by Sparkle Abbey
Today we welcome a very special guest back to the blog and she’s chatting about the latest in her Dandy Gilver series – The Witching Hour. Plus let’s talk about in-laws…
Catriona take it away!
“Two houses both alike in dignity” says Shakespeare of the Montagues and the Capulets at the start of Romeo and Juliet. (Off topic, but “Juliet Capulet” has always bugged me; I’d have swapped their names in the edit.)
And I suppose two houses can easily be alike in dignity but not in much else. When you’re wee, you think your family is normal and quite possibly all families are similar to it. But when you grow up and especially when you join families in a marriage . . . Well, I can’t be the only one who reads Carolyn Hax in the Washington Post. Second only to destination weddings – a pox on all of them, right? – her column is full of in-laws as far as the eye can see.
As THE WITCHING HOUR (Dandy Gilver No.16) opens, Dandy and Hugh are gearing up to meet a prospective daughter-in-law. They’ve weathered one dynastic alliance (and survived the awkwardness of a corpse at the engagement-do) but now in the spring of 1939 their younger son is bringing a girl home and his track record is . . . not unblemished.
I love this jacket!
‘Cartaright?’ Hugh said. ‘Not Cartwright?’
‘Nor Carter-Wright,’ I assured him. ‘Teddy wrote it down for me to address the envelope.’
‘What address?’
‘London,’ I told him. ‘A 3F, I’m afraid. A flat. But north of the river. It’s so hard to tell these days. She could be anyone.’
‘Dolly Cartaright,’ said Hugh. ‘She sounds like a barmaid.’
‘I don’t care if she is a barmaid,’ I said. ‘Or a chorus girl, or even a . . .’ My imagination ran out.
‘An artist’s model,’ said Hugh. ‘Like What’s-her-name.’
‘I think she was a muse,’ I reminded him. ‘Although that might be the same thing, now I consider it at a distance. She was very . . . limber.’
Hugh rewarded me with a snort of laugher.
‘And I mean it. I don’t care. If she marries our son-’
‘If marriage isn’t too old-fashioned for her,’ Hugh chipped in.
‘And the call goes up for single men first-’
‘It won’t or only very briefly.’
‘-then she could pull pints of beer in the Atholl Arms for all our friends and I’d drive down to pick her up at closing time and offer a lift home.’
‘What friends of yours drink pints of beer in the Atholl Arms?’ Hugh asked me.
I rewarded him with a little snort of my own.
I remember meeting my in-laws. I was dressed all in black with a crew-cut and an attitude. They can’t have been thrilled, but Neil and I were only nineteen so they no doubt thought I’d soon be gone. Ha! How’d that work out?
We were infants!
I do remember a formal meeting of in-laws in advance of one of my sisters’ weddings. My mum prepared an elegant meal then my dad came home with a punctured tyre, brought his bike into the kitchen and turned it upside down in the middle of the floor. A lively debate ensued.
I also remember sitting awkwardly in the living room at home with a set of in-laws-to-be in advance of a different wedding when a knocking noise came out of nowhere and all four of us girls stood up and left the room. There used to be a door there, see, and the wall is hollow so, when dinner was ready, my dad would knock on the hollow bit instead of shouting through the house. Seemed perfectly normal to us; looked like The Village of the Damned to strangers.
Then there was the fact that my dad didn’t drink either coffee (normal for Brits born in the 1930s) or tea (outlandish for Brits born anytime) so when visitors, including prospective in-laws, came and orders for hot drinks were taken, he was missed out and passed over. It wasn’t until someone said “Your mum looks so innocent but she rules with a rod of iron, doesn’t she?” that any of us realised the impression being given of a downtrodden and thirsty husband.
This was offered to me at a library once.
But that’s nothing, when it comes to food and drink and new alliances. I’ve got an American pal, Jewish, from Boston (these details are because I have no idea where her norms come from!), who married a Turkish bloke and, upon meeting her prospective family-in-law, politely cleaned her plate making yummy noises. Her mother-in-law-to-be replenished her plate. She cleared it. It was replenished. It was cleared. It was replenished. It was cleared. Only when the bloke started paying attention, which was thankfully before his mother had to send out for more food or his fiancée burst, did he say, “Oh yeah, babe? She’s gonna keep filling your plate till you leave something on it. And, anne, she’s trying to show she likes the food by eating it up.” Relief all round.
