Characters That Form Our Lives

and Later Come Alive in Our Stories

by Jackie King

One of my earliest memories is sitting in a circle with my brother, sister and various neighbor kids as my mother told us stories. Delia Hodges Sprague could spin a yarn about any character or characters we might name. Let’s say that I wanted a story about Cinderella, my sister Joan wanted the heroine to be Wonder Woman and my brother J.D., chose Tarzan of the Apes.

No problem to Mother. She’d create one tale using each of these characters. The story would be exciting and it would make sense. At least to kids.

Delia Hodges Sprague was a storyteller, an actress, a teacher and a sometimes writer. This redheaded dynamo was smart, fun and very temperamental. My childhood was sometimes difficult, sometimes frightening and always challenging. But life was never boring.

Mother taught me to read, and when there was nothing to read, to make up stories inside my head and entertain myself with imaginary friends and foes.

Delia Hodges Sprague is often found in my books. Sometimes she’s in the guise of a father, a mother or a best friend. In my latest mystery, MURDER AT THE EDGE OF NOWHERE set in the land of her childhood, the Oklahoma Panhandle, she’s walks and breathes in the character of Winnie Doolittle.

$3.99 at Amazon Kindle

Delia faced real danger with lionhearted courage: she rode boxcars from Oklahoma to New York state at the age of 20, challenged rattlesnakes in my grandparents pasture and tarantulas in the outhouse of a country school. But small things shattered her: imagined slights, walking into her bank to ask for a loan or having a conversation with her own father.

When I was a child she often awoke screaming bloody murder from recurrent nightmares; battled depression her entire life and fought breast cancer until her death. She was an extraordinary woman of courage. I loved her with all my heart. But she wasn’t an easy mother to have.

To see the best side of Delia Hodges Sprague, read MURDER AT THE EDGE OF NOWHERE, and observe Winnie Doolittle. To see the more complicated side of my mother, notice Emily Ashcroft.

Most everyone loved my mother—especially me. I hope you’ll enjoy her as Winnie Doolittle in MURDER ON THE EDGE OF NOWHERE

Below is a clipping from the end of chapter two after Liz O’Brien and Winnie Doolittle find cousin Christabel in Liz’s garage:

“Help!” Liz screamed. “Oh, my God. Someone. Anyone. Please help.” They stretched Christabel on the grass.

“Won’t do no good to yell.” Winnie’s voice was cold, toneless. “You know how to do that resuscitation thing?”

Liz forced herself to press her mouth against Christabel’s cold lips. Her gut twisted. Why didn’t someone drive by? She alternated the breathing routine with chest compression for what seemed forever, but she knew it was useless. Christabel was unresponsive. Liz felt for a pulse. Nothing.

“You might as well quit.” Winnie pulled at Liz’s shoulder. “She’s dead. We’ll have to call the police and tell them she killed herself.”

“But that’s crazy. Christabel would never commit suicide. Nothing could make me think that.”

“Oh, hell, Liz. Don’t be stupid. I’m not telling you what to think. I’m telling you what to say.”

Galley Proofs for MURDER AT THE EDGE OF NOWHERE

by Jackie King

Yesterday I received galley proofs of my latest mystery, MURDER AT THE EDGE OF NOWHERE. The odd thing in up-to-date publishing trends, at least with my small regional publisher, is that the ebook came out a few weeks ago. I’ve been reading this version and have been appalled at some of the errors. Did I do that? I ask myself, or was it the publisher’s editor, the publisher himself?

It doesn’t really matter. It’s my book, and I accept all responsibility for any mistakes. Which is what Galley Proofs are all about. The last ditch chance to catch and correct mistakes. 

For those who don’t know, Galley Proofs are pages of the novel sent to me online. I print them out on paper, or do a final $3.99 at Amazonedit on a copy online. My choice. 

The good news is that this means the paper version will soon be available.

Jackie at Work on Galley Proofs

And that’s what I’m doing just now—or it will be as soon as I finish this post. And according to both my calendar and my watch, I’d better get at it. Now!

