Boo!

/in /by

Retailers are worried. Me too. Already economists are predicting a coal-in-the-stocking kind of holiday shopping season. There won’t be much Ho, Ho, Ho this Christmas.

We know that the economy is in the tank and that it’s not just Wall Street Fat Cats who are suffering. The only thing grinning this Halloween may be the Jack-o-Lanterns. Our kids may see much lighter trick-or-treat bags. Gone are the days when neighbors distributed full-sized candy bars to the doorbell ringers. Look for mini-candy bars, one to a customer, but please, this is no time for raisin boxes. Chocolate-induced endorphins are definitely in order.

Until this economic downturn, Halloween has been a retailers dream. In 2007, Halloween-related merchandise sales were up 10 percent from the previous year, which had seen a record 22 percent growth from 2005. But now, we’re all tightening our belts and reconsidering our costume options. How about one of the fashion catastrophes from my closet, with a cardboard sign that says “Glamour Don’t”? Jackets with shoulders that could have rivaled any professional linebacker – whatever was I thinking?

One retail executive suggested that “consumers who have been anxious and uncertain for the past several months may be looking at Halloween as an opportunity to forget the stresses of daily life and just have a little fun.” I sure hope so, but frankly it sounds like wishful thinking to me.

I’m not suggesting that we dress our kids in costumes of sackcloth and ashes. Surely, we need some fun, especially under current conditions. But this is an opportunity to scale down a holiday that seems to be getting out of control. So let’s focus more on the highjinks, and less on the over-the-top decorations. Let’s encourage our kids imaginations and help them make costumes, instead of buying them.

The economy has played enough tricks on us; but we can put the treat back into October 31.

What are you planning for Halloween — and what kind of candy do you hand out?

Evelyn David

Andy Sipowicz and the Case of the Fictional Detective

/in /by

Ted Hindenlang used to be a police officer. He now prefers to break the law. He is working on his first novel, a mystery.

I have to admit, I have a love-hate relationship with fictional detectives. For every Andy Sipowicz, who was great, there are twenty-five or so who make me root for the bad guys. Sipowicz was very real to me. Dennis Franz, who played him on NYPD Blue must have hung around some of the people I knew because his attitude, his dress, everything seemed so dead-on.

Real life provides the template for cop shows and cop books, but it is only natural that cinematic policing bleeds back into the real thing as well. Some real cops try to act larger than life but few of them seem to be able to modulate their performance so that they come across as something other than a caricature of the hard-bitten, tough talking sleuth of fiction and television. One night I was hanging around the squad room in the Harlem precinct where I worked. We were the first officers on the scene of a fatal shooting and were giving statements to the investigators. It was close to 1 AM and the covering detective supervisor–a sergeant–had just arrived. He took over the squad room with his loud, opinionated demeanor. I had the distinct impression that the detectives were secretly carrying on their business in accordance with their routines while only pretending to follow his commands. During this episode, he received a call about another homicide from the 20th Precinct, which at the time had a significant gay population. As he spoke on the phone, his voice became louder and louder until it was impossible to ignore his contribution to the conversation. When he was sure he had everyone/s attention, he shouted to the detective on the line, “So whattya tellin’ me? Is it a homicide or a HOMO-cide?” As pleased as possible with himself, he looked around the room for approval. I could imagine Sipowicz asking the same question, but not playing it for laughs.

I want my fictional detectives to be more like my real detectives; fallible, vain, arrogant, self-centered, occasionally brilliant but more often instinctual and possessing a people sense that more than compensates for their fictional counterpart’s ability to see pillows arranged on the couch in such a way that it exonerates the housekeeper but implicates the gardener.

I want my fictional detectives to be less dedicated and I want them to have to deal with the vagaries of victims who hung their cloaks of innocence in the great coat check of life a long time ago and immediately lost the redemption ticket.

My fictional detectives can even be coldhearted racist, sexist pigs, if they have to be, in order to move the story along. I want them to spend all day and half the night investigating the fatal shooting of a young woman in a bar named Tres Marias, only to have one of them ask another if he wants to grab a drink after work and then reply, when asked where, “there’s a new place down the street called Dos Marias.”

I want my fictional detective to be a cynical and lazy malcontent who can be galvanized into action only when his city, the one he is pledged to serve and protect , is threatened by an evil presence so perverse and insatiable that soon housing prices will be affected. I want my fictional detectives to tell a slashing victim, upon seeing the jack o’lantern grin of a scar across his cheek , “Hey, chicks dig that.”

