Saturday, January 28, 2017

New Mystery Series

by June Shaw

I am so excited to announce that Kensington's Lyrical Press has just published A FATAL ROMANCE, the first book in my new Twin Sisters Mysteries!

This series is set in a place I live in and love--South Louisiana's bayou country. The second book, DEAD ON THE BAYOU, is scheduled to come out in August--and I'm writing like crazy on the third, SAVING MOM. (The twins' mother lives in a retirement home.)

Writing these books is fun and difficult and so rewarding once they're done. Here's the opening of A FATAL ROMANCE:
I stood in a rear pew as a petite woman in red stepped into the church carrying an urn and stumbled. She fell forward. Her urn bounced. Its top popped open, and ashes flew. A man’s remains were escaping.

“Oh no!” people cried.

“Jingle bells,” I hummed and tried to control my disorder but could not. Words from the song spewed from my mouth.

“Not now,” my twin Eve said at my ear while ashes sprinkled around us like falling gray snow. She pointed to my jacket’s sleeve and open pocket. “Uh-oh. Parts of him fell in there.”

I saw a few drops like dust on the sleeve and jerked my pocket wider open. Powdery bits lay across the tissue I’d blotted my beige lipstick with right before coming inside St. Gertrude’s. “I think that’s tissue residue,” I said, wanting to convince myself. I grabbed the pocket to turn it inside out.

“Don’t dump that.” Eve shoved on my pocket. “It might be his leg. Or bits of his private parts.”

“Here Comes Santa Claus,” I sang.

She slapped a hand over my mouth. “Hush, Sunny.” 

The dead man’s wife shoved up from her stomach to her knees, head spinning toward me like whiplash.

“Sorry,” Eve told her. “My sister can’t help it.”

Beyond the wife, a sixtyish priest and younger one and other people appeared squeamish scooping coarse ashes off seats of the rough-hewn pews. An older version of the wife used a broom and dustpan to sweep ash from the floor. People dumped their findings back into the urn. Other mourners scooted from the church through side doors. A boiled crayfish scent teased my nostrils. Someone must have peeled a few crustaceans for a breakfast omelet and didn’t soap her hands well enough.

Ashes scattered along the worn green carpet like a seed trail to entice birds.

“Look, there’s more of him. I’ll go find a vacuum,” I said.

The widow faced me. “No! Get out.”

“But she’s my sister,” my twin said.

“As if I can’t tell. You leave with her. Go away.” The petite woman wobbled on shiny stilettos, aiming a finger toward the front door.

I sympathized with her before this minute. Now she was ticking me off. I’d been kicked out of places before but never a funeral. “I didn’t really know your husband, but Eve did. I stopped to see if she wanted to go out for lunch, and she asked me to come here first. She said y’all were nice people.” 

“We are!” The roots of the wife’s pecan-brown hair were black, I saw, standing toe to toe with her, although my toes were much bigger inside my size ten pumps. I was five eight and a half. She was barely five feet. Five feisty feet. “But you’re not going to suck up parts of my husband’s body in a vacuum bag.” She whipped her pointed finger toward me like a weapon. “And you need to stop singing.”

I wanted to stop but imagined parts of the man that might be sucked into a vacuum cleaner and ripped out a loud chorus, my face burning. Nearby mourners appeared shocked. Mouths dropped open.

“You don’t know my sister,” Eve told the little woman who’d just lost a spouse. Actually, lost him twice. “Sunny can’t help singing when she’s afraid. And that includes anything dealing with sex, courtesy of her ex-husband.”

“What does sex have to do with Zane?” The wife’s cheeks flamed.

Should I tell her about his privates possibly being in my pocket? Second thoughts said not to. “Who knows? But you don’t need to worry. I certainly wasn’t having an affair with your husband,” I said, quieting my song to a hum.

“Just the thought of sex makes her sing,” my sister explained. “Maybe it’s a good thing she doesn’t think of it often.”.

The widow shook her finger. “Zane was always faithful to me.”

“I’m sure he was,” I said, working to get my singing instincts under control. Nodding toward the carpet, I spoke without a hint of a tune. “I’d really like to help you get those pieces of him out of the rug. If we can just find an empty vacuum bag, I’ll—”.