Cheers, 

Jackie

My Latest Mystery--Suspense, Not Cozy

MURDER AT THE EDGE OF NOWHERE, is now available on Amazon Kindle!

Embezzlement, Blackmail and Murder

On the Oklahoma Panhandle!

When Liz O’Brien returns home to make peace with her ailing mother, she expects boredom and monotony. Instead, she finds a morass of secrets that land her in the crosshairs of a killer. Who would have thought that Tumbleweed, an Oklahoma panhandle town so tiny it could disappear as a mirage, would be rift with embezzlement, blackmail and murder?

Plus: The romantic designs of handsome cowboy from her past, really throw Liz for a loop.

Here’s how the story begins:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Prologue

“Everyone has something they want to hide, but you have more than most.” Christabel Steele flipped her hair backwards, a movement that she knew accentuated her beauty. She pictured her sleek, golden hair fanning in practiced perfection over her right shoulder. The gesture usually mesmerized men and annoyed women. But today her quarry’s eyes glazed with fear. Christabel licked her lips, savoring the moment. Like an antelope caught in underbrush. But instead of blood, I’ll taste money.

Emotional pain radiated from her dupe, and Christabel drew strength from the suffering. Her earliest memory was watching her father suck marrow from a steak bone while he skillfully tormented her pliable mother. Without so much as raising his voice, the man could cause his beautiful, gentle wife to turn pale as moonlight and cry like a baby. Christabel had watched and learned. Daddy had been dead five years now, but she still worshipped him. He had taught her well.

“I still have trouble understanding how you found out.”

“You mention that each time you come, and my answer never changes.” Christabel laughed. “Your tawdry little secret was clear to me from the beginning. I saw and recorded every detail in my journals.” Christabel swirled the half-filled champagne glass, never moving her gaze from her prey. “I’ve kept notes on what I’ve seen for a very long time. I started back in the second grade when I got in trouble for tellin     g people’s secrets.”

“You’ve been a monster since a child! A bad seed.”

“Oh, please.” Christabel licked her lips again, savoring her victim’s pain, which was stronger than she had expected.

“And you think people will continue paying forever?” The prey’s voice tightened and Christabel’s lips curved higher.

“Well you have, haven’t you?” Christabel moved her body sensuously against the sofa. “And not just in cash.” Her enjoyment intensified as the person’s misery grew. “I never tell my victims everything I know about their little indiscretions. A pinch of uncertainty adds excitement to the hunt. Then, the slightest hint of knowledge and you all get the same stricken look on your faces—like an antelope just before a mountain lion pounces. I watched that once on TV.”

The victim flinched and Christabel laughed.

“Growing up, I watched my parents carefully. I inherited Mother’s beauty, and Daddy’s brain. I learned how to get what I wanted by mirroring him.” Christabel smiled. “Knowing is power and power is even better than sex.”

“You’d do this even if cash wasn’t involved, wouldn’t you?”

Christabel arched an eyebrow. This one was smarter than she’d thought. “Perhaps. My family has run Tumbleweed since the late 1800s. We’ve always called the shots here—my father before me and his father before him. I like making people dance to my tune. And I like the money.”

Her life was perfect.

Then she remembered Liz. Why the hell hadn’t her cousin stayed in Tulsa where she belonged? Everyone claimed the bitch had been a huge success. Crashed through the glass ceiling and became VP of some company. Now she’d returned and wanted her house to herself.

She’d hated her cousin forever! It was Liz’s fault she’d gotten pregnant and had that embarrassing baby with his brown skin.

Christabel flicked her tongue across her scarlet lips remembering the night a heartbroken Liz had eloped on the rebound to marry that worthless Danny O’Brien. I thought she was gone forever. Oh, the hell with her.

Christabel took another swallow of the expensive wine. Her victim always brought the finest. She frowned and sniffed the glass. She had left the room for only a moment in order to carry that wretched cat upstairs and lock the beast in Liz’s room. Could there be something in the champagne? Christabel smiled. Impossible. Too much fear. “You brought the money?” She held out a small aristocratic hand. “All of it?”

