catchers tend to be conversation starters, which encourages him to make more. Neighbors have donated their own odds and ends, eager to contribute to the process.

DELETE, Ms. Elegant, and Bad Hair Day

With each face, a unique personality emerges. A character you might want to meet, or avoid. A face that reminds you of someone you know, or would rather forget. Sometimes I grab a magnet pin to wear, depending to my mood. Feeling spiffy? Bad hair day? Or, if the writing’s not going well, I may sport the one with the DELETE button for a mouth. Enough said.

From time to time, someone asks to buy a piece, but the creator is not keen on selling. For now, his Critters & Doodads reside on shelves and inside cabinets, and only come out on request.

Yet every time a new Critter or Doo-dad emerges from a box of junk, it’s guaranteed to bring smiles. And these days, we all can use more of those. Including novelists.

Is there a silly something that brings you joy?

Gay Yellen is the award-winning author of the Samantha Newman Mystery Series, including The Body Business, The Body Next Door, and the upcoming Body in the News.

 

My Mother’s Slippers by Debra H. Goldstein

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My Mother’s Slippers by Debra H. Goldstein

At this time of year, I think about my mother. She was a driving force in my life until her unexpected death in 2014. There are still times when I want to pick up the phone and share good news with her or ask for her advice, but I can’t. What I can do is keep a part of her with me – her slippers.

Not the pair she wore, but one of twenty or thirty pairs of the identical slippers that she hoarded. My mother was an atypical hoarder. Everything in her house was always perfectly in place and her kitchen floor was so clean that one could eat off of it. Newspapers and magazines were thrown out once read; finished books, except for ones I wrote, were loaned to friends, or donated; and clothes were stylish but took up no more than a closet.

Her hoarding fetish involved shoes. She loved them. Because she had a hard to fit foot (super narrow and only a six or six and one-half), if she found a pair of shoes to fit, she bought them — in every color. If she found something she loved was going to be discontinued, she stocked up on them. The thing about my mother was that she wore all of those shoes. Each one matched an outfit or a mood and while she kept them carefully boxed on shelves in her closet, she believed in wearing and enjoying them.

After she died, my sister and I relished the memory of her cute outfits and her shoes. I was only saddened by the fact that while we had the same shoe size, our feet were just different enough that the last that fit her didn’t work for me. What did work were her slippers. She had found a pair of step-in flower-patterned slippers that she loved because they were narrow enough to stay on and soft enough not to rub her foot. She wore that particular brand for years and when she discovered they were being discontinued, she bought up every pair she could find. When she passed away, there were twenty plus pairs that had never been worn. I tried one on and they were perfect. Although I didn’t take them all, I brought several pairs home with me. Seven years later, morning or night, I think of my mother as I step into a pair of her slippers. The wonderful thing is that I know she will still be with me for years to come because of the ones I have yet to begin using.

Do you have anything passed down from a parent that reminds you of them regularly or that you have that may give someone continuing memories of you?

It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Book Release Time!

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By Debra Sennefelder

 

There’s so much to be excited about this month. Christmas is just a few weeks away and tomorrow, SLEUTHING IN STILETTOS will be released!

Doesn’t the cover just give you all the warm, summery beach vibes we’ll be dreaming of in a few weeks? Well, if you live in snow country, you’re probably dreaming of beach weather right now. But where I am in Connecticut, those feelings start to surface in January, when winter really hits. I’ll just stare at my book cover. 🙂

I loved writing Kelly’s latest adventure. It was so much fun hanging out with the Lucky Cove gang after being away for months. There’s a lot of stuff packed into this book and Kelly is struggling a little with the aftermath of her cousin’s murder, trying to navigate her new relationship with Detective Nate Barber and taking on more than she can handle.

Today I’m sharing an excerpt from the book with you.

Have a great day and thanks so much for stopping by today.

EXCERPT:

“Kelly!”

At the sound of her name, she looked over her shoulder and saw Miranda

walking toward her. She wore a stylish navy pantsuit and carried a British

tan tote. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and large textured golden

earrings caught the light from overhead and glinted.

“I’m so glad you came. Come on, let’s get a table, and I’ll introduce

you to my friends.” Kelly led Miranda into the spacious room set up for

the luncheon. She caught the eye of her friend Liv Moretti. Liv’s family

owned a bakery on Main Street, and she served as the chamber’s secretary.

