Tag Archive for: Evelyn David

Creating Lottawatah, Oklahoma

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Despite what readers from eastern Oklahoma believe, Lottawatah, Oklahoma doesn’t exist except in the Brianna Sullivan Mysteries series. I’ve given several library talks concerning the reluctant psychic stuck in a small town, adjacent to Lake Eufaula, just south of Interstate Highway I-40. Everyone thinks they know exactly where it is, some are certain that they’ve been there.

But, really guys, Lottawatah doesn’t exist. I made it up. Well, sort of. There is a road named “Lotawatah” (note: we changed the spelling so we’d have deniability in the case any angry Lotawatahians showed up, offended and seeking compensation for the pain and suffering our portrayal of his/her road had allegedly caused.)

Anyway, the real Lotawatah Road intersects I-40 a few miles west of the lake. Anyone who has driven I-40 east from Oklahoma City to Ft. Smith, Arkansas has seen the road sign. I’ve driven by it hundreds of times. I loved the name, I loved saying the word. And believe me, if an author loves something, it’s going to show up in a book.

My co-author and I have written seven Brianna Sullivan Mysteries. (Yes, seven, the last one, Missing in Lottawatah, is going to be born later this week. It was a long, difficult pregnancy, and at one point we feared we’d need drugs and metal forceps to get it out, but it’s done.) The first book in the series, I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries, had psychic Brianna stopping in Lottawatah for gas and fried pies – not in that order. A ghost hopped in her motor home, begging for her help with a kidnapping. Brianna made the mistake of trying to convey that information to the local police, met the surly but handsome Cooper Jackson, and the rest is history.

Creating the town of Lottawatah was done one or two businesses at a time per book. As you leave I-40 and drive into Lottawatah proper, you’ll pass by Tiny’s Diner. It’s your typical small town diner; abeit a little more rundown than most.

Good EATS…World Famous Apple P…rust Me. The diner hadn’t had any glory days, even in its glory days. The linoleum was butt ugly when it was first installed, maybe 30 years earlier. Flecks of brown on a tan background. Maybe the idea was to hide the dirt…it wasn’t working. I slid onto the cracked red vinyl stool at the Formica counter and looked expectantly at the guy with a stained t-shirt, standing behind the counter.

I ordered a cheeseburger, fries, and a piece of their world famous pie, then surreptitiously rubbed the grease from the menu on my jeans. I briefly wondered if they sold wine, but decided that a healthy glass of Maalox would be the perfect beverage to accompany my dinner.

The next place Brianna visited was the Lottawatah Police Station.

I shifted on the chair and finished the last stale peanut in the cellophane bag I’d purchased from the station’s only vending machine. 10 pm. I’d been waiting more than three hours. Most of the police force, all 8 of them if you include the secretary and maintenance man, had been marching in the Fourth of July parade over on Main until about an hour ago. I’d been stuck with the pregnant staff sergeant whose swollen ankles precluded her joining the Independence Day celebrations.

Even in a small town, a girl has to go somewhere to get her roots touched up and find clues about whodunnit. Sheer Artistry Hair Salon was just the place.

Margo stole a side glance at Sunny, before turning back to me. “Candy and I had a little chat while she did my nails this afternoon. She mentioned you’d been asking around about me and Martha. You’re a smart woman Brianna. Sheer Artistry is the place to go to find out where all the bodies are buried.” Darn, Beverly. Between her and Candy, the women were unstoppable gossip machines. The whole town probably knew my business.

Since Brianna arrived in Lottawatah in her motor home, she needed somewhere to park it and a part-time job to cover expenses. She found both at a resort on Lake Eufaula.

Ghost or no ghost. Cooper or no Cooper, it was time to get to work. I pulled on my uniform, a pair of khaki shorts and a green polo shirt, with LEC in block letters next to a pine tree and a fish. I thought it suggested that the area was full of dead fish lying next to trees, but Jack Fulsom, the owner, testily informed me that I was missing the high concept nature of the design. High concept my behind! But in exchange for a free full hookup for Matilda, and a commission for every time-share sale I made, I was more than willing to sing the praises of this new, promising condo and cabin lakeside resort. And that meant wearing the cheesy t-shirt. I walked out of air-conditioned Matilda into air so thick you could chew it. The sales office was down a pine-canopied path near the water. I might be getting a free hookup for Matilda, but I wasn’t getting a lake view.

Jobs in Lottawatah don’t last too long. By February, Brianna was working at a new job and our fictional town of Lottawatah got another new business.

If I was late for my job at Pearl’s Soak and Spin one more time, I’d be unemployed and would almost certainly have to hit the road in search of gas and food money. Lottawatah’s economy, if it ever had one, had crashed long before the rest of the nation. Jobs, as Miss Pearl had reminded me, didn’t grow on trees.

Even though Tiny’s Diner was the local hotspot, every town needs more than one place to eat.