“Yes.” Her victim sat quietly, and the quietness annoyed Christabel. She sipped the champagne again. Of course, it tasted the same; it was her fourth glass. She drained the flute, then smiled. She’d finish the whole bottle and offer none to her prey. Daddy had taught her how to hold her liquor and how to keep victims in their place.

“You promise not to tell?”

“If you pay, I never tell.” Christabel let contempt curl her lips upward, then enjoyed the resentment mirrored on the victim’s face. Christabel laughed. “At least, I haven’t yet.”

The room grew suddenly warm. The fragile stemmed glass weighed heavily in her hand and her head spun. What was happening to her?

A black pistol appeared from a pocket as if by magic, grasped by the visitor’s white-knuckled fingers. “Sit still.” The voice was hard and angry and not a bit frightened.

“What the hell...?” Christabel asked. It took her a minute to regroup. She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t be an idiot. You shoot me and your sins become public. My cousin Liz will give my journals to the police. You won’t be able to pay her to stay silent. Miss Perfect wouldn’t take a bribe to save her own life.”

“I’m here now, and I’ll find the books before she comes home.”

“Books? I quit writing on paper years ago.” Christabel’s words started to slur. “Even if you find my old journals and smash my iPad, there are tiny things called thumb drives you’ll never find.”

“I’ll take the chance.” Her visitor reached into the same pocket and pulled out a plastic bag, passing it to Christabel. “Put that over your head.”

“You think I’m crazy?” Christabel felt even dizzier. Her eyelids were heavy. If only she could close them for a minute, she’d be all right…back in control.

“If you don’t do what I say, I’m going to shoot off one side of your face.”

Not her face, her beautiful face! This couldn’t be happening. She was the hunter. She had never been prey.

“I won’t kill you. I’ll just take off one cheekbone. I’ll even call 911 before I leave. Only, no man will ever look at you again. Your outside will be as ugly as your inside. That’d be worth going to jail for.”

The image so terrified Christabel that she slipped the bag over her head, leaving the bottom open to breathe through. She’d stall. Keep talking. She’d think of a way to get the edge. She always did, just as Daddy always had.

Her visitor walked behind her and put the barrel of the pistol against her face. Christabel sat still, not daring to move. She felt fingers reach forward and tighten the bag around her neck. The gun seemed like ice against her skin.

Christabel drew in a sharp breath, and then the plastic shrink-wrapped her mouth. She couldn’t raise her hand, and she couldn’t breathe! She might really die! For the first time, she knew what fear meant, then blind terror.

The last sound Christabel heard was glass shattering when the champagne flute slipped from her fingers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Print copies will be available soon!

THAT TIME BETWEEN BOOKS

by Jackie King

I’ve come to that wonderful/dreadful time between books that every author must face. I use antonyms to describe how I feel, and both fit. I’m excited about brainstorming new story ideas. I’m fearful that I’ll never be able to pull together the plot for another complete novel . (I always have this angst before I find an idea I like.) I’m eager to send out my latest book to readers. I’m reluctant to send out my latest book. What if the world of readers find my “child” ugly and uninteresting?

Did I mention that writers are sometimes a bit neurotic? Insecure? Apprehensive? We’re also curious, eager, and interested. Who else would choose to earn money by sitting alone in front of a terrifyingly blank computer screen?

Okay. That’s enough angst for now. That emotion will reappear at three in the morning to haunt me. Now it's time to plan promotion for the finished product and brainstorm plot ideas for the upcoming project. I love this. I hate this. Grrrr…

The book I’ve just finished is titled MURDER ON THE EDGE OF NOWHERE, and it’s set in the Oklahoma Panhandle. The town is fictional, but near the real town of Beaver and seventy miles from Guymon. The land is flat and the horizons stretch on forever; to my eyes this view is lovely. A good many people don’t agree. My ex-husband called it bleak. And it is, but bleak has character—and beauty—and strength.

