New Release — Death Bakes a Pecan Pie (Fresh Baked Mystery Book 14) by Livia J. Washburn

It’s time for the Harvest Festival again, and Phyllis is determined to bake a killer pecan pie. 

Hollywood comes to Weatherford, Texas, as a movie company arrives to shoot scenes for a film based on the novel by Phyllis Newsom’s friend Eve. But movie fantasy turns to deadly reality as a murder recreated for film turns out to be the genuine article, and once more Phyllis has to track down a cunning killer to see that justice is done.

DEATH BAKES A PECAN PIE is the fourteenth novel in the critically acclaimed and best-selling Fresh Baked Mystery series. Phyllis and her friends tackle another complex case with all the humor, camaraderie, good-hearted warmth, and delicious recipes that have made readers around the world fall in love with this series.

Recipes included!

EXCERPT

     The second assistant director slated the shot. Everyone had fallen silent now, so the sharp noise of the clapper coming down on the slate could be heard throughout the park. Phyllis heard Thorpe call, “Action.”

     Melissa and Julie walked toward the bales. Phyllis could hear them saying their lines to each other, although she couldn’t make out all the words. Honestly, she didn’t remember what she and Carolyn had said on that day. They had been talking about the festival, she recalled, but Eve had made up their dialogue when writing the book and then that dialogue had been adapted further in the script by Jason and Deanne Wilkes, so it wasn’t exactly like it had been in real life.

     There were other differences as well, Phyllis realized. She frowned and said, “The scarecrow was standing up when it happened, with a pole through his clothes to keep him upright. That’s the way you wrote it in the book, Eve.”

     “Yes, but it’s easier to film with him sitting down,” Eve said. “That’s what Jason and Deanne told me. They change a lot of things in a movie because it’s easier.”

     “I suppose,” Phyllis said. She knew logically that it didn’t matter. The scene would still be very dramatic.

     Down in the dogtrot, Melissa and Julie turned to the scarecrow, and Melissa reached out to adjust the way the prop was sitting. Phyllis leaned forward, knowing this was when “Peggy Nelson” would discover the scarecrow was really a corpse.

     Suddenly, Melissa leaped backward. A scream ripped from her mouth.

     “Goodness!” Carolyn exclaimed. “She’s really putting a lot into it.”

     Phyllis caught her breath as Melissa continued to scream. She backpedaled away from the scarecrow so fast she stumbled, lost her balance, and sat down hard on the ground.

     And all the time she was still screaming . . .

      

New Release — Blue Ridge Murder (A Calendar Clan Mystery Book 1) by Agnes Alexander

Wounded in a drug buy gone wrong, June March, a fledgling private detective, is forced to go home to her parents’ farm to recover. Her close-knit family is rocked when her ne’er-do-well brother-in-law, Roger, is murdered, after his part in a bank robbery. In the small community of Edison, North Carolina, nestled in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains, secrets are hard to keep—even one as dangerous as murder. When June’s sister, April, is accused of killing her husband, June will do whatever she must to prove her sister’s innocence.

County Sheriff Jason Striker, an old school mate of June’s, is dead serious about bringing the murderer to justice. But how can he find the killer and keep June safe when she insists on being part of the investigation? Nothing has changed since high school—June is still as determined as ever, and she still has a firm hold on Jason’s heart.

June tries to hold old feelings at bay, but somehow, the boy from yesterday has become the man of her dreams—and she’s not about to let him go. With the killer still on the loose, Jason knows that June’s expertise will be invaluable in helping him solve the case—and she’s not about to back away from doing just that. Identifying the killer can mean the death of them both, as a small-town’s secrets protect one of its own…one who committed this BLUE RIDGE MURDER…

EXCERPT

     The well-built man in a sheriff’s uniform looked more like he was dressed for dancing at a bridal shower than he did as an official of the state and my former classmate. Though I did think he filled out the uniform well, I’d always thought he was just pretending in his job. Maybe it was because while we were in school, he’d always looked more like a big, tall, baby-faced ten- year-old than he did a rough, tough football player—and now, sheriff.

     “I hear you folks have a little problem.” He stepped to the middle of the room and glanced at my broken leg. He didn’t mention it, but he did arch his left eyebrow.

     “Yes,” May said. “You should go pick up Roger. He was one of the bank robbers today.”

     “What makes you think he robbed the bank, May?” His voice was more surprised than questioning.

     “Because he told me he did,” April chimed in.

     “She had to escape with the children. He threatened them,” May explained.

     “Let’s go talk on the porch so the children won’t hear,” April suggested.