By the time Will Dobson let me answer the phone, we’d pulled into the local barbeque joint’s parking lot on the edge of Lottawatah. Actually you could be at one end of town and almost see the city limits on the opposite side. Will Dobson had decided that we were going to get on I-40 and head west towards Oklahoma City. The shortest route was right through Lottawatah.

Will just laughed as I struggled with the dog. He didn’t notice I snagged my cell phone off the truck floor during the fracas. Outside, I bent down, like I was going to set the dog on the ground, but instead I ran, Leon under my arm like a furry football. I managed enough for a first down before sliding out of bounds under Arnold–the six foot high concrete pig, beloved mascot and icon of the Pig Palace Barbeque Joint. Will Dobson got off one shot. Arnold lost his manhood, but Leon and I just kept sliding until we buried up in a snow bank.

That’s all the time (and word space) that I have for our short tour of Lottawatah. To learn more, check out the books. Or you can take that exit off I-40 and see if you can find it. I dare you!

Rhonda
aka The Southern Half of Evelyn David

Brianna Sullivan Mysteries – e-book series
I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
The Dog Days of Summer in Lottawatah- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
The Holiday Spirit(s) of Lottawatah- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
Undying Love in Lottawatah- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
A Haunting in Lottawatah – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
Lottawatah Twister – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords

Sullivan Investigations Mystery – e-book series
Murder Off the Books Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
Murder Takes the Cake Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
Riley Come Home (short story)- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords

Romances
Love Lessons – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords

Sentimental or Silly?

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I just had my dining room chairs recovered. Supposedly the material is able to withstand a full-scale assault of spaghetti sauce and chocolate. Durable was my primary criteria. The chairs are from my mother’s house. I inherited the dining room; my sister took the living room set. Mom had “good” furniture, well-made and built to last forever. But I confess I didn’t like the chairs as a kid, still not crazy about them as an adult. But recovering them was lots cheaper than replacing them with new, so it was an easy decision.

In other words, despite the fact that they are from my beloved mother, the original Evelyn, I could care less if I have the chairs, buffet, and table. I have no sentimental attachment to them. On the other hand, I have a slightly chipped, green square platter that I bring out for every special occasion because I remember my mother used it constantly when I was growing up. I love that platter and I could move from our house into a one-room apartment, and the platter would come with me.

This has all been swirling around in my head since several of my friends have recently downsized. Furniture, china, silver, have all found new homes or been donated to worthy charities. Got me to thinking about sentiment, what resonates, what doesn’t.

Needless to say, every handscribbled note from my kids and husband, parents and sister, is a treasure which is tossed into an ever-increasing group of boxes marked, MEB Memorabilia. But I’m not sure why I have moved my father’s old lawbooks to each of our five houses, since the man never practiced law. Still, he moved them cross-country when he made the decision not to be an attorney, so I keep thinking if they meant something to him, I should continue to schlep them around.

When we were breaking up Mom’s apartment, my husband reminded me that none of the “stuff” was the essence of my mother. He’s right, of course. But it’s not only that I get comfort from seeing these familiar items on special occasions, but I feel like Mom, Dad, and my sister are actually with me, enjoying the moments that I know they would have cherished. So when Riley, my first granddaughter was being born, while sitting impatiently in the hospital waiting room, I would check the watch that my Dad gave my mother. It’s the equivalent of an old Timex, but on my wrist, I had the two of them with me to share the joy.

Not sure if it makes sense – and maybe sentiment doesn’t have to be rational. But this Thanksgiving, if you’re at my house, help yourself to some turkey. It’s on the green platter, of course.

Stiletto Faithful – are you sentimental? What’s your green platter equivalent?

Marian

Brianna Sullivan Mysteries – e-book series
I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
The Dog Days of Summer in Lottawatah- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
The Holiday Spirit(s) of Lottawatah- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
Undying Love in Lottawatah- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
A Haunting in Lottawatah – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
Lottawatah Twister – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords

Sullivan Investigations Mystery – e-book series
Murder Off the Books Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
Riley Come Home (short story)- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords

Romances
Love Lessons – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords

Finding Yourself – Again

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For most Rabbis, the Yom Kippur sermon is a “showstopper”. It’s the biggest, most captive audience a Rabbi is likely to get all year. Many non-observant Jews, who otherwise don’t set foot in a synagogue, show up on the Day of Atonement. So the topic is often bold, provocative, urging you to repent and reflect. This year was a little different and it certainly got me to thinking.

My Rabbi began with a story. He recounted how he spends one week every year teaching a Bible course in Mexico. Over time, he’s developed a close friendship with one of the families there. Prior to this year’s class, the mother of the family had spent months in Texas, battling cancer, in a fight that frankly no one thought she’d survive. Thankfully, she did. She had returned to Mexico, but of course, the treatment took its toll physically. She was thin, balding, frail.