My sister’s mother-in-law is no longer with us so I can tell tales of her legendary and misguided culinary confidence without causing upset. You’ve heard the expression “a plain cook”? Well, this lady took it to soaring heights. She once opened a storage jar in my sister’s kitchen, saw muesli, pondered a while, recognised the rolled oats in the mix and made porridge with it. (I realise that this story is very British. The US equivalent would be making grits with granola.) Another time, she looked in my sister’s crisper drawer and found a head of broccoli. She thought Well that can’t be right and put it straight in the bin.
It wasn’t even Romanescu!
All the weird and even annoying clashes of family norms become funny stories in the end, eh? I’d love to hear yours, Stiletto Gang. Can you remember meeting your in-laws? When did you realise you were in-laws? What’s the equivalent for single people? I know there’ll be one.
Here’s a little bit about The Witching Hour
It’s the spring of 1939 and Dandy Gilver, the mother of two grown-up sons, can’t think of anything except the deteriorating state of Europe and the threat of war. Detective work is the furthest thing from her mind. It takes a desperate cri de coeur from an old friend to persuade her to take on a case.
Daisy Esslemont’s husband Silas has vanished. It’s not the first time, but he has never embarrassed her with his absences before. It doesn’t take Dandy and her side-kick, Alec Osborne, long to find the wandering Silas, but when they track him down to the quaint East Lothian village of Dirleton, he is dead, lying on the village green with his head bashed in, in full view of a row of alms houses, two pubs, a manse, a school and even the watchtowers of Dirleton Castle. And yet not a single one of the villagers admits to seeing a thing.
As Dandy and Alec begin to chip away at the determined silence of the Dirletonites, they cannot imagine what unites such a motley crew: schoolmistress, minister, landlord, postmaster, park-keeper, farmworkers, schoolchildren . . . Only one person – Mither Golane, the oldest resident of the village – is loose-lipped enough to let something slip, but her quiet aside must surely be the rambling of a woman in her second childhood. Dandy and Alec know that Silas was no angel but “He’s the devil” is too outlandish a claim to help them find his killer. The detecting pair despair of ever finding answers, but are they asking the right questions?
Thanks so much, Catriona, for stopping by. We love stories set in Scotland and we love Catriona! So needless to say, we already have our copy of The Witching Hour. How about the rest of you?
Serial awards-botherer, Catriona McPherson (she/her) was born in Scotland and immigrated to the US in 2010. She writes: preposterous 1930s private-detective stories, including September 2024’s THE WITCHING HOUR; realistic 1940s amateur-sleuth stories about a medical social worker; and contemporary psychological standalones. These are all set in Scotland with a lot of Scottish weather. She also writes modern comedies about a Scot out of water in a “fictional” college town in Northern California. She is a proud lifetime member and former national president of Sisters in Crime. www.catrionamcpherson.com
Special Guest – Catriona McPherson
/in Guest, characters, Mysteries, Mystery, New Release/by Mary Lee Ashfordby Sparkle Abbey
Today we welcome a very special guest back to the blog and she’s chatting about the latest in her Dandy Gilver series – The Witching Hour. Plus let’s talk about in-laws…
Catriona take it away!
“Two houses both alike in dignity” says Shakespeare of the Montagues and the Capulets at the start of Romeo and Juliet. (Off topic, but “Juliet Capulet” has always bugged me; I’d have swapped their names in the edit.)
And I suppose two houses can easily be alike in dignity but not in much else. When you’re wee, you think your family is normal and quite possibly all families are similar to it. But when you grow up and especially when you join families in a marriage . . . Well, I can’t be the only one who reads Carolyn Hax in the Washington Post. Second only to destination weddings – a pox on all of them, right? – her column is full of in-laws as far as the eye can see.
As THE WITCHING HOUR (Dandy Gilver No.16) opens, Dandy and Hugh are gearing up to meet a prospective daughter-in-law. They’ve weathered one dynastic alliance (and survived the awkwardness of a corpse at the engagement-do) but now in the spring of 1939 their younger son is bringing a girl home and his track record is . . . not unblemished.
I love this jacket!
‘Cartaright?’ Hugh said. ‘Not Cartwright?’
‘Nor Carter-Wright,’ I assured him. ‘Teddy wrote it down for me to address the envelope.’
‘What address?’
‘London,’ I told him. ‘A 3F, I’m afraid. A flat. But north of the river. It’s so hard to tell these days. She could be anyone.’
‘Dolly Cartaright,’ said Hugh. ‘She sounds like a barmaid.’
