Cozies versus Suspense/Mysteries

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I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about the difference between a traditional mystery verses a suspense (or hybrid suspense/mystery) and a cozy mystery.

For me, understanding the differences has been key as I craft a proposal for a new cozy series. I’m the type of person who needs to really process through things and understand the foundation, and once I have that firm foundation, I can build the house, making changes as I go. If the foundation is strong, then changes as I go won’t make the house collapse.

Here are the key differences as I see them:

Mystery (cozy) verses suspense (or hybrid suspense/mystery)

  • Narrow World View

or

  • Larger World View

By this I mean that the detective in a mystery focuses on a smaller community, a collection of suspects, unraveling the secrets and lies within that community, in order to get to the truth.

In a suspense the action leads the hero to a larger, sometimes international, world which is where the clues lead.

  • Traditionally, the detective is not the center of the drama or action

or

  • The hero/heroine is the at risk him/herself and that is at the center of the drama

Especially in the mysteries of old, the detective doesn’t have personal growth or, put another way, he/she doesn’t go through a hero’s journey. More contemporary mysteries, particularly cozies, do have sleuths who undergo change or growth.

In a suspense, the center of the story is the hero/heroine. He/she is the one in danger and that is what drives the pursuit of justice (or the defeat of the villain). The hero/heroine is not on the periphery as the sleuth often is throughout a big portion of the cozy.

  • Who committed the crime? Will the puzzle be put together

or

  • Will the hero/heroine survive against a smart villain?

This is fundamental. In a mystery, will the detective put the pieces of the puzzle together in time before another death (sometimes the sleuth by this time) occurs? In a suspense, the question is really based on tension that is built from the danger the hero/heroine is in. Whether or not the villain will win is the driving force of the story.

  • Keeping the detective ahead of the reader.

or

  • Keeping the reader ahead of the hero/heroine.

In a mystery, the detective must be smarter than the reader! The puzzle has to be complicated or crafted well enough to fool the reader and keep him/her guessing, yet not too complicated or convoluted. In a suspense, or hybrid, the reader is really ahead of the hero/heroine because we know the danger that’s coming and we’re on the edge of our seats hoping that the hero/heroine is as smart as we are.

I’ve realized that I prefer the cozy model better. For starters, I don’t like to be on the edge of my seat in a heart-pounding scary way.

Blair Witch Trial?

NO WAY!

Hercule Poirot?

DEFINITELY!


So I’m curious, which type of mystery speaks to you? Do you like being ahead of the game as in a suspense, or a few steps behind the sleuth, hoping to put together the puzzle by the end?

~Misa

Untitled Post

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It’s a tough time to be a Catholic.

I speak from experience. Having been a practicing Catholic all my life—with a brief “lapsed” period in the 80s and 90s—I have been trying with all my might to reconcile the basic tenet of the Catholic Church (love thy neighbor) with the horrific abuses that we have all read about over the last decade or so. I have found that many of my fellow parishioners and friends have been questioning why we stay in a church that is filled with abuse of power, a disconnect from its faithful, and an unwavering commitment to antiquated thoughts and practices that only succeed in keeping good people from serving in a meaningful way.

I was speaking with a friend last night and we lamented that after identifying yourself as a Catholic to someone who doesn’t know you, you have to do a lot of backpedaling and assert that you believe in the power of the laity, the value of women, and probably in the idea that a priest can and should marry if he (and hopefully, SHE, at some point) so chooses. We are assumed to be monolithic in our identity and beliefs, and that is just not the case.

I remember being a little girl and my mother showing me pictures of a friend of hers from high school, Sister Leonore, nee Noreen. Sister Leonore worked for years in Africa trying to bring education and hope to an impoverished people. Her work was endless, and for all I know, she’s still there. She entered the convent out of a desire, I assume, to make the world a better place for people who had little and lacked the basic necessities of life. Yes, she probably wanted also to convert them to the faith, as missionaries are charged to do while working with the poor. But every once in a while I think of a young woman who devoted herself to the poor while still a teenager and wonder if it was hard for her to do so, knowing that the leaders of our church have always lived in opulence and grandeur while sending their minions to the ends of the earth, all in the name of God.

Then I think about a family from our church who took their three children and went to South America to be missionaries. They stayed for several years before returning to our lovely Village, having done what they considered ‘the Lord’s work.” When I see them at church, I look at them with awe. They are ordinary people, just like the rest of us in the pews, but answered to a higher calling.