I was born on these plains and spent a large amount of my childhood at my grandparent’s farm. I love the natives who are strong and smart and resilient. My characters are fictional, but they came alive in my mind in this made-up story.

First paragraph from the prologue:

“Everyone has something they want to hide, but you have more than most.” Christabel Steele flipped her hair backwards, a thing that she knew mesmerized men and annoyed women. She pictured her sleek, golden hair fanning in practiced perfection over her right shoulder. Her quarry’s eyes glazed with fear, and Christabel licked her lips, savoring the moment. Like an antelope caught in underbrush, but instead of blood, I’ll taste money.

MURDER ON THE EDGE OF NOWHERE is a story of a small town where people harbor deadly secrets from their past: blackmail, child abuse, and murder.

It never rains but it pours

by Carola

Since December, only one month has passed without one of my Daisy Dalrymple mysteries staging a reappearance in one form or another. First came four new audiobooks, the 8th through 11th in the series. Last month it was a reissue of the second, The Winter Garden Mystery, in trade paperback, over 20 years after it first came out in hardcover--and with brand new art. These are some of the covers it's had over the years:

Yes, THREE German editions!

The latest, coming out in the UK on June 2nd, is the paperback edition of Daisy's most recent adventure, Superfluous Women.  (It won't be out in the US in paperback till September.)

So--NOTHING coming out in July or August? Unless the proposed Russian translations of the first three in the series unexpectedly materialize.

Then another 2 months until the fourth Cornish mystery, Buried in the Country, makes its first appearance in hardcover and Kindle--in both the US and UK--in December.

What a year!

Tips on Naming Characters

by Jackie King

Finding that just-right name for the people in your story gives you a head-start in finding and keeping a publisher and an audience.

Names for characters come to me in two ways: instantaneous and easy, or slow and tedious. Sometimes when the idea for a book appears in my mind, the name of the main character walks in the door with it. Other times it takes me weeks or months to come up with the right moniker.

I’m currently working on a novel and the villain’s name isn’t quite right. I’ve already changed it once, and this choice is better. Still, I keep probing my brain for one that completely suits. The working name for the character is a sort of “dofer” to use while I keep writing the book.

Getting that just right name is crucial. Character names must come from the right historical period. If you name a female character Madison or Hailey, and the story is set in 1889, your lover-of-historical-fiction might throw your book across the room before they finish chapter one.

Where to start when you’re stuck?

What year was your character born? Make sure the character’s name fits the year he/she was born. If nothing strikes your fancy, you can always use a classical name in eras. Elizabeth, Victoria, Jacob, or Matthew would fit 1889 or 2016.

Biblical names also work for most any year of birth. Sarah, Mary, Luke or Mark, have been popular birth names in most periods. Currently unusual biblical names are being used, especially when you use a nickname. Zachariah is currently popular and is often shortened to Zach or Zack.

Google It

Figure out the year your character would have been born. Go to Google, my favorite search engine and key in: “Baby names popular in 1979” and up pops 100 names for babies born in that year. Both boys and girls are listed in the order of popularity.

Use this list to find the name that best suits the person you have created. Speak the names out loud. Imagine the character’s parents struggling over the choice or arguing about the name. Sometimes this can even be worked into the plot of the story.

What to avoid?

Avoid names that are too long and names that begin with the same letter, such as Jacob, John, Jackie, Jessica, Jeff, and Jennifer, all in the same tale.

Names that end with the letter “S,” will muddle the use of possessive nouns, as I learned when I named a character Mavis. This isn’t something that would cause an editor to reject the book, but it does complicate the writer’s life (and the reader’s) in an unnecessary way. Mavis’ car seems more complicated than Sandra’s car.

Don’t use cute spellings. Even if you know someone who spells her name Marylyn, it’s still better to use “Marilyn.” Oddly spelled names can detract the reader from the story. The point is to keep folks reading, not cause them to stop and ponder something that has nothing to do with the character or plot.

Final advice on naming characters.