‘I don’t care if she is a barmaid,’ I said. ‘Or a chorus girl, or even a . . .’ My imagination ran out.
‘An artist’s model,’ said Hugh. ‘Like What’s-her-name.’
‘I think she was a muse,’ I reminded him. ‘Although that might be the same thing, now I consider it at a distance. She was very . . . limber.’
Hugh rewarded me with a snort of laugher.
‘And I mean it. I don’t care. If she marries our son-’
‘If marriage isn’t too old-fashioned for her,’ Hugh chipped in.
‘And the call goes up for single men first-’
‘It won’t or only very briefly.’
‘-then she could pull pints of beer in the Atholl Arms for all our friends and I’d drive down to pick her up at closing time and offer a lift home.’
‘What friends of yours drink pints of beer in the Atholl Arms?’ Hugh asked me.
I rewarded him with a little snort of my own.
I remember meeting my in-laws. I was dressed all in black with a crew-cut and an attitude. They can’t have been thrilled, but Neil and I were only nineteen so they no doubt thought I’d soon be gone. Ha! How’d that work out?
We were infants!
I do remember a formal meeting of in-laws in advance of one of my sisters’ weddings. My mum prepared an elegant meal then my dad came home with a punctured tyre, brought his bike into the kitchen and turned it upside down in the middle of the floor. A lively debate ensued.
I also remember sitting awkwardly in the living room at home with a set of in-laws-to-be in advance of a different wedding when a knocking noise came out of nowhere and all four of us girls stood up and left the room. There used to be a door there, see, and the wall is hollow so, when dinner was ready, my dad would knock on the hollow bit instead of shouting through the house. Seemed perfectly normal to us; looked like The Village of the Damned to strangers.
Then there was the fact that my dad didn’t drink either coffee (normal for Brits born in the 1930s) or tea (outlandish for Brits born anytime) so when visitors, including prospective in-laws, came and orders for hot drinks were taken, he was missed out and passed over. It wasn’t until someone said “Your mum looks so innocent but she rules with a rod of iron, doesn’t she?” that any of us realised the impression being given of a downtrodden and thirsty husband.
This was offered to me at a library once.
But that’s nothing, when it comes to food and drink and new alliances. I’ve got an American pal, Jewish, from Boston (these details are because I have no idea where her norms come from!), who married a Turkish bloke and, upon meeting her prospective family-in-law, politely cleaned her plate making yummy noises. Her mother-in-law-to-be replenished her plate. She cleared it. It was replenished. It was cleared. It was replenished. It was cleared. Only when the bloke started paying attention, which was thankfully before his mother had to send out for more food or his fiancée burst, did he say, “Oh yeah, babe? She’s gonna keep filling your plate till you leave something on it. And, anne, she’s trying to show she likes the food by eating it up.” Relief all round.
My sister’s mother-in-law is no longer with us so I can tell tales of her legendary and misguided culinary confidence without causing upset. You’ve heard the expression “a plain cook”? Well, this lady took it to soaring heights. She once opened a storage jar in my sister’s kitchen, saw muesli, pondered a while, recognised the rolled oats in the mix and made porridge with it. (I realise that this story is very British. The US equivalent would be making grits with granola.) Another time, she looked in my sister’s crisper drawer and found a head of broccoli. She thought Well that can’t be right and put it straight in the bin.
It wasn’t even Romanescu!
All the weird and even annoying clashes of family norms become funny stories in the end, eh? I’d love to hear yours, Stiletto Gang. Can you remember meeting your in-laws? When did you realise you were in-laws? What’s the equivalent for single people? I know there’ll be one.
Here’s a little bit about The Witching Hour
It’s the spring of 1939 and Dandy Gilver, the mother of two grown-up sons, can’t think of anything except the deteriorating state of Europe and the threat of war. Detective work is the furthest thing from her mind. It takes a desperate cri de coeur from an old friend to persuade her to take on a case.
Daisy Esslemont’s husband Silas has vanished. It’s not the first time, but he has never embarrassed her with his absences before. It doesn’t take Dandy and her side-kick, Alec Osborne, long to find the wandering Silas, but when they track him down to the quaint East Lothian village of Dirleton, he is dead, lying on the village green with his head bashed in, in full view of a row of alms houses, two pubs, a manse, a school and even the watchtowers of Dirleton Castle. And yet not a single one of the villagers admits to seeing a thing.