So my Rabbi said he was not surprised when the woman said she had a question for him. He was prepared to answer the inevitable: “why me?”

But instead, the woman said, “Am I still me?” It wasn’t the physical changes that worried her. Instead she was frightened that she had lost the essence of who she was. That cancer had claimed not her life, but her identity.

The Rabbi’s answer to the woman was thoughtful, gentle, and reassuring. Yes, cancer had changed her life, but it hadn’t changed the essence of who she was. She remained a kind, caring, generous, intellectually curious individual.

Life can make us doubt who we fundamentally are. It’s more obvious when it’s an illness; the physical changes can be traumatic. But doubt rears its ugly head in other situations. The loss of a job often threatens one’s identity. I know a brilliant man who was let go from his high-powered, high-paying position after 35 years with the company (after a mega-merger). In this economy, at his age, it was almost impossible to find a job, and certainly not one at his previous level. His professional and personal identities were intertwined. For him, and so many others who are unemployed, job loss equals identity loss.

Or take the case of another woman I know. She recently separated from her husband of 30 years. Who was she if she wasn’t Mrs. X?

And it’s not just the difficult moments in life that can seed doubt. Getting married, as well as having a baby are both important game changers. Different surname or the new title of Mom can affect not only how others look at you, but how you look at yourself.

But with time (and patience), with the help of family and friends, perhaps with professional counseling, and in my case, with faith, you begin to find yourself…again. The outside may change; some of the circumstances of your life may change – but the essence of who you are is still there.

I’ll remember that for myself. I’ll remember that when someone is in crisis. It’s easy to bring a casserole, but what I must bring is reassurance. I’ll remind my friend: You’re still YOU.

Marian

Brianna Sullivan Mysteries – e-book series

I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
The Dog Days of Summer in Lottawatah- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
The Holiday Spirit(s) of Lottawatah- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
Undying Love in Lottawatah- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
A Haunting in Lottawatah – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
Lottawatah Twister – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords

Sullivan Investigations Mystery – e-book series
Murder Off the Books Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
Riley Come Home (short story)- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords

Romances
Love Lessons – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords

Where are the Grown-Ups?

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Kate Winslet is on a roll. The Oscar, Emmy, and Golden Globes winner, recently added heroine to her list of triumphs when she literally carried a 90-year old woman to safety from a burning house. Perhaps even more impressive is Ms. Winslet’s view on divorce and kids. Now, of course what is said in an interview isn’t always a reflection of reality, but I sure hope so, because the twice-divorced mother of two said of her most recent split, “We’re grown-ups at the end of the day, and however hard it’s been for me, it’s been equally hard for him. And we have a child together who we both love — and raising him together, jointly and without any conflict, is absolutely key.”

I’ve got no idea how crazy David Arquette, actor and current Dancing with the Stars contestant, can be. His history of addiction to alcohol and drugs is well-known. But again, it appears that he and Courtney Cox are determined to co-parent their young daughter despite their messy break-up. Ms. Cox and daughter Coco have been in the front row of the dance competition every week, cheering on the often-times flat-footed, but enthusiastic Arquette.

I love when parents understand that they are the adults in the family. Bravo to the divorced couple who is determined that their kids will never be used as weapons or become collateral damage. Children are entitled to their childhoods, regardless of the status of their parents’ love lives. It’s the same reason why I’m so strident against reality shows that feature young kids. The private lives of children should not be used as entertainment for the masses nor as a method of supporting their families.

In the last sixteen months, since the birth of my granddaughter Riley, I’ve been reintroduced to the enormous responsibility that parenting entails. When I babysit and Riley snuggles down, head on my shoulder, completely relaxed as she falls asleep, I recognize the complete trust she has that I’ll take care of her, protect her, literally throw myself in front of the proverbial bus for her. That’s the essence of parenting. It’s what Riley’s parents give her every day.

Every child deserves that. Every child deserves the chance to see the world through innocent eyes. Every child deserves to believe that her Mom and Dad are heroes – willing and able to protect her at all costs. I’m not suggesting that once your child is born you forfeit your right to happiness or ambition. But your priorities must change. Your decisions must be weighted by the impact on someone so completely dependent on you.

All of which explains why I can’t read certain popular authors. It has nothing to do with their writing, which is extraordinary, and everything to do with the subject matter. I won’t read a story where a child is murdered or abused. It’s not that I don’t recognize that sadly too many kids have faced that fate. But I read for enjoyment. I love mysteries because I love puzzles, but no matter how compelling or perplexing the puzzle in a mystery may be, if the case involves a child being hurt, I can’t get past that fact to lose myself in the story.

This past weekend was Yom Kippur, the holiday that ends the Days of Awe, a time of reflection and redemption. I wish for every child and for each of you, a happy, healthy new year, full of love, joy, and peace.

