After “The End”

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“The End.”

The sense of euphoria lasted about 24 hours after the Northern half of Evelyn David typed those magic words. She claimed it was her turn since I’d typed them for Murder Off the Books.

What my family and friends all refer to as “The Book” is done. Our manuscript for Murder Takes the Cake is finished!

Hurrah!

Now it’s time for the nitty-gritty part of writing—self editing and formatting the manuscript.

Yea! Not!

We’re in a dash to slash passive verbs, count the dots in ellipses, and conduct a head count of all our plot bunnies. We need to objectively examine each scene and decide if it’s necessary. Does it add to the plot; provide an important clue or red herring; give depth to a character? Or, as we sometimes discover, is a scene just useless padding, words that increase the page count without offering any other added value.

We also need to prepare the manuscript in the right format. That means literally going through every sentence to be sure that we have doubled-spaced after each period, question mark, and exclamation point. Why not just use the search and replace function? Because sometimes a sentence is enclosed within quotation marks, so a double space after a period doesn’t belong. As the Northern half often says, Oy!

This is not the fun part for me. This is like cleaning the kitchen after cooking and enjoying an elaborate feast. It has to be done, but it’s not fun.

Both halves of Evelyn David have reread “The Book” from start to finish at least four times over the past couple of days. The Northern half’s husband was the first to read the full draft. He gave it a thumbs-up and advised us on our hard liquor choices for the book. We needed an expensive malt whiskey for our plot. I didn’t have a clue. Me? I’m a connoisseur of wine coolers. Smirnoff’s Green Apple Bite is my alcoholic beverage of choice. For some reason I haven’t been able to envision a scene where “Mac Sullivan,” a retired D.C. police detective orders a Green Apple Bite.

We’ll read “The Book” a dozen times more before we show it to a couple of eagle-eyed friends for proof-reading. Tonight, I’m hoping to get through about 5 chapters before giving my eyes a rest from the computer screen, then I’ll pass the book (electronically) back to the New York half. We’ll continue to work off of one copy now that we’re in the home stretch.

As I told a group at the Will Rogers Public Library in Claremore, Oklahoma on Monday night, writing a book is like riding a bicycle. By the time you’re coasting down the hill, enjoying two full minutes of the wind blowing your hair and reveling in your well-deserved sense of accomplishment, you forget the long days of pedaling up the slope. You forget the excruciating leg cramps, the painful blisters, the heat of the sun beating down on your head, the sharp rocks in your shoes, the multiple flat tires, and …. Well you get the idea.

Anyone for a bike ride?

Evelyn David

T.M.I (too much information)

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Sorry about the repeat blog entry last week. I was down for the count with what we will politely call a prolonged case of “gastro-intestinal disturbance.” You know what I’m talking about, right? I don’t have to go into graphic detail, do I? No…because we share the same sensibility, I’m sure, about things that go on the boudoir and the toilette. No need to elaborate.

So, what’s going on today’s world? In the last week, I have had to run the gauntlet with my kids on topics related to prostitution, infidelity, and the mother of them all—three-ways. Our new governor—inaugurated after the old governor admitted to soliciting a prostitute—assures us that he’s not “having an affair right now.” Whew! That’s good, right? Maybe now he has time to deal with the one gazillion dollar deficit the New York State budget is facing instead of what to eat at the continental breakfast buffet at the Upper West Side hotel that he admittedly has taken his paramours to.

I consider myself your garden variety prude. I don’t talk about bodily functions, sex, how much money I make, or anything I consider “private” in public. Some of my friends might dispute this contention, but believe me, I try not to. Sometimes, it’s unavoidable. I will not use the more common word for “gastro-intestinal disturbance” in mixed company. (Unless it can get me out of a three-hour nuptial mass for a couple I know will be divorced before my check clears or an extended stint of watching someone else’s home videos.) I just don’t think it’s right. But I’ll laugh heartily at a naughty joke, have been known to cuss every now and again, and enjoy certain déclassé reality television shows, like Rock of Love. But the fourth wall, so to speak, has come down in America and we’re becoming a class of divulgers, a population of people who think that everyone needs to know everything all the time. Is it “Larry King Syndrome”? Or the “Jerry Springeritization” of America? (I’m trademarking those, by the way.) I’m just not sure.