As Dandy and Alec begin to chip away at the determined silence of the Dirletonites, they cannot imagine what unites such a motley crew: schoolmistress, minister, landlord, postmaster, park-keeper, farmworkers, schoolchildren . . . Only one person – Mither Golane, the oldest resident of the village – is loose-lipped enough to let something slip, but her quiet aside must surely be the rambling of a woman in her second childhood. Dandy and Alec know that Silas was no angel but “He’s the devil” is too outlandish a claim to help them find his killer. The detecting pair despair of ever finding answers, but are they asking the right questions?
Thanks so much, Catriona, for stopping by. We love stories set in Scotland and we love Catriona! So needless to say, we already have our copy of The Witching Hour. How about the rest of you?
Serial awards-botherer, Catriona McPherson (she/her) was born in Scotland and immigrated to the US in 2010. She writes: preposterous 1930s private-detective stories, including September 2024’s THE WITCHING HOUR; realistic 1940s amateur-sleuth stories about a medical social worker; and contemporary psychological standalones. These are all set in Scotland with a lot of Scottish weather. She also writes modern comedies about a Scot out of water in a “fictional” college town in Northern California. She is a proud lifetime member and former national president of Sisters in Crime. www.catrionamcpherson.com
Clicking Our Heels – Where We Would Live if Money Was No Object
/in Author Life, Clicking Our Heels, Inspiration, life/by DebraIf Money Was No Object – Where Would We Live?
Have you ever wondered what you would do if a fortune fell into your lap? Today, we share where in the world, if money was no object, each of us would live in the world?
Barbara J. Eikmeier – I’m pretty happy living right where I am in Kansas. However, I’d love living in a charming little craftsman style home with a big front porch. I have a floor plan I’ve kept for over 35 years and every time I come across it, I still think I could totally live in that house!
Saralyn Richard – Possibly New Zealand? But I already live in paradise.
Dru Ann Love – Paris, France.
T.K. Thorne – In a warm land with a small garden surrounded by trees on a mountain overlooking the ocean … with no mosquitoes. (Let me know if you find such a place.)
Lois Winston – Manhattan! That was the plan. It never happened. And now I’m living in Tennessee!
Gay Yellen – I’d have three houses: one on a lovely beach somewhere, one near Glacier National Park, and for the third, a cozy pied-à-terre in Paris.
Donnell Ann Bell – Oooh, I’m finding I really like warm weather. I’d probably stay where I am part of the time, and when the weather wasn’t cold, live in Colorado closer to my kids and grandbabies.
Debra H. Goldstein – The beach! I’d like an air-conditioned place big enough for guests that overlooks the water so that I could stare at the waves for hours without sweating.
Debra Sennefelder – Such an interesting question. I think I’d stay in the town where I am. I love it here. But I would love to have a summer house in Wyoming or Montana.
Anita Carter – I’d love to live in Australia! If for some reason if that couldn’t work out, I’d consider Portugal.
Mary Lee Ashford – If money were no object, I’d move nearer to the beach. I would need a lot of money though, as I’d have to move the whole family. Because though a lovely beachside home would be perfect. I couldn’t be that far away from my grandchildren.
Donalee Moulton – Nova Scotia will always be home. But a villa in Tuscany sounds wonderful. I would be okay with Portugal. Or Hawaii.
Bethany Maines – Hm… I really like where I’m at, but I guess I would like to try living in Greece for awhile.
Author Bill Crider, one of the loveliest people I ever knew.
/in Uncategorized/by Susan P. BakerThe other day I picked up a used book from the bookshelf in the little library at the 55+ community in which I live. The novel is one of the over 100 Bill Crider published during his lifetime. Bill was the head of the English Dept. at Alvin Community College, which is a few miles from Galveston where I am from. I met him at my first Mystery Writers of America, Southwest Chapter, meeting in Houston. He and his wife, Judy, were two of the loveliest people I have ever met during the ten years I was active in that chapter. Both encouraged me every time I’d be around them.
I was one of those writers who would start a project and about halfway through come up with what I thought of as a better idea, drop the current WIP, and start a new one. At one point I used to kid that I had ten (10) unfinished novels in my drawers. The joke would have been funny if it hadn’t been true.
Bill knew that. Every time I went to a conference at which Bill was speaking, I would attend his section. I usually sat on the back row. I swear, in Bill’s talk he would always say that in order to get a book published, you had to finish the book. And he would pointedly look in my direction and grin.
