Warning: Nudity

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I’m going with a theme this week with blogging. Nudist resorts. Ever been to one? Want to? Would you if it was essential for research (or some other aspect of your life)?

I’ve been to a nudist resort, all in the name of research. See, in the currently-being-written third book in the Lola Cruz Mystery Series, Bare Naked Lola, Lola must go to a nudist resort to solve the case she’s working on. The question I’m faced with is: Will she, or won’t she–get naked, that is? Now, if you’ve read Living the Vida, Lola, you might be able to give an opinion on this. I know what my gut says, but I haven’t been faced with writing that particular scene yet so I can’t say for sure which way I’ll go with it.

I sort of imagine it as a Lucy and Ethel scene from I Love Lucy…all darting behind bushes and holding big leaves up!

But before I could write a single scene about a nudist resort, I had to go there and visit. And go I did. It was October, so the place was actually pretty quiet. People walked around with their shoes on and a towel slung over their shoulders (the towels are to sit on where ever you go, something I wouldn’t have known about had I not visited). Women are allowed to cover their bottom half during a certain time of month, but otherwise, if you are there, you are expected to be unclothed.

As I mentioned over at Good Girls Who Kill For Money Club on Monday, one of the most hilarious aspects was Nudestock (ala Woodstock)–and no, the bands didn’t have to be nude, although it was encouraged. Maybe Nudestock isn’t so different from the free-loving original, but still, it is something to see.

In book two of the my series, Hasta la Vista, Lola! (coming out in just 3 short months!), Lola didn’t have to do anything outrageous (other than breaking and entering, babysitting two nephews and a niece, and keeping her hands off Jack Callaghan), but there’s something so fun about putting your characters through something you’d never in a million years do. It tests you and your own boundaries and it can definitely make for hilarious scenes.

So here’s my question. What outrageous things have you done (in the name of research, or otherwise)? Would you visit a nudist resort? Just how daring are you?!

XO Misa

Halloween Then

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It’s that time of year again, when many little children (except for the ones who have parents who think that Halloween is for pagans; I, myself, worship at the feet of the god of chocolate) don costumes and roam the streets, looking for candy. And thank goodness they do! Mama needs a 100 Grand bar to satisfy that sweet tooth.

It’s not like the old days, though, when we used to get up early, particularly if Halloween was on a Saturday like it is this year, put on our flammable costumes, and roam the streets in groups, hoping not to be picked up by a serial killer, get an apple with a razor blade in it, or worse. I remember my mother sending us out, me in charge by age seven, and going up and down every street in our development, hitting every house until our environmentally-unfriendly plastic bags were bulging with candy. The rule? When your bag was too heavy to carry, you went home. Nobody in the group was carrying your bag for you (and yes, I’m looking at you, Colleen) so if you couldn’t heft it, you were out of luck.

To illustrate just how different Halloween now was from Halloween then, I’ve brought along a few family photos. Captions will explain who is who. Enjoy.

1. This is my grandmother. She took us trick or treating this particular year; I think it’s 1968. She thought it would be funny to wear one of her dead husband’s suits and put a bag over her head. It wasn’t. She scared half of the children in the neighborhood, not to mention the grownups. We left her home the next year.


2. We call this one “Bride of the Living Dead.” This is my sister, Tricia, at four years old. I don’t think my mother was going for “recently exhumed corpse” with this look, but that’s what she got.


3. Shazam! (Need I say more?)


4. Shazam revealed! (Fooled you, huh?)

5. This one is from the “When Bad Costumes Happen to Good Children” collection, currently on display at the Smithsonian. Again, my sister and her friend, Janet, look far more sinister than I think either of their mothers intended. (Notice Tricia’s lovely bridal corsage; that definitely looks like it’s been underground for some time.) Let’s just say that my father knocked off of work from the police department early and came home only to see these two lovely creatures before they set out on their candy grab. He ended up running screaming from the house thinking that trolls had gotten loose from under a bridge.

6. I think this might be a real gypsy. Note my sister’s concerned expression in the background. I think she’s been shaken down for all of her candy but she’s not sure how or why.