Let’s think back to a simpler time. Do you remember when Jimmy Carter said that he “lusted in his heart” and the country nearly shut down for a week? People were gouging their own eyes out to think that our President looked at women and—gasp!—thought about them in a lustful way. God, I miss Jimmy Carter. This week alone, we learned that former Governor Spitzer likes it au naturel (and frankly, who doesn’t?), Dina McGreevey may have had sex with another man while her husband watched (and if your husband is gay, I say you get a pass on that one), and that you can book a one, two, three, or four “diamond” woman on-line (by the way, it’s all the same woman, you moron johns out there) with your credit card. Who knew? But more importantly: who wanted to know?

It’s titillation overload, and I, for one, am tired of it. I’m thinking that a moratorium on all things licentious and lascivious is in order but how does one go about instituting that? In the world of twenty-four hours cable news, I am afraid it’s going to get worse and worse as time goes by. And if I’m so sick and tired of this, I imagine others must be as well.

I was talking with my friend, Carol, about this yesterday and she reminded of something that I should have been thinking about all along: the children in this equation. Can you imagine being an adolescent or a teen and having the details of your father or mother’s sex life splashed across the front of every tabloid? I can’t. The most embarrassing thing I remember is my mother starring as a Carmen Miranda-type singer in the annual church variety show, belting out “The Girl from Ipanema” (ah, good times). I can’t even begin to comprehend being in one of the most turbulent periods of life—and let’s admit it, anything from about eleven to twenty years old qualifies—and having all of these intensely personal details about your family brought forth on a daily basis. This, as you are undergoing emotional, physical, and hormonal changes while trying to deal with the challenges of socialization in middle or high school. It’s just not fair.

Let’s put this stuff away, people. Please. Let’s do it for children. Yours, mine, and theirs.

Irish Wolfhound on the Prowl

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I hate to fly, as I confessed here on February 18. Despite this phobia, or maybe because of it, I’ve always wanted to skip “across the pond” aboard the Concorde. I may not believe in the physics of flying, but anything that would shorten the time I had to spend in an airplane sounded good to me.

Unfortunately they grounded the SST in 2003. Still, there are other hypersonic possibilities on the horizon – and last week I got itchy for one of them to be rolled out for the regular public. I’m talking about NASA’s Scramjet. It cruises at Mach 7, seven times the speed of sound. That makes the Concorde look like a Model-T Ford. At 2km per second, it could fly from New York to Tokyo in under an hour. I could probably handle that.

And why, you might ask, do I want to go to Tokyo? Some delectable sushi perhaps?

Nope, even better. Last week we sold the Japanese rights to Murder Off the Books! Great advance, great press run, and can’t you just imagine the book tour – assuming the Scramjet is ready for me?

The foreign rights of a couple of my nonfiction books were sold to Pakistani publishers. I wasn’t surprised that my book, The Baffled Parent’s Guide to Sibling Rivalry, sparked international interest. Cain and Abel’s sorry tale explains why parents worldwide, from the beginning of time, have been trying to figure out how to keep their kids from figuratively, if not literally, killing each other. Hopefully, my book is the perfect antidote to prepubescent familial warfare.

The most recent statistics I could find on Japanese publishing were in a Publishers Weekly article from 1998. Foreign works account for only about 8 percent of all new Japanese titles each year. What I found especially interesting is that while the percentage of foreign titles hasn’t changed much in the last 30 years, the type of books has. In the 60’s, Japanese publishers primarily imported literature and philosophy titles. Today, the emphasis is on commercial titles, mainly mysteries and thrillers. How exciting that Japanese readers can discover the sleuthing team of Mac Sullivan, Rachel Brenner, and of course, Whiskey!

So, until the Scramjet can get me to Tokyo in under an hour, I’m thrilled that our Irish wolfhound will be visiting the Far East.