Judy told the story of Bill’s first successes. Bill was a runner. He would write two pages a day, stop, and go for a run. While he was gone, Judy would read those two pages and make any corrections or be ready with suggestions when he returned. She said the most frustrating thing about this practice was that Bill would stop at the end of the second page. He didn’t make any exceptions for what point in the novel he’d stop, end of a sentence or a paragraph, no, he would stop at the end of two pages no matter where he was, even in the middle of a sentence! Judy had a sweet smile and an infectious laugh. When she told that story, her listeners were always treated to both.
Bill and Judy are both gone now, sad to say. The world was made richer by those two loving people. I think of them often when encouraging new writers. And then tell myself, if I’d just follow Bill’s example, I’d be better off for it as well. (and would publish more books!)
http://www.billcrider.com/
For a topical and, possibly, a polarizing read, check out Susan P. Baker’s latest mystery, The Underground Murders, No 6 in the Mavis Davis Mystery Series.
Check Your Rearview Mirror
/in Author Life, Brooke Terpening, Mysteries, Mystery/by Brooke TerpeningI adore mysteries. As a reader, I carefully scour the page for clues and try to figure out “who done it.” Part of the fun is deciphering which are red herrings. If the ending has a surprising twist, I search out the breadcrumbs leading to the solution. If those tiny hints don’t lead me to an “A-hah” moment, I feel cheated. As a writer in this genre, I strive to balance a surprise conclusion without giving away the ending or misleading the reader. And sometimes that’s a hard thing to do.
Have you ever imagined an ingenious crime and know how the villain did it, but haven’t the foggiest idea of how to solve it? That’s where I recently found myself.
Now that I knew how the mystery was solved, I could envision what must have happened immediately prior to that point and write that scene. I repeated this process. By retracing the steps that must have been taken, and only could have been taken to arrive at the ending, I dribbled out the clues in previous scenes. The middle of the story magically filled itself in.
But what is a mystery without red herrings? Just like authentic clues, the false trails can be reverse engineered and sprinkled throughout. The same goes for the B and C plots.
This technique may not work for all writers, but I found it a handy tool. First check your rearview mirrors before shifting into high gear.
Killing It at Killer Nashville
/in Author Life, amateur sleuth mysteries, Book events, Convention, Cozy Mysteries, crafting cozies, How to Write, humor, indie publishing, Lois Winston, Mysteries, Mystery, Mystery Series, women sleuths/by Lois WinstonAt the Killer Nashville book signing
By Lois Winston
Most writers are introverts. We spend much of our days alone with only our laptops or computers (or paper and pen for those who are still old-school) and rarely step foot into the real world. We’d rather spend our time in the world of our imagination with the characters we’ve created. However, every now and then, we venture out onto Earth One and mingle with actual humans.
One of the best places to do this is at a writers’ conference. Hanging with our peeps is our happy place in the real world because they’re the only people who truly “get” us. Because they’re just like us. Writers’ conferences are a chance to spend time with others of our special community. We renew friendships, make new friends, network, learn from some, and teach others. Conferences also occasionally give us a pat on the back, validating that this odd life we’ve chosen, with all its solitary hours of clicking away at the keyboard, is worthwhile.
Such was the case this past weekend when I attended Killer Nashville. Once upon a time, I attended three or four writers’ conferences a year. Then, life changed. I made the decision to “go indie” and no longer had a publisher willing to pick up some or all the expense of attending conferences. Between the conference fee, airfare, hotel, and meals, conferences are not cheap. I cut back drastically, only attending local conferences.
And then Covid hit.
As some of you know, in the middle of the pandemic, my husband and I made the difficult decision to pack up and move to Tennessee to be closer to family. Within days of settling into our new home in July of 2021, I discovered that after a two-year hiatus, the annual Killer Nashville writing conference was about to take place less than two miles from where I now live. Serendipity!
With few exceptions, most writers are introverts. Hence, those writer caves. But I missed my writing peeps in New Jersey. Killer Nashville gave me a chance to connect face-to-face with many other writers I only knew from online writing communities. I also made some new friends and have continued to do so each year I’ve attended since 2021.
The 2024 Killer Nashville conference was this past weekend, and it was a blast, even for this confirmed introvert. On Friday, I was on a panel discussing Writing Compelling Synopsis, Back Cover Copy, and Design. Saturday, I was on two panels, One Trait at a Time: How to Build a Character and Not Just One Book: Writing a Series. I was also one of ten authors who allowed attendees to pick our brains for four minutes each during Speed Date your Way to Author Marketing Success. On Sunday, I was on the Creating an Irresistible Hook for Your Book panel and the Writing Strong Protagonists panel.