That infamous rule of writing, “There are no rules,” always stands. If you have a good enough reason to name a character something weird—do it with my blessing.

My own Bermuda Triangle

The scene inside my blog

This particular blog is about a mystery – which I’ll share with you. A while back, I added a tracker to my own blog. It puts little red dots over the world map and shows how I’m progressively colonising North America, the UK, bits of Europe and tiny pockets of land in Asia and Australasia. But it also has a real-time option, which tells me more about my visitors, what drew them to me and how long they spent in my company. As most writers will tell you, they welcome anything which is merely a displacement activity but gives you the impression that it’s time well spent. And this is where the mystery lies.

Forgive me now giving you a list of places but it’s part of the enigma.  In the period I’m sampling for this posting, I had 2 visits from Scotland (Airdrie and Johnstone) and 12 from England (Manchester, Preston, Keighley, Kidlington (4 visits) and London (5)). The 12 English visits were balanced by 12 from the USA (Bronson (3) and the wonderfully named Nacogdoches (2) – both in Texas, Brooklyn (New York) Hayward and San Francisco (California), Missoula and Plains (Montana), Seattle and Tampa. There were 4 from Australia (Hunters Hill and Greenwich – both in New South Wales – and 2 visits from Elwood, Victoria, which I mistook first of all for a name and wondered whether I’d ever met a Victoria Elwood. And last, but definitely not least, came people from Bombay (Maharashtra), Makati (Manila) and 4 visits from the truly exotic Minnertsga, Friesland.

OK, you say, so what? Well, to begin with, rather than being drawn there by my magnetic personality, infinite charm and quiet desperation, many came simply in search of an answer to the question ‘What makes a good novel?’ which was the title of one posting. But that’s merely an aside because it’s the 5 visitors I haven’t yet mentioned whose details hint at the central mystery.

The first came from Birmingham (UK) and stayed for a mere 26 seconds. The next was from the City of London and stayed slightly longer (42 seconds) and the third, from Riverton (Wyoming) was here for 51 seconds. If I ever meet the final two, I owe them a drink because they stayed long enough to read something. The one from Amsterdam, Noord-Holland lingered a whole 3 minutes 11 seconds but the champion came from Englewood, Colorado and wasted an enormous 6 minutes 37 seconds of his/her life in my company.

Again, so what? Well, this is where my crime writer’s curiosity comes into play.  I know the time and date the last 5 arrived, and when they left. But what about all the others? The ones in the first list? There’s no indication that any of them left.

SO THEY MUST STILL BE THERE.

But where? What are they doing? Some have been there for days. What are they eating? How are they surviving?  Are their bosses and families missing them? It’s a huge responsibility for me to know that my wit and wisdom have ensnared so many. I’ll have to start leaving plates of biscuits there and cans of some sort of beverage. And what if the influx continues? We’re all aware of the dangers of overpopulation. What if Oxfam and the Red Cross start sending food parcels and medical supplies? Can Médecins sans Frontières operate inside a blog?

Don’t get me wrong. My blog welcomes immigrants but, for their own safety they need to be led towards the more seemly locations – the jokey bits not the bits about existentialism. I don’t want them to be hi-jacked by some rogue philosopher who’s camped there and may force them to consider Aristotelian syllogisms day after day or read Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason.

I must find them soon and see if they can’t be repatriated or transferred to a blog whose sanity is uncompromised, where laughter, poetry and common sense prevail. I wonder if there are any.

GHOSTS (AND WITCHES) FROM MY PAST

By Jackie King

Halloween is coming and it's one of my favorite holidays. Often I dress up as a witch to hand out candy to the kiddies. This is one time of the year when I revert to my childhood.

Jackie King--Ready for Halloween

I was about four when my older cousins started scaring me with ghost stories. These were told in the bright sunshine, but at night I had to creep up creaking stairs to get to my bedroom at Grandma’s house. These monsters lurked along the way to terrify me. I can still remember the dread and the sick empty feeling in my belly.