I guess, for me, most fictional sleuths are just too serious, too noble and too dedicated to suspend my disbelief. And I have no trouble with cartoon character detectives like Dirty Harry. They work for me because they don’t pretend to portray reality. Give me your overweight, your intox, your bitter veteran detective yearning to be free and receiving disability checks. Give me a detective trying to get out on the heart bill who calls from the recovery room and says, “I’ve got great news! I have a 70% blockage!”

Ted Hindenlang

Who’s Minding the Kids?

/in /by

More than 60 percent of women with children under the age of one are in the workforce. In this country, the average length of maternity leave is six weeks. I don’t know about you, but when my firstborn was six weeks old I couldn’t wash my hair and brush my teeth on the same day. The kid never slept or if he did, it was in a Snugli attached to my chest. I was a walking zombie, only the Bride of Frankenstein looked better.

My employer gave me three months of maternity leave, unpaid except for my unused vacation. Not working wasn’t an option. We needed my salary. I was lucky to find a mother in the neighborhood who was willing to babysit, for essentially half of my salary. On my first day back to work, I pulled on a pantsuit with an elastic waistband, dabbed at the spitup on my shoulder, got in my car and cried hysterically while I drove to the office.

Get a group of working mothers together and inevitably the conversation turns to childcare. I’m willing to bet that 99 percent of moms are dissatisfied, to a greater or lesser degree, with their arrangements. For those with the resources to hire private nannies, the quality and cost of such care is a constant worry – hence the explosion of hidden nannycams. For those who opt for home or commercial daycare, there is the concern about a lack of one-on-one interaction, frequent staff turnover, and inevitably, a baby with a never-ending runny nose due to the constant exposure to viruses. Even if it’s grandma who is the baby sitter, there are often tensions between generations about how best to care for the infant.

We worry about our kids. We worry about our jobs. I often thought I wasn’t giving 100 percent in either place.

Other nations seem to have figured out that fully paid maternity leave and better childcare are good for both parents and the economy. It means better worker productivity. In France, the government provides three-year paid parental leave with guaranteed job protection upon returning to the workforce; universal, full-time preschool starting at age three; subsidized day care before age three; stipends for in-home nannies; and monthly child-care allowances that increase with the number of children per family.

We’ve got to do better for our families. We’ve got to make it easier for parents to take care of their children, while also being productive members of the workforce. It’s a win-win situation for all.

Evelyn David

There Are No Special Occasions–Just Regular Days to be Celebrated

/in /by

I’m sure, like me, you come from a family of “save it for a special occasion” people. You know what I mean: use grandma’s tablecloth? No—save it for a special occasion. Break out the Waterford on a Friday night while eating pizza? Nope—that’s special occasion crystal. Use the china that you registered for on your wedding day? Heavens no—you only use that on a special occasion.

I’ve decided that special occasions are a crock of bull. And exactly what are we waiting for, people?

Case in point. My best friend from college—we’ll call her D.—used to come to my house right after Jim and I had gotten married. We would have pizza, beer and wine. Because we were young and broke, we would pull out our cheap wine glasses and serve our guests their beverage in those. D. would open up every cabinet until she found the Waterford—she, like me, is Irish-American, so she knew there was Waterford crystal hiding somewhere—and would pull out a heavy hock glass and proclaim that she wasn’t drinking out of any old cheap wine glass. She was to be served in the Waterford. I remember relating the story to my mother, the two of us shocked that the Waterford had been pulled out on Friday-night pizza night. But you know what? D. taught me a lesson. Mom always said that everything tastes better in Waterford, so instead of staring at it in our glass-fronted cabinet, we pull it out and use it every chance we get. (And with the amount of wine that is consumed around here on a normal weekend, they get used A LOT.)

Second case in point? Shoes. I own a lot of shoes, probably somewhere in the forty pair range which is a lot of shoes considering that I work in an attic and hardly ever leave the house. Frankly, I probably only need one pair of black pumps and a pair of sneakers, but really, what fun would that be? Most of the shoes I own fall into the $20-$60 range, most of them coming from either Target or Nine West. But last year, I fell in love with a pair of leopard-print, kitten heel pumps called “Fiona” (the name I had chosen for our dog originally but voted down the family). They were ridiculously expensive and completely impractical. I work in the attic, remember? But I lusted after them and talked about them incessantly until my husband finally said, “Just buy them.” The day after he said that, a friend sent me a 30% off coupon to the company that carries the shoe. It was destiny.