Vertically challenged Lois and Gay during an after-dinner stop for ice cream
And then there was Saturday night. Author Gay Yellen and I, along with our husbands, went out to dinner, something we’d also done last year. Upon returning to the hotel, our husbands headed for the bar while Gay and I ducked into the awards ceremony. Not ten seconds later, Clay Stafford, MC for the evening and Killer Nashville head honcho, announced the winner of the 2024 Silver Falchion Award for Best Comedy. Much to my surprise, he called my name!
I never expected to win. With few exceptions, throughout my writing career, I’ve always been the bridesmaid, rarely the bride. I hadn’t prepared any remarks because the one time I had attended the ceremony back in 2021, no one made any remarks. Winners were handed their awards, shook Clay’s hand, and a photographer snapped a picture. Maybe it was because we were all still coming out of Covid.
With my Best Comedy medal the next morning
Well, at least I didn’t bore anyone in the audience by droning on and on by thanking everyone, going all the way back to my kindergarten teacher!
Writers, what’s your favorite aspect of conferences? Readers, have you ever attended a readers’ convention or other book event? Post a comment for a chance to win a promo code for a free audiobook of any one of the first ten Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mystery.
~*~
USA Today and Amazon bestselling and award-winning author Lois Winston writes mystery, romance, romantic suspense, chick lit, women’s fiction, children’s chapter books, and nonfiction. Kirkus Reviews dubbed her critically acclaimed Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mystery series, “North Jersey’s more mature answer to Stephanie Plum.” In addition, Lois is a former literary agent and an award-winning craft and needlework designer who often draws much of her source material for both her characters and plots from her experiences in the crafts industry. Learn more about Lois and her books at her website where can also sign up for her newsletter and find links to her other social media: www.loiswinston.com
A Slow Down Period by Dru Ann Love
/in Dru Ann Love, Drus Book Musings/by Dru Ann LoveI don’t have much to ramble about this time.
Last time I posted in April, I was attending Malice Domestic Convention where our short story, “Ticket To Ride” I co-wrote with Kristopher Zgorski was a finalist. We won the Agatha for Best Short Story.
The accolades continue with our story being a finalist for Best Short Story for the Anthony and the Macavity Awards. The winner for the Anthony will be announced at end of August and the winner for the Macavity will be announced in September. Wish us luck!
Below are a few of the books I’ve read that are coming out soon.
I did a guest post at Jungle Red Writers talking about the transition from blogger to author. You can read it HERE.
This week start Bouchercon, the world’s mystery convention in Nashville.
Other than that, it’s been very quiet in my corner of the universe.
What do you do when life is simple?
Women: Not So Mere–T.K. Thorne
/in T.K. Thorne/by TK ThorneWho knew? The women’s movement to win the vote in the United States (which didn’t happen until 1920) began with book clubs!
In my life, “feminism” was a word often expressed with a sneer, the struggle for equality seen as an effort to shed femininity and be man-like. Burn your bra at the peril of rejecting your womanhood!
But my role model, my mother, was as feminine as they come and yet stood toe to toe with men in power. She never finished college, having to quit to care for her ill father, but she continued to learn and read and surround herself with other women who used ideas and knowledge to challenge the status quo, a legacy that began long ago.
Despite the pressure on women to focus on family and household matters, women throughout history have organized to read and talk about serious ideas, even in the early colonial days of American history. Anne Hutchinson founded such a group on a ship headed for the Massachusetts Bay Colony in 1634. Reading circles or societies spread throughout the 1800s, including the African-American Female Intelligence Society organized in Boston and the New York Colored Ladies Literary Society. The first known American club sponsored by a bookstore began in 1840 in a store owned by a woman, Margaret Fuller. In 1866 Sarah Atwater Denman began Friends in Council, the oldest continuous literary club in America. In the South, blacks slaves were punished, sometimes with their lives for learning to read or if they were found carrying a book, although some surely passed books and abolitionist tracts in secret, despite the terrible risk.
Mandy Shunnarah wrote about research she did on this subject in college, sharing how the turn-of-the-century women began with classical ancient history and gradually became informed about political and policy issues of the day. The clubs created opportunities for connection and community and provided a conduit for organization and action. Undoubtedly, progressive organizations like the League of Women Voters, which formed in 1920, were an outgrowth of those clubs.