Marian

Brianna Sullivan Mysteries – e-book series

I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
The Dog Days of Summer in Lottawatah- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
The Holiday Spirit(s) of Lottawatah- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
Undying Love in Lottawatah- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
A Haunting in Lottawatah – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
Lottawatah Twister – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords

I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries – Excerpt

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I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries, Vol. 1 of the Brianna Sullivan Mystery series by Evelyn David, contains two novella length stories – the title story, I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries and Buried But Not Dead in Lottawatah. The following is an excerpt from the first story.

I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries
Just say “no,” especially to ghosts.

Sometimes the voice in my head is mine, sometimes it’s not. Today it’s not.

There he goes again.

“Trust everybody, but cut the cards. Trust is a two-lane street and you’re on a one-way path. Love all, trust a few.”

“Shakespeare?” I took my eyes off the road long enough to glance around the cab of my motor home. So far my guest was just a voice. “Shakespeare. Who was the first one from? Kenny Rogers? And I think you just made up the second one.”

Silence reigned.

“So that’s all I get? Some quotes about trust?” That’s my lesson for today from beyond? The old geezer doesn’t have to tell me about trust. I try not to trust anyone who is still inhaling oxygen on a regular basis. Of course, ghosts aren’t saints either. They generally don’t lie outright; just stretch the truth to suit their purposes.

Who was my messenger today? And who didn’t he want me to trust?

****

It was late and I was tired. The lights from a diner flickered in the distance. “Good EATS…World Famous Apple P…rust Me.”

It took me a second to realize that some important lights in the sign had burned out. It took me another second to wonder if I was getting another message. Regardless, I needed a break.

I slowed down and pulled into the parking lot. Plenty of potholes and ruts and an old flagpole flying a tattered flag. It was Fourth of July weekend and I was happy to find anyplace open. Judging from the empty lot, it didn’t look like many people shared the owner’s belief in the tasty delights he was offering.

That was okay. Gave me more room to park Matilda, my 30-foot mobile home. I know. No need to name your mode of transportation, but I like to personalize things. I call my television, Burt; my cell phone, Juliet. Yeah, quirky is my middle name.

After I got sick a few years ago, I quit my job with the airlines. Let me tell you, those last few months, no one, and I mean no one, was better at finding lost luggage. My supervisor actually cried when I left. Cried. Big rolling tears and everything. Didn’t matter though. I’d made up my mind to travel and use my new skills to benefit more than the roaming public. A permanent vacation. But one that involved keeping both feet on the ground, or rather pavement.

I packed my bags, sold my house, cashed in some stock I’d inherited, and bought this home on wheels. Am I rambling again? Probably just hunger.
The diner hadn’t had any glory days, even in its glory days. The linoleum was butt ugly when it was first installed, maybe 30 years earlier. Flecks of brown on a tan background. Maybe the idea was to hide the dirt…it wasn’t working. I slid onto the cracked red vinyl stool at the Formica counter and looked expectantly at the guy with a stained t-shirt, standing behind the counter.

I ordered a cheeseburger, fries, and a piece of their world famous pie, then surreptitiously rubbed the grease from the menu on my jeans. I briefly wondered if they sold wine, but decided that a healthy glass of Maalox would be the perfect beverage to accompany my dinner.

Scooting across a couple of stools, I grabbed some copies of the local newspaper, which were stacked next to a Lions Club recycling box for used eyeglasses. It had been a long time since I’d seen one of those. There was a Kiwanis banner hanging on the wall. I’d also noticed a March of Dimes jar near the cash register when I’d entered. Small towns were notoriously big on civic groups and charities and writing about who was doing the most good works.

I loved reading these weekly journals. Fresh, honest journalism about the things that really matter to people. Reading the local papers was the quickest way I’d found to get to know the people in the communities I was traveling through, up close and personal. I mean if I just wanted to see things from a distance I would be flying my way across country, if I didn’t hate to fly, which I do. If God had wanted me to fly with the birds he would have pasted a few feathers on my ass.

Traveling in Matilda lets me stop where I want whenever anything of interest strikes my fancy. And Lottawatah, population 1,452 according to the sign I passed a half mile back, was a hotbed of…drive-by mailbox graffiti, if the lead editorial in last week’s newspaper was any indication. In a strongly-worded statement, the editors decried the lack of respect being shown the postal service by defacing the mailboxes. Damn straight. There was also a full listing of the holiday activities planned for Sunday, which was actually Independence Day.

I glanced at the headlines just as the counter guy flung my dinner down in front of me. The cheeseburger actually bounced a little, not a bad way to drain off some of the grease. I patted the rest off with my napkin.
“Blood, Body, But No Booty Found.” I liked this editor. He had a righteous sense of indignation about mailboxes and a good sense of the dramatic about what I gather was the town’s first bank robbery. I dipped my fries into the mountain of ketchup I’d squirted on my plate. Ketchup can fix just about any dish.