7. And here I am with two of my three siblings, further cementing my youngest sister’s contention that there are NO PICTURES OF HER.

I hope everyone has a safe and happy Halloween!

Maggie Barbieri

Trick or Treating Past and Now

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Halloween was always my favorite holiday. You’ll see why the past tense when you get to the end of the blog. As a kid, I was the last one to come in from trick-or-treating. Once I learned where the homemade cookies, popcorn balls and candy apples were being handed out, I was off like a streak. I didn’t have to be with anyone else–my goal was to gather up as much good stuff as possible. For those who don’t know, I was a kid during World War II and sugar was rationed. Treats were hard to come by–trick-or-treat was the opportunity to stock up.

The closest I ever ran into trouble was about five blocks from home and it was about 9 p.m. When I knocked on the door a man came out with a shotgun aimed right at me. He said, “Do you know what I do to trick-or-treaters?” My “No sir,” was squeaky and I was sure I’d soon be dead. He said, “I give them candy.” He dumped a whole bunch into my sack.

When my kids were young every costume they had was homemade. I can’t remember them all. When my first one was a baby, she was dressed in white and I said she was the little cloud who cried–she did because all the scary costumes scared her. That didn’t stop me from collecting the treats though.

One of my sons suffered being dressed like a girl when he was six. We created a bookworm costume once. The girls were good at putting on lots of bright skirts and raiding my jewelry box to become gypsies or princesses. Through the year I collected bits and pieces that could be turned into costumes. Half my hall closet was crammed with various costumes we concocted.

For those coming to our house trick-or-treating, we often thought up some scary way to hand out candy. One time they had to put their hand in a box to get the candy which was handed out by a very grizzly hand.

When the kids came home with their loot, we wouldn’t let them eat it until we checked everything for problems like hidden pins or razor blades–and we ate one or two of the best treats.

We had lots of Halloween parties too over the years for kids and grown ups. For the kids we usually had a darkened haunted house to go through, and grizzly things to touch, like cooked, cold spaghetti that we called guts. Hubby would rattle chains outside the window and wear a scary mask. The grownups tried to outdo one another with their costumes.

Now we live where all the houses are far apart and ours is down at the end of a very dark and long lane. No one comes to our house trick-or-treating. When we first moved here we had twin girls who lived next door and they were the only ones brave enough to come knocking on our door at night to say, “Trick or Treat.”

We have a granddaughter and her husband who decorate their front lawn every year with the spookiest stuff imaginable. Tombstones, coffins with lids that open, ghosts fluttering in the breeze. They live in a neighborhood full of kids–everyone looks forward to seeing what he’ll come up with every year.

Celebrating Halloween for us will be limited to watching scary movies on our TV. It’s okay, I have great memories of past Halloweens.

Celebrate Halloween with the Stiletto Gang this year by going on the scavenger hunt to follow the clues and maybe win some prizes.

Marilyn

Trick or Treat

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Chanukah brought presents – eight nights of presents (although I always argued that socks did not a present make). But Halloween brought candy, oodles and oodles of candy. It was the one night of the year that all nutritional discussion was suspended. There was no need to make the inevitable dinner bargain of “eat your vegetables” and you can have dessert (inevitably jello with fruit cocktail). A chocoholic from birth (I literally took my first steps when a cousin offered me some chocolate cake) – Halloween was, without question, my favorite holiday.

When I had my own kids, Halloween meant months-long discussions of costumes. Still wearing bathing suits, my kids always had grand plans for creative get-ups that required the costume department of Paramount Pictures to execute. I remember one year, son number one wanted to be a knight. He had visions of a full-suit of body armor, but settled for being wrapped head-to-toe in aluminum foil. I loved the year when one of the kids decided to be an undercover FBI agent – which meant wearing his father’s trench coat, an old felt fedora, and hand-printing an ID badge that he flashed at the neighbor before announcing “trick or treat.”

I adored it when my kids brought their friends back here for the “sorting the candy” ritual. I hovered at the edges of the great swap meet, happily taking the rejects, occasionally making a plea for an Almond Joy or two.