My mother, Jane L. Katz, was a longtime member and a lobbyist for the Alabama state League of Women Voters. I have memories of her sitting at her electric Smith-Corona and typing away at tedious lists that tracked status and votes on legislative bills of interest to the League—education, the environment, constitutional reform, judicial reform, ethics reform, home rule.
I remember her taking me to a site to show me what strip mining actually looked like when a coal company was finished ravaging the land. She worked hard for the Equal Rights Amendment, which had as much chance of passing in my state (Alabama) as a law against football. I followed her to the state legislature while she talked to white male senators about why a bill was important and I will never forget how they looked down at her condescendingly. It made me angry, but she just continued to present her points with charm, wit, and irrefutable logic. The experience turned me off to politics, but gave me a deep respect for my mother. I know she would be saddened that many of the issues she fought for have yet to come about, but she would be proud of today’s many strong women’s voices speaking up for the values she so believed in and fought for. She and my grandmother began my love of reading and books. Today, it’s estimated that over 5 million book clubs exist and 70-80% of the members are women.
A special childhood memory is my parents chuckling over a New Yorker cartoon my father cut out and showed to friends—Two stuffy businessmen are talking quietly. One says, “But she is a mere woman!” The other replies, “Haven’t you heard? Women are not so mere anymore.”
I’m not a politician. I’m a writer. My mother died decades ago, and sometimes I feel guilty not following in her footsteps. But I think she would have been proud that the women in my books are not “mere.” And I am proud and excited that I might see in my lifetime an exceptional woman in the White House. I even dare to hope it might change the world.
Whether that time is here or not, it is a gift and a closing of the circle connecting me with my mother and all her predecessors to know the heritage of feminist activism—the striving for a society where women’s thoughts, ideas, and work are equally respected—began with a group of women, perhaps a cup of tea, and a book.
T.K. Thorne writes about what moves her, following a flight path of curiosity, reflection, and imagination. Check out her (fiction and nonfiction) books at TKThorne.com
Dogs as Characters
by Saralyn Richard
Those of us who love dogs as much or more than we love people, understand that dogs possess all the qualities of fictional characters. They are intelligent, communicative, emotive, comforting, resourceful, energetic, hard-working, friendly, and sometimes heroic. Less often, some dogs are irritable, withdrawn, mean-spirited, selfish, and sometimes villainous.
Most of the time in fiction, dogs have positive traits, and, as characters, they help to move the story along by their actions and relationships with the other characters. We can all think of dog books that have stimulated our thoughts and tugged our heartstrings over the years. Old Yeller, Sounder, Clifford, Marley & Me, and Rin Tin Tin are examples. Other stories, like A Dog’s Purpose, promote dogs to main characters whose arcs are the focus of the plots.
Two of my favorite mystery authors with recurring canine characters are Margaret Mizushima and Laurie Bucanan.
Margaret’s Timber Creek K-9 mysteries feature a police dog named Robo, who sometimes steals the show from heroine, Mattie Cobb. The first of this series is Killing Trail, which is available at https://bookshop.org/a/65584/9781639103867 at a discounted price.*
Laurie’s Sean McPherson series is set at a writers’ retreat in the Pacific Northwest, where the owners’ dog, Hemingway, helps solve murders. The first in the series, Indelible, is also discounted at https://bookshop.org/a/65584/9781684630714 *
Both authors are avid dog owners and dog lovers, just like me. I love reading their descriptions of Robo and Hemingway. I feel like I know the dogs, even though they are fictional.
I also enjoy memorializing my dogs by including them in my fiction. While my series character, Detective Parrott, doesn’t have a dog (his cockatiel Horace serves as primary pet), all of my other protagonists do. Quinn McFarland from Bad Blood Sisters has a West Highland white terrier, Calvin. Sally Pearce in A Murder of Principal has a bichon named Archie. One of the secondary characters in Murder Outside the Box has a golden retriever named Lucy. Coincidentally or not, I have or have had the same three dogs.
Then there’s Nana, the Old English sheepdog pup, who narrates Naughty Nana, a children’s picture book. Nana’s story borders on nonfiction, with its tale of mischief and pandemonium from the puppy who just wants to have fun. (Naughty Nana is available autographed, pawtographed, and with optional literacy activities at https://palmcirclepress.com on the bookstore page.)
What is your favorite doggie character in a work of fiction?