The crack police department of Lottawatah had already solved the murder case, although it appeared that the bank’s $200,000 was still missing. They’d arrested Dwight McIntyre, 24, son of the President of the Lottawatah Farmers Savings and Trust, Frank, and grandson of the bank’s founder, the late Victor McIntyre. A photo spread of the three men at a charity golf outing was splashed across the bottom half of the front page.

Savings and Trust. Damn. The photo told me more than I wanted to know. I threw some money down on the counter and headed for Matilda. It was time to get the hell out of Dodge, or rather, Lottawatah. I didn’t know Dwight or his dad, but I sure knew Victor. He of fortune cookie wisdom. I needed to get out of that town before my heartburn kicked into high gear or Victor had any more advice.

****

I backed Matilda out of the parking lot and headed down the highway. I fiddled with the radio until I found a classic rock station. A little sweet baby James Taylor always soothed my nerves.

“Golf is a game where the ball always lies poorly and the player always lies well.”

“Get out.” I knew it was stupid to tell a ghost to get out because they’re pretty much out already. But I was tired of listening to Victor and his cryptic comments. And I hated golf.

“The uglier a man’s legs are, the better he plays golf–it’s almost a law.”
“Okay, that can’t have anything to do with your grandson and the murder, right? Now you’re just trying to annoy me.”

“He didn’t do it.” The voice of doom echoed off the insides of Matilda.
He was trying to intimidate me with the Charlton Heston act. He’d have done better with a telemarketer spiel. I have the hardest time hanging up on them. Just doesn’t seem polite.

“Are you listening to me? HE DIDN’T DO IT!”

“Dial it down a notch, will ya? Why should I believe you?”

“Why not?”

Good question, because I did believe him. I wondered if I would have believed him if he sounded like Daffy Duck. Yeah, it was the voice that closed the deal. Like Moses coming down from the mountain.

“Okay, but I’m going to need a little information.” I figured it was time for Victor to be practical. If he wanted to help his grandson, he was going to have to give me something to work with.

“Tell the police not to trust the big cat.”

“Cat? Sure, that’ll go over well. Nothing like a psychic talking to the police about cats.”

“Tell them.”

I could barely hear him.

A cold wind came rushing through the cab of the motor home.

“Wait! Victor! Damn. What do you expect me to do with that?”

Silence.

“Okay! Just be that way. See if I care. It’s your grandson.”

I was at the edge of Lottawatah. A peeling sign bade me farewell. I could just keep moving down the highway and nobody would know any different. If Dwight McIntyre was innocent the police would figure it out–without any help from me. The traffic light turned red, then green, but still I didn’t move. Nobody would believe me. I’d get laughed out of the police station.
I let out the clutch and started forward, then braked. The photo from the front page of the newspaper was stuck to Matilida’s dash, with …. I looked closer. Some kind of…Blackberries. It was blackberries from my untouched pie–or at least untouched by me.

Lucky nobody else was on the road. Otherwise those 180-degree maneuvers get tricky. I headed back into town. I’d pass on the info about the big cat, then leave. I’d give Victor that much. He’d saved me from at least 300 calories.

****

I rubbed my forehead. It was late and I was tired. The chair seat was like a rock and my thirty-five-year old tailbone was protesting the abuse. I glanced at my watch. Almost two hours since I’d walked into the police station. Most of that time I’d been sitting on this torture device. It was my own fault though–I’ve never been able to say no to a ghost.

Okay, that’s a lie. I have said no to several whose idea of a good time was scaring the you-know-what out of some of their relatives–a high-spirited sort of revenge from beyond the grave thing. I’m smiling. Yes, I know you can’t see me.

By the way, I’m five ten, long blonde hair, and I have a model’s figure.
Okay. Some of that’s not true.

Don’t laugh.

Maybe most of that’s not true. But that’s how I see myself and that’s the important part. It’s all in your attitude. And hey, I do have blonde streaks in my hair. I put them there myself.

Like I said, or maybe like I intended to say since I’m aware that I have a tendency to ramble, I’ve never said no to someone who needed my help, not if they stuck around long enough to hear my answer.

Are you still there? Of course you are. I’ve also been told I’m fascinating. Maybe not as often as I’ve been called irritating, but I prefer to dwell on the positive. I have certain abilities that are in great demand by people in transit–the ones who got off the outbound bus because they have unfinished business and those stubborn ones who never intend to purchase a ticket.

By the way, I’m Brianna Sullivan and I’m a psychic. And this chair is a pain in the butt.
_______

For More – check out the Brianna Sullivan Mysteries e-book series. 

Brianna Sullivan Mysteries – e-book series
I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
The Dog Days of Summer in Lottawatah- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
The Holiday Spirit(s) of Lottawatah- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
Undying Love in Lottawatah- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
A Haunting in Lottawatah – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
***New – Lottawatah Twister – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords

The Sullivan Investigation Series
Murder Drops the Ball (Spring 2011)
Murder Takes the Cake- Paperback – Kindle
Murder Off the Books- Paperback – Kindle
Riley Come Home (short story)- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords

Romances
Love Lessons – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords

Coming to a Television Near You

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Today’s blog is a perfect example of why everyone should write with a partner. This is Marian writing about Rhonda’s interest in the upcoming television season.