Now my job is just to hand out candy to the neighborhood kids who visit. Like the postman, neither rain, nor sleet will stay the rounds of children on Halloween. I’m already fretting if I have enough goodies – and pennies for Unicef.

And of course, this Halloween will be extra special with the kickoff of the Stiletto Gang’s First Annual Hallopalooza. The first clue will be found right here, and you’ll have a fun trip through a maze of mystery blogs, each one providing a clue to an amazing mini-murder mystery. You’ll have the opportunity to win lots of prizes – so don’t miss Hallopalooza, Friday October 30 through Sunday, November 1.

Boo!

Evelyn David

Murder Takes the Cake by Evelyn David
Murder Off the Books by Evelyn David
http://www.evelyndavid.com

Can My Shorts Get Me a Novel Deal?

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Chelle Martin is a member of Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, Romance Writers of America, The Cassell Network of Writers, and the Short Mystery Fiction Society. She’s a past Vice President of Sisters in Crime-Central Jersey and creator of the Clued In Press Award for short mystery fiction. Chelle has also been a mentor for MWA’s Mentor Program and a judge for RWA’s Golden Heart and other writing contests. She is the recipient of numerous writing awards, including the New York Chapter of RWA’s Love & Laughter Contest. She is currently working on a humorous mystery novel series.

First of all, thanks to Rhonda and The Stiletto Gang for allowing me the opportunity to be a guest blogger. I love writing short stories and it’s great to have the opportunity to encourage others to write as well as read them.

From a writer’s standpoint, short stories have many advantages over novels as recently discussed by members of the Yahoo Group, Short Mystery Fiction Society. Writing shorts allows a writer the occasion to explore various genres. A short story takes much less time to write than a novel. And shorts also allow writers to change characters and setting and use a different voice.

Additionally, the turnaround time can be shorter and you can see your name in print a lot sooner.

Before you wonder if you could actually make a living writing nothing but short stories, look at author Edward D. Hoch, who over five decades published over 900 short stories. Most impressive is that for the last 35 years of his career, Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine published one of Hoch’s stories every month from 1973 until his death in 2008.

My first short piece was published in an anthology called Romance Recipes for the Soul by Pisces Press. I can’t tell you how exciting it was to see my name in print. Our publisher also hosted a signing party at our local Borders Books. It’s quite a feeling of accomplishment to see people buying your books and asking for your autograph. The fact that I was signing with a dozen other writers made no difference.

Getting that first publishing credit opened the door to other opportunities. After joining the Short Mystery Fiction Society, I discovered editor Michael Bracken was looking for mysteries for an anthology called Small Crimes. After selling my first mystery story to him, I was invited to submit to another anthology of private eye stories called Fedora III. I’d never written a PI story before, but gave it a shot and sold that story, too.

I had won a writing contest online and the prize was my own page on a website for writers. There I met writers and publishers from all over the world.

From that point, I established quite a resume with contest awards and publishing credits with various small presses. I’m now published nationwide.

Once when discussing writing with Mary Higgins Clark, she told me she got her start writing short stories. I told her I found them easier to write than a novel. She suggested looking at writing a novel like writing a bunch of short stories—each chapter should convey a beginning, middle and end of that portion of the novel. I’d never thought of it that way, but it made the idea of writing a novel less intimidating.

Another advantage to short stories is getting your name out there, especially if you find your story in an anthology with well-known authors. I live in New Jersey, yet I’ve networked a great deal in California with various Sisters in Crime Chapters. The San Joaquin chapter knows me quite well. I’ve taken second place twice in their annual Dead Bird writing contest.

While the publishing market is shrinking, there are still some good places to submit your shorts. As in novel writing, be sure to follow submission guidelines.

Chelle Martin

Hey, You Got Romance in My Mystery!

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In my inaugural post here at The Stiletto Gang, I want to start out by giving the high-heeled ladies a big high-heeled shout out.

I’m so thrilled to be here! They are such a great bunch of women, fabulous writers, and I’m happy to be in their company.