And recently, a group of high schoolers from our local high school went to Nicaragua and built houses in a small village. This was the third year they went on this trip. Many come back saying they feel “changed,” but unable to express what that really means.

I have never really identified with the church hierarchy because I have never felt that they inform my faith. I’m sure that that statement alone is probably considered heresy. As a friend last night pointed out, they are almost like Goldman Sachs in terms of bureaucracy, and now, abuse of power. Interestingly, while I am aghast at what they are purported to have done, I don’t see them as part of my “church.” I see them as ordinary people who have ascended to power and who are completely disconnected from the everyday Catholic, those of us in the pews. Sister Leonore, the family from church, and the high schoolers, however? They are the “church.” They are the people living their faith. And they are the people I want to follow and emulate.

But don’t take my word for it. Read Nicholas Kristof’s essay from this past Sunday’s New York Times entitled “A Church Mary Can Love,” in which he discusses the people doing the hard work, the work that, as Catholics, we are implored to do. Because we are a faith built on a foundation of social justice and many of the people executing the work of a man who lived many centuries ago are…wait for it…women. The same women who are not allowed to celebrate Mass, become deacons, and who have been relegated for hundreds of year to a supporting role—at best—in the Church doings. Along with the people mentioned above, these women are transforming the world, one act of kindness at a time.

So, to my fellow Catholics out there whose heads droop lower and lower by the day with each passing news report on new abuses and new scandals, I say: deal with your anger. Channel your anger into doing good and changing people’s perceptions as to what Catholics are and what Catholics do. Do what we were implored to do all those centuries ago: Love thy neighbor. If you do nothing else, it’s still more than enough.

Maggie Barbieri

Great Grandkids and Sports

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This past weekend, my daughter and hubby drove their motor home from California with their two of their granddaughters to a big track meet in Arizona.

Years ago, both their son and daughter participated in both the shot put and discus events in high school track.

Now their son’s daughters who are both in middle school are doing great in these two events.

The younger one with the darker hair made first place in discus. The older one came in fifth but there were 43 others competing. So I’d say that was pretty good.

Grandpa (my son-in-law) has been coaching these two whenever he has been around to do so.

Needless to say, my daughter and son and law are pleased as can be.

Great-grandma and pa are pretty proud too. We don’t get to see these kids as much as we’d like to as they live rather far away. Even though we’re all in California, it’s a long drive. Thank goodness for the Internet and the ability to send messages and photos.

Okay, I won’t brag about great-grandkids anymore–at least not for awhile.

Marilyn
http://fictionforyou.com/

The Good Stuff in the News!

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I’m ready to spend some time talking about “Good News.” Let’s talk heroes, good deeds, major accomplishments, and random acts of kindness.

I was impressed this week with the story of the James King who found the missing eleven-year-old-girl in the Florida swamp. He said God led him straight through the mud, thigh-high waters, alligators, and dense vegetation to Nadia Bloom. Nadia has Asperger’s Syndrome and had been missing four days. Since during the last ten years or so, I’ve become very cynical, my first thought was not to praise the rescuer but to want an full accounting of his whereabouts in the days leading up to him “finding” the child. The thing about enjoying “good news” is you have to be willing to accept it at face value. So until it’s proven otherwise, I’m willing to accept this as a miracle and a selfless act by a concerned citizen who had nothing to do with the girl’s disappearance.

Actor Sean Penn continues to be relentless in his quest to save lives in Haiti. Rainy season is almost here and survivors are still living without real tents in areas where mudslides will almost certainly occur. Like his movies or not, he cares about the world.

L.A. Lakers player Pau Gasol gave up some time to make a 4-year-old fan, Ezra Frech very happy. Ezra was born with malformed limbs on his left side. He has an artificial leg that allows him to play basketball. He loves, loves, loves basketball. And he’s very good at it!

On a personal note – my good news is that as of last week I’ve finished with surgery on both eyes and can now drive without contact lens or glasses! Alas, reading and working on the computer will still require corrective lenses of some kind. I’ve got a dozen pairs of drugstore reading glasses in various strengths that I’m using until I’m cleared by the surgeon to visit the optometrist.

What’s your favorite “good news?”