*Your purchase from one of these affiliate links will result in a tiny commission for me, at no cost to you or the author. Another small commission will go to a collective account that benefits bookstores throughout the United States.
The Meet Cute
/in Paula Gail Benson, Anthologies, How to Write, humor, Ideas, Romance, Shakespeare, Short Stories, Writing and the Arts/by Paula Bensonby Paula Gail Benson
Cover from First LRWA Anthology
Currently, I’m working on an up-to-10,000 word short story for the third Lowcountry Romance Writers’ (LRWA) anthology. The story must somehow involve South Carolina and a vacation.
I’m basing mine on characters I developed in my story that appeared in the first LRWA anthology. It’s been fun to give this couple its own romance since they were the antagonists in the original story. Figuring out how two basically disagreeable folks become likable and get together has been both challenging and delightful!
During a brainstorming session with some of the other anthology contributors, I described the female protagonist’s situation, background, and desires. She was focused on finding a way to connect with her 10-year-old daughter, who seemed more in sync with the ex-husband and his fiancée. I was interrupted from describing my character’s angst with the question: what’s her love interest and where’s the “meet cute”?
I’d heard the term “meet cute” and recognized the concept. Wikipedia, referencing Merriam-Webster, describes it as: “a scene in media, in which two people meet for the first time, typically under unusual, humorous, or cute circumstances, and go on to form a future romantic couple.” Wikipedia illustrated the entry with a depiction of Romeo and Juliet’s first meeting.
Image that appears in Wikipedia
Romeo and Juliet opens with a “meet cute”? I had to reread the play.
So, Romeo is pining after Rosalind, who is a Capulet niece. The Capulets are trying to fix Juliet up with Paris. Then, Romeo sneaks into the Capulets’ banquet at their home. Tybalt protests his presence, but Mr. Capulet says, don’t call attention to him. Meanwhile, Romeo sees and zeroes in on Juliet. After some fancy talk about pilgrims’ hands meeting in prayer resembling kissing, they trade a few smooches.
Okay. I understand the setup as a “meet cute.” Romeo goes to romance the girl he’s fascinated by and instead falls in love with the daughter of his family’s worst enemy. It’s the story’s tragic overtones (not to mention all the pilgrims’ hands speeches) that obscure the humor of that scene.
I thought about some of my favorite Rom-Coms: Legally Blonde, where Elle meets Emmett at Harvard, or Shakespeare in Love, where the bard first sees his muse dressed in male attire and auditioning for a role. One of my favorite romances is Lisa Kleypas’ The Devil in Winter, one of her wallflower series. The couple are acquainted but have their actual first face-to-face meeting after the male has kidnapped the female’s friend in a previous book. Evangeline Jenner is the shy, stuttering daughter of a wealthy gambling house owner who approaches Sebastian, Lord Vincent, one of London’s best-known rakes to save her from her relatives’ manipulations. That initial scene sizzles with sexual tension.
Could I do that with my characters? I’ve tried by having them reconnect at a restaurant where the female does not at first recognize the male, who is her server. I asked for some feedback from another writing group and was fascinated to hear their reactions to this couple. The group had a lot of good suggestions and questions. I always find questions encouraging because it means readers want to know more.
What’s your favorite “meet cute” scene and has it ever involved unlikable characters?
Cover of LRWA Anthology Volume 2
Discovering the donair
/in Author Life, Uncategorized/by donalee MoultonIn my latest book, Conflagration!, food is the foundation for a friendship that springs up in 1734 between the main character Philippe Archambeau, a court clerk, and the jailer he befriends. Lunch becomes a means to extract information, then it becomes much more.
In my first book Hung Out to Die the main character, an American transplanted to Nova Scotia, discovers the delicious joy of the donair. Many people have never heard of this juicy, meat-filled, garlicky concoction, but it is the official food of Halifax. Popular history says the donair – spicy meat wrapped in a pita and embraced with lots of sweet sauce – was invented in Halifax in the 1970s where it rapidly became a must-have menu item for late-night partiers, snackers, and food aficionados.
As my main character, Riel Brava, discovers, the donair can be a little difficult to eat. There is an art to juggling a stuffed pita while licking sauce off your face and adjusting foil wrap to get more donair in your mouth.
The recipe below avoids that dilemma. It’s an appetizer compliments of the Dairy Farmers of Canada. I have adapted the recipe slightly.
Let me know how it tastes.
Donair Dip
Ingredients
Donair Sauce
Preparation