I bought them a year ago and have worn them exactly twice. I was saving them for a special occasion. But let’s face it: when you work in the attic, there aren’t too many special occasions that arise. Of course you have holidays and such but these shoes are so beautiful and a little fuzzy so you don’t want to wear them in rain, sleet, or snow, which is what we encounter on most of our holidays out here in the East. But last week, a strange thought came to me: what about if I wore these shoes a few times a week? They look as fabulous with jeans as they do with dressier clothes…what was stopping me from pulling them out and wearing them around town?

I got dressed for church this past Sunday and tested my new theory. I put on a pair of jeans, a cute sweater, and the shoes. I came downstairs and told my husband that the new me was not saving these shoes for a special occasion but was going to wear them whenever I felt like it. He looked up from his paper and gave me a nod. (See, men don’t get theories about shoes or proclamations of this sort. He was unimpressed.) I got so many compliments on the shoes that day that I was sold. I’m wearing them whenever I want. (Trouble is, they’re still not broken in. I’m hoping this new resolve to wear them more often will solve that.)

So all this to say: pull out that tablecloth, use the Waterford, and eat off the china. Drink that expensive bottle of champagne. Wear the expensive shoes with your favorite pair of jeans. Every day that we’re alive and healthy is a special occasion.

So, what are you saving for a special occasion? What prohibits you from using it/wearing it/drinking it? I’ll read your responses right after I finish this glass of seltzer in the Waterford water glass.

Maggie Barbieri

Some Useful Tips for Writers

/in /by

This weekend I was at the Wizards of Words Conference in Scottsdale AZ. I was a presenter, but like at any conference I attend, I learned quite a bit.

David Morrell (First Blood, the introduction of Rambo and many other thrillers) was the keynote speaker for the dinner and he had some gems to share. He said that writers that go the distance are those who you can’t mistake with anyone else. There are two questions that a writer needs to ask herself: 1. Why do you want to be a writer? 2. Why must you be a writer? You should dig into yourself. Pay attention to your day dreams and write about them. Being a successful writer depends upon talent, discipline, determination, and luck–and he added, don’t understimate the luck. He ended with, “You can write the book you were meant to write or with what you want to write.”

Jerry Simmons was the luncheon keynote speaker and probably the most important thing he had to say was, “The worst thing an author can do is rely on the publisher to make good decisions about the book.” Interesting, but of course his emphasis was on the writer taking charge of the promotion.

He also described how the New York publishing scene is all out of whack. The whole publishing business runs contrary to supply and demand. Every author needs to learn to market effectively to get the word out about his or her book.

The whole conference was great–learned a lot and met many interesting people. This is true no matter how many writing conferences I attend, I always learn new information–probably because the publishing industry is changing so much.

Marilyn
http://fictionforyou.com

The First Amendment

/in /by

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

Writers understand that the first amendment is the backbone of our profession, and the foundation of a free society. We must be fervent supporters of the right to speak and write about those ideas we cherish – and conversely, we must accept that same right for those who promote concepts that we detest. But as Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes explained, there is a limit to protected speech. We don’t have the right to falsely yell fire in a crowded theater.

Almost by definition, election rhetoric skews to hyperbole. But that’s not what this last week has been about. These are difficult times and there are serious differences between the two candidates on how to navigate these perilous waters. Instead, sadly, at recent rallies the focus has been on fears, not solutions.

The candidates may not be responsible for what their supporters shout out in the heat of the moment, but they can’t use rhetoric designed to whip the crowds up into a frenzy, tacitly encouraging their darkest fears — and then be surprised when emotions dangerously spill over.

Here’s what I expect. I expect a candidate to stop his or her prepared speech when someone in the crowd yells: “Kill him.” I expect the candidate to declare unequivocally, that we don’t have to be afraid of our differences, but we do have to fear violence.

Aaron Sorkin wrote in one of my favorite movies, The American President, “America is advanced citizenship. You gotta want it bad, ’cause it’s gonna put up a fight. It’s gonna say “You want free speech? Let’s see you acknowledge a man whose words make your blood boil, who’s standing center stage and advocating at the top of his lungs that which you would spend a lifetime opposing at the top of yours.”