Rhonda (wearing a 2.0 magnification for computer work).
aka The Southern Half of Evelyn David

I Love the Smell of Paint Fumes in the Morning

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by Susan McBride

I’ve been on a home improvement kick of late, fueled by the long To-Do list on the side of our refrigerator that’s ever-growing. With so much going on since Ed and I bought the house almost four years ago (deadlines, health crisis, getting hitched, et al), I’ve put off unfinished projects around the house and yard. So long as things seemed clean and neat, I ignored what could be ignored in support of my sanity. But with promo for The Cougar Club winding down and a little time on my hands before a new deadline dropped in my lap, I could finally tackle what I’d been putting off. Like the human tornado I am (or, at least, my husband thinks I am!), I jumped in with both feet.

I went for the easy stuff first, like sanding and touching up paint on door thresholds shredded by Max the Cat (who thinks the entire house is his scratching post). I put two coats of Haze–aka, light tan–on the bare white vanity in the upstairs guest bath to match the walls (hey, it breaks up the white between the tiles and the sink, and I’m a woman who likes color!). I’ve mentioned to Ed that it’d look really good to cut molding to frame the oversized guest bath wall mirror (something I’ve seen them do on HGTV)–and would I kill to replace that old “Hollywood” style lighting fixture, too!–but since hubby’s the one who wields the table saw, the mirror-framing will have to wait.

My mother dropped by last weekend to help paint the guest room, another thing I’d been meaning to do and hadn’t. The rest of the house had a color makeover long ago (well, all except Ed’s “man cave” in the basement which was “Bisque” and still is). The third bedroom was always a vivid mint green, kind of like toothpaste, which matched my old comforter set well enough so we left it alone. Ed got a little sad when I said, “Time for the minty freshness to go!” He remarked that glancing in the room always reminded him to brush his teeth. Ha ha. I found a more neutral shade of green with a hint of gray in it, and it looks gorgeous. The old comforter set got laundered and taken to Goodwill. Rather than buy something new, I dug into the linen closet for a quilt my grandmother made me long ago, with scalloped edges trimmed in olive green and a circle of pink flowers and green leaves at its center. It looks perfect on the guest bed and the cats have already taken to burrowing beneath it (something I’m sure my cat-loving grandma would appreciate!).

Continuing on my “Design on a Dime” theme, I had Ed cut the old wooden curtain rod from our master bedroom (left behind by the former owner) so it would fit the guest room window. I spray-painted the rod and finials white (accidently using appliance paint which smells awful but covers beautifully!). Ed hung it up last night, and now I’m dying to go buy curtain panels, which I want to coordinate with new fabric to recover the old Victorian armchair and ottoman (er, I kind of got white paint on the green ottoman seat when I was spray-painting the feet!) Okay, so one project seems to lead to another, but it’s all going to be gorgeous when I’m finished!

My home improvement crusade wasn’t limited to the inside. Nope. I tackled a few outdoor projects as well, starting with clearing out leaves from flower beds and the basement window well off the patio where I encountered a garter snake that had the nerve to hiss at me! Geez, his head was as big as my pinky so I was less afraid than I would have been if I’d run across a giant spider. Animal lover that I am, I used a dustpan to scoop him up and toss him into a patch of ivy. Ed and I saw him again on Easter before heading over to my folks’ house! He slithered across the driveway and let Ed take his picture before he disappeared through the grass. I’m sure it was his way of saying, “thanks.”

But I digress. My yard work continued with some trimming and weeding, and I dug up a dead bamboo bush growing near the back fence, replacing it with a trellis and jasmine plant. I can’t wait for the jasmine to cover that sucker and create a wall of yellow flowers and vine! FYI, the “bamboo” bush wasn’t really bamboo at all. It was some kind of distant relative to a houseplant and didn’t ever live up to the promise of growing to 6′ x 6′ within three years. In fact, it didn’t grow but a few leaves beyond its original 1′ x 1′ self. A rotted trellis in another garden bed was replaced by a metal trellis, and now the clematis is growing thickly on it. I planted viney flowers that are supposed to naturalize in an empty area of that same bed, and I trimmed out dead branches on a pear tree and a maple (well, the ones I could reach that smack Ed in the head when he mows).

Getting out of my desk chair and moving like that has tugged on muscles I forgot existed. I’ve enjoyed transforming pieces of my world inside and out (although the tree pollen’s about to kill me! Benadryl, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways…although you seriously make me crave a nap). Ed’s afraid that if I don’t chain myself to my keyboard again soon, I’m going to build a room addition to the house. Hmm, not a bad idea. Maybe that screened porch I’ve been daydreaming about, one with a comfy chaise so I can lounge and read while the cats watch the birds at the feeder….