“Go! Get away!”

Thursday, January 26, 2017


by Jackie King

I’m a writer, so I write. Sometimes I have to write what’s foremost on my mind. Today that happens to be writing as I grow older.  If you’re a writer, everything is connected with your writing. And no matter what your age is today, one day you too, will be old. So this morning, instead of trudging ahead on my latest Work-in-Progress, I’m talking about my Life-in-Progress.

Arranging your life successfully as you age isn’t as easy as it looks. And I’m one of the lucky ones. I have two daughters in the area who are both willing to help. The problem is, I don’t want to be a pain in their backside. I must say that hard as I’ve tried, I have complicated both of their lives. But I make a discernable effort to minimize their problems.

Years ago I vowed that I wouldn’t unnecessarily cause my children pain. I won’t go into the history of why, just that this was my goal for dealing with adult children. Did I always accomplish this? Of course not. But with all honesty, I can honestly say that I’ve tried.

Here was my game plan when I hit about 75: Since I’m single, I sold my four-bedroom house and downsized to fit into a three-room apartment in a complex for seniors. My daughters helped me, but the decision was mine. Here are my self-imposed ground-rules:

The “treasures” that I spent a lifetime collecting are just “stuff.” Look at the need to shed them as a relief, not a tragedy.

No “meltdowns” allowed. (I had one rather serve collapse right after I moved. Luckily my youngest daughter was with me, and she was wise enough to just let me boohoo in her arms until I recovered my equilibrium.)

I had to try two senior complexes before I found the right fit for me.

I made up my mind that I’d be happy.

I adopted the motto: OLD IS COOL! Because it is. (imo)

I chose a drop-dead date when I would stop driving, and then sold my car to my youngest granddaughter. Her delight at having a bright red, sporty-looking car, sweetened the bitterness of this pill.

As with all of my decisions, I made up my mind not to grieve over what laws of nature governor.

My rule as a writer: NEVER GIVE UP WRITING.

Write something each day that it’s humanly possible. (Did I break this vow? Of course. But as soon as possible, I went right back to writing. And I’m not talking about my grocery list.)

Growing old is sometimes a challenge. One must reject bitterness, regret and loss, and then press forward with hope, courage and faith.

Now back to my new cozy with the working title of Corpse Under a Sagebrush. Which more than likely will change.



Thursday, January 12, 2017

INDIE PUBLISHING: My New Venture in 2017

by Jackie King
Technology in printing and the popularity of ebooks have changed the publishing world in ways that have transformed the book industry.

I’ve always been something of a late bloomer, and my entrance into publishing my own books is no different. When I started writing seriously, that was back in the late 1980s, self-publishing was considered to be something that only hobbyists indulged in to bolster their egos. Twenty-first century publishing is a whole new ballgame.

The once shabby title of “self-publishing,” is now called “Indie publishing," and has a shine all its own. Now everyone and his favorite author seems to be considering some type of Indie publishing. Including yours truly.

At the close of 2016, I asked for the copyrights to all of my books and novellas to be returned to me, and the regional publisher I worked with for many years graciously agreed. So with the help of local writer/editor, Joshua Danker-Dake, and local graphic designer/artist, Mark Combs, I am in the process of printing Blue Cameo Books.


Josh Daker-Dake, Writer and Editor
“Self-publishing was time-consuming, but straightforward—it’s nothing any reasonably computer-savvy person can’t do with a little bit of diligence." Josh Daker-Dake—interview with Publisher’s Weekly 2015

Mark Combs, Graphic Designer/Artist
This imprint will soon republish all of my Grace Cassidy Mysteries, and my stand alone contemporary mystery, MURDER AT THE EDGE OF NOWHERE, which is set in the Oklahoma Panhandle. Later in the year I’ll issue a collection of my historical novellas that are set in 1889 Guthrie, Oklahoma Territory, at the time of the Land Run.

I’m very excited with this new venture, and am enjoying learning more and more about the craft of self-publishing each day. The illustrious SistersInCrime organization plans on sponsoring a ListServ for its members sometime this year.

Very soon I’ll show the new covers of my “Corpse,” series, featuring Grace Cassidy, an independent B&B inn-sitter who offers her services to overworked innkeepers who desperately need a vacation.