Why, you ask? I mean there are really two questions. Why don’t I, Marian, write about my own interest in the upcoming television season? That answer is easy. I don’t watch much television other than cooking shows, old movies, and the news (and yes, I tape Extreme Couponing, but I’d prefer that not to get around). It’s not that I’m averse to TV. I watched it nonstop for years. It’s just lately, I haven’t found a “must-see” show. When I do, I promise to put it on my DVR list.

Second question. Why is Marian writing about what Rhonda wants to watch this Fall? Again, easy answer. Rhonda’s Mom is coming for a visit so there is whirlwind, power cleaning going on in Oklahoma. No time for writing blogs about television, let alone watching any.

Sooooo – the new television season begins this week. First, another question. Why do the television powers that be feel that the nation needs to watch a new version of Charlie’s Angels? Have we not already goine through a half dozen Angels in its first incarnation, and then suffered through two movies of the same name? Is there nothing new that appealed to ABC?

Also, let me ask another question of those ABC television execs? Pam Am? Really? A show that focuses on pilots and airline stewardesses – when pilots were only male and stewardesses were only female? I’m all for retro, but can we skip some of the gender stereotypes?

Or how about the new show entitled The Playboy Club? Need I say anything??

Alright, back to Rhonda’s list.

She’s looking forward to some old favorites:

NCIS – which has a strong ensemble with smart women and as she points out, what can be bad about a show that has Mark Harmon?

The Good Wife – again, strong, smart women, but Rhonda’s complaint is that they have drawn out the will they-won’t they relationship of Good Wife and handsome co-worker. Rhonda’s no longer, pardon the pun, passionately interested in if they do or don’t.

Parenthood – the writing and acting feels fresh to her. The Northern half of Evelyn David, who may not watch television but does follow the gossip columns, pointed out that Peter Krause and Lauren Ambrose are dating, and they play brother and sister on the show. Rhonda didn’t know that little tidbit, nor care.

Harry’s Law – it’s all about Kathy Bates, who according to Rhonda, “I’d watch her eat.”

As to new shows, Rhonda mentioned:

Terra Nova – dinosaurs and time traveling humans, a perfect combo.

American Horror Story – think Dark Shadows, couple buys a house with a creepy creature living in the basement (in this real estate market, they’re going to have problems with resale).

Hell on Wheels – think The Fugitive set in the post-Civil War era while building the transcontinental railroad. Confederate soldier searches for Union soldier who killed his wife (don’t know if Union soldier has only one arm).

So Stiletto Faithful, what are you watching and what are you hoping to see in the new television season?

Marian and Rhonda, the collective Evelyn David

Check out the Brianna Sullivan Mysteries e-book series. 

Brianna Sullivan Mysteries – e-book series
I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
The Dog Days of Summer in Lottawatah- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
The Holiday Spirit(s) of Lottawatah- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
Undying Love in Lottawatah- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
A Haunting in Lottawatah – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
***New – Lottawatah Twister – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords

The Sullivan Investigation Series
Murder Drops the Ball (Spring 2011)
Murder Takes the Cake- Paperback – Kindle
Murder Off the Books- Paperback – Kindle
Riley Come Home (short story)- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords

Romances
Love Lessons – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords

Letters from Home

/in /by

.

I’m a Model-T in a Maserati world; a propeller plane in a SST universe; in plain language, I’m a dinosaur, and if the news is right, I’m about to be extinct.

The U.S. Postal Service is going under, maybe as early as next year, and I, for one, will miss it.

The speed and cost (free) of email is hard to resist. In fact, I don’t. I communicate with many family and friends via the Internet. You may find interesting that until we had completed the first draft of Murder Off the Books, I had never spoken to the Southern half of Evelyn David. We wrote that mystery, as well as a handful of short stories, through email exchanges, eventually moving to instant messaging.

But, perhaps like live theater which is personalized in a way that can never be duplicated on the tiny or giant screen, there is nothing quite so touching as a hand-written note, in the childish scrawl of a little one or the well-practiced penmanship of an adult. I treasure the letters from my parents, both now long gone. I find a glance at their handwriting is a perpetual comfort. I’ve kept the birthday and Mother’s Day cards from my children, smiling at the crayon scribbles when they couldn’t yet write moving on to the shaky, backwards letters that accompanied first attempts to print the word “Love” and their names.

I even have love letters, yes, romantic letters sent by my then-boyfriend (now husband) the summer he spent in Africa. That period apart, and those thoughtful letters that described what he was seeing and what he was feeling, were a critical part of transforming a burgeoning relationship into one of commitment.