Er, does anyone have Mike Holmes’ phone number handy just in case I need some help?

Guest Blogger: E.J. Copperman

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E.J. Copperman is a New Jersey native and the author of NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEED, which begins the Haunted Guesthouse Mystery series from Berkley Prime Crime June 1. This is E.J.’s first novel, but not the last–two more Haunted Guesthouse Mysteries (at least) are on their way!

The first thing people ask you when they find out you write a mystery series about a haunted guesthouse is an obvious question: “Do you believe in ghosts?”

It’s a tricky thing. If, as the author of a book called NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEED, in which a woman finds two ghosts hanging around her newly-purchased Victorian, which she plans on converting into a guesthouse, you say that you believe in ghosts, the next logical question will be, “Why?” The reader, or interviewer, or transient who happened by, will want some evidence–some personal experience you’ve had–that made you so certain of your position.

But if you tell them you DON’T believe in afterliving visitors, you’re liable to disappoint, or worse, to completely shatter the questioner’s belief system.

It’s a lose-lose situation. So I’m going to definitively state my core belief here, and let it stand for the record.

I don’t know.

No, that’s not a dodge. I’ve never had a life experience that made me certain someone from beyond the grave was trying to communicate. Unlike Haley Joel Osment, I DON’T see dead people. None of my departed relatives or friends has left a message on the spectral answering machine. No mysterious chills up my spine at appropriate moments. No “sensing a presence” in the room. It just hasn’t happened to me.

On the other hand, I have no evidence that such things don’t happen. I have friends whose intelligence and sanity I can personally vouch for who tell me they have experienced just such phenomena. And just because it hasn’t happened to me doesn’t me it doesn’t happen.

In NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEED, Alison Kerby (extra points if you get the reference) discovers a talent she didn’t know she had–she can see two spirits inhabiting her house. It’s not an ability she’s been wishing for, and in fact, Alison finds it a major inconvenience. See, the two ghosts in her Jersey Shore guesthouse want her to do them a little favor: They want Alison to find out who murdered them.

Alison doesn’t believe in ghosts until she starts seeing Paul and Maxie. And she would prefer not to see them now, truth be known. But once she realizes that this isn’t the result of head trauma or insanity, Alison does her best to avoid doing any investigating. But circumstances–let’s leave it at that–make that impossible.

So off she goes, and there will be a good number of surprises for her (and hopefully for you) along the way, including the fact that Alison is not the only person around who can see her two spectral guests. And that the person (or persons) who murdered Paul and Maxie might be getting wind of Alison’s investigation–and targeting her to be the next ghost haunting the house.

Alison, if nothing else, becomes a true believer in ghosts during NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEED. It’s hard for her to deny the existence of two people who are making her life miserable–and exciting.

For me, the jury’s still out on ghosts. But I’m wondering, from a reader’s point of view: Does an author have to be a true believer to make the story work? I’d appreciate your opinion.

Parenting: Working without the Manual

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If you are a parent, or even if you’ve been subjected to the ranting or misbehaving of a child in close proximity to you, I suspect that you’ve had the urge to spank. I know I have. Fortunately, because I never felt that physical punishment was a solution to misbehaving, I never gave into the urge to give my kids a swift whack to the bottom. Lord knows, sometimes it was hard. But now there is evidence to support the feeling held by many parents that spanking is not the solution.

Researchers at Tulane University have studied 2,500 children and the effect of spanking on their behavior. Their findings? Children who were spanked frequently at age 3 became more aggressive by age 5. This, as well as other findings of the study, support a recent Duke University study that said that infants that were spanked at twelve months—and let’s face it: twelve-month-olds are infants—scored lower on cognitive tests than those children who hadn’t been spanked. In addition, the children in the Tulane study were more likely to be defiant, demand immediate satisfaction, get easily frustrated, have temper tantrums, and exhibit aggressive behavior toward others.

For me, it was always a decision fueled by my rational, intellectual mind: hitting a child would get their attention, but ultimately, not their continued compliance. I always assumed that spanking the offending child might make me feel better and get the child’s attention, but would eventually end up with both of us crying—me for losing control and them for being physically and emotionally hurt. I instead favored the “time-out,” which has come under some criticism for not being a strict enough punishment. Personally, I like the time out very much, so much so, that I sometimes put myself in time out, if only to get a hold of my emotions or think something through. Research has found that the time out has the same effect for a child, but only if you stick to your guns, something that is very difficult to do with a wailing child sitting in the “naughty chair” or whatever location you choose.