And now, here’s a little snippet of…

What a die-hard romance reader might say of a hybrid mystery romance: “Hey, you got mystery in my romance!”

What a die-hard mystery fan might say of a hybrid romance mystery: “Hey, you got romance in my mystery!”

Brings to mind a certain Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup commercial of by-gone years, doesn’t it?



Depending upon how you look at it, a mixed genre book starts out as one thing, then something else gets sprinkled into it. I don’t know what convensional wisdom says about mixed genre books; I just know what I like. A little romance makes the world go ‘round.

I love having romantic tension infuse a character’s growth.

I thoroughly enjoy reading (and writing about) characters who don’t exist purely in the vacuum of solving a mystery.

For me, a mystery book is made all the better when love enters into to. And if it’s a series where love grows, all the better. I want to spend time with the characters and grow with them, experience the blossoming of their love, and feel the satisfaction when they’ve committed to one another on the heels of solving whatever mystery is in their lives and potentially keeping them apart.

I also think that this type of hybrid book is a harder sell. Finding a home for Living the Vida Lola was a challenge for just this reason. It isn’t traditional mystery. Nor is it traditional romance. Publishers didn’t quite know what to do with it or how to market it. But it did find a home and since its publication, I’ve read quite a few mixed genre mystery romances. What the big deal is with marketing, I’m not really sure, but readers have made it known that they like a little romance in their mystery, or… a little mystery in their romance.

How about you? Are you a traditionalist? Like your mysteries and romances pure, or does mixing it up give you a thrill?


The Top Chef Effect

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As all of you faithful Stiletto Gang readers know, I love tv. Especially reality tv. But one of my favorite shows is Top Chef and right now, we’re in the middle of Season 6 which seems to be barreling toward a finale including both Voltaggio brothers, Jen from Philadelphia, and Kevin with the pig tattoo. It’s scintillating stuff if only for the fact that includes two of my favorite things: a) food and b) tension. What could be better than sixteen chefs battling it out to find out who will be Top Chef while living in a house with total strangers for several months? It’s a perfect storm, if you ask me.

But in addition to being a totally enjoyable viewing experience, I have noticed that Top Chef is seeping into other portions of my life, namely my cooking habits and my dining out experiences. For instance, while cooking dinner, I try to invent a “flavor profile” while preparing my dishes. I still don’t know what that is, but right now it consists of more butter, extra salt, and a little more cheese on the pasta. Nobody here seems to mind. Next, I try to plate creatively. So, rather than dump the spaghetti right onto the plate, I try to artfully arrange it into an interesting pattern to create a visual experience for the diners, one of whom is a vegetarian, one who only eats smoked and cured meats, and one who is on a low-roughage diet. Doing the artful plating makes me forget that I’m making three separate dinners every night and still not pleasing anyone in the process. And digging into the artfully plated food helps drowns out the sighs and moans of the diners who are being served these dinners, many of which they don’t like. So, as you have probably guessed, food and tension are both integral parts of my everyday life which further illustrates why I love of Top Chef.

Top Chef has influenced my dining-out experiences as well. Husband and I went to dinner the other night at a place I’ll call “Ye Olde Inne” or YOI for short. YOI has a great reputation around these parts yet we had never been there and were anxious to try it. The plan was to have dinner with friends who live on the other side of the county, so YOI seemed like a good halfway point for both couples to meet. Ambiance was lovely, server was hysterically funny and more than competent, but drinks? Eh. Food? More eh. Price? Over the top expensive for what we were served.

Here’s the thing: when I go out and order a cocktail, I want a cocktail. My urinary tract health notwithstanding, a glass of cranberry juice masquerading as a cosmopolitan just does not cut it. Jim’s scotch and water looked just like water—no amber hue evident in that ice-filled glass of a supposed stiff cocktail. My salad of arugula, beets and goat cheese was pretty good because how bad can you mess up goat cheese and beets? The menu promised locally-grown tomatoes and since we’re into fall, I was skeptical. (Turns out I should have gone with my gut; the tomatoes were on their last legs.) And to look at? The plate resembled the remnants of a salad once picked over and pushed to the side, with the arugula sitting in a sad-looking mess under a half moon of beet and a dollop of goat cheese that had fallen off the center of the plate and listed toward the edge, desperately trying to hang on while being transported to the table. I thought about my own attempts at plating and decided that even my half-hearted, misunderstood groupings of spaghetti looked better than this mishmash of ingredients, thrown together in a professional kitchen.