Arigato gozaimasu to our new friends in Japan, from your pals in America, Evelyn David.

Exploring Cynthia’s Attic

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Children’s fantasy author, Mary Cunningham, makes her home in the beautiful mountains of West Georgia. The idea for the series, Cynthia’s Attic, came about through a recurring dream. Upon realizing that the setting for the dream was in the attic of her childhood friend, Cynthia, the dreams stopped and the writing began.
Tell us who Mary Cunningham is – I’m a wife, mother and grandmother with an off-the wall imagination. I’m a loyal friend and am crushed when that loyalty isn’t returned. I adore writing and loathe marketing. Perhaps my favorite saying sums it up. “I live in my own little world, but, it’s okay…they know me here.

When did you start writing? – I began writing in elementary school. I was told, at an early age, that I had a “gift,” but I didn’t know exactly what that gift was, or how to use it. But, being a quick study, it only took another 45 years to figure out!

Why children’s books? – I have such vivid memories of my childhood, and loved the simple time in my life between ages 8-12. When I wasn’t playing baseball, golf, swimming, or generally having fun with a neighborhood full of friends, I was immersed in a fantasy world … imagining I was Alice In Wonderland. So, I quite naturally gravitated toward children’s books. I also love the innocence and, sometimes, brutal honesty of children. If you want a true gauge of your work, ask a young reader.

How is writing children’s mysteries different from writing adult mysteries?Would you ever consider writing an adult mystery? – I don’t think there is a difference. A mystery is a mystery is a mystery. I recently had a reviewer say she loved the fact that I didn’t “talk down to kids.” Also, you’d better have your facts straight for young readers, because they’ll find any and all discrepancies. Of course I’d consider writing an adult mystery. I’m kinda working on (translation: have shoved it aside for almost a year!) an adult time-travel/mystery.

When is your next book coming out? – My next project is a co-written (with Diana Black, Melinda Richarz Bailey), non-fiction titled, Women Only Over Fifty (WOOF), a humor book targeted toward the over-fifty woman itching to howl at the aging process. It will be published by Echelon Press, LLC., and is set for release in May, 2008. I’m also several chapters into Cynthia’s Attic: The Magician’s Castle, Book Four (2009).

Tell us a little more about WOOF? – Women Only Over Fifty (WOOF)…who are still puppies at heart. From Oprah to Ellen to our water aerobics instructor, it’s all about the joys of aging! How 50 is the new 30! Whatever! Some of us are hounded by middle-age. We’re dog-tired, wrinkled as a Sharpei and barking like a bitch. Enter WOOF: For the over-fifty woman itching to howl at the aging process. From issues of graying hair, expanding waistlines, and wrinkling tattoos, to embracing triumph over personal tragedy, WOOF raises four paws to our past accomplishments, present realizations and future dreams. Are you up to it…dogtrotting alongside this sisterhood taking the second half of life by the tail? We know you are. After all, the past 50 years you’ve gained freedom! You’ve gained power! You’ve gained wisdom! (Don’t tell us you think weight is the only thing you’ve gained. Oh, you so need WOOF…)

What do you like to read? – Read? What’s that? I spend so much time writing, blogging, marketing, etc., that I have very little time to read. I do love fantasy and historical fiction. I still laugh thinking about how, as a teen, my aunt, the local librarian, would sneak books by Kathleen Woodiwiss for my reading pleasure, although they were a tad too “mature.” I’d already devoured all the age-appropriate fiction, and she was determined to see that I’d never get bored with books. And, I didn’t!

Who has influenced your writing the most? –My dad was the biggest influence. He was an award-winning journalist for almost 40 years, and had a wonderful writing style and voice. His characters had such definition that, I’d swear, they almost jumped off the page! I’m also swayed by the writing of Harper Lee (To Kill A Mockingbird), J. R. R. Tolkien, and J. K. Rowling.

Pets? Hobbies? – We adore our senior-citizen mix-breed, Molly, and dread the day when she’s no longer with us. As to hobbies, I enjoy golf, swimming, and watching all kinds of sports. I’m an avid Indiana Hoosier basketball fan, NFL football fan, and also enjoy watching NASCAR, golf, and the Olympics.

What’s a typical day for Mary Cunningham the author? – I wake up and have some coffee. Turn on my computer. Have another cup of coffee. Open my e-mails. Hit delete 75 times, or so. Have another cup of coffee … well, you get the idea. I try to write every day, but don’t like to force it. If the words aren’t flowing, I do something else and then go back to it. I love writing when my brain is working so fast, my fingers can barely keep up. And, this is going to sound really weird, but I must have my shower and be dressed before I can write. I have a friend who writes in her jammies. Not me! Now, I don’t have to be in black pants and white cashmere sweater! Jeans and a t-shirt will do quite nicely. Just so I’m dressed.

What’s your favorite pair of shoes? – My favorite shoes are a pair of navy slippers my husband gave me for Christmas. They’re made out of the same memory foam used in mattresses and feel like comfy pillows for the feet. They’re warm, too!

Thanks, Stiletto Gang! It’s been fun!

Mary Cunningham

http://www.marycunninghambooks.com/
http://www.cynthiasattic.blogspot.com/
www.myspace.com/booksbymarycunningham
http://www.quakeme.com/

Clock Day –
A Holiday We Celebrate Twice a Year

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Twice a year we all reset our clocks, watches, vcrs, and any other appliance that keeps track of our time. Sounds like a simple task. But it’s not. For instance take the clocks in the cars I drive – a secret combination of buttons on the radio is involved, which requires a thorough review of the owner’s manual. And of course this change cannot be effected when you remember the need for it – which is at sixty miles an hour in heavy traffic. I wonder if there is a marked increase in traffic accidents the first Monday after Clock Days?

I wear a watch every day. If I leave the house without it, I have to come back home and get it. I check it hundreds of times a day, if not for the time, the date. The date is the reason I wear a digital watch. This digital watch is set by….wait for it …. A secret combination of buttons which requires a thorough review of the owner’s manual! And this is made more difficult because the owner’s manual on the watch is about 2 inches square folded and about 2 inches by 36 inches unfolded. If I can find the manual (a real problem since unlike the glove box in the car, there is no perfect place for storage) and reset the time, the odds are high that I’ve mistakenly also set an alarm and changed the date. I own about a dozen watches all but two of questionable value, but I only change the one I wear on a weekly basis. With any luck, by the time I want to wear any of the others, the time will be correct again.

It’s four days and counting since the last Clock Day. I’m still working on changing all my timepieces. The clock on my desktop computer changed automatically; thank heavens, although it still needed my personal reassurance that it changed itself correctly. I haven’t powered on my laptop since Sunday, so it’s still unaware of the time shift. I’ll keep it in the dark awhile longer. One of my vcrs changed itself; the other, a much older model, didn’t. The clock on the DVD player is off, but who cares? The numbers are so small that I can’t read them anyway.

The clock on the microwave is flashing the wrong time – but since it does that every time there is the slightest fluctuation in the electrical power to the house – I don’t worry with it until my mother visits and she remarks on it.

I set the clock on my coffeemaker the day before yesterday. I was due to leave the house at 5 a.m. for an early meeting in Oklahoma City and I desperately needed that coffee to be perked and ready when I rolled out of bed. It wasn’t. The little a.m. or p.m. light was not correctly lit.

Oh well. McDonalds has great coffee. And no buttons or flashing lights are involved.

Here’s to Clock Day and getting on with it! Time waits for no woman!

Evelyn David

What I’ve Learned from Watching TV

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The best thing about reading all of my co-bloggers’ entries is that I learn something new about them every week. Last week, it was that Marian (like me) can’t write sex scenes. And the week before that, it was that Rhonda loves television, seemingly, as much as I do. I almost wept with joy. Because I don’t know if it’s the same where you live, but I seem to reside in an area where television is both disdained and deplored.

I consider myself pretty well-read and educated, yet I love television and feel that some of my most important life lessons have come from watching the tube. And my all-time favorite show? “The Brady Bunch.” God forbid there is a marathon on TV Land, because I’ll drop everything. I drop Bradyisms into conversation with regularity.