My pediatrician told me when my daughter was an infant that the best piece of advice he had received as a new parent was “once you say no, the answer is no even if you’ve made a mistake and the answer could be yes.” Because, like animals, kids can smell fear. They can also smell dithering. Once you have said no and then change the answer to yes after repeated queries, the child knows that they can have their way with you. And then it’s all downhill from there. You’ll never have the upper hand again because you’ve been outed as a “mind changer.”

My friends and I often lament that parenting is hard and the manual for what do in most situations is nonexistent. We have only each other to rely on to get a sense of whether what we’re doing is correct, sane, and will guarantee that our children will reach adulthood. We spend an inordinate amount of time as parents making sure our children are safe, and any remaining time that they are good citizens capable of making good decisions. You have to parent when you are sick, tired, stressed, and at your wit’s end and you have to do all of it while making snap decisions on the fly. When you think about it, it’s amazing that anyone does it well. Or at all.

I am not trying to paint a picture of myself as the sanest, most patient mother in the world. Au contraire. For instance, I am thisclose to giving a stern talking to the little girl who sits in front of us at church (and who I don’t know) who scratches her bare hiney during the priest’s sermon when she’s not beating her brother over the head while her mother blissfully ignores her. And the little boy who threw a fork at me during dinner at a local restaurant? Well, I’d put him in time-out before the fork had even left his hand; I can sense bad stuff before it happens, especially if my kids are thinking about it. I’m gifted that way. For that kid, time-out would take on a whole new meaning. When my kids were smaller and would beat the stuffing out each other night after night, I would calmly pick both of them up and place them in their beds for the night, despite the fact that the sun hadn’t set. Fearful of another sixteen hours in their beds, the nightly fisticuffs soon stopped. If nothing else, my kids are pretty astute, getting the whole “if-then” relationship.

Basically, my parenting style reflects the credo of the Mafia: find out what they love—from free time to television to their handheld electronics—and make it go away. Works like a charm. Who needs spanking?

One Thing After Another

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When you have a family as big as mine, there’s always something happening.

We’ve had our share of divorces–and I’ve seen what happens to the poor kids when mom and dad finally split. Fortunately, I’ve also seen how the kids have managed to become decent adults after a few mishaps along the way.

Recently touched base with a grandniece (yes, I have a bunch of those too) whose parents divorced when she was a kid, and she’s had four kids who are now 10 and under. She’s working on her GED because she wants to go to the police academy. Her goal is to have a decent job so her kids can go to college and she can retire sometime and not be like her parents. Her father is remarried and raising a new six year old of his and his new wife’s as well as her two teenage daughters. He has his own business, but has to work really hard to make ends meet. Retirement isn’t in his near future. The ex-wife still works as a bartender.

Seems like things go along fine for awhile, then we hear some scary news about someone–an accident or a bad diagnosis, or someone has decided to end a marriage, or one of the grandkids has gotten into trouble. Once in awhile, it’s a new baby on the way.

In some ways it’s almost like living in a soap opera except we’re related to everyone. Maybe that’s why hubby and I like to watch General Hospital, the soap opera, worse things happen to those folks than what happens in the extended Meredith family.

You might ask if I’ve ever used any of our family drama in any of my books–of course I have, not that anyone would recognize it. But how could I not use such a wealth of material when it’s unfolding right in front of my eyes. Usually I don’t use it while it’s fresh–but someday, sometime, one of those incidents will be the perfect element for a story I’m writing.

And of course, having relatives in law enforcement gave me the desire to write about police officers and their families.

Marilyn
http://fictionforyou.com

Oh for Goodness Sakes

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Fair warning: Another judgmental blog.

According to Whoopi Goldberg, Jesse James may have simply been searching for “something different” outside his marriage to Sandra Bullock. On her TV show, The View, she explained, “Hey, listen, I did it five or six times … Yes, I screwed around. Yes, while I was married. I made those mistakes too, yeah. It happens sometimes. It happens. Maybe he was trying to find something different too.”

Well, okay, then. As long as he found what he needed, then the detritus left in the wake of this marital betrayal, the humiliated wife and devastated children, are just unfortunate casualties.