Surely, the thoughts could have been typed using two thumbs onto an i-Phone or twittered in 140 character transmissions, and then sent through the ether to me. Alternatively, we could have Skyped and talked, albeit with the inevitable 2-second delay. But letters, with his distinctive penmanship, were a treasure during the long days we were apart, and a comfort to be reread each night. My mother-in-law kept the letters her husband wrote her during World War II, when they were apart for 3+ years, until shortly before her death. She chose to destroy them, intent on keeping those moments between them secret and sacred. Unlike computer files which seem virtually indestructible, paper letters, worn thin from years of being reread, do succumb to destruction should the owner opt for that.

With no postal service, does it mean that the annual Christmas card letter will go the way of the dodo? Many folks hate those missives, but I enjoy catching up, if only once a year, with friends from long ago. Or those ubiquitous holiday catalogues? I know that they are ecologically wasteful, but I can remember perusing them and dreaming for weeks of gifts that might come.

I’ve got nothing but good things to say about our local post office and most especially about Ernie, who has been delivering our mail for 20 years. He knows the people on his route so well that when an elderly lady failed to pick up her mail one day, he called the police to check on her. Turns out that she had fallen and his kindness was a life-saver. When the first three of my kids were awaiting college decisions, back when you got a fat envelope or thin one depending on the result, when the wait for the morning mail was endless to an anxious high school senior, Ernie would arrange to meet us behind the post office, before he began his rounds, to personally deliver the sought-after mail. And certainly not to be discounted, for the writer living as a hermit in her garett churning out murder and mayhem or even a new mom home alone all day with a wailing infant, waiting for the mailman to come is often the highlight of the day

I understand the economics of the post office no longer make sense. I’ve no doubt that there is waste and inefficiency and a new business model is needed. And like many other things – and people – the post office will have to reinvent itself in order to survive, much less prosper.

In the meantime, drop me a line.

Marian, the Northern half of Evelyn David

——————–

Check out the Brianna Sullivan Mysteries e-book series. 

Brianna Sullivan Mysteries – e-book series
I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
The Dog Days of Summer in Lottawatah- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
The Holiday Spirit(s) of Lottawatah- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
Undying Love in Lottawatah- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
A Haunting in Lottawatah – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
***New – Lottawatah Twister – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords

The Sullivan Investigation Series
Murder Drops the Ball (Spring 2011)
Murder Takes the Cake- Paperback – Kindle
Murder Off the Books- Paperback – Kindle
Riley Come Home (short story)- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords

Romances
Love Lessons – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords

Happy Labor Day

/in /by

 

Check Out Evelyn David’s Books! 

Brianna Sullivan Mysteries – e-book series
I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
The Dog Days of Summer in Lottawatah- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
The Holiday Spirit(s) of Lottawatah- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
Undying Love in Lottawatah- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
A Haunting in Lottawatah – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
***New – Lottawatah Twister – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords

The Sullivan Investigation Series
Murder Drops the Ball (Spring 2011)
Murder Takes the Cake- Paperback – Kindle
Murder Off the Books- Paperback – Kindle
Riley Come Home (short story)- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords

Romances
Love Lessons – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords

Goodnight Irene Diary

/in /by

Saturday, August 27 – morning
I hesitate to write this, because we’ve still got three more hours on the storm clock, but thankfully this hasn’t been as bad as the pundits predicted, at least in my area. I’m not complaining for one second. I’m grateful, eternally grateful. But given that the week started with an earthquake, which is to say the least unusual for New York, and ended with a hurricane, following a summer of desert-like temps, I couldn’t help but wonder if there were some celestial message I was supposed to divine from all these events. At Passover, we intone the ten plagues that befell Pharoah before his whole world fell apart. Should I be looking for locusts next?

But I also confess there is something about hunkering down before and during a storm that appeals to the pioneer woman in me (and it’s hard to be much of a pioneer woman when you’re 20 miles from the Big Apple). But I put in my supplies (chocolate chips and chocolate ice cream), and baked and cooked like we were going to be stranded on the prairie for weeks on end.

In what must be one of those memories from childhood which is delightful to the kid, less so to the Mom, I remember a huge snowstorm that paralyzed Baltimore. My Dad traveled for work, and my mother used to insist that he’d read the weather reports and head for the state line every time a storm approached. And this one was a doozy. No electricity or heat for days. No telephone or television. My Mom heated canned soup in a coffee carafe over a sterno light. I thought it was the coolest thing ever. At night, we slept at a neighbor’s house (why he had heat and we didn’t I have no clue). The kids had a super sleepover, and the adults stayed up late and played cards.

I have nothing but fun memories of that Baltimore blizzard, but I’m pretty sure that Mom and Dad had a lengthy conversation when he returned.

So we seemed to have skated through this latest storm with but a few branches on the ground and maybe a few extra pounds from all the “hunkering down” we’ve done.