The Good Old Days

Grandchildren weren’t pampered in those days, at least not by my grandma. She married at 14 so I doubt she ever had a childhood, at least not as we think of it these days. I realize now that she wasn’t a cruel woman, just one who had endured hardships, and in her declining years had received me on her doorstep while my mother trained to be a teacher. She did the best she could.

The Million Mile Stairs

There was no electricity to illuminate the steep stairs, so I was given a lighted candle and told to blow it out after I was in bed.

But what waited at the top?

Was it the murdered man looking for his golden arm? Would he chop off my head with his ax when he learned I didn’t have it, as he had with two dozen other children?

And the candle was sputtering.

Terrified of having no light, I’d put one foot in front of the other, knowing that I had no other choice. And finally I’d reach the landing. The soft glow of the candle lighted only a small circle, and each step into the blackness seemed almost certain death.

Finally, I reached my bed, set the candle on an orange-crate used for a bedside table and climbed in. It was summertime and hot, but I still pulled the dusty smelling bedspread over me. After a quick puff to blow out the candle the room was black as a witch’s hat. The counterpane (as Grandma called it) was the only protection between me and the evil ghost. I’d lie stiff as a board until I finally fell asleep.

The next morning when my cousins came to visit, I’d beg them for another ghost story.

Son (or probably Daughter) of The Figurehead

by Bill Kirton

The original

This blog’s intended to embarrass me. I only say that because it seems I’ve been mentioning the present Work In Progress for ages, maybe even years. Usually, once I start the actual writing of it, the first draft of a novel takes me about six months. This one is resisting me and it’s embarrassing that it’s taking so long. This is the story so far.

Way back, a friend, out of the blue, said ‘You should write a book about a figurehead carver’. At that point, I’d published 3 modern mysteries. But I like sailing boats, I live in Aberdeen, Scotland, which has a great shipbuilding tradition, and I love the Romantic period, so why not?

Research involved looking through the usual archive materials and reading newspapers about events in the Aberdeen of 1840. I also took up wood carving, so that I could get the feel of conjuring a distinct shape out of a big log. And I sailed across the North Sea as part of the crew of the beautiful square-rigger Christian Radich.

So there I was, starting yet another crime novel, but this time with no worries about DNA or any of the other CSI techniques. And I created a character, John Grant, who’s a figurehead carver. He’s also a handsome loner – you know the type – and he was going to be my Miss Marple and solve the mystery of the body found on the beach.

But all that was before I met Helen Anderson. She’s a young woman who resists the oppressions imposed on her sex in the 1840s and defies conventions. She’s bright, witty, self-assured and more complicated than I know. She’s also intrigued by the death of the man on the beach, a shipwright who was building her father’s new ship, which was to be named after her mother, Elizabeth.

I won’t go into details of the plot because I always find synopses very

An offshoot of my research - one of my own carvings

unsatisfactory. John continues with his sleuthing but it’s the intervention of Helen that gives him the final insight he needs to piece things together. Meanwhile, he’s carving a figurehead for the Elizabeth Anderson and, at the request of Helen’s mother, he’s making it a composite image of herself and Helen. So he’s coaxing her likeness from the oak in his workshop and the carving lies there continually reminding him (and me) of Helen. For her, the carving is an excuse to visit John and, incidentally, discuss their respective theories about the killing.

But what came to be far more important than the detective work was the growth in their relationship. She’s rich and, despite her intelligence, protected from any real awareness of the lives lived by the people who work around the quays of Aberdeen. But her curiosity and her determination to involve herself in her father’s world of trade and intrigue lead her to befriend the dead man’s wife and form relationships which would appal her parents (if she hadn’t already shown them her determination to be independent).