My friend and I ordered two glass of chardonnay to have with dinner. We were served pinot grigio. Twice. (The bartender looked kind of surly so I was afraid to bring this error to his attention.) Dinner was acceptable, but not overwhelmingly fantastic. The bill, on the other hand, bordered on overwhelmingly fantastic in terms of its total. Seems that YOI is fine with serving mediocre meals at an exceptionally high price.

So I’m wondering: am I more critical because I have a virtual dining experience every Wednesday night and have learned a lot about what goes on in a restaurant and in chef’s minds? Or have I become more particular in my old age? Hard to say. But I will say that I’ve gotten more protective of our hard-earned cash so that when we decide to go to dinner and it is to a place with a reputation for quality, I’m disappointed when the owner and his staff are mailing it in. After all, I had put on Spanx and high heels; I meant business. Why didn’t they?

Is there a Top Chef effect? Has Top Chef and the like made food/restaurant critics of us all? Or is a bad meal just a bad meal?

Maggie Barbieri

No, I’m Not Wonder Woman and I Don’t Wear Stilettos

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Think of this as a confession.

I was recently interviewed on another blog and the interviewer made me sound like Wonder Woman. I can assure you I’m not.

What I am is a great-grandma, grandma, mom and wife who does know her limits. In order to do the writing and promoting that I want and need to do, I’ve given up some things that once were a real part of my life. I no longer shop all year long for Christmas presents. I’ve opted out to give money–and not a whole lot of that. Same goes for birthdays. After all, I have way too many to give to.

The decorating I do for Christmas is now minimal–it takes far too much time to put it all up and take it down. Hubby used to be really good about helping but now he rebels. Easier just not to do so much.

I still invite people over to dinner because I like to cook, but it’s usually spur of the moment now. I no longer set the table with my good China–we use paper plates and I serve buffet style.

Parties were something I loved to put on–we used to have one at least once a month. No more. Not just because a party is a lot of work, but I couldn’t stay up for the end. I get up early these days and I’m early to bed. Oh we do go to parties we’re invited to, but we’re nearly always the first to leave.

At mystery and writers’ cons, hubby and I disappear long before the bars have cleared and the clutches of writers have disbanded.

Promoting takes a lot of time. This month I’m on a blog tour for my latest book, Dispel the Mist, which means I have to let people know where I am every day. Thank goodness for Twitter, Facebook and the like.

I’m also doing physical things like this weekend was the Apple Festival. I always sell a lot of books, handout many cards, and talk to interesting people, but it is a lot of work and tiring. We put up the tent on Friday afternoon, had to be there on Saturday and Sunday a.m. and all set up by 8 a.m. and you must stay until the end or you’re not invited back. Exhausting.

Coming up is a weekend away. I’m giving an hour long talk on novel writing, but it’s a four hour drive to get there. We’ll be staying over–that’s also tiring though I enjoy it.

And now about the stilettos.

A woman wore a snazzy pair at the Apple Festival. They had zebra striped heels. How she managed to walk up and down that mile long street to look at all the displays I have no idea. Years ago I wore high heels all the time, but they were never stilettos. As an old lady, I’m far more comfortable in flats.

That’s my confession for the day.

Marilyn
http://fictionforyou.com

Unfettered by Conscience

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For someone who writes murder mysteries, I don’t really understand evil. Ironically, I get murder. Given sufficient motivation – power, love, money, rage – I can build a story around why someone goes to the extreme step of killing another human being. I certainly am not saying it’s right; but I can follow the rationale, even if it’s wrong – and I confess I can even imagine circumstances when it might even seem right (not legal, but justifiable).