We need to focus on the future of our country. We need to find solutions to the crises of the economy, the environment, terrorism, and a host of other problems. What we don’t need is all heat and no light. What we don’t need are scurrilous rumors and baseless attacks. That’s not what the first amendment is all about. America is better than that – we have to be.

Evelyn David

Finding Myself Again

/in /by

Finding Myself Again
by Susan McBride, author of THE DEBS
As I write this, I’m on deadline for Book Three in my YA series for Random House, not even a month after THE DEBS debuted, and I’m gearing up for the Southern Booksellers convention in Mobile, AL, where I’m doing a panel and signing. Oh, and I’m celebrating seven months of wedded bliss (awww!) and thankful to have survived a flooded basement, recent landscaping, a TV appearance (fun!), and interviewing Sandra Brown for the County Library (she’s amazing!). Though I’m not quite on the hectic “travel and promote like a maniac for six months post book release” schedule I put myself through when I was writing my Debutante Dropout Mysteries for Avon, it still feels like there’s always more going on than I ever intended. How does a calendar that starts with such blissfully empty days turn crazy so quickly?

Is it just a woman’s duty to burn the candle at both ends? Are we born with this kind of driven DNA? Because I know my husband—and most of the males in my family, come to think of it—aren’t exactly Type As.

Sometimes it takes a crisis to shake things up, doesn’t it? While on two book deadlines during my breast cancer treatment in late 2006 and early 2007, I tearfully vowed to reprioritize my life. I’d taken on so many duties beyond my writing—like, joining tons of professional organizations, volunteering on boards, judging awards, and speaking at book clubs, libraries, schools, and mystery conventions—that I completely lost sight of myself and my original goals. At the peak of my multi-tasking, I met Ed, now my husband, after being selected one of St. Louis Magazine’s Top Singles, which required attending parties, being “sold” at a charity auction, and assorted other tasks. For awhile, it felt like I was squeezing in time with him between everything else. Not the best way to nourish a growing relationship.

This might sound weird, but I think it took the breast cancer to make me think, “Whoa! Something’s gotta give.” As scary as that period in my life was, it had a truly positive effect. I cut out all the extraneous activities I possibly could. I got off the Internet groups I’d submerged myself in for years. I learned how to say “no.” I put my health and my marriage first, refocused on my writing, and moved everything else off my must-do list.

Let me tell you, none of that was easy. After being so immersed in the mystery community—having made so many friends and acquaintances in that world—it felt more like losing a part of myself than finding myself again. But, little by little, I began to realize how full my real-life was and how much I’d missed feeling like a (fairly) normal human being instead of Stressed-Out Multi-Tasking Barbie. Ed and I established Saturdays as “date” days where I wasn’t even allowed to get on the computer. Instead, we stroll around the Missouri Botanical Gardens, stay over at a nearby B&B, or just hang around the house together. My writing—as opposed to book promotion—has taken center-stage in my career, and incredible projects have come my way.

I won’t say I’m all the way there: at the perfect zen stage where I truly know how to relax and breathe. I still feel like I’m juggling more balls in the air than I should, but I’m slowly learning what “having it all” means. And it ain’t running nonstop like a hamster on a treadmill, that’s fo’ shizzle.

I’d love to hear how y’all find peace in your busy lives! Other than eating chocolate, I mean (I’ve warned Ed that cookies are my Xanax). Oh, and thank you, Stiletto Gang ladies, for having me!

Susan McBride’s YA series debut with Random House, THE DEBS, features four prep school seniors in Houston clawing their way through their debutante season. A Fall 2008 Kid’s Indie Next Pick, THE DEBS has been called “GOSSIP GIRL on mint juleps.” The second DEBS book, LOVE, LIES, AND TEXAS DIPS, will be out in June of 2009, and Susan’s busy writing the third. Susan has also penned five Debutante Dropout Mysteries for Avon, including TOO PRETTY TO DIE and BLUE BLOOD. She’s recently signed with HarperCollins to write a trade paperback women’s beach book called THE COUGAR CLUB, about three forty-something women who date younger men. Visit her web site at http://SusanMcBride.com for more scoop.

Mysteries for Kids & the Young at Heart

/in /by

Do you remember the first time you realized that books contained stories that could transport you to different times and places? I think I was about seven. Of course I’d been read to before that critical moment, but I don’t think I actually understood until then that there were stories on those pages that I could learn to read by myself. (I think the problem was that a lot of the people who read to me were known to veer off the printed words in a book and add their own. Not that I didn’t enjoy their elaborations, but it took me awhile to connect the printed words to the story I was used to hearing). Needless to say, after I learned to read, I didn’t want anyone reading aloud to me anymore.