We’ve all been subjected to way too much information about men in the public eye and their mistresses. I’m always left thinking that these guys have too much time on their hands and too much money to waste. I’m not naïve enough to think that men working two jobs and still barely making ends meet aren’t capable of cheating. But maybe if you didn’t have so much household help that frees you from the necessary, but not glamorous jobs required to keep the home fires burning, maybe you’d have less time to dream up loathsome costumes for you and your honey to wear. And please Mr. James, don’t tell me how your Jewish godfather gave you the Nazi hat, so that makes it okay. Rule number one: it’s never okay to wear Nazi uniforms or tattoo swastikas on your body. No exceptions.

When my kids were little, my husband and I spent our evenings doing homework with them (Oy, that second grade project of the planetary system hanging off a wire hangar mobile); or arguing with them over what constituted a sufficient number of green beans that needed to be consumed by children under ten at dinner; or making hundreds of rice krispie treats to be sold at bake sales that would finance something (a class trip, a charity, the school play). In other words, being covered in marshmallow goop was time-consuming, messy, and yes, sometimes fun, but in any case, always used up any spare time that might have been spent on outside nookie.

And not only have these men found the time to fool around, but heck they’re going for world records in having multiple mistresses simultaneously. And the subtle implication that Mr. James was lonely because his wife was in Alabama filming what would turn out to be the biggest role of her life – um, if you’re lonely, pick up a book and read it. Or better yet, pick up several and read them to your kids.

But in any case, I think I can safely speak for many of the Stiletto Faithful when I ask, nay demand, that all these folks should shut up. I don’t want to hear any more public apologies, nor do I want to hear any more demands for personal apologies from mistresses who feel betrayed by their lovers. None of this should be played out in the media – and nobody should be making a buck from this sordid mess (hear that Gloria Allred?).

Indignantly yours,

Marian (the Northern half of Evelyn David)

Good News & Bizarre News

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The good news is that the third book in my Dirty Business mystery series, Dead Head (Minotaur Books) will be released next week. The bizarre news is the story of a Virginia man who bought a guinea pig in a pet store and then went home and made a hat out of it – which he wore around town until someone called the cops and he was arrested for animal cruelty.

Most writers have an idea file. Mine is filled with newspaper clippings and the printed versions of online stories like the one about Guinea Pig Man – although he may be too strange to use. Who’d believe it? GPM sounds like a character from a Carl Hiaasen novel. If anyone else had written him, I’d have said the writer was trying too hard to be quirky.

Bizarre news story number two concerns two would-be bank robbers who called the bank they were planning to rob to explain just how they’d like the bills packaged. When they arrived, they were genuinely surprised to see the cops waiting for them. These braintrusts were from my home state of Connecticut. I’m not sure my editor would let me write characters that dumb. (Perhaps by book number nine in the series…)

Dead Head had its origins in a news story too. Not as bizarre as these, but one that was even more fascinating. About two years ago an upper middle class suburban woman was arrested when it was discovered that she was a fugitive from the law who’d been living a lie for decades. None of her neighbors or family members really knew who she was and might never have known if someone hadn’t informed. I was mesmerized by the notion of walking away from one life and starting another – and with over 100,000 missing persons in the US at any given time, it probably happens more than we think. And it had me asking myself – how well do we really know our neighbors?

Whatever the facts of that real case, I was off and running with my story which has amateur sleuth Paula Holliday hired by the woman’s family to find out who dropped the dime and why.

Who knows, maybe in two years I’ll be launching a book called Guinea Pig Man. What have you seen in the paper lately that’s made it into your idea file?

Rosemary Harris

___________________

Rosemary Harris was born in Brooklyn New York and now she, her husband split their time between Manhattan’s East Side and Fairfield County, Connecticut. A small item in the New York Times about a mummified body led to her first book, the Agatha and Anthony-nominated, Pushing Up Daisies, followed by last year’s The Big Dirt Nap.

“I love my heroine, Paula Holliday. People always ask how much of me is in Paula – some, but of course she’s the younger, thinner, more adventurous version of me. And she’s funnier than I am.”

Rosemary is vice-president of MWA/NY and past president of Sisters in Crime, New England. She’s also a member of Garden Writers of America and CMGA Connecticut Master Gardeners Association.

Visit Rosemary at www.rosemaryharris.com