But what overwhelms me, what leaves me at a complete loss, is unadulterated evil, the kind that enjoys torture and suffering, the complete disregard for human life, the sense of entitlement to the thrill of murder.

What prompted me to wander down this ugly path was the essay in O Magazine last week by Susan Klebold, the mother of Dylan Klebold, one of the Columbine teenage killers. She too is at a loss for how her son became someone she literally did not know. She insists she had no idea that he was suicidal or that he was plotting with Eric Harris to commit such an atrocity. According to the FBI, only the teens’ ineptness at explosives stopped the tragedy from exceeding the death toll of the Oklahoma City Bombing. Dylan Klebold boasted that the carnage would be “the most deaths in U.S. history.”

Ms. Klebold’s essay led me to an article in Slate, published back in 2004. The author, Dave Cullen, interviewed mental health experts who served on the FBI special task force on the incident, and their conclusion was that Klebold and Harris were two radically different individuals. Klebold was “hurting inside while Harris wanted to hurt people.” The difference is critical. They theorize that Klebold was a troubled kid who, had he not hooked up with Harris, would, at some point, probably have gotten caught for some petty crime, gotten help, and might have led a normal life. Perhaps that gives his mother some comfort, although it doesn’t help the families who lost their loved ones. Was it all a cruel twist of fate that these two teens met and created such havoc, whereas individually they couldn’t have pulled it off?

But it was Harris who was the scarier of the two adolescents. The experts agree he was a psychopath. “Harris was irretrievable. He was a brilliant killer without a conscience, searching for the most diabolical scheme imaginative.” Psychopaths, as defined by Dr. Robert Hare in his book, Without Conscience, “are rational and aware of what they are doing and why. Their behavior is the result of choice, freely exercised.”

For me, writing is fun, creative, and even when creating murder and mayhem, taps into a happy zone, because in the world I create, the good guys always win. It’s why I couldn’t have written The Silence of the Lambs, or any other book where the motivation is beyond ken, and the only mystery is whether the detective/cop can stop the killer before he strikes again. I don’t want to get that close to pure evil to write about it.

Evelyn David

Murder Takes the Cake by Evelyn David
Murder Off the Books by Evelyn David
http://www.evelyndavid.com

A Crime Fiction Couple Tells All to Kaye Barley

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At midnight an unnamed source provided the Stiletto Gang with a copy of the following interview, conducted by Kaye Barley, owner of Meanderings and Muses – one of those subversive blogs mentioned only in hushed whispers behind closed doors. The Stiletto Gang reprints this interview in the interests of justice and as a public service. Note: No names were changed to protect anyone. (Because of the late hour we were unable to reach Kaye Barley for confirmation that these are her words and that the meeting described below actually took place. Calls to her residence elicited only a “no comment” from an individual identified only as Harley.)

Two-on-Two Interview of Crime Fiction Couple by Kaye Barley

I, Kaye Barley, being of sound mind and body, caught up with Robert W. Walker and wife Miranda Phillips Walker in Kill Devil Hills, NC in a shady, seedy dark dive that specialized in exotic drinks and an ocean breeze, as the bar amounted to a garage door that opened and closed on the sea. You know the type of place where seagulls and pelicans pick apart the leavings from your table? Where paper towels stand in for napkins? Where tattooed servers look like meth heads? The Walkers were doing research, and it was the only time I could see them for an interview before they left NC. I found them in a jolly, receptive mood here at Buck’s Gunshop and Oyster Bar.

My initial question broke the ice as I sat across the picnic bench from the infamous crime writing duo, asking, “So how have you two managed to only kill off fictional characters with two crime novelists under one roof?” Rob, whose latest is DEAD ON, Five Star Books and Mianda;s latest and first is The Well Meaning Killer from Krill Press, turned to one another and smiled wide.

Rob sardonically replied, “Both our books are enjoying rave reviews. No reason for any ahhh…in-house bloodshed, right dear?”

Miranda nodded appreciatively. “The wonder is that the dogs in both our books also managed to survive.”