A dream come true - helming the Christian Radich

And, as she was doing all this, she quite quickly pushed her way to the front of the narrative – or at least to a position of sharing the spotlight with John. Neither admits openly to the fascination they hold for one another and love is never mentioned, but the tenderness, the tensions, the playfulness and the quarrels they have all suggest a passion which surely can’t be suppressed forever. So I found that I became far more interested in how their actions affected each other, how the mind of each was filled with thoughts of the other, and how their strong personalities clashed and sparked and led to more frustrations than satisfactions. And it all happened in that wonderful writing state in which you just sit there, listen to what the characters are saying, watch what they’re doing, and write it all down.

The novel ends on a kiss (after the mystery has been solved, of course), but now, here I am trying to get deeper into the sequel. It’s another crime novel because that’s what readers expect, but the main character is Helen, not John, and it’ll be as much a romance as a mystery – probably more. I’ve written a big chunk of it but the thing that’s holding me back is ‘What have they been doing in the twelve months since that first kiss?’ I still can’t answer that question or another which I’ve been asked by several readers – ‘Will John and Helen get together?’ I think they will but I really don’t know. In the end, it’s up to Helen. I just wish she’d hurry up and let me know.

My Writing Process

by Bill Kirton

Whenever I’m asked questions about my writing, I always seem to find out something new for myself. Here are my answers to some questions I was asked by a blogger friend.

What am I working on?
This is embarrassing because I’ve been working on it for such a long time. It’s the sequel to my novel The Figurehead. That was set in Aberdeen in 1841 and featured John Grant, a figurehead carver, and Helen Anderson, the daughter of a shipowner. It was a crime novel (because that’s what I’m supposed to write) but the chemistry between John and Helen turned it into a romance, too. The romance aspect was left unresolved and I knew I wanted to spend more time with those two characters. There was also the pleasure of stepping back once again into 19^th century Aberdeen and its ways.

I have no idea why it’s taken me so long to get into the sequel. I knew I wanted it to feature a theatre company performing melodramas and that it would see Helen becoming involved in her father’s business. I also knew there’d have to be a crime (see above brackets) but, since John and Helen had ended the previous book with what I described as ‘a lover’s kiss’, I had to work out what they’d been doing in the year that had passed since then. This, remember, was early Victorian Scotland so their options were limited.

How does my work differ from others of its genre?
The bulk of my output has been contemporary crime, which is a very crowded field. It comes under the police procedural tag and I started writing it because a publisher liked a stand-alone thriller I’d written but would have preferred a police procedural, so I wrote one. There are now five in the series, all featuring DCI Jack Carston who’s happily married and doesn’t have any particular hang-ups. drink problems or other character-defining flaws, so I suppose that’s one difference. More than that, though, he believes in justice rather than the law and is aware of the gaps between them. His (and my) interest is in people and their motives rather than the deeds they perpetrate so, while the books are whodunits, they’re also whydunnits.

I try to get as much humour as possible into the stories but that’s not unusual. But there’s one thing which I think is: I have a tendency to add a coda to each book which suggests that, although the crime has been solved and the loose ends have been tied up, there’s still something going on which shows that evil persists. I like to leave the reader with the satisfaction of a good story where justice has been done but a little niggle to undermine their idea that ‘all’s right with the world’.

Finally, very few of the deaths are caused by murderers.

Why do I write what I do?
Crime offers a ready-made structure. To tell any story about crime you need characters, motives, notions of good and evil and by seeing how different characters respond to temptations, frustrations, provocations and the rest, we come to understand better our own attitudes. In the end, I write because I enjoy it so much.

How does my writing process work?
If you’ve read my answer to the first question, you’ll probably be thinking ‘well, it obviously doesn’t’, but I’m always writing something. Ideas come from everywhere – newspaper items, scenes you see in the street, some dialogue you overhear, a photograph, anything and everything – and they’re either compelling in themselves or two or more of them fuse to set up something which needs to be resolved. Then, once I’ve let the implications stew for a bit, I start writing about them, characters appear and, basically, take over. Thereafter, I sit and watch and listen to them and write it all down. When I’m really into a novel, I want to be writing it all the time and I sometimes lose track of time entirely. Writing is almost always a pleasure.