There are a handful of books from my childhood that will always have a special place in my heart. They are the books I read over and over: Across Five Aprils, Where the Red Fern Grows, Up A Road Slowly, the Irish Red books, My Antonia, and A White Bird Flying.

Recently my co-author and I have been discussing the possibility of writing a middle-school or young adult (YA) mystery. My favorite mysteries at that age were the Trixie Belden series, but I didn’t have a clue what kinds of books were popular now – besides the Harry Potter books. As a first step in the process, this past week I’ve read a number of popular YA mysteries in order to understand the current market. I was surprised at what I found. Then I was surprised that I was surprised.

The themes in the YA books were very much adult themes – divorce, violence, and child abuse –all viewed through the eyes of the teen or pre-teen protagonist. Maybe I’ve just forgotten or maybe the reading material for twelve-year-olds has changed. Certainly today’s typical twelve-year-old is more sophisticated in some ways than I was at that age. Television and movies have seen to that transformation. And I suppose that in order to interest today’s teen or pre-teen reader, books will have to follow suit.

The YA books I read this past week included hardbacks and mass market paperbacks. The only things I found they had in common were the mystery element, a young hero or heroine, and a generally happy ending.

The Crossroads by Chris Grabenstein
The Lost Boy by Linda Newbery
The Mysterious Benedict Society by Trenton Lee Stewart
Snatched (Bloodwater Mysteries) by Pete Hautman and Mary Logue
Mystery Isle by Judith St. George

Of the books listed above – all worthwhile reading, I found two were the best sources of information for my purposes: Lost Boy and Snatched.

Lost Boy is a beautiful, thoughtful book that both teens and adults will love. It will surely be reprinted for decades. Set in modern day rural Britain, a young boy, Matt Lanchester, and his family move to a new town and Matt tries to fit in. He learns to choose his friends wisely and rely on his own good sense. Matt’s chance encounter with the spirit of a dead boy, a mysterious old man, and charming legends of lost boys fuel a wonderful tale.

Snatched is a fun mystery – a quick read that follows a traditional whodunit format with a lot of humor mixed in for good measure. Roni Delicata , an 11-grade reporter for the school newspaper, investigates the assault of a fellow student. When that student goes missing, the young reporter and Brian Bain, her unlikely sidekick (a freshman science geek) join forces. Since they are both suspended from school for breaking the rules, they decide to use their unexpected free time to break a few more in their search for answers about the missing student.

Lost Boy is a book I will aspire to write someday. Snatched is something I could achieve now.

Do you have some recommendations for me? What else in the YA category should I be reading?

Evelyn

Toward a More Civil Union

/in /by

I am constantly amazed at the immaturity of adults and the nature of campaigns, two things that I’m finding are not mutually exclusive. Having watched now one presidential candidate debate and one vice-presidential candidate debate in which all four participants engaged in a “no, you did,” “no, you did!” forensic exercise of futility, I’m starting to lose faith in adults’ ability to get anything done. Or communicate civilly. Or effectively. (Sorry…I know you know who I’m talking about and if you don’t, just fill in the blank with someone else who says, “also, though,” as if that explains everything.) If you can’t even form a complete sentence with a noun, verb, and maybe even a direct or indirect object, you shouldn’t be allowed to run for anything, let alone a political office. And if the best you can do is tell lies about one another and sling mud and smear one another, then you should all put your toys back and go to your rooms for a collective time out.

It’s getting insane. And this lack of decorum, this lack of respect for others’ values, accomplishments, and opinions is all over television, cable and network alike. Today, I caught the slugfest known as The View. If you don’t know what this program is about, it’s basically five Democrats (an actress, two comedians, and Barbara Walters) and one Republican (someone who competed on a reality show) who argue incessantly, vociferously, and loudly about what’s going on in the news. Sometimes they interview an actor or actress who’s discussing their latest “project” (they used to be called “movies”) or they talk about the latest miracle skin cream or cellulite antidote. But generally, they sit around the kitchen table that they use as their bully pulpit and scream at and over each other about current events. And unless you’ve been living in a cave in Tora Bora for the last year, the news of the day concerns the presidential election with a little bit of the economy thrown in for good measure. But basically, they only discuss the economy in order to place blame at the feet at either the Republicans (the four Democrats) or the Democrats (the one Republican). Today, as with many other days, it got personal, the Democrats loading up on the lone Republican who kept chanting “consorting with terrorists” and “character matters” whenever the subject of one of the candidates came up (his name starts with Barack and ends with Obama) while one of the others intoned “Keating 5” or “deregulation” a thousand times over, as if that was a respectable counter-argument.