I asked, “I understand your son, Stephen, did the artwork and cover design for Dead On, and it is a fantastic cover.

Rob perked up at this. “The kid’s got his own graphic arts biz, and he’s a genius at it. How many publishers do you know who go with a cover designed by the author’s son?”

Miranda smiled proudly. “Stephen’s helped us with promotion material and business cards as well. It’s all in the family. And while my cover art is not designed by Stephen, it’s pretty hot, too!”

Recording the answers, I next asked, “What’re you two hoping to find here in the Outer Banks? I understand you’re doing research for your next book?”

Miranda shouted, “Oh, oh—this one’s for me. My sequel to The Well Meaning Killer is set here, and while we’ve visited the area before, Rob says there’s nothing like firsthand research for a book—especially if I’m footing the hotel bill.”

Rob leapt in with, “She’s seriously researching, and I’m seriously on R&R—came for the beach, the sun, surf, Buck’s Oysters, the Wright Brothers museum, the nightlife. But I think a setting with the name Kill Devil Hills in itself tells a reader to be on the look-out.”

“I see, so this will be a continuation of Megan McKenna’s FBI casework, eh?” I asked.

“That’s right, and I bring on some new characters to kill off! Bringing back some characters, who didn’t die in The Well Meaning Killer.”

Rob piped in with, “I think only Max, the dog, survived that last one, hon.”

“Nooooo! Some people survived that book as well.”

“Here I thought you were trying to trump my body count,” Rob joked and sipped at his Blue Moon.

At this point, I felt I should ask another question or order a drink. I did both. “Rob, you don’t intend to use Kill Devil Hills in a sequel to Dead On or another title?”

“When I set a book in New Orleans, I do NOT use Anne Rice’s cemetery, and I also steer clear of anything smacking of James Lee Burke, so as to make my New Orleans unique. Using Kill Devil Hills on the “heels” of Miranda Phillips Walker, no way. Colorful place but no way.”

Miranda muttered in his ear, “That’s OK, Rob, if he wanna use the location in the future sometime.” Rob pouted and said it was spoiled now for him.

“Will you two ever collaborate on a book?” I asked and man did this break up the bit of bickering.

They looked like two deer caught in the headlights. And both said at once, “No, no, no,” as in a chant. Then they added, “Maybe, maybe, maybe.”

“We love one another too much for that,” Miranda suggested.

“Family is far more important than fame, fortune, or any of that sort of nonsense,” added Rob, the two of them talking over one another in a rush. “However,” added Rob, “never say never. If the right idea came along, and if we can put our egos on the shelf, who knows?”

“Stranger things have happened,” added Miranda. “But honestly, we do read over one another’s work, and we do take good direction from one another.

“Yeah we do help one another throughout the process,” added Rob, “but more importantly, we maintain a respectful relationship toward one another in all we do.”

“Well this has been splendid but time’s run out for me.”

“That sounds like a line in a gangster movie…Curtains for ya…time’s run out for ya, Blackey,” joked Rob and Miranda grabbed him by the arm and tugged him to her. I left the couple in high spirits and laughter amid the music of Buck’s Gunshop and Oyster Bar, but the partners in crime fiction insisted on walking me safely to my car. Outside, the three of us strolled along a thumping, withered old wharf, surrounded by sea oats, below a huge moon over the ocean. At my car, we said our good-byes.

“ I surely wish to thank you and it’s wonderful you two know how to enjoy yourselves in wonderful North Carolina! I never knew this place existed.”

“You gotta go so soon?” asked Rob.

Yeah, the night’s young,” added Miranda.

I slipped into my car with photos taken and recording done wondering if I could sell this thing on eBay or even to Writer’s Crack Me Up Journal, unsure really what I had just faced, but on waking the next day and reviewing my notes, I realized wow, an interesting review overall and I figure Meanderings and Muses could use an infusion of the Walker mystique

For more info on Robert find him on the web where writers hang out and at http://www.robertwalkerbooks.com/

For more info on Miranda find her on the web where writers hang out and at
http://www.mirandawalkerbooks.com/