She also noticed a few stares as she and Miranda walked through the

room toward a table. A definite chill had settled in there. She looked

over to Miranda, who had initially looked apprehensive and now looked

empowered. In place of her soft smile was a grin. Okay, Kelly was now

officially weirded out. What was going on?

“Hey there, Kelly.” Walt Hanover passed by, giving a nod to Miranda.

“About time you got here.” Frankie Blake, Kelly’s cousin and owner of

Frankie’s Seafood Shack, breezed by, giving her arm a squeeze. “Talk later.”

“That was Walt, he owns an antique shop, and my cousin Frankie, he

owns a restaurant,” Kelly said to Miranda. She then considered she might

have misread the room. Walt and Frankie seemed fine.

“I remember Walt,” Miranda said with a note of affection, but it vanished

quickly. “Just like I remember him.”

“Who?” As soon as Kelly asked, she saw Ricky van Johnson approaching.

He owned Gregorio’s Specialty Shop, Lucky Cove’s premier gourmet food

shop. It was pricey, but it was well worth it for hardcore foodies.

“Good to see you, Kelly.” Towering over Kelly by a good six inches,

his bulky frame came from good eating. He regularly gave cooking

demonstrations at his shop, and his recipes were to die for. Then, his

attention shifted toward Miranda. “I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

 

 

 

 

Debra Sennefelder is the author of the Food Blogger Mystery series and the Resale Boutique Mystery series. She lives and writes in Connecticut. When she’s not writing, she enjoys baking, exercising and taking long walks with her Shih-Tzu, Connie. You can keep in touch with Debra through her website, on Facebook and Instagram.

No Regrets

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Cover of Love in the Lowcountry A Winter Holiday Collection Volume 2

Lowcountry Romance Writers of America (LRWA) has published its second volume of short stories in a new anthology. Love in the Lowcountry Winter Holiday Collection Volume 2 has eleven stories that all take place in South Carolina between Halloween and Valentine’s Day.

LRWA strives to give authors the tools they need to get published. In going through the process of writing, editing, marketing, and selling an anthology, all levels of authors gain experience and knowledge. We appreciate all the hard work that goes into publishing a book. We thank all those involved. We have members from as far away as Idaho. We meet online seven times a year to allow our members to gather without traveling.

My story, “No Regrets,” is a seasoned romance. I first met Cantley and Alston in a dream. They gave me their story, though it has changed a bit after editing, of course.

Here’s the blurb:

Cantley, a widow in her sixties, moved back to her small village to start anew because she’s gone through a rough patch, but she’s unsure how to let go of the past.

Alston, the single silver fox, wants to meet people and explore the area because he’s ready to settle down, but his time is taken up working from home and caring for his elderly parents.

Will he be the distraction she needs? Will she let him in the door? Visit the Lowcountry in this seasoned romance to discover the answers.

And here’s a short snippet:

She began rationalizing with herself. He was new to town. She should show the famous southern hospitality, right? Taking care of a sick husband, the ensuing widowhood, and menopause had taken away her libido and her desire to be nice. Her children kept hounding her to get out of the house more, find new friends, meet up with old classmates, and visit old haunts. She’d just started feeling like herself again after taking a friend’s recommendation to try bioidentical hormone therapy. She’d have been more likely to say no, but he looked like a model from one of those underwear ads she kept seeing on social media. The doctor had said she’d start getting horny as her body adjusted to the hormones. They seemed to be kicking in.

—

Robin is a native South Carolinian, born in the Upstate and raised in the Lowcountry. She happily lives in a small town on the outskirts of Charleston with her husband, son, and dog. This is her second published short story. She writes contemporary romance with a hint of magic

realism.

Find her on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/RobinHillyerMilesAuthorTourGuideYoga

Follow her on Instagram at https://www.instagram.com/rhillyer_miles/

Follow her Amazon author page at https://www.amazon.com/~/e/B07YN9P3T6

We are Living History— by T.K. Thorne

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We are living history.