     Jason glanced at the kids and nodded. April, May and I followed him to the porch. Mom stayed with the children. I took my place in the rocking chair again and everyone found seats, including Jason.

     “Now,” he said. “Let’s start at the beginning, April. Tell me what happened.”

     

Give Me Tomorrow by Kaye Spencer October #blogabookscene #PrairieRosePubs #paranormalromance

Blog-a-Book-Scene is a monthly themed blogging endeavor from a group of authors who love to share excerpts from their stories. Find us on Twitter with the hashtag #blogabookscene and #PrairieRosePubs.

October’s theme is all things autumn, spooky, and Halloween. The excerpt below is from my contemporary paranormal (vampire) romance short novel, Give Me Tomorrow.

Blurb

Vampire Melissa Price’s heart has hardened to an empty shell of remembered love. Lifetimes of experience and self-preservation have taught her that relationships serve only two purposes—sustenance and superficial companionship. Her work as a veterinarian gives purpose to her solitary life, but three hundred years of loneliness catches up with her when she responds to an emergency call and meets the least likely man to bring down the wall of her emotionless existence.

Jaxon Granger is part-owner of his family’s thoroughbred racehorse boarding and layover facility. His world revolves around his business, family, and a penchant toward hedonism. Horses are his life and womanizing bachelorhood is his religion. He boasts that there isn’t a woman alive who can make him a one-woman man.

That is, until he falls for a woman who isn’t alive—in the strictest sense of the word.



EXCERPT

Like a jackrabbit running for cover, Lissa spun out of the yard in a spray of gravel in her flight to get away from Jax. She was miles down the road before her nerves calmed enough that she could think. How had he done that? How had just a kiss turned her inside‐out? His mouth, burning and possessive. His thoughts pulling her into his mind and drawing forth feelings she believed were as dead as the husband and daughter she’d lost centuries ago. One second, they were sinking to the floor, and the next, the blood pulsing through his carotid artery mere inches from her mouth lured her into the bite before either was ready. The instant she’d tasted his blood, her mind had spiraled into a tailspin of vertigo and vivid memories of her past, which broke her already-tenuous telepathic hold on his mind.

What happened? Even as the question formed, she knew the answer. Those older and wiser had warned that her cavalier indifference toward her victims would catch up with her. Someday she’d meet The One. The man whose strength of mind and will of heart matched—or exceeded—her own. She knew this man from her dreams. He stole into her lonely nights, faceless and ethereally enticing, with a whispered promise of tomorrow on a voice as tender and familiar as the caress of a lover. Only this man could lift the centuries of loneliness from her shoulders and breathe life back into her cold, dead heart.

And now she’d found him…or he’d found her, and he wasn’t immortal, not her kind. He was hindered by a finite lifespan. He couldn’t go where she traveled.

Moving on to the next job and the next town was her reality, as always, but for the first time, she didn’t want to leave. Better judgment argued with her emotions. She wanted an-other chance with Jax, but that meant explaining, which meant she cared. Caring brought confiding and confiding required trusting, which she had precious little to draw from. The very essence of what allowed her to live also kept her alone and kept her safe.

Suddenly, she was tired. Tired of staying one suspicion ahead of people when they questioned why she didn’t age. Tired of concealing what she was. Tired of her nomadic life. Just plain tired. What good was immortality if she had to endure eternity alone?

Available through Amazon.com
Print | Digital | KindleUnlimited


Until next time,

Kaye Spencer

Writing through history one romance upon a time

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THREE PICTURES, by by Mollie Hunt, Cat Writer

I’m looking at a picture of my parents. My father in a plaid shirt and turtleneck, standing arms across his chest, smiling. My mother sitting, outside somewhere, the green of grass for background. Legs crossed ladylike, cigarette in hand. She is smiling too.

I realize with a start that they are my age... I am their age... the age they were in that picture, I am now.

The picture has been on that shelf for some time. I have lived in this house over thirty years, though it doesn’t seem possible. When I put the photos in their double brass frame, I was much younger. My parents may still have been alive. Now it comes around. They are gone, I am old. I will be following soon.

Okay, maybe not that soon. I’m healthy, reasonably. I’m not staring down the jaws of death or any such. All is well, in fact. No lost abilities, yet. But I can read the writing on the wall. It’s right there in the photos: my parents, happy and enjoying life one day; gone the next.

There is something else I read in that picture though. I look closer, at the smiles, the twinkling eyes. They’re not hiding away, dreading what will inevitably come. Live life now, they say in those captured images.

There are two other photos on the shelf. I didn’t intentionally group them, more like set them in a spot where they fit. But now as I look, the fit is more apt than mere spacing. The fit is perfect.