Let me share a few of the things I’ve learned.

At a recent dinner party, one of our friend’s sons threw a ball and knocked over a vase. My reaction? To exclaim, “Mom always said, ‘Don’t play ball in the house!’” a classic line that was uttered by Bobby to Peter after Carol had admonished the boys about horseplay in the Brady split level. Most of the partygoers nodded in agreement; they knew that the Brady’s had this gem and many others. What could be more true after all? I also learned some wicked cool cheers from one of the cheerleading episodes. Who, after a glass of wine or two, hasn’t gotten up in the middle of the living room, shouting “F-F-F-I-L, L-L-L-M-O, O-O-O-R-E, FILLMORE JUNIOR HIGH!” just like Greg’s girlfriend?

Just me? I don’t believe you. Come on. Come clean. It feels good.

Other things I learned:

Never wait for the man to ask your hand in marriage. For an example, see Sam the Butcher’s courtship of Alice. Fortunately, my husband proposed with a bit more expediency than Sam, who at the end of the series, was still courting Alice, bringing her ground round as a romantic gesture of his love. Alice? Still single.

If you see an idol in Hawaii, DON’T PICK IT UP! Otherwise, you’ll lose the surfing contest, have a tarantula crawl up your leg while in bed, or misplace the important architecture blueprints. It’s just not worth. You can buy an idol at the local giftshop that probably doesn’t have a hex on it or will bring a pox on your family.

If you don’t have a boyfriend, don’t pretend that you have one, and especially, don’t give him the pretend name of “George Glass.” Everyone will see right through it, no pun intended. And then you’ll just look pathetic. (That means you, Jan.) Do it the old-fashioned way and pretend you can’t do your French homework so that the cute guy in your French class will come over and help you. It worked for me. (I can’t speak a word of French, by the way, despite a French major and a French-teacher husband.)

If you want to make a lot of money, not work very hard, and take a lot of vacations, become an architect. Did anyone work less than Mike Brady? Sure, he talked about the Anderson account incessantly, but I never did see him actually work on the Anderson account. Those Andersons must be pretty ticked off by now…and have limited shelter options if their architecture needs were left up to Mike Brady.

And I learned that family is all you need, love and understanding solve every problem, and all the words to the Davey Jones’ song, “Girl.” I challenge you to top that with something that you learned from reading a newspaper. Can’t come up with anything? I didn’t think so.

Maggie Barbieri

Back from Epicon

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Yep, I went to another convention–this time Epicon–the convention for electronically published authors. All cons are fun–unless you’re someone who doesn’t like to have a good time, and thank goodness, I’m not one of those.

This time we flew to Portland OR. Straight foreword to get there: Bakersfield to San Francisco to Portland. We had such a wild taxi ride to get to the hotel, I feared for my life (well, not really, but I did grip my hubby’s hand pretty tightly.)

This was the kind of conference where there were panels to teach writers something. A whole track was on different kinds of promo–in fact I taught one on promoting trade paperbacks. Also taught another on Bringing Characters to Life. One of the others I went to that was fun was Mayhem and Murder (always good to learn more ways to do it), and a fun one on the serial killers that Oregon has produced. (Well, I am a mystery writer, after all.)

Best part of any of these shindigs is seeing old friends and meeting new ones–something we did a lot of. Though I came down with a cold or allergies or something annoying like that, I didn’t let it stop me.

On Saturday night there was a great awards ceremony–far more entertaining than the Academy Awards even if I didn’t win an Eppie for mystery. I’ll just have to be happy being a finalist.

Sold a few books and bought some others.

The trip home was a bit stranger–Portland to Phoenix, Phoenix to Bakersfield. Of course there was a pile of mail, jobs to finish, laundry, and emails to answer. It was worth it.

Marilyn
http://fictionforyou.com

Taking Comfort (Food) Where I Can Get It

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Finishing a book is like the 25th mile of a marathon…except I’m not looking for water to get me through that last chapter. I’m looking for rice pudding with raisins.

I don’t think I realized just how fattening writing a book could be. Personally I think I ought to get caloric credit for all the running that Rachel Brenner, my protagonist, does. I mean I’m the one who cracks the whip and keeps Rachel in such good shape. Here’s a woman who can whip up a pasta dinner for eight without breaking a sweat, keeps home-baked oatmeal cookies in her pantry, loves a good sauvignon blanc – and never seems to gain an ounce. So far she has no clear workout routine, although she does walk to work. Now I like to cook, I don’t have a regular workout routine, and I too walk to work, although admittedly that’s approximately ten feet, the distance from my bed to my computer. So how come I’m getting fat and Rachel isn’t?

And the answer is: I’m a writer; Rachel is the makeup artist in a funeral home, apparently an aerobic profession. When not creating fictional murder and mayhem with the Southern half of Evelyn David, I write nonfiction books on everything from veteran’s benefits to playgroups for toddlers. Apparently there aren’t nearly as many calories as I thought moving your fingers over the keyboard.

But it’s not only the sedentary life of a writer (and is that what attracted me to the career in the first place?) that packs on the pounds. Writers block, which can strike without warning at least twice a day, can only be cured by chocolate or rice pudding with raisins or in a pinch, Girl Scout Thin Mint cookies.

According to Wikipedia, “comfort food is typically inexpensive, uncomplicated, and easy to prepare…Small children often seem to latch on to a specific food or drink (in a way similar to a security blanket) and will repeatedly request it in high stress situations.” I confess that it’s been quite a few years since anyone considered me a small child, but I think trying to find fresh ways to create murder and mayhem definitely qualifies as a high stress situation.

Maybe that’s why I’ve always liked the Nero Wolfe mysteries. Wolfe weighed one-seventh of a ton, which is just a Thin Mint away from 300 pounds. He understood that cerebral detecting requires a lot of calories. His dinners, prepared lovingly by Fritz the chef, always had at least four courses, including some divine dessert. I would be more than happy to chow down with Nero and sidekick Archie Goodwin. I’ll pay for my meal by challenging them to figure out the killer in Murder Off the Books.

I’ve never known anyone, other than my mother-in-law, who considered carrot sticks a comfort food. Macaroni and cheese qualifies. So does tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. Pudding of almost any flavor would also make the list.

Those are some of the foods that sustain me as I struggle to create memorable characters, laugh out loud humor, and a believable fictional world where the good guys always win. How about you? What are your comfort foods?

Evelyn David

Too Much of a Good Thing … is Filling My House

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I’m Amy Alessio, a YA librarian and an author. I was delighted to meet half of the fabulous Evelyn David team at the Love is Murder conference. I told her to hurry up with the next book, and she suggested I help with a guest blog spot.

I have my own blog on Vintage Cookbooks to share my addiction to old cookbooks, and I have fun failing to make some of the old creations. (Think lots of lard.) I also blog for the Love is Murder conference and for Echelon Press’s Teen Scene.

Blogging is an excellent way to procrastinate writing my own fiction. I have some librarian books published and I have a short story published in The Heat of the Moment, an anthology by Echelon Press which benefits the victims of the CA wildfires (anthology pictured on the nightstand). My YA mystery is with an agent.

I read almost as voraciously as I eat baked goods. In addition to books I review for Teenreads.com and Crimespree magazine, I bring home several books a week from the library. To narrow it down, I love romance, mysteries, especially those with Chicago authors like Michael Black, J.A. Konrath, Tom Keevers and Julie Hyzy, fantasy, teen books, any kind of chick lit, anything with a librarian character or by a librarian, anything written up in People magazine, anything with food on the cover and maybe the occasional non-fiction. Cookbooks also of course.

This week I’ve had the flu, so I’ve been reading 3-4 books a day. Yes, even with my four year old at home some of those days. It’s amazing how much you can read during a Backyardigans episode. Sounds like a dream, right? One was a romance anthology on chocolate. Another was the new Carole Matthews Chocolate Lovers Club or something like that – it had to go back before I ate it. I also read Mary Kay Andrews’ new one about two cooks who fall in love, complete with tomato soup cake recipe. Yesterday I broke down and made a chocolate cake. Really – you can’t read that stuff forever and not eat something really naughty.

I’m also reading Kate MacAllister’s Aisling Grey series. I like the occasional paranormal romance, like a MaryJanice Davidson, or Jayne Ann Krentz/Jayne Castle (who used to be a librarian), but I think this is my first dragon series. These are great spicy fun. I think she’s writing mystery under a pseudonym too. Having a pseudonym is like waving a red flag in front of a librarian, by the way. We love tricky questions.

So you see it’s imperative that I have an entire library at home. On top of the nightstand is what I want to read soon. In the nightstand are my all time favs and autographed books. Under the bed are mainly YA I want to read less soon. Then – there are the 300 cookbooks. They are in 5 locations, that I can remember, in the house. Most of those cost very little at antique or used book stores. Who else would want a Blender or Meat Stretcher cookbook from 1970?

It’s interesting that while my son is adopted, he has similar book habits. Next to his bed is the first pile, photographed here. Then there’s the dresser and the bookshelf. He may have to clean them up soon, though – to make room for more of my cookbooks!

How many books are in your nightstand? Ok, now how many are hidden in your house?

Amy Alessio

Well Caramelized

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Can we talk hair this week? For years I did my own. Color. Trimming. I did it, myself. Of course I mostly wore my reddish brown hair in one long braid down my back so any mistakes were easily hidden.

Just before Murder Off the Books was published I decided I needed to do something with my hair; something that would leave the 70s behind and look good for book signings.

I made an appointment with a local hair salon. I told them I needed a cut, color, the works. I also warned them that I had long hair and to plan on slotting me in for more than 30 minutes. They assigned me a brand new hair stylist; I think she’d just been out of school a week or two.

Nicki, was about 20 years old, cute, and very soft-spoken. I was lulled into a false sense of security. Nicki talked softly, but knew which end of the scissors were which. She immediately, and in my own opinion with very little show of regret, cut off twelve inches and asked how much shorter I wanted to go. With my voice an octave higher than when I entered the salon, I advised that was far enough on a first date.

Nicki then took a hard look at my color. Coloring long hair at home is no easy feat. You’ve got to fashion an outfit from garbage bags, layer the bathroom floor with newspapers, and make sure you have plenty of alcohol (the rubbing kind) for clean up, and the other kind for afterward. Then you sort of massage the color into your hair, using clips to keep the uncolored from the colored, as you work your way around your head. I thought I’d been doing a really good job. Apparently not.

Nicki searched through the strands and asked which color I liked best, the dark brown ends, the lighter top where I have a few (very few) gray strands, or the middle part which had a kind of reddish cast to it. I shrugged. She waved a bunch of hair color samples in front of my face. She asked me to pick two that I liked; one light, one dark. I did. She said no. She picked two. One was kind of beige, the other was blonde. Nicki said those two colors would really lighten up my face. I hesitated. She countered with, “Just for the summer.” Thinking back on it, I’m not sure why I agreed. It was January.

Nicki is an artist. She applied the color to my hair with a paint brush and with the same precision that I imagine the Masters used on their oil paintings. She did one color, then applied the second color to select strands. Ninety minutes later, I was caramelized. I also had enough foil on my head to get great TV reception.

Whatever nervousness I might have been feeling about the cut and the color, all disappeared after Nicki directed me to the shampoo room. Did I mention that Nicki is the best shampooer in the world? Total head and neck massage, no pulling, water temperature just right, perfect positioning of the towel under your neck, and she takes her time. Shampoos twice, then conditions.

My hair looked better than it ever had. The color was wonderful. The cost was in the same range as my car payment. I don’t know if my face was looked lighter, but my mood was. The cost was worth every penny.

It’s been just over a year now. I have to make my appointments with Nicki well in advance. She’s very popular and she only works a few days a week. I’ve tried to interest her in my book, but she says she’s not really into reading.

Oh, well. No one’s perfect.

Evelyn David