Moors, mystery, and murder

by Carola

Moorland has provided a setting for a great deal of fictional (and some real) mystery and mayhem, at least since Wuthering Heights and probably before. The example everyone knows is, of course, The Hound of the Baskervilles, which is set on Dartmoor.

Someone recently told me the stories she had read planted an image of moors in her mind that she found to be very inaccurate when she went to England and saw the Yorkshire Moors for herself. When I was in Cornwall last month, I hiked a corner of Bodmin Moor that I plan to use in my next Cornish mystery, so I'll share some pics of the hazards to be met there:

Animals, domestic and wild, and what they leave behind them

   Vicious plants

Rough country

Unexpected sink holes

 and mine shafts not guarded by restored pit-head buildings

Plenty of room for mayhem, methinks!

Featuring Guest Blogger Marilyn Meredith

My Writing Process

by Marilyn Meredith

The author at a writer's conference

First I should say that I am not an outliner. However, that doesn't mean that I don't plan ahead.

Because I'm writing a series, I know my main characters. I begin by thinking what kind of crime Deputy Tempe Crabtree will have to solve--usually a murder. If a murder, who will be the victim, the motive, and who had a motive--usually more than one person.

At the same time, I want something to be happening in Tempe's private life. Sometimes it's a continuation of what was happening in the last book. 

I have a notebook where I start writing things such as character names and descriptions and plot threads. 

My goal is always to come up with a first sentence that will hook the reader. Once I have that I can usually start writing on the computer.

While I'm writing, I continue keeping notes, especially what happens on each day. I started doing this when an editor pointed  out that I'd left out a day in one of my manuscripts. 

I try to write five days a week and the best time for me is morning. 

I read each chapter to my critique group, and make changes and corrections the following day. I consider that as my first edit.

Once I've finished, I go through the whole book. I do the Word edit and spell-check. 

Next, I send it off to the publisher and it is assigned to an editor. The edits may come back to me a couple of times. 

And last of all is when the galley proof arrives--that one I print out and go over carefully. 

As most authors know, no matter how many times a book is checked,  a typo or two seem to slip into the printed book. I think there are gremlins afoot that attack a book right before it goes into print.

And for those who often ask, I don't play music when I'm writing. As for what I drink, I begin my day with Chai latte.

Marilyn

Blurb for River Spirits:

While filming a movie on the Bear Creek Indian Reservation, the film crew trespasses on sacred ground, threats are made against the female stars, a missing woman is found by the Hairy Man, an actor is murdered and Deputy Tempe Crabtree has no idea who is guilty. Once again, the elusive and legendary Hairy Man plays an important role in this newest Deputy Tempe Crabtree mystery.

Bio:

Marilyn Meredith is the author of over thirty-five published novels, including the award winning Deputy Tempe Crabtree mystery series, the latest River Spirits from Mundania Press. Marilyn is a member of three chapters of Sisters in Crime, Mystery Writers of America, and on the board of the Public Safety Writers of America. She lives in the foothills of the Sierra. Visit her at http://fictionforyou.com and her blog at 

http://marilymeredith.blogspot.com/

Contest:

The winner will be the person who comments on the most blog posts during my current tour.

He or she can either have a character in my next book named after them, or choose an earlier book in the Deputy Tempe Crabtree series—either a paper book or e-book.

Tomorrow you can find me hanging out with George Cramer http://gdcramer.com/ and I’m talking about taking a break—or not.

Links:

From the publisher, all formats:

http://mundania.com/book.php?title=River+Spirits

For Kindle:

http://www.amazon.com/River-Spirits-Tempe-Crabtree-Book-ebook/dp/B00O3R83TQ/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1412345856&sr=1-1&keywords=River+Spirits+by+Marilyn+Meredith

Amazon paperback:

http://www.amazon.com/River-Spirits-Marilyn-Meredith/dp/1606594117/ref=sr_1_1_title_1_pap?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1412900595&sr=1-1&keywords=river+spirits+by+marilyn+meredith

For Nook

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/river-spirits-marilyn-meredith/1120425385?ean=2940150347090