One is a photo I’ve always loved, taken by my father when we were at the beach. I was in my twenties, tresses blowing against the perfect blue sea. My son, age three, sits in my lap, all blonde hair, soft skin, and possibilities. We are holding a beach ball.

I remember the time, sad now that there hadn't been more of them, that I hadn’t been more mindful, too busy in my own life and friends. Still, for that moment, we were a happy family. I have a picture to prove it.

The third photo, also taken by my father, is of my mother, my grandmother, and me. It was shot from behind as we walked hand in hand in Laurelhurst Park. The year was 1953, which would put my mother at forty-two and my grandmother in her sixties.

In spite of the white hair which makes her look older, I am currently the age my grandmother was then. I know what happened after that picture. I know about the gradual debilitation, the nursing home, the stroke, the death. She, on the other hand, walks with her family through a sunlit park, blissfully ignorant. She is looking at me, the tiny girl with her whole life ahead of her. I feel sad and sorry, having dashed her hopes with my wandering ways.

But maybe she would have liked me anyway.

Check out more blogs by Mollie Hunt, Cat Writer at:

Mollie Hunt: Crazy Cat Lady Mysteries and more

Happy reading!

Big City vs. Small Town

Do you prefer big city or small town murder?  I should probably clarify that a bit further.  If you enjoy reading mysteries, do you prefer reading stories set in big cities or small towns?  Maybe you’re not picky and both work for you.  I personally like both, and they each bring their own options and challenges to the writer, as well as the reader.  

For example, if you’re writing a story set in a small town, does this lead you down the path of writing something cozy, whereas you might opt for a thriller or noir in the big city?  You don’t see too many (if any) cozies set in New York, Chicago, or L.A., for example.  On the other hand, you may not see too many dark mysteries, for example, serial killer stories, set in small towns.  Although that’s not to say that a calm and peaceful setting can’t have evil at its core.  

Which leads to the question, does a small town mystery require a happy ending, while a big city mystery requires a more somber ending?  Not necessarily.  Although my Li’l Tom and the Pussyfoot Detective Bureau books are set in the city of San Francisco, they are lighthearted and generally have happy endings - at least if you’re the good guys.  On the other hand, a detective in the big city might have seen so much pain, suffering, and the depraved side of humanity, that a happy, light ending is not realistic.  

Dark and mysterious city street.

Peaceful country settings, complete with picket fence.    

Setting a story in a big city might give the writer lots of options for different types of crimes  - the deviance of criminals who can hide and lurk in the big city knows no bounds - as well as more motives and suspects.  A small town setting might limit the types of crimes that occur, along with the suspect pool and their motivation.  However, you can find the three biggest motives, money, love, and hate anywhere you go.  

In a small town, the writer might find him or herself with only a few people on whom to focus suspicion.  I enjoy watching the BBC series Death in Paradise on Netflix.  It’s set on a tiny island in the Caribbean, where each murder is limited to only four or five suspects.  The small setting in Death in Paradise is assisted by the fact that many tourists visit the island so murderers can be imported from outside the community.  That way, the local resident pool is not quickly depleted.  

Which brings to mind “Cabot Cove Syndrome" where the number of murders on the tiny island or in the small town is severely disproportionate to the number of residents (likely only a problem in a series).  In small town settings, the reader is required to suspend disbelief a bit more than he or she might when reading about crime in the big city, especially when the crime-solvers focus solely on a few individuals.  The reader must be comfortable with the thought that more murders per capita occur in the small town than in the real-life murder capital of the world.  

Finally there is often a different feel and atmosphere in a bucolic setting as opposed to the big city.  The climate might feel more relaxed and slow in the small town, as opposed to fast-paced and gritty in the big city.  Although don't be fooled by the denizens of a small town - it might throw us for a loop to find that the nice elderly woman next door who makes cookies for the neighborhood has a few bodies in the freezer next to the homemade ice cream, but that's one of the perks of the small town mystery.

So, pick your poison (pun intended) - do you like your stories set in a small, rural setting, or in the bright lights of the big city?  I find that a mix of the two never gets boring and always keeps me guessing.  Which is the point of reading mysteries, right?

Angela Crider Neary is an attorney by day and writer by night. She is an avid mystery reader and especially enjoys reading novels set in interesting locales. She was inspired to write her first mystery novella, Li'l Tom and the Pussyfoot Detective Bureau: The Case of the Parrots Desaparecidos, by one of her favorite areas in San Francisco, Telegraph Hill.  Her second book, Li'l Tom and the Case of the New Year Dragon is now available.  To learn more, visit her on Facebook and Amazon.