In 1958, the janitor at Temple Beth-El in Birmingham, Alabama discovered a satchel in the building’s window well with a fuse running from it. Fifty-four sticks of dynamite were in that bag. The fuse had burned out within a minute of igniting it. No one knows what happened, perhaps an early morning rain or a fault in the fuse itself.

It was a pivotal moment in time. The crime was never solved, but the perpetrators were mostly likely a Nazi-inspired organization called the National States Rights Party headquartered in Birmingham. They hated Blacks and Catholics and Jews.

Today, the incidents of hate crimes against Jews and Jewish institutions are rising at frightening rates. Along with other activities, like the attempted armed insurrection of our government, it is chilling and feels like it could be 1958 or even the 1930s when powerful men in this country echoed Hitler’s poisonous sentiments toward Jews, men like Henry Ford, the car manufacture magnate; Charles Lindbergh, the country’s famous “golden boy;” and Father Coughlin, a catholic priest with thousands of listeners on his radio show.

Having a common enemy often binds people together. Thus, the citizens of Germany coalesced when Jews were targeted as “the enemy.” But that works both ways.

Sixty-four years after the attempted bombing of Beth-El, the synagogue is working on a civil rights exhibit about looking to the future by examining the past. I was asked to be a speaker at the launch event because I wrote this book—Behind the Magic Curtain: Secrets, Spies, and Unsung White Allies of Birmingham’s Civil Rights Days.

It took eight years to complete. While I was writing it, I thought—Will anyone be interested in this or will it just be another tome for the historians’ bookshelves, if that? But it had become a labor of love, so I labored on.

I woke from the “coma” of writing to find my book relevant. That was not necessarily a good thing but was why I was speaking at Beth-El’s event.

For the most part, the White community has welcomed the book’s revelations about what  happened behind the scenes (or behind the curtain) in a city that changed the world—stories of secret missions carried out by the police and sheriff’s departments, as well as little-known deeds of civil rights’ allies in the city branded with images of “dogs and firehoses” used against children, an image seared into the nation’s consciousness.

I tried to honor the Movement as well and weave my stories into the context of the day and the efforts of those seeking long overdue equal rights and justice. But I’ve had little feedback from the Black community. After I spoke at Beth-El, however, a diminutive, elderly Black woman approached me and asked me to sign her copy of Behind the Magic Curtain, which she had brought to the event.

I did, of course, and she told me she had been one of the children who had marched for freedom in 1963 and how much she had enjoyed the book and how much it meant to read confirmation of things whispered in her home and community when she was young, things she had never known were true or not. It completed a circle for her.

It was a small interaction, lasting only a few moments in the chaos after the event, but it meant a lot to me. She had probably given little thought as a child that she was living a pivotal moment in history. Nor did those who went to pray at Temple Beth-El one morning, or those who listened to Father Coughlin, Henry Ford, and Charles Lindbergh spew supremist views that eventually embraced genocide.

We are living in a pivotal moment. It will be written about (and already has) and one day we will be the ones who say, “I was there.” What are we going to tell future generations about what we did . . . or what we didn’t do?

T.K.Thorne is a retired police captain who writes Books, which, like this blog, go wherever her curiosity and imagination take her.

Return of the Corn Mothers 2022 by Juliana Aragon Fatula

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Dear Reader,

The year 2022 has been incredibly challenging and rewarding. The books I’ve published have opened doors for me and taught me how to network and reach my audience. My publisher, Bower House Books/Conundrum Press, Denver, CO helped me to promote my books by nominating me for book awards and sharing my work on their website. I have been giving readings and book signings at local bookstores and libraries and universities and colleges. Most recently at Analogue Bookstore, CSU Pueblo, El Pueblo History Museum, Pikes Peak Library, and on various Zoom events online.

This year I have been nominated and inducted to the Return of the Corn Mothers and attended the ceremony on October 21st, 2022 in Denver at the History Colorado Museum.

It was a night I will never forget and changed my life forever as I am now a Corn Mother along with 22 other women inducted this year. The total number of Corn Mothers now is 70 and some have passed to the next world but their lives were celebrated at the History Colorado Museum in memoriam. We were all blessed and the event was live streamed via Zoom and recorded for a documentary for the archives.

The photos included in this post show the incredible festivities and colorful regalia worn by the Aztec Dancers and musicians, and guest speakers. The night was magical.