By the end of these segments, usually one or more of the women look like they’re going to cry, Barbara Walters is red in the face, and I sit and wonder how they’re going to talk to each other about the miracle cellulite cream if they’re not speaking at all.

At around seven o’clock every night, I watch Hardball. More yelling. More talking over one another. More “I know you are, but what am I?” verbal jousting. This is followed by Keith Olbermann, a man who can really turn a phrase, but who lets it fly when it comes to one of the candidates and not the other.

And don’t get me started on Fox News.

I also watch the Rachel Maddow show and have found that she is the only one of the lot who shows a modicum of class when it comes to discussing current events. Her foil is conservative Pat Buchanan and they go at it, but with dignity and a clear respect for each other’s opinions. It’s the definition of “debate.” Neither one hopes to change the other’s mind, but they listen to each other and respond accordingly. I really hope they can keep it up and that these other jokers on the other cable stations take notice. Civility increases ratings, at least in this house.

I have high hopes for the debate tonight but I know I’m just being silly and naïve. In reality, I don’t think it will be any more informative than The View, Hardball, or Keith Olbermann. Supposedly, this will be a “town hall style” debate. Does anyone even know what that means? I’m thinking that it’s the candidates, walking around with mics pinned to their suit jackets, doing folksy and “plain speak” to the people gathered, who supposedly get to ask the questions. But will they get answers? That will be the reason I tune in. Because for the life of me, I can’t understand why someone just can’t simply answer the question “What is your name?” without hyperbole, calling the other candidate’s record into question (or even calling them names), or calling themselves a maverick, patriotic, or an agent of change. Just answer the damn question. “My name is X. And we will do Y. That’s why you should vote for us.”

We’ve got less than a month until the election and my fear is that the level of discourse will sink even lower and that more mud will get slung. There will be more name calling, more supposed “skeletons” dragged out of closets that haven’t been open in twenty, thirty, or forty years, and more snarky sound bites.

And that’s just from the ladies of The View. I can’t even imagine where the candidates will take it.

Maggie Barbieri

What I’ve Been Up To

/in /by

None of this has much to do with writing–just what’s been happening the last week.

I was supposed to have a booksigning in Ventura, but heard from the owner that it had to be cancelled. We had planned to visit the Reagan Library while we were there and decided to go anyway. We had daughters who live in the area so we always like to visit.

The Reagan Library is fantastic. We happened to go during an Abraham Lincoln exhibit with the Emancapation Proclomation on display. That was worth the price of the ticket. But there was much more to see: the Oval Office exactly as it looked when Reagan was president, Nancy’s wardrobe including a note telling when she wore each outfit or gown, a replica of the White House Rose Garden and lawn and Reagan’s burial site.

The highlight of the trip, though, was Air Force One. It is displayed on a pedastal in a huge area with a window wall looking like it’s coming in for a landing. Everyone can walk through it and it looks like it did when Reagan used it, including the black box. Fascinating! The helicopter (or one like it) that flew the president from the White House to Andrews AFB is also on display, along with his limosine and LA escort police cars.

There’s lots more to see–we were there from 10:30 a.m. until 4. After that, we had dinner at our youngest daughter’s home along with her family and our eldest daughter and hubby who’d taken us to the Reagan Library.

Saturday, hubby and I attended a lovely party. We don’t go to many parties these days, so this was a treat. It was held outside–it rained all morning so wasn’t sure whether the party would still happen–in a beautiful garden. Tables and chairs were set up on the lawn with a wonderful spread of food and desserts in the patio.

The inside of the house was decorated with all sorts of scarecrows.

We didn’t really know many of the guests. The hostess is one of my biggest fans and asked me to bring a copy of Kindred Spirits for her to buy–which I did of course.

Up to this point I hadn’t found a place to launch Kindred Spirits in my home town. While sitting at a table with a local shop owner, Jenuine Junque, we got to talking and she is willing to clear out one of her rooms so I can have a book signing there. So, it does help to chit-chat with folks.

We did have a good time and solved a problem.

Next I’m off to the Wizards of Words conference in Scottsdale AZ.

Marilyn