What's in a Name?

Oddly enough, in this post about titles, I'm only slightly modifying the name of a title from a few months ago, What's in a (Pen) Name? Why? I couldn't come up with anything better. Oh, the irony.

I seem to be a rarity among authors - I love coming up with titles for my stories. I like titles that are descriptive, have a sense of humor, and maybe even a play on words or a double meaning.

An author attempting to select the name for her next book baby. (Image courtesy of depositphoto.com)

The short stories in my Paws and Effect contemporary romance series all have animal-related titles; to date The Purrfect Partner, and It's Meow or Never, with Something Whiskered This Way Comes, and Purranormal Activity in the works.

My Kudzu Korners sweet paranormal romances have titles based old movies/tv shows:

Dial V for Vampire (published by Fire Star Press in August 2016)

Saved by the Belle (published by Fire Star Press in August 2017)

Dances with Werewolves (in progress)

Still to come in the series:

Gone with the Grin

Beauty and the Zombie

Accounting and Old Lace

All Dogs go to Haven 

So what's the problem? I've decided I don't like the planned title for the 4th book, Gone with the Grin. It's supposed to be a play on the classic book/movie Gone with the Wind but somehow it just isn't working for me as well as all of the others. I'm still a few months away from beginning the book but I'm already in a bit of a panic. As strange as it may sound, I like to have the title in place before I begin work on the story. The harder I try to come up with a new and improved title, the more it seems to elude me. I know my brain is working on this problem all the time so hopefully one day soon it will surprise me with the perfect alternative.

Naming my children was much harder than titling books. But, when my youngest son's arrival was imminent, I decided I didn't like the name we had picked out for him. He was "considerate" enough to be two weeks late which gave us time to come up with a better name. If I (we) pulled that out in the clinch surely I can do it again with a book title. Right? Wish me luck!

Oh, and Happy Fall y'all!

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Experience By Michael E. Gonzales

I started writing a new story that takes place back in 1899, and not because I’m infatuated with 1899 but because it places by characters in the time I need them in to match both historical events and events as written by another, and very famous, writer of science fiction from the genre’s early beginnings.

Next, I have to get them to a very specific location. This will by necessity require me to write about travel. I’m fortunate in that in my life I have traveled a great deal. This provides me some insight. And better yet I have traveled on a ship, which if your traveling about the world in 1899 there is pretty much only horses, trains, and ships to get around on (there were a few automobiles but very, very few).

My characters will have to traverse rugged mountainous terrain as well and dense forests in rolling hills. Yup, you guessed it…I’ve been there, done that.

“Okay, Mike, nuf bragg’n what’s yer point?”

Point is, every writer must draw on what they know and what they have experienced. Does this mean if you haven’t walked twenty-five miles in a day through a forest where the temperature is twenty-two degrees that you can’t write about it? Well, of course not.

First, what I do, is remember a time when I was once bone tired but knew I had to push on. After a hard day at the office ya got one last stop at the store, drag yourself through the isles to get what you need to go home and cook dinner!

Remember when you were last out in very cold weather for a longish time, remember shivering against the cold, pulling your collar up, burying your hand deep in your pockets.

Remember strolling through a fairy tale forest (or seeing a movie set in a fairy tale forest).

Next, I roll up all those memories, extrapolate (a highfalutin word meaning to deduce or guess) and then, here’s the hard part, see yourself dead tired in a freezing wood with miles to go before you sleep.

Again, I realize I’m preaching to the choir here and I know that very likely every one of you has a different method to achieve this same goal. And I am also aware that there are some of you who when describing walking dead tired in a freezing wood with miles of path ahead―have actually done that (you poor thing, you!).

It can be even more difficult if your having to describe events on an alien world, or in the weightless environment of space (and no, I’ve not been into space―yet).

It’s been said countless time, “there is no substitute for experience,” and that is so true, particularly for writers. The big difference is that for everyone else experience is something to draw on to improve some aspect of your life, but a writer has to have the ability to describe that experience in the most vivid and emotional manner possible.

You write about the death of a beloved character in your story. As painful as it might be, recall the death of a friend, a parent, a loved one. Bring up all the pain that you spent years suppressing and pour your tears onto the page. Hold nothing back.

If it doesn’t make you cry, neither will it your reader.

One of the most difficult things I have experienced about writing is the pain of vomiting up old memories, and the struggle to put that pain on paper.

If done well, you will know the joy of having written something people, hopefully, will want to read while at the same time experiencing your own cathartic event.
                                   Just keep writing! 

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