Saturday, August 27 – afternoon

I spoke too soon. An hour after writing the blog entry we lost electrical power. Very frustrating.

Sunday, August 28 – morning

Still no power. The subway flooding means my husband will have to drive my daughter back into NYC this evening. My pioneer spirit is fading. I need to check out how much it will cost to buy a generator and have it installed.

Sunday, August 28 – evening

The force is with us again. Yea! We have hot showers, television, and enough light to read. Life is good.

Monday, August 29 – morning

We lost electricity again last night – about 10 pm. ConEd predicts repairs will be completed on the downed lines in our area sometime around midnight on September 1 – Thursday. I know others have it much worse, but I’m having a hard time finding a positive life lesson in all this.

Tuesday, August 30 – morning

Stiletto Faithful, can you share your best – or worst – storm memories? Remember misery loves company – or in the alternative – a good laugh. I’ll be reading your comments on my laptop at the public library, an oasis of normal in our small town. They still have books, power – and free internet!

Marian, the Northern, wet half of Evelyn David

————-

 

Want to read more?
Check out the Brianna Sullivan Mysteries e-book series. 

Brianna Sullivan Mysteries – e-book series
I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
The Dog Days of Summer in Lottawatah- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
The Holiday Spirit(s) of Lottawatah- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
Undying Love in Lottawatah- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
A Haunting in Lottawatah – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
***New – Lottawatah Twister – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords

The Sullivan Investigation Series
Murder Drops the Ball (Spring 2011)
Murder Takes the Cake- Paperback – Kindle
Murder Off the Books- Paperback – Kindle
Riley Come Home (short story)- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords

Romances
Love Lessons – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords

A Force of Nature

/in /by

I have a dream that little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

Next Sunday will mark the 48th anniversary of the March on Washington. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s stirring “I have a dream” speech still resonates. Sadly, his dream is not yet fulfilled, despite the intervening years.

I was there that sweltering summer day. I knew as the words rang out that it was a call to arms. But almost 50 years later, what I also want to pay tribute to is the woman who took me on the bus from Baltimore to be a part of that momentous day; the woman who taught me the importance of never judging anyone by the color of their skin, their religion, or their sexual preferences. As she took her young daughter to the March on Washington, she also took Helen Jones, the lady who came once a week to clean our house. I was too young to go by myself; Helen too scared. Both encouraged, supported, and protected by Big Evelyn, as my mother was known in her family (as distinguished from Little Evelyn, her cousin, who was indeed six inches shorter than she), Helen and I walked with Mom from the Washington Monument to the Lincoln Memorial, surrounded by hundreds of thousands of others, united in our quest for justice.

I’ve been thinking a lot about my mother. Her birthday is next month. She’s been gone for 23 years – just six weeks after my daughter was born. I am convinced that was no coincidence. She was so very sick, but absolutely determined to live to see her oldest grandchild graduate from high school and to hold her only granddaughter in her arms. My mother was a force of nature. There must have been times when she was scared and worried, but I never saw it. She was a product of the depression, an orphan by the age of 25, widowed by 28 with a 14-month old daughter to care for. But she took a second chance on love and married my Dad, and then had me. She taught me that you play the hand you’re dealt, you cope because that’s what you do. She laughed louder and longer than anyone. Loved designer clothes and put them on layaway to buy them. Had big feet – and a bigger heart.

She wasn’t perfect. She had a trigger temper, but didn’t hold a grudge. Demanded that you had good manners and showed respect for all people. Her best Jewish guilt line, that inevitably got me to do what I fervently didn’t want to do was: “Marian, you know what the right thing is.” Phooey, she always had me with that admonition — even when I was married and had kids of my own. She insisted that I do the right thing, even when the wrong thing would be easier and more fun.

She fought against injustice wherever she saw it. Her best friends reflected her belief that you choose your companions because you like them and share common interests, so they included an Orthodox Jew, a devout Catholic, an African-American Southern Baptist, and a host of others. If you enjoy good conversation, laughter, the theater, jazz, and yes, mystery novels, you’d have loved my mother.

It’s hard to live up to someone like Mom – and she’d be furious with me that I worry about that. But as I think back to that March on Washington, what an incredible gift she gave me. The lessons I learned from her, the original Evelyn, have lasted a lifetime.
Thanks Mom.

Marian, the Northern half of Evelyn David

Want to read more?
Check out the Brianna Sullivan Mysteries e-book series. 

Brianna Sullivan Mysteries – e-book series
I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
The Dog Days of Summer in Lottawatah- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
The Holiday Spirit(s) of Lottawatah- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
Undying Love in Lottawatah- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
A Haunting in Lottawatah – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
***New – Lottawatah Twister – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords

The Sullivan Investigation Series
Murder Takes the Cake- Paperback – Kindle
Murder Off the Books- Paperback – Kindle
Riley Come Home (short story)- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords

Romances

Love Lessons – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords