Jayne Ormerod's "Life's a Beach" Blog

Beach Tale: The Times They Are A-Changin'--Navy Spouse Edition

2012-03-19T05:33:00.001-07:00

Let’s face it, times have changed, especially in the Navy Spouse ranks. And it’s easy to see the changes when flips through an ancient copy of Welcome Aboard—A Service Manual for the Naval Officer’s Wife by Florence Ridgely Johnson (an Admiral’s wife, so she knows of what she speaks.) Published in 1951, it gives a great perspective on what spouse life was like back in the day when the Navy’s unofficial motto was, “If we wanted sailors to have a wife we’d have issued them one in their sea bag.” Some of the stuff is absolutely hysterical and horrifying at the same time. Here are some excerpts, followed by a few editorial comments about Navy Spouses life in 2012. Enjoy!

Under the topic of Making Local Contacts at a New Duty Station:

Then: If, by any remote change, you do not know how to dance, go at once and learn. You are less likely to know how to play bridge, and I cannot urge you too strongly to take it up as soon as you have or can make an opportunity. Every woman should know ho to dance really well” and bridge (which is played more than any other card game in the Navy) can make you a more welcome luncheon or dinner guest and can be a perfect god-send during a cruise. Play poker if you like and can keep out of games beyond your means; play Cribbage, Acey-Duecy, or Canasta; but don’t fail to learn to play a good game of bridge! Lessons in any of these accomplishments may often be had at the Officers’ Club and almost always at the local Y.W.C.A.

Now: It’s obvious to me based on observations at Navy Balls that dancing is, for the most part, a lost art. And last I checked, my local Y doesn’t teach Bridge. Video games, maybe. Card games, no. You might have to ask your grandparents to teach you. Ditto for Cribbage, Canasta or Acey-Duecy. BUNCO is the thing you should learn, as there is almost always a group at any military base. It’s easy to play, and is more about chatting while mindlessly rolling the dice than it is about strategy. Mahjongg is also popular in spouses groups, mainly Air Force Wives, but may locals have groups that will teach you the ins and outs of bams, cracks and dots. But the bottom line remains the same, making local contacts at a new duty station makes for a happier Navy spouse.

Under the topic of What to Wear

Then: Often our husbands take their breakfast aboard ship (and they might as well, since they have to pay a mess bill whether or not the have their meals aboard). And not only do we often have to usually give them fruit juice and coffee at home before they start, and so we dress in order to avoid getting Japanese kimono sleeves in the orange juice. We have to get into something quick and easy, but at least we are reasonably well clothed, with a combed head and a made-up face before we say goodbye to them. Since we nearly all have to do our own housework, we must have something washable for day wear. But instead of the so-called “house dress,” we wear cotton sports dresses or slacks or shorts around the house; or possibly sun dresses, so that we can slip on the jacket when going to the Commissary.

Now: Hmm…last time wore a sun dress to do my housework, then slipped a jacket over it to go to the Commissary (aka the grocery store on base) after a day of housework was…never. Can’t say getting my Kimono sleeve in the OJ is a big problem either, since my husband is perfectly capable of pouring his own juice. And never in my married life have I been up with combed hair and a made-up face on the days he leaves at o’dark thirty (that’s 4:30 a.m. in civilian terms.) I, for one, am extremely glad these rules have relaxed over the years!

Under the top if Automobile Travel (between duty stations):

Then: Whether you like it or not, you will probably cross country by car more than you will any other way. No matter in what leisurely fashion you intend to make the trip, after the first few days your husband will doubtless be so sick and tired of driving (and if you help with that it gives him no rest, for he has to advise you what to do all the time) that you will cover more and more miles each day to get it over with. It is by for the best way to see this wonderful country of ours and to see how the people in various sections live, but you are nearly always in too big a hurry to enjoy it.

Now: It’s comforting to know that some things never change. J

Beach Chat with Sydell Voeller

2012-03-16T00:01:00.004-07:00

15 quick questions asked of an author:

Name: Sydell Voeller

Best beach memory: This might not be a "best" memory, but it is certainly my most memorable one. One summer day, my cousin and I, who were both in our early teens, were walking on a broad curve of railroad tracks that paralleled the beach in my hometown. We were chatting idly and concentrating on keeping our balance on the rails--but not paying much attention to anything else.Suddenly we heard a train roaring down the tracks from behind, blaring its whistle in warning! We screamed, then hopped off the tracks and clambered onto the rocky embankment that separated the tracks and the beach. Once the train had passed, we saw the engineer crane his neck back in our direction to see, I assume, how we'd fared this near disaster. I'm sure he was more than relieved to see we'd "made it in time!"

Afterwards, my cousin and I sat on the beach watching the sun set over the Sound and the west horizon. Our hearts were still beating in double time, we were so frightened! I remember the sherbet-mauve sky and the last rays of the sun dipping behind the Sound. Somehow, to us, the sunset symbolized the beautiful reality that we were still alive.

One guilty pleasure: Chocolate. I have to eat a handful of chocolate chips every day--even when I'm trying to diet! Maybe I'm addicted--who knows? But I do know chocolate tastes even better with a fresh cup of coffee!

Dream car: Cadillac CTS-V

Three of your favorite things: 1) Cats! I've owned cats all my life and I simply love them. People often think cats are unfriendly and aloof, but I know differently. (They are creatures of habit though.) My cats and I have bonded so strongly, they've always followed me around like shadows. My current kitty, a sweet little 18-year-old feline we adopted from my mother, loves to curl up here in my office while I work, just to be near by. Even as we speak, she is standing near my keyboard, purring. What I don't like, though, is her habit of waking me up at 6 almost every morning. She's that eager to sit with me in my favorite chair while I have my morning coffee--and the earlier, the better!

2) A day at the beach. In my own blog on my website: www.sydellvoeller.com, I've written about how I love to use beach settings in my stories, and how I utilize the five senses to make these settings spring to life. The feel of warm sand beneath my feet, the pungent smell of creosote tickling my nostrils, the sound of the gulls shrieking overhead--I can never get enough of it! As you already know from the above vignette, I grew up near the beach in the Puget Sound area of Washington state. Now that I live in Oregon, however, our trips to the beach involve visiting the Pacific Ocean instead. We can either make it a day trip (we live just a little more than an hour's drive away), or we can find lodging and stay longer. The Sound or the Ocean--I love both!

3. Camping. My husband and I've camped in our trusty old tent-trailer all the way from the Redwoods in California to the Sunshine Coast in British Columbia--and many, many spots in between. We've camped in the high desert at Star Parties in Central Oregon with the Rose City Astronomers, parked the trailer alongside white-water rivers at RV lodges, and of course, set up camp at the beach--and lots of them over the past. To me, there's nothing better than sitting around a campfire in the evening, sipping a glass of wine or a cup of hot chocolate and toasting marshmallows. Bonfires on the beach at night are even better, especially when you're camping with a group of friends. In the morning, I love waking up to the sound of the incoming surf and even hearing the raucous crows cawing in the tree branches overhead. I have to admit, though, that I do not enjoy camping in the rain--and that's always a risk you take when you venture out in Oregon.

Pet peeve: Forwarded "friendship" e-mails. I've read from reliable sources that many of these are created by phishers--so that further cements my dislike of them.

Worst non-writing job you ever had: When I was in high school, I babysat for two little boys who were so misbehaved, I used to get stomach aches before I was due to show up at their home. My dad worked with their father, however, so I felt obligated to keep going back. One night they behaved so badly, they even turned the couch totally upside down! Obligation or not--that was it! I never babysat for them again.

Book you are reading right now: How to Survive a Summer Romance (or Two), a YA romance by Ann Herrick.

Preference, print or ebook: I like both, and I believe each has its place in today's publishing world. I've had several print books published over the years that I'm very proud of, but I'm also charting some new territory in e-publishing with Books We Love, Ltd. My two digital "beach books" that have recently gone live are Sandcastles of Love (a YA) and The Fisherman's Daughter, an adult romantic suspense. Both books can be found at Amazon by following <this link>. Additionally, my contemporary circus romance, Summer Magic, has also been released at Amazon and can be found at the above link.

Favorite place to write: In my sunny home office which faces south.

Biggest writing challenge: Balancing my writing time with the rest of my life. In addition to my own writing, I've also taught as a writing instructor for the Long Ridge Writers Group for the past 12 years, and I love interacting with my students and watching them grow as writers. When I'm not writing or teaching, I enjoy reading, meeting friends for lunch, working-out, tending to my flowers in summertime, stargazing, and spending time with my husband and cat!

Genre you write: Romance

Current work in progress: My current project is an adult contemporary romance titled The Heart Leads Home. I'm nearly finished now, although I will still need to do some polishing and fine-tuning.

One author, living or dead, with whom you'd like to sip Mai Tais with on Waikiki Beach: Nicholas Sparks--hands down! I've read nearly all of his books, and I look forward to every new book of his that comes out. My very favorite, however, is A Walk to Remember, which I think might have been his first published book--although I might be wrong about that.

Favorite quote or saying: "To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven... "

Bio: Sydell Voeller grew up in Washington State, but has lived in Oregon for over thirty years. Throughout her twenty-year writing career, her published novels for teens and adults have reflected her love for the Pacific Northwest's ocean beaches, inlets and waterways, evergreen forests, and mountains.

Sydell resides in Oregon with her husband. They married in 1971 and have two grow sons and four grandchildren. Pet lovers, the Voellers have provided a home for several cats, a dog, gerbils, hamsters, and a turtle--but not all at the same time! A small rodent cemetery still occupies one corner of their backyard, a reminder of when their sons were very young. She and her husband enjoy camping, reading, playing Scrabble, day trips to the Oregon Coast, and spending time with their four grandchildren and pampered feline.

In 1987 after the publication of her first novel, Merry Christmas, Marcie, Sydell was named by the Washington County Mushaw Center, Woman of the Year in Communications.

Formerly a registered nurse, Sydell also played the violin in semi-professional and community orchestras.

Beach Read: I'VE GOT YOUR NUMBER by Sophie Kinsella

2012-03-14T00:01:00.001-07:00

Is there anything worse than laughing hysterically on a quiet plane? Not in my book. But that’s just what I did as I read Sophie Kinsella’s latest offering while on a business trip. It started as a quiet titter, then a snort or two escaped, and before I could contain myself, a full-blown belly laugh erupted as Poppy Wyatt’s world unraveled. Poor Poppy. But lucky me, because her trials and tribulations made my trip ever so much more enjoyable.

Book Title: I’ve Got Your Number

Author: Sophie Kinsella

Genre: Fiction (Chick Lit at its best)

Setting: London, England

Format: Hardcover

Pages: 433

Publication date: February, 2012

Publisher: The Dial Press

Opening Line: Perspective. I need to get perspective. It’s not an earthquake or a crazed gunman or a nuclear meltdown, is it? On the scale of disasters, this is not huge. Not huge. One day I expect I’ll back at this moment and laugh and think, Ha-Ha, how silly I was to worry--

Favorite Passage: I now have historical insight. I actually know what it felt like to have to trudge up to the guillotine in the French Revolution. As I walk up the hill form the tube clutching the wine I bought yesterday, my steps get slower and slower. And slower.

Beach Read Rating: 5 out of 5 Beach Umbrellas

Review: I’ve been a Sophie Kinsella fan for longer than there was a Sophie Kinsella. For those of you who don’t know, she got her writing start under the name Madeline Wickham. Her first big break was, of course Shopaholic ( and that’s another review for another day) but I think Sophie’s strong suit is her stand-alone novels. And of all her stand-alones (4 as Sophie and 7 as Madeline) I’ve Got Your Number is my new favorite. While the reader must suspend disbelief to think that a business wouldn’t turn off cell phone service to a lost phone (found by protagonist Poppy Wyatt), what ensues is hilarious. This is escapist reading (aka “beach reading”) at its finest. If you can’t wait until a lovely summer day at the beach to read about Poppy’s antics, this is also a fabulous dreary day read! Can’t recommend it enough!

Flap Copy:

I’ve lost it. :( The only thing in the world I wasn’t supposed to lose. My engagement ring. It’s been in Magnus’s family for three generations. And now the very same day his parents are coming, I’ve lost it. The very same day! Do not hyperventilate, Poppy. Stay positive :) !!

Poppy Wyatt has never felt luckier. She is about to marry her ideal man, Magnus Tavish, but in one afternoon her “happily ever after” begins to fall apart. Not only has she lost her engagement ring in a hotel fire drill but in the panic that follows, her phone is stolen. As she paces shakily around the lobby, she spots an abandoned phone in a trash can. Finders keepers! Now she can leave a number for the hotel to contact her when they find her ring. Perfect!

Well, perfect except that the phone’s owner, businessman Sam Roxton, doesn’t agree. He wants his phone back and doesn’t appreciate Poppy reading his messages and wading into his personal life.

What ensues is a hilarious and unpredictable turn of events as Poppy and Sam increasingly upend each other’s lives through emails and text messages. As Poppy juggles wedding preparations, mysterious phone calls, and hiding her left hand from Magnus and his parents . . . she soon realizes that she is in for the biggest surprise of her life.

Beach Tale: "Prescription for Love" a short romance

2012-03-12T05:04:00.001-07:00

Maddie wasn’t sure she could take another step.

“Which grocery store shall we hit tonight?” her sister Kara asked.

“Huh?” It was all the response Maddie could muster as they finished the grueling eight-mile run along the beach. She bent at the waist and rested her elbows on her knees as she sucked in lungfuls of refreshing salt air.

“I’m thinking the Green Grocer over on West Washington might be good.” Kara, who was in far better shape than Maddie, sounded less like a steam locomotive puffing up a mountain and more like someone who had just finished a game of Wii bowling.

Maddie had assumed, erroneously, that joining her sister on an after-work run would replace their usual evening activity of late—man hunting. Kara had read in a magazine that a good place to meet eligible bachelors was at the grocery store, so the sisters had been cruising a different one every night for the past three weeks. So far, they hadn’t met a single eligible man.

Using the railing to support herself, Kara stretched out her calves. “It’s right next to that new gym and lots of hungry, freshly showered men will be stopping by to pick up something quick and easy for dinner. I hear they have the best barbecue in town. That’s sure to attract my kind of guy.”

The last thing Maddie wanted tonight was go shopping for a potential life mate, especially the more-brawn-than-brains type that Kara favored. Maddie was more interested in an intellectual renaissance man. And no doubt they were all already home preparing a gourmet meal whilesipping a glass of chardonnay and listening to some cool jazz music.

“Kara,” Maddie said as her breathing slowed, “you realize it’s already seven p.m. By the time we shower and drive across town, most guys will be licking barbecue sauce from their fingers and settling back in their La-Z-Boys for the March Madness tip-off.

“We won’t know until we try.” Kara set off at slow trot up the feeder street that led to the main drag. Their apartment was three blocks east. “Besides, I hear they have the best sushi in town.”

Maddie, a sucker for sushi, fell into step next to her sister. Tomorrow night she would absolutely stay in and curl up with a good book.

“Check out that hot man in that hot car,” Kara said as they waited to cross

Atlantic Avenue

Maddie turned her head toward a sleek black Mercedes convertible purring through the intersection. The next thing she knew, she was lying on the cold, hard pavement, blinking against the glaring light of a street lamp.

A deep, smooth-as-honey voice was calling her name, bit it sounded as if she had cotton stuck in her ears.

“Maddie, are you okay? Say something.”

“What? What happened?”

A face slowly came into focus only inches from hers—so close she could smell his spicy cologne and feel his breath whisper across her cheek when he spoke.

“I think she’s coming around. Everyone stand back and give her some room.”

As the sound of sirens wailed in the distance, Maddie tried to sit up, but her muscles weren’t cooperating. She relaxed back against something soft that had been tucked behind her head.

She watched in confusion as the man shrugged his shoulders out of his charcoal gray suit coat and wrapped it around her body. Its silky lining still carried his body heat, a welcome warmth to her clammy skin.

“Kara? Where’s Kara?” Maddie managed, with great effort, to ask.

Kara’s’ concerned face popped into view.

“What happened?” Maddie whispered through suddenly dry lips.

“You were so busy gawking at that car, you didn’t watch where you were going and ran right into the light post, bounced off, stumbled backwards and clunked your head on an iron bench on your way down,” Kara answered. “Knocked yourself clean out.”

Kara smiled then leaned down and whispered in Maddie’s ear, “Don’t know how you did it, little sis, but you managed to fall at the feet of the most delicious-looking man. And he’s single! I already asked!”

Kara squeezed Maddie’s hand before slipping out of her range of focus.

The man reappeared—and Maddie concurred he was delicious-looking—and started to gently probe Maddie’s neck and base of her scalp. His touch was gentle, sending fissions of pleasure dancing along every nerve and his hands worked their way along her hairline.

Pain stabbed behind her eyes and she pulled away when he touched the spot just above her right temple.

“It’s good the swelling is on the outside,” the man said. “Hopefully not too much on the inside. I still want to run you over to Beach General for some X-rays.”

“Are you a doctor or something?” Kara asked.

Maddie studied the man’s face as his smile spread across his face, reaching all the way to his dancing green eyes. “Not board certified,” he said, “but I play one on TV. Dr. Drew Warrington, at your service.”

Drew Warrington! Of course! Maddie thought the face looked familiar. She’d been watching The Sands of Time since she middle school, and still did, mostly to see Dr. Drew. But before she could express her admiration, the EMT’s pushed Dr. Drew out of the way. The last thing she saw of him was the back of his head as he walked down the street.

* * *

When Maddie awoke from a nap the next morning the first thing she saw was a huge teddy bear with a big red bow dancing at the end of her bed.

“Feeling any better?” the teddy bear asked in a falsetto voice.

Maddie laughed.

A face popped from behind the bear and Maddie grinned at Todd Williamson, better known as Dr. Drew Warrington to millions of soap opera fans across the country. Maddie thought him even better looking in person that he was on TV.

“Little headache,” Maddie said. “I should be released after the doctor makes his rounds, though.”

“Then I’ll let you rest,” he said, placing the stuffed animal in the chair next to her. “I was hoping you might be free for dinner tonight. Maybe I could come to your house and cook you dinner? My specialty is Shrimp Scampi. And if you’re interested, I’ve discovered a new Chilean white wine that pairs nicely with it.”

“That sounds great,” Maddie said, thinking she’d need to rustle up a Jazz CD to play in the background to make the evening perfect.

“Your sister gave me your address last night, so I’ll be over around five.”

“Mmm,” Maddie mumbled. The way that Todd gazed down at her, his eyes full of concern, left Maddie at a loss for words.

Todd stood at Maddie’s bedside in silence for a few moments, then reached out and brushed his fingers lightly across the bandage over her temple. Then he leaned down and placed a feathery kiss by her ear. “Feel better soon,” he said, and then disappeared.

“I already do,” Maddie whispered to his retreating back. Todd may not be a medical doctor, she thought, but he sure had the right prescription for what ailed her.

Beach Read: THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS

2012-03-07T02:54:00.000-08:00

As I’ve mentioned before in this blog, for the first time in my life this year I joined a book club. Not a mystery-reading book club—that would be too comfortable--but a literary fiction-reading book club. I needed expand my horizons and read something outside my genre of choice. I can honestly say that never in a million, billion, ga-zillion years would I have read this book of my own accord. But I also have to say, as literary fiction goes, it wasn’t overly painful.

Book Title: The Language of Flowers

Author: Vanessa Diffenbaugh

Genre: Literary Fiction

Setting: San Francisco and surrounding area

Format: Large print (not that I’m “that old”, I just clicked on the wrong version when I placed a reserve at the Library) hardcover edition

Pages: 524 (but remember, that’s the Large Print edition)

Publication date: August, 2011

Publisher: Thorndike Press, arranged with the Ballantine Publishing Group, a Division of Random House, Inc.

Opening Line: For eight years I dreamed of fire.

Favorite Passage: A bare lightbulb illuminated an empty blue room, blue as a painter’s palette on a boat in the middle of the sea, bright as illuminated water. The carpet was white fur and almost looked alive. There were no windows. The room was big enough to lie down in but not big enough for a bed or a dresser, even if I could have found one that fit through the small door. One of the walls held a row of brass locks, and when I looked closer, I saw that the locks bridge the space between the wall and a full-size door. Light seeped through the seam. Natalya was right; this room was literally a closet.

Beach Read Rating: 3 out of 5 Beach Umbrellas

Review: Victoria, the protagonist of this tale, is a victim of the foster care system. She has issues, which make her an emotional vacuum whose sole purpose in life seems to be to hurt people who are trying to help her. The book seesaws back and forth between the child Victoria and the 18-year old Victoria as she aged-out of the foster care system. The two stories are woven together with a bit of floral ribbon as the flashbacks focus primarily on one foster mother, Elizabeth, who taught child Victoria about the language of flowers, and how each flower has a meaning and can be used to send a message. For instance, Mistletoe represents the message I surmount all obstacles. The book includes a 15-page appendix of flowers and their meanings for those who are interested (I was not.)

While this was a quick read, it was ponderous at times, full of anger and hate and distrust and more anger (there was too much anger) to make the protagonist likeable. You do feel sorry for her, but you’d be hard-pressed to like her. This was more of a touch-feely book vice a humorous action book (my favorite) which is why I see it more of a rainy-March-Monday-curl-up-on-the-sofa read than a beach read. It’s getting rave reviews on all the lists, so what do I know about literary fiction? I’ll admit, not much.

Flap Copy:

A mesmerizing, moving, and elegantly written debut novel, The Language of Flowers beautifully weaves past and present, creating a vivid portrait of an unforgettable woman whose gift for flowers helps her change the lives of others even as she struggles to overcome her own troubled past.

The Victorian language of flowers was used to convey romantic expressions: honeysuckle for devotion, asters for patience, and red roses for love. But for Victoria Jones, it’s been more useful in communicating grief, mistrust, and solitude. After a childhood spent in the foster-care system, she is unable to get close to anybody, and her only connection to the world is through flowers and their meanings.

Now eighteen and emancipated from the system, Victoria has nowhere to go and sleeps in a public park, where she plants a small garden of her own. Soon a local florist discovers her talents, and Victoria realizes she has a gift for helping others through the flowers she chooses for them. But a mysterious vendor at the flower market has her questioning what’s been missing in her life, and when she’s forced to confront a painful secret from her past, she must decide whether it’s worth risking everything for a second chance at happiness.

Beach Tale: A Beach-themed Fable

2012-03-05T06:42:00.001-08:00

Way back when I was a young girl, my parent’s would park us in front of the TV on Saturday morning and toss us a box of Cap’n Crunch or Fruit Loops cereal (both great for leaving a “trail of crumbs” a lá Hansel and Gretel.) Mom and Dad would then slink off to the kitchen where they could enjoy a morning of peace and quite with their coffee and paper. I know your first thought is quite possibly, “Why didn’t anyone call Child Protective Services?” But let me explain that 1) the cereal was fortified with 14 vitamins and minerals (I think) and 2) there were some teaching moments on Saturday Morning TV back in the day. Like Aesop’s Fables. I can almost hear the music now as a cartoon fairy flies onto the screen and opens a voluminous book of Fables, and I would watch with rapt attention as I learned my moral lesson. You might remember the classics such as “The Tortoise and the Hare” or “The Ant and the Grasshopper” or “The Boy Who Cried Wolf” or “The Fox and the Grapes” (from whence we get the phrase “Sour Grapes.) Classics, all.

By now you’re probably wondering how this all ties into the Beach Tale for this fine March Monday Morning. Well, I’ve been busy of late, and thought I would save precious time by posting a Beach Tale that somebody else had written. It turns out I’ve spend more time surfing the Internet looking for a story than if I had just put fingers to keyboard and typed one myself. (I imagine there is a “moral lesson” in that in and of itself, but I digress.)

After an exhaustive search (and more than a few wanderings off topic), I surfed upon a beach-themed fable by Aesop himself. And since he wrote them between 620 and 580 AD, the copyright has long since expired and I can post the entire thing without worrying about a lawsuit.

So without further ado, I give you a Beach Tale for today:

THE YOUNG CRAB AND HIS MOTHER

"Why in the world do you walk sideways like that?" said a Mother Crab to her son. "You should always walk straight forward with your toes turned out."

"Show me how to walk, mother dear," answered the little Crab obediently, "I want to learn."

So the old Crab tried and tried to walk straight forward. But she could walk sideways only, like her son. And when she wanted to turn her toes out she tripped and fell on her nose.

Moral of the story:

Do not tell others how to act unless you can set a good example.

To make this post worthy, I'll offer a bit of trivia. Aesop was a slave with the story-telling gene who lived in ancient Greece (5^th century BCE). His “contemporary” was an Indian Buddhist named Jataka. Both are credited with telling tales teaching moral values, with many fable-motif crossovers. So it is unclear of Aesop influenced Jataka or vice versa, but that’s a topic much too deep for this Beach Blog. We’ll leave the “big thinking” to historians and philosophers.

No, for us, the only question to ponder today is “what was your favorite Saturday Morning cartoon?” For me, in addition to Aesop’s Fables, I also enjoyed H.R. Pufnstuf. (For those of you who watched it, good luck getting THAT theme song out of your head today!)

Beach Chat with Nina Pierce

2012-03-02T00:01:00.002-08:00

Beach Chat: 15 questions asked of a writer. Go!

Name: Nina Pierce

Best beach memory: One night we went for a late night walk on the beach. We never carried flashlights and just enjoyed the beach by moonlight. This night the bioluminescent bacteria filled the sand and the water. We spent a couple of hours stomping the sand to see our footprints highlighted in green and splashing in the water to make it light up. It was very cool.

One guilty pleasure: Dunkin Donuts vanilla iced coffee with cream and liquid sugar (I just pretend they make mine without calories)

Dream car: Corvette convertible

Three of your favorite things:

Peeps (yeah, you know those marshmallows covered in sugar)
Sunsets
My family

Pet peeve: When people are mean and hurtful

Worst non-writing job you ever had: Janitor in a girls' dormitory in college (can you say shower drain *gag*)

Book you are reading right now: Dark Lover by JR Ward (loving it!)

Preference, print or ebook: Print

Favorite place to write: In the quiet of my office

Biggest writing challenge: Opening my manuscript

Genre you write: What genre in romance don't I write? (oh, historical and YA) I think I've touched every subgenre of romance out there.

Current work in progress: No Bed of Roses

One author, living or dead, with whom you'd like to sip Mai Tais with onbWaikiki Beach: Larissa Ione (Anyone who can create the worlds she has would be fascinating)

Favorite quote or saying:
"I don't like writing, but I love to have written" ~ Michael Kanin

Bio:

nina's sexy romance
Blind Her with bliss
is free on AMazon

Award-winning romance author, Nina Pierce, grew up in a house full of readers. So becoming enamored with books was only natural. She discovered romance stories in her early teens, falling hopelessly in love with knights
in shining armor and the damsels who saved them.

Eventually, reading about alpha males and the journey to find their happy-ever-after endings wasn't enough. She needed to pen her own stories of fated loves and soul mates. Nina's discovered the passionate side of romance with her sexy stories. For her, it's all about the sweet scent of seduction mixed with the heart warming aroma of romance.

Nina resides in southern New England with her high school sweetheart and soul mate of twenty-seven years, their three grown children and several very spoiled cats who consider her "staff".

Beach Chat with Holly Jacobs

2012-02-24T03:57:00.001-08:00

Beach chat: 15 questions answered by an author. Go!

Name: Holly Jacobs

Best beach memory: Sunrise on a Southampton, Ontario Beach... I was the only person out and about. The gulls were starting to stir and I had a loaf of bread to feed them. The moon was setting just beyond the lighthouse across the water. The coffee was hot. Life was way beyond good!

One guilty pleasure: Blue Moon Ice Cream!

Dream car: Right now, I own an orange Pontiac Vibe named Floyd (Nana Vancy drives one in these last two Everything But... books). I bought him with my money and made the deal on my own. He's my dream car. Alas, he's getting old enough that I'll need to replace him soon...I'll miss him!

Three of your favorite things: Books. Music. Broadway.

Pet peeve: Mean people.

Worst non-writing job you ever had: Growing up I had younger brothers who I babysat, and a regular set of boys I babysat...I knew boys. One day, I babysat a gaggle of girls for a friend. No one ever told me that girls whine...a lot. Added to that, they overflowed the toilet. Then the police came because a neighbor complained about a dog. And I had a blind date that night I didn't want to go on...so of course, the parents got home very late, and I was late. I hate being late. That was the worst job ever. I never babysat girls again!

Book you are reading right now: A Rita book...I can't tell you the title, but it's good!

Preference, print or ebook: Real books, there's something more than reading to holding them, feeling the heft of them...the smell. Even the crackle of the binding. But I do have a Kindle and have learned to love it. It's awesome when I travel, and I love the fact I can want a book and a second later have it in my hand. It's like magic!!

Favorite place to write: On the couch, next to the fireplace, with the two dogs (Ethel Merman and Ella Fitzgerald) snuggled next to me!

Biggest writing challenge: Time. I think time is every writer's worst enemy. Even now that my kids are bigger, they still need me, and there are other people I take care of too, plus there's always stuff around the house that needs done...there are a lot of demands on my time.

Genre you write: Romance. I started in romantic comedy (and still write it), but have added more dramatic stories to my repertoire.

Current work in progress: I'm working on a new trilogy for SuperRomance (out May, June and July '13) tentatively called Something Borrowed, Something Blue and Something Perfect...I'm so jazzed about them. They're set in Lake Erie's wine region.

One author, living or dead, with whom you?d like to sip Mai Tais with on Waikiki Beach: Just one??? My phone just rang and the ringtone was like a sign how I should narrow down my vast writers-I'd-like-to-drink-with list to just one. Joss Whedon. Now, I know he's not a novelist, but that man can write. (And the ringtone was from his Dr. Horrible show...A Man's Gotta Do)

Favorite quote or saying: "Life is good!" (Or maybe "Monday Glee!" I use that one weekly on Facebook...no one likes Mondays, but I adore them. Not only because the house gets quiet when everyone goes to school/work, but also because I feel bad that everyone hates Mondays so much...Mondays need love, too!)

Holly's latest
Avalon release:
"Everything But
a Mother"

Bio:Holly Jacobs leads a life full of romance and adventure. From skydiving to jet-setting around Europe, from snorkeling in coral reefs to writing while wearing beautiful silk peignoir sets and popping chocolate bonbons, Holly Jacobs leads a life that is the epitome of romance.

Well, my fictional life sounds more interesting, but not better than my real life. Really, I'm the happily married mother of four. I write for Harlequin and Avalon Books.

You can visit me at www.HollyJacobs.com

Beach Read: EVERYTHING BUT A GROOM by Holly Jacobs

2012-02-22T00:01:00.001-08:00

The first chick-lit book I ever read was by Holly Jacobs, in the now defunct Harlequin Duets line. It was then I realized there was a market for the humorous romance. It was the biggest “Ah HA!” moment of my writing career. So when I discovered that Holly also wrote for Avalon Books, a little thrill ran up my spine because we shared the same publisher! And she’s still writing for Avalon (as well as Harlequin). When I found this out, I wanted to read her latest release. But alas, it’s 5^th in a series, and being the type of person I am, I have to start reading a series with the first book. While today’s Beach Read was published in 2007, it’s aged well and still is the perfect book to take along on your next beach outing. And in another totally thrilling, pinch-me-cuz-I-think-I’m-dreaming moment, Holly has agreed to stop by for a Beach Chat on Friday! You’ll want to be sure and check back to see what her worst non-writing job ever was! But today, let’s get on with the book review.

Book Title: Everything But a Groom

Author: Holly Jacobs

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Setting: Erie, PA

Format: Hardcover

Pages: 186

Publication date: Dec, 2007

Publisher: Avalon Books

Opening Line: Vancy Bashalde was the most beautiful woman in the small town of Erdely, Hungary.

Favorite Passage: “Uncle Matt was kissin’ Vancy’s boo-boo but his lips slipped from her nose to her mouth.” (spoken by a pre-school aged boy, but I’m sure you figured that out.)

Beach Read Rating: 5 (out of 5) Beach Umbrellas

Review: This book was voted on of Booklists Top 10 Romances of ’08. Need I say more? Probably not, but I will.

The Wedding Curse enacted by Vancy Bashalde when she was a young girl in Hungary is manifesting itself in yet another generation, this time on her grandchildren. Poor Vancy (the granddaughter) is left at the altar and the Press loves the “wedding curse” angle and hounds her for a story. What’s a poor girl to do but hide out with the hunkiest bachelor in all of Erie, PA? Throw a pair of nephew boys who are dropped on the hunk’s doorstep and you have the premise for a true romance that will tug at your heartstrings from every angle possible. I smiled through all 186 pages, and was sad when it was over. But no worries, as the series continues with Everything But a Bride (Aug 08), Everything But a Wedding (Dec 08), Everything But a Christmas Eve (Dec 09), Everything But a Mother (Feb 12) and will conclude with Everything But a Dog (Jun 12), all available for purchase or from a lending library near you.

Flap Copy: Every Hungarian Grandma knows that words have power. Nana Salo never meant the words she said in anger to become a family curse, but that’s just what happened. Her granddaughter Vancy is just the newest victim. Vancy’s fiancé has left her at the altar, and now the press is after a hot Grandma-curses-granddaughter’s-wedding story.

Vancy doesn’t believe in the Salo Wedding Curse, but when her groom ditches her and the press is hot on her heels, she’s not quite so sure anymore. She’s hiding out with Matt Wilde, owner of the Everything Wilde landscaping business, helping out with his two newly-inherited nephews as she figures out what to do.

Matt doesn’t believe in curses either, but he seems cursed with thoughts of Vancy Salo that he just can’t seem to shake.

A hoard of reporters, a guilty grandma, a gaggle of other family members, and two four-year-olds that both steal their hearts and wreak their own havoc: it’s not exactly a classic situation for falling in love...but that’s just what may be happening for Vancy and Matt.

Winner Announced

2012-02-20T00:01:00.000-08:00

We interrupt this regularly scheduled Beach Tale post to announce the winner of a copy of Chrystle Fielder's debut cozy mystery, Death Drops: A Natural Remedies Mystery published by Gallery Books/Simon and Shuster. Drum roll please.....

And the winner is Charlotte McCaw!

Charlotte, please send your snail mail address to jo(at)jayneormerod(dot)com and I'll get that book in the mail to you.

Thanks to all of you who stopped by and left a comment.

And special thanks to Chrystle Fielder for the giveaway. Wishing you much success with your Natural Remedies series.

Beach Chat with Chrystle Fiedler

2012-02-17T00:01:00.001-08:00

Beach chat: 15 questions answered by an author. Go!

Name: Chrystle Fiedler

Favorite beach memory: The East End of Long Island is surrounded by water so there are beaches galore! I started going to the beach before I could walk and my love of the water continues to this day. My best beach memory has to be going to the Sound with my mom and dad and sister Val and my dog Snipsi, a dachshund. We would bring lunch and a grill and food to cook for dinner and snacks (of course!) so we could stay all day. It was absolutely wonderful to lie on a blanket and read and eat goldfish crackers and potato chips. The days seemed endless. These are some of my best childhood memories.

One guilty pleasure: Chocolate and reality shows like Survivor and Project Runway.

Dream car: I have a PT Cruiser, so I’d have to say a new PT Cruiser!

Three of your favorite things: My dogs, my cats, my cozy cottage!

Pet peeve: Ignorance and cruelty. When I hear someone has hurt an animal I get really upset. It all comes down to ignorance and meanness. They just don’t know or care. I do all I can to help animals whether it means calling my Congressman or giving to non-profits like All American Dachshund Rescue (www.allamericandachshundrescue.org). My dachshund Wallander came to me from the AADR. He’s a love!

Worst non-writing job you ever had: I worked at Cablevision helping people get their cable installed for over a year. It was awful!

Book you are reading right now: Dire Threads: A Threadville Mystery by Janet Bolin. It’s a cozy mystery. I love to write and read cozy mysteries. It’s a great escape from reality!

Preference, print or ebook: Print. I like the feeling of a book in my hands.

Favorite place to write: With my laptop, on the living room couch.

Current work in progress: I’m rewriting Scent to Kill: A Natural Remedies Mystery, the sequel to my debut novel Death Drops: A Natural Remedies Mystery which will be published by Gallery Books and Simon & Schuster on February 21^st. Very exciting!

Biggest writing challenge: Starting! What people who don’t write may not understand that the action of starting to write is painful. At least it is for me. You have to pierce the barrier of inertia. Once I get started I’m fine. I lose myself in the process and time flies.

Genre you write: Cozy Mystery

One author, living or dead, with whom you'd like to sip Mai Tais with on Waikiki Beach: Diane Mott Davidson, the author of the catering mysteries. She’s the one who inspired me to write a cozy mystery. I’d like to pick her brain!

Favorite quote or saying: “Leap and the Net Will Appear.” I think it’s by Goethe. I also like what Library Journal had to say about Death Drops: “With a terrific premise and an interesting idea, Fiedler’s debut shows promise.”

Author Chrystle Fiedler
and Wallander, her dachsund mix

Bio: I’m the author of DEATH DROPS: A NATURAL REMEDIES MYSTERY (Gallery Books/Simon and Schuster) which will be published on February 21^st 2012. I’m also the author of the non-fiction title THE COMPLETE IDIOT'S GUIDE TO NATURAL REMEDIES (Alpha, 2009), co-author of BEAT SUGAR ADDICTION NOW! (Fairwinds Press, 2010), currently in its fourth printing, the BEAT SUGAR ADDICTION NOW! COOKBOOK (Fairwinds Press, 2012) and THE COUNTRY ALMANAC OF HOME REMEDIES (Fairwinds, 2011). My magazine articles featuring natural remedies have appeared in many national publications including Better Homes and Gardens, Natural Health, Vegetarian Times and Remedy. I’m a native of the North Fork on Long Island. Please visit www.chrystlefiedler.com and www.killerhobbies.blogspo where I blog on Saturdays!

Here’s what my new book Death Drops: A Natural Remedies Mystery is about:

Dr. Willow McQuade, N.D., a twenty-eight-year-old naturopathic doctor specializing in natural remedies, has decided to take sabbatical and visit her Aunt Claire, the owner of Nature’s Way Market and Cafe in idyllic Greenport, Long Island. But the idea of rest and relaxation is quickly forgotten when Willow arrives from a morning meditative walk to discover her Aunt Claire dead in the store, a strange almond-like smell emanating from her mouth and a bottle of flower essences by her side.

Despite her Zen nature and penchant for yoga, Aunt Claire had a knack for getting into confrontations with folks. An activist, she held weekly meetings for different causes every week in the store. The police want to believe the death is accidental—but Willow thinks she may have been poisoned.

Things get worse when Aunt Claire’s valuable recipe for a new natural age-defying formula, Fresh Face, is stolen during a store break-in, and an attempt is made on Willow’s life. Desperate for a way out of the mess, she turns to a handsome young cop Jackson Spade. Together the two set about solving the case the natural way—through a combination of hard work, common sense, and a dose of luck.

Praise for Death Drops: A Natural Remedies Mystery:

Ø “With a terrific premise and an interesting topic, Fiedler’s debut shows promise.” ~ Library Journal

Ø Death Drops is a gem! Entertaining, informative, and with a mystery that had me completely baffled! ~ Gayle Trent, author of Killer Sweet Tooth

Ø "Fiedler's absorbing mystery is an entertaining debut, featuring a likeable menagerie of characters, filled with natural remedies, with all of it unfolding on Long Island's idyllic East End." ~Linda Bloodworth-Thomason, author of the national bestseller Liberating Paris.

Ø “An engaging investigative thriller…an enjoyable whodunit.” ~The Mystery Gazette

Death Drops: A Natural Remedies Mystery is on sale now on www.amazon.com and other sites along with your local bookstore. For more information please visit www.chrystlefiedler.com.

Beach Read: HEAT RISES by Richard Castle

2012-02-15T00:01:00.000-08:00

If you’re not familiar with the ABC show Castle then this book might not mean much to you. But along the lines of the Murder, She Wrote series, author Richard Castle is a thriller writer on the TV show. On the show, his latest bestseller is based on a New York cop named Nikki Heat, which is based on the “real” New York Cop in the fictional show by the name of Kate Becket. So all the characters in the book are based on the characters in the TV show, and it’s kind of mind-warping, in a parallel-universe sort of way.

Book Title: Heat Rises (Nikki Heat Series #3)

Author: Richard Castle

Genre: Mystery

Setting: New York City

Format: Hardcover

Pages: 301

Publication date: September, 2011

Publisher: Hyperion New York

Opening Line: The Thing about New York City is you never know what’s behind a door.

Favorite Passage: There were no feet under the stalls in the gents’. Rook hurried to his business, achieving blessed relief as he read the sampler hung above the urinal: “ ‘ Write drunk; edit sober.’—Ernest Hemingway.”

Beach Read Rating: 4 out of 5 Beach Umbrellas

Review: I’m gonna preface this review with this, like the TV show, leans more towards the dark and disturbing than my customary light and cozy. But the cop talk and sexual banter is a lot of fun. And knowing the TV characters makes reading about their literary altar egos a (as my dad used to say) a real kick in the pants. This book is laugh out loud funny at some points, and close-your-eye-s gory at others, but that’s life in the Big City, I guess. My only complaints are the scenes where bands of bad people (as in professional killers) go after Nikki and she single-handedly defeats them all! A little too much “fantasy” for my taste. But overall a great engaging read. I am curious who the "real" author is behind the "Richard Castle" name because I would love to read more of his/her/their books.

Flap Copy:

The bizarre murder of a parish priest at a New York bondage club opens Nikki Heat's most thrilling and dangerous case so far, pitting her against New York's most vicious drug lord, an arrogant CIA contractor, and a shadowy death squad out to gun her down. And that is just the tip of an iceberg that leads to a dark conspiracy reaching all the way to the highest level of the NYPD.

But when she gets too close to the truth, Nikki finds herself disgraced, stripped of her badge, and out on her own as a target for killers, with nobody she can trust. Except maybe the one man in her life who's not a cop: reporter Jameson Rook.

In the midst of New York's coldest winter in a hundred years, there's one thing Nikki is determined to prove: Heat Rises.

Beach Tale: "Three Little Words" a short romantic story just in time for Valentine's Day

2012-02-13T00:01:00.000-08:00

<<Caveat: This story was cross-posted on the Avalon Authors blog at the beginning of the month. It's too timely not to share here, too.>>

Carole wasted no time in placing her order. “I’d like a piece of Triple-Chocolate Cherry Cheesecake, please,” she said. “Wait…on second thought…make that a double.”

After the waiter bowed and left, Carole glanced at the handsome man seated across the table from her. “What?” she asked.

“Wouldn’t you rather start with something more traditional?” Brad asked. “I can recommend the shrimp puffs with garlic-herb aioli for dipping. Or the Buffalo Chicken Dip. It’ll really put some hair on your chest.” He smiled his smile that, under normal circumstances, melted Carole’s heart.

“Chocolate first, then we’ll worry about nourishment.” Carole lifted the linen napkin from the table and spread it across her lap.

“Bad day, huh?” Brad leaned forward, placing his forearms on the table. “Wanna talk about it?”

Carole slumped back against the KIND OF chair. What she really wanted to talk about was the cryptic message he’d left on her voice mail—“Dinner tonight? I’ve got three little words for you…”

Dare she even hope that Brad might, finally, be ready to profess his love? After three years of dating, there was no doubt he cared deeply for her. He showed her that daily by doing thoughtful things or leaving sentimental gifts. But he’d never actually said those three little words that every woman longs to hear.

Carole reached for a dry breadstick from the napkin-lined basket and crunched off the end. Considering her luck today, his three little words would be: Take a hike!

“Carole? Your day?” Brad gently prompted.

“Everything just seemed to go wrong. It started when I burned my toast at breakfast, setting off the smoke alarm, which had Mrs. Grouchypants banging on my wall an yelling for me to turn off that racket or she was going to report me to the building manager. One more noise complaint and I’ll be evicted.” Carole crunched off another bite of breadstick. “Then while reaching for the orange juice, I knocked a jar of picked jalapeños onto the tile floor and it broke. The juice splattered everywhere, including on Punchy, who then ran and wiped it all off on my new bedspread.”

Carole sent a warning glance to Brad, conveying the message that she wasn’t in the mood for any smart comments about jalapeno juice improving her cat’s odor.

Brad reached for a breadstick himself, took a bite and chewed thoughtfully.

Carole continued her day’s tally if mishaps. “Needless to say, after all that, I was running late for work and sort of rolled through a stop sign. Cop saw me. Fifty dollar ticket.”

“Bad things come in threes,” Brad said. “So according to my count, should have been your allotment for the day.”

“If only,” Carole snapped. “At lunch I tried to prevent a lover’s quarrel between two third-graders and ended up with ketchup squirted down the front of my favorite white silk top. It’s ruined.”

The waiter arrived with the double order of cheesecake, and Carole wasted no time in forking a large amount into her mouth. “Mmmmm. Heavenly. So where was I? Oh, yeah. Then there was the stapler incident…don’t ask!”

After another big bite of cheesecake, Carole paused long enough to dab a bit of chocolate from the corner of her mouth. “But the highlight, or should I say low-light, of my day happened when I was lecturing a classroom of impressionable young minds about the dangers of surfing the world-wide-web. As if on cue, all of the computers in the lab flipped to screensaver. Only it wasn’t the standard school mascot that appeared.”

Carol brushed at some crumbs on the table cloth before continuing. “Twenty-six images of a Speedo-clad man flashed around the room. He was waving a heart-shaped flag which invited anyone and everyone to ‘Be My Valentine.’” Carole finger-quoted the phrase. “And as luck would have it, Miss. Bellemy walked in at that moment and this is what she did.” Caroline reenacted the seventy-two year old spinster librarian’s reaction, clutching her hands to her chest, then throwing her head backwards as her eyes rolled to the back of her head, then collapsing against the back of the chair. Caroline had to grab the table lest she fall to the floor. Righting herself, she continued, “I thought for sure we were going to have to call the paramedics.”

“But she’s all right?” Brad asked.

“She’s all right, all right. Once we got her back up on her feet, she took off as if those orthopedic shoes were on fire, straight to Principal McMahon’s office. I’m to meet with him tomorrow morning at 7 a.m. to discuss the situation. Apparently she doesn’t think near-nekkid men are appropriate viewing for third graders, and thinks that I do!”

Caroline waited for Brad to offer his usual kind words or sympathetic touch. Instead she heard a snort of laugher. As their eyes met across the table, he gave into a full-blown belly laugh.

This was not the reaction she’d hope for, and she couldn’t help feeling even more dejected. Carole speared another large chunk of cheesecake. What more could possibly go wrong today?

As if in answer, Carole spotted a chubby, middle-aged man dressed as a cherub entering the dining room, tip-toeing straight for their table. Embarrassment flushed Carole’s face as the diaper-clad, arrow-toting, balloon-carrying Cupid paused behind Brad.

“May your lives be filled with love, joy and laughter.” Cupid enounced and projected his statement as if delivering a Shakespearean soliloquy at the Globe theater. With a grand gesture, he offered a bouquet of shimmering Mylar balloons to Carole.

Carole hated being the center of attention. In fact, the last time someone had tried to assemble the servers to sing “Happy Birthday” to her, she’d run screaming for the bathroom. But she couldn’t run now. Not that she didn’t want to, it’s that total mortification had turned her muscles to cement. Including her eyes. She couldn’t even redirect her gaze to Brad.

When Carole didn’t move to take the proffered balloons, Cupid tied them to the back of Brad’s chair. With a quick bow, he turned and skipped back through the dining room, a ripple of amused chuckles following in his wake.

Carole knew by the hushed silence that blanketed the dining room that everyone in the restaurant was watching their little drama. Fire flamed her cheeks as through sheer force of will she lifted her eyes to Brad’s. “Why are you humiliating me in public this way?” she asked.

A look of surprise flashed across his face. Then he pointed up to the balloons dancing above his shoulder.

Carole lifted her gaze. There were three red, heart-shaped balloons dancing on red and white strings. Two for the balloons had words scripted on them On said ME and the other said PLEASE.

“I don’t understand, Brad. Me please?” What does that mean?
Brad looked up, then slowly reached and turned the first balloon around.

Carole read the message again. Marry Me Please.

“Please?” he whispered.

“Oh, Brad…” In a heartbeat they were in each other’s arms.

“I love you, Carole. Please say ‘yes.’”

Before she could speak, Brad’s lips found hers in a soulful kiss that sent tremors of pure joy and desire racing through her body.

“I love you, too, Brad.,” Carol gasped when the finally came up for air. “Yes. Yes. A thousand times, yes.”

Tears streamed unchecked down Carole’s cheeks as thundering applause echoed around them. What had been the worst day of Carole’s life was now the happiest day ever! And all it took was three little words.

Beach Chat with Ann Yost

2012-02-10T00:01:00.000-08:00

Beach Chat—15 rapid-fire questions asked of a writer.

Name: Ann Yost—and first, I’d like to thank Jayne Ormerod for letting me visit her delightful beach blog. Thank you, Jayne! Now for the questions.

Best beach memory: Several years ago hubby rented an upside down house on Fenwick Island in Delaware for our anniversary. All of my known relatives (12) were present for at least part of the week. One of our cars broke down on the way and we had to buy a $700 clunker from a dishonest mechanic just to get there and mid-way through the week I got to experience my very first urinary tract infection. Even so, it was great. We saw dolphins!

One guilty pleasure: Watching political pundits on MSNBC.

Dream car: Honda CRV. Luckily, I have one.

Three of your favorite things: Kisses (people, dogs, chocolate – not necessarily in that order), bed-time reading and all the PBS classics and mysteries. I like knitting, too. And eating.

Pet peeve: iphones. Blackberries. All that stuff that makes it hard to have an uninterrupted conversation with someone. Maybe I’d feel differently if I had one.

Worst non-writing job you ever had: Substitute teaching. Haaaaard. It requires someone who thinks a lot faster on her feet than I do.

Book you are reading right now: I usually have several books underway and I leave them in various spots around the house. Right now I am reading the second Omnibus of the Bill Slider crime series by Britisher Cynthia Harrod-Eagles. It’s fantastic. I’m also reading Georgette Heyer’s The Spanish Bride, and Game Change, by John Heilemann and Mark Halperin, about the 2008 presidential election. I have substituted reading for housework and laundry but I manage to fit in all the meals.

Preference, print or ebook: I like print books because that’s what I’m used to. I intend to become a fan of ebooks though since I’m guessing that’s the future.

Favorite place to write: The little front bedroom of my house. It’s on the second floor and I can monitor the neighborhood. Also it’s a short twelve steps away from the refrigerator and it has a bed convenient for naps for my oldie golden retriever…and me.

Biggest writing challenge: Trying to fit stories into a marketable category

Genre you write: Contemporary romantic mysteries and historical romance.

Current work in progress: I’m working on Crown of Candles, the first of four mysteries set on the Keweenaw Peninsula, a spur of land that juts into Lake Superior. The town of Red Jacket, in an effort to bring in more tourists, holds a Finnish Christmas festival, Joulupiiku, which begins with a parade to honor the virgin martyr, St. Lucy. The whole thing goes horribly wrong when St. Lucy turns up dead in a sauna. In a remote, snowbound land where deer outnumber people, everyone wears more than one hat and Hatti Lehtinen, owner of the fishing tackle-slash-knitting supplies shop, Bait & Stitch, is in the unenviable position of serving as Red Jacket’s acting, temporary police chief. Worst of all, the first suspect on Hatti’s list is Jericho “Jace” Summerhawk, the man who recently divorced her. Merry Ex-mas!

One author, living or dead, with whom you’d like to sip Mai Tais with on Waikiki Beach: My favorite author has always been Jane Austen but, I think for sheer fun and mai-tais I’d choose Jayne Ormerod. (blog hostess’s note…I didn’t pay her to say that! But thanks, Ann. I’ll buy the first round!)

Favorite quote or saying: “Muggs was always sorry, Mother said, when he bit someone but we could never understand how she figured this out. He didn’t act sorry.” ~ James Thurber.

Bio: I’m from Ann Arbor, Michigan and until I was about ten, I thought the town had been named after me. I followed my father into journalism, worked at three daily newspapers and then married an Associated Press newsman. I’ve got five adult children if you count their spouses and I do. All of them have fascinating jobs including freelance motion designer to C.P.A. to linguist to first grade teacher to patent examiner. I have always been interested in small towns because think it adds so much to the mundane and dramatic moments of life to have them play out on a stage where everybody knows everybody else.

My most recent release from Wild Rose Press is a novella, The Earl That I Marry. When Reginald Wanstead, the newly elevated earl of Marchmont, threatens the Watson females with the loss of their home and herb-growing business, the pragmatic Miss Honeysuckle Watson devises a Grand Plan to save the family fortunes. Honey intends to compromise Reggie. As a gentleman, he will be forced to offer for her and she will graciously allow him to keep his freedom in exchange for a life-time lease on Hilldale House. The Grand Plan goes awry when, in an unexpected and mortifying development, Honey falls in love with the devil earl.

Here’s an excerpt:

“My lord?” she said, her brow wrinkled. “I have a question.”

He lifted a brow.

“How do you do that? I mean work your eyebrows independently? It is very effective, I promise you. It makes you look quite –“

“Wicked?”

“I would say intriguing.”

Intriguing. Was she flirting with him? A jolt of desire shot through him.

“You had a question?”

“It is more of a favor.” Her eyes were huge in the pale face.

Well, damn. A favor. He sighed. ”Is this about Bottomsley?”

“No.” She bit her soft, full, lower lip and his blood surged. “I wonder if you would mind…that is…I have never been properly kissed and, well, I would very much like you to do it.”

She wanted him to kiss her? He gazed at the bitten bottom lip, the small, even, white teeth, and the urge to explore them with his tongue was almost irresistible.

Dangerous. Reggie knew he should warn her but the words remained unspoken.

He slid one hand behind her slender neck and lowered his head. Her scent, lavender? And maybe sage? Jasmine? Whichever it was unique and intoxicating. Her lips quivered as he brushed them lightly with his own. He drew back a moment later, his chest constricted, his breathing heavy.

“Like that?”

The clear eyes regarded him steadily. “I thought there would be something more.”

Reggie stifled a groan. He was not used to self-denial. “I must be honest with you, Miss Watson. Honeysuckle. I am afraid of the ‘something more.’ I am afraid I will not be able to stop with a kiss.

For excerpts from Ann’s other published works, That Voodoo That You Do and About a Baby, please go to her website: www.annyost.com.

And watch for these impending releases:

For Better or Hearse, May 2012

He Loves Lucy, release date pending

Eye of the Tiger Lily, release date pending

Beach Read: "The Earl That I Marry" by Ann Yost

2012-02-08T03:35:00.000-08:00

Maybe it’s because I have no desire to ever write a regency romance that allows me to read this genre for pure unadulterated enjoyment-- and without that evil green-eyed monster named Jealousy sitting on my shoulder, but I do love a good regency, and Ann Yost has penned a delightful tale. And a head’s up, if you want to know more about the author, come back on Friday for Beach Chat where Ann will stop by for a tittle-tattle .

Book Title: The Earl That I Marry

Author: Ann Yost

Genre: Historical Romance

Setting: An English manor house

Format: enovella

Publication date: November 2011

Publisher: The Wild Rose Press

Opening Line: “Devil take it. Not again.”

Favorite Passage: Mrs. Henrietta Swope-Hanley was a handsome, well-upholstered woman whose abundant bosom inevitably preceded the rest of her when entering a room or exiting a carriage.

Beach Read Rating: 5 out of 5 Beach Umbrellas

Review: I love this book. Author Ann Yost has mastered the richness and delicious flavor of the language from that time period. Many books I have read use it in dialogue, but Ann carries it through the narrative, which makes for a delightful read that really draws the reader into the story. Add two compelling main characters and sprinkle in a dash of humor and this is a recipe for the perfect read. I highly recommend this book to any discerning regency reader. Enjoy!

Flap Copy:

A reluctant earl, a determined lady, an abandoned cottage…scandal, anyone?

The Earl of Marchmont is threatening Honeysuckle Watson’s family home—but Honey has a plan. She will lure the earl from London with tales of a highwayman, and then she will compromise herself to force his hand. But when the arrogant earl arrives, Honey finds her plans backfiring in a hurry…

Reginald Wanstead never wanted to be Earl of Marchmont, but now he is, he must marry and produce an heir. He wants a biddable wife who won’t inconvenience him—certainly not Honeysuckle Watson with her fiery hair and lectures about his duties to his tenants. So why can’t he get her out of his thoughts?

When a thunderstorm forces Honey and Reggie to shelter in an empty cottage, Honey’s opportunity is at hand…but her treacherous heart betrays her. Has she fallen in love with the devil earl?

Beach Tale: Your Own Personal "Fantasy Island"

2012-02-06T00:01:00.000-08:00

Remember the show with Mr. Rourke (played by Ricardo Montalbán) and Tattoo (played by Hervé Villechaize)? I can hear it now, “De plane! De plane!” That announced the arrival of another guest to their Pacific Island where for a mere $50,000 (about $185,000 in 2012 dollars) the guest’s wildest fantasy would come true. I’m not talking sexual fantasy here. No, this TV after all, and back when the sensors were really strict. This show was more about finding a lost love or being a big game hunter or being the MVP in the Super Bowl or something.

Of course it was called “Fantasy Island” for a reason. Not because fantasies were being lived out, but because the entire premise was a fantasy.

But what would you say if I told you that right now, in 2012, and for about $2,000 (and no, I didn’t leave any zeros out) you can have your fantasy come true. Well, one caveat. You can have your fantasy come true if your fantasy is to be a lighthouse keeper. And not just any lighthouse, but the one on Rose Island, plopped in the middle of the Naragansett Bay (just off the coast of Newport, RI) with sweeping views of the bay and all the boats that sail there.

Yup…this could be your home for a week:

Of course, the reality is you have duties as a lighthouse keeper. You have to raise and lower the flag everyday and greet day visitors to the island and track weather info and work about 5 hours a day on a special project suited to your needs. But the rest of the time is yours to as you please to roam the island or bask on the rocky beach.

Nobody else lives on the Island, but sometimes guests stay on the lower level for the night and you have to share this bit of paradise. Oh, and did I also mention it's only available by boat? So those of you who get seasick, pray for a calm seas on travel days.

Kitchen at Rose Island Lighthouse

And it’s not just a fantasy as a lighthouse keeper, but it’s also a fantasy to step back in time 100 years. The entire lighthouse has been restored to 1912 standards. This means no refrigerator (bring a cooler packed with ice), no electricity (a wind turbine provides a bit of light) which means to TV, and of course no shopping or other amenities. You get to cook on an old potbellied stove. A real Laura Ingalls Wilder experience! But no worries about dying from thirst because you can’t figure out how to get the hand pump to work. Bottled water is provided, but his is definitely a BYOW (Bring your own wine) experience. And what an experience it would be!

I’m thinking that this would be a super romantic Valentine’s Day experience, don’t you agree? If you’d like more information or would to book your fantasy island vacation, click here. http://www.roseislandlighthouse.org/keeper_options.html

If you go, be sure and send me a postcard!

Beach Chat: Patricia Yager Delagrange

2012-02-03T00:01:00.000-08:00

Beach Chat—15 rapid-fire questions asked of a writer.

Name: Patricia Yager Delagrange

Book you are reading right now: Home for Christmas by Thomas Kinkaide

Preference, print or ebook: Print

Genre you write: Women’s Fiction with Romantic Elements

Current work in progress: Brenda’s Wish

Favorite place to write: On my couch with my Labrador Jack sitting next to me with his ear hanging over the side of my MacBook

Biggest writing challenge: Thinking of what book to write next

One author, living or dead, with whom you’d like to sip Mai Tais with on Waikiki Beach: Jodi Picoult

Three of your favorite things: My horse, Maximus; my two kids; my two dogs. If you mean things as in objects, then my three faves would be my MacBook, my English saddle, and my couch

Worst non-writing job you ever had: Cleaning the ladies’ bathrooms at the Penny Market after it closed for the day

Dream car: Brand new GMC Yukon

One guilty pleasure: Eating See’s candy with a cup of coffee

Pet peeve: Dirty pots and pans and dishes left for me to clean up in the kitchen

Favorite quote or saying: If you don’t have an iPhone, you don’t have an iPhone.

Best beach memory: Laying on the beach with my girlfriends at 16 year’s old, slathered in baby oil, trying to get a tan but succeeding in frying myself red

Bio: I was born and raised in the small city of Alameda, across the bay from San Francisco. After attending St. Mary’s College, I spent my junior year at the University of Madrid then transferred to U.C. Santa Barbara where I received my B.A. in Spanish. My Master’s degree in education is from Oregon State University. I’m married with two teenage children, a boy and a girl, and we have two very large chocolate labs and a huge Friesian horse, Maximus.

My book Moon Over Alcatraz was released on January 6th by Musa Publishing.

http://www.musapublishing.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=2&products_id=150

I also write a blog every Wednesday that’s rather eclectic that you might enjoy. I can be found at: http://www.patriciayagerdelagrange.com/

Beach Read: "Remaindered" by Lee Goldberg

2012-02-01T00:01:00.000-08:00

Quick read day—a short mystery that preys on the fears of all writers—that of being a one-book wonder.

Story Title: “Remaindered” A Top Suspense Short Story

Author: Lee Goldberg

Genre: Mystery

Setting: Spokane, WA

Format: Free e-download

Pages: 16

Publication date: Jun, 2011

Publisher: Top Suspense Books

Opening Line: The voice of a new generation sat the end of aisle 14, where the housewares department ended and the book section began.

Favorite Passage: Kevin set out to prove them wrong and started writing a new novel. In the meantime, his enthusiastic spending caught up with him, forcing him to downsize. He traded his house for an apartment and the Beamers for Daewoos, assuring his furious wife he’d buy it all back with the big money from his third book.

Beach Read Rating: 5 out of 5 Beach Umbrellas

Review: From an authors perspective, sitting in a K-Mart in Walla Walla, Washington at a book signing is about as scary as it gets! Throw in a psychotic fan and a brutal murder, and pepper it with a wry sense of humor, and you’ve got a truly gripping read. Bonus points for the brevity. And if you don’t have a Kindle for download and the premise intrigues you, you’ll be happy to know that Lee Goldberg directed a short film based on the story. You can view it here: http://www.vimeo.com/21005880 The password is, in all caps: DANGLER

Flap Copy: Kevin Dangler is a once-famous author desperate to regain his lost glory while traveling the back-roads of middle America, selling remaindered, fifth-edition of his first book out of the trunk of his car., Along the way, he meets his ultimate fan—who might be is salvation—or perhaps a novel way to die.

This story was an Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine Readers Choice Award finalist and has previously appeared the anthologies "Three Ways to Die” and “Top Suspense.”

Beach Tale: Idioms with Nautical Origins

2012-01-30T06:56:00.000-08:00

Have you ever heard the phrase, “Not enough room to swing a cat?” Don’t ask me why, but my mom used to say it a lot. And since it’s a universal truth that as we sound more like our mothers as we age, I muttered it the other day when complaining about how cluttered the basement had become.

My son asked, “What does that mean?”

I explained my childhood interpretation of the phrase, where you grab a cat (I envisioned our seal point Siamese, Punchy) by the tail and swing it around the room, knocking over lamps and pictures and whatever other knickknacks are within the cat’s circumference.

“That’s crazy,” my son said.

So in my effort to prove myself right, I did a Google search. Guess what? (And I’m admitting this publicly here…) I was wrong. And to further my surprise, I learned the phrase had a nautical origin. Additional research showed a lot of common terms have ties to Navy traditions. Here are a few, gleaned from Traditions of the Navy by Cedric W. Windas, copyright 1942:

Not room to swing a cat: This phrase, descriptive of any very cramped quarters, was coined in an era when it was often customary to flog men in the ship’s brig. If the brig was too small to allow the sergeant-at-arms full play for his cat-o’-nine-tails, the culprit would be taken on deck and there punished for his misdeeds.

When my ship comes in: This phrase meaning “if and when I make my fortune” was coined in the days when seafaring adventurers would send their fleets along the Mediterranean and African coasts in search of rich cargoes. First they would have to go to the money-lenders, in order to finance the venture. As it was impossible to set an exact date for the fleet’s return, they would sign documents promising to replay the loans “When my ship comes in.”

Took the wind out of his sails: Here’s an expression by which we describe besting an opponent in some argument. Originally it was a maneuver by which one vessel would pass close to windward of another, thereby blanketing the breeze from the other’s canvas and making him lose way. The term itself is picturesque and its meaning essentially practical.

Blue Monday: The term came into being as early as the 18^th century. It originated because of an old custom aboard ships, whereby a man’s misdeeds were logged daily, and the culprit flogged weekly on the following Monday.

Dutch Courage: Sland term for bolstered heroism. It was coined to describe a custom of the old Netherlands Navy, when it was common practice to sere schnapps or gin to the gun crews of fighting ships prior to engaging in battle.

Shanghaied: Just in case you didn’t know it, the term originated in the Chinese port of Shanghai. Here, masters of American tea-clippers delayed for want of crews, would pay the Chinese owners of dives where drunken sailors were carousing, to slip drugs into the seamen’s drinking glasses and hustle the unconscious sailors aboard the waiting ships.

As Jimmy Durante used to say, "I've got a million of 'em." So stay tuned to future blogposts where we'll discuss more prhases that have Navy origins.

Beach Chat with Beate Boeker

2012-01-27T00:01:00.000-08:00

Beach Chat—15 rapid-fire questions asked of a writer.

Name: Beate Boeker

Book you are reading right now: The Foundling by Georgette Heyer

Preference, print or ebook: Doesn't matter; I like both, but I don't have room to keep all the books I love, so e-books have an advantage!

Genres you write: Romance and cozy mysteries

Current work in progress: A trioloy about the owner of a lingerie store in Florence (Italy) whose exuberant family keeps falling over bodies, much to the dismay of the attractive Inspector who would prefer not to investigate the family of the woman he wants to date.

Favorite place to write: Home. I have a desk the size of a standard towel, but I don't need more. My screen is fixed on the wall, and my feet are up on a footstool while I recline in a chair, usually covered by several blankets. A mount of fleece with an occasional curl sticking out - that's me while writing! Of course, I have to set all letters at 28 point or so to see them from my declining position, but that's how I like it. The only drawback is my husband, who reads over my shoulder from the other end of the room and keeps drawing my attention to mistakes he spots from a distance of several feet.

Biggest writing challenge: Waiting for answers from publishing houses and agents (waiting is NOT my forte!)

One author, living or dead, with whom you'd like to sip Mai Tais with on Waikiki Beach: Georgette Heyer! I love the way she describes people, with so much irony!

Three of your favorite things:1. Sleep (I can sleep for ten or eleven hours without interruption - it happens quite often! My doctor once told me I would get very old due to that habit. Am not sure if I want to get THAT old, though, but I can't help it . . . my body just switches off the lights.),
2. Write (of course!) If I don't write for more than two weeks, I get itchy until I finally find my equilibrium again, back at work on my current novel.
3. Travel (I prefer warm climates while my husband and daughter like it colder, so we end up with compromises which usually make me freeze while they sweat. Our last summer was spent at the Normandy, in the North of France, in a tent. It was wonderful - in spite of being wet and cold.)

Worst non-writing job you ever had: Cutting onions and other stuff in the canteen of a large chemical company for several hours each day. I did that for seven weeks and cried every single day (due to the onions, but my feelings matched the tears). Never again.

Dream car: I don't like cars - so I'd say: my bike! :-) Or, if I have to take a car, one with an electric motor, as they are so silent and don't stink. As a family, we sold our car and have signed up with a car-sharing project in our town, so we pick our cars according to size as we need it. I love the concept.

One guilty pleasure: Butter (need I say more? My colleagues are always spellbound when they watch me eating breakfast on business trips - a slab of bread, an equally thick slab of butter, a slab of chocolate spread - I know, I know - but you asked for guilty, didn't you?)

Pet peeve: People who answer e-mails by saying "I'm not responsible for this" instead of forwarding my e-mail to the person who IS responsible.

Favorite quote or saying: If you want it, you can do it.

Best beach memory: In Germany, we have a thing called "Strandkorb" at the beaches - a sort of huge basket that protects you from the wind, fixed around a reclining seat. I once drove to the coast early on a hot summer morning, took five books, money for ice-cream, my bikini, a towel, and a snack. I spent all day at the beach, inside my wonderful Strandkorb. Utter bliss!

Pictured Above: Strandkorb

Bio: Beate Boeker has three romances published by Avalon Books, New York. The last one called A Little Bit of Passion came out in 2011 and is entirely written in the form of e-mails. Beate has also published several short stories on Amazon in 2011, amongst others the entertaining series “A Culinary Catastrophe.”

She has a degree in International Business Administration and sixteen years of work experience in marketing which continuously provides her with a wide range of fodder for her novels, be it hilarious or cynical.

Widely traveled, she speaks German (her mother language), English, French and Italian fluently and lives in the North of Germany together with her husband and daughter.

While 'Boeker' means 'books' in a German dialect, her first name Beate can be translated as ‘Happy’ . . . and with a name that reads ‘Happy Books’, what else could she do but write novels with a happy ending? She has chosen to write in English because she appreciates the professional support and training opportunities a writer can find in the US.

Learn more about Beate at www.happybooks.de

Beach Read: "Chic in France" by Beate Boeker

2012-01-25T00:01:00.000-08:00

The definition of a “beach read” is something quick to read while relaxing at the beach. This story falls into that category on so many levels. Most significantly, it’s a short story, not a full-length novel, so you can read the entire thing before having to reapply any SPF-99. As an aside, the author of this story (as well as many wonderful books) will join us for Beach Chat on Friday, so be sure and revisit this blog again.

Story Title: Chic in France

Author: Beate Boeker

Genre: Romantic Short Story

Setting: NYC and Nice, France (oh-la-la)

Format: Kindle download

Length: 8,600 words (about 25 pages if printed in book format)

Publication date: May, 2011

Publisher: none

Opening Lines:

“French women,” Jack said, “have a certain je-ne-sais-quoi.”

I hate it when Jack speaks French to me, but I nodded and pretended I understood.

Favorite Passage: He shook his head just like my father did that day when I had told him I wanted to climb on the roof of our house to touch the moon.

Beach Read Rating: 5 out of 5 Beach Umbrellas

Review: This question this story sets out to answer is: what lengths will a woman will go to to catch a man’s attention? In this case, Claire travels all the way to

France

in an attempt to discover what qualities French women posses that the man in Claire’s crosshairs (Jack) finds so utterly irresistible. What Claire finds (in addition to French shoes!) is a lesson worthy of an Aesop’s fable. Author Beate Boeker uses her story-telling skills (and she is one of the most skillful storytellers I know) to spin an enchanting tale. My only complaint is that it is toooooooo short!

Flap Copy: Claire has fallen hard for her New York colleague Jack who only raves about the elegance of French women. Exasperated, she decides to fly to Nice to judge things for herself. Bowled over by the French way of doing things, she ends up meeting Jacques and learns more than she counted on…

Beach Tale: The Case of the Cruller Shop Arsonist

2012-01-23T00:01:00.000-08:00

The aroma of fresh-from-the-deep-fryer donuts floated through the doorway. In response, my mouth sent out enough saliva to rival Niagara Falls. I vowed to get even with the diabolical police chief who had assigned me the case of the four torched Cappy’s Crullers donut shops along the boardwalk. I’d been on the Atkins Diet for 23 days in preparation for my Valentine ’s Day wedding, and this stakeout was above and beyond the call of duty. But it seemed a logical conclusion that the only CC storefront still standing in a 100-mile radius would be the next to go up in flames. Somebody needed to keep an eye on things, and I was the only one available. Sometimes I just get lucky that way. Sigh.

I know it’s a cliché that cops never met a donut they didn’t eat, but the truth is we frequent the establishments on account of the availability of fresh coffee 24 hours a day. But we’re only human. So after ordering my caffeine fix, I tacked on a casual request for one maple-glazed cruller and then settled in a back booth to watch and wait.

Thirteen-and-a-half crullers later, my patience was rewarded.

“You the detective handling the fires?”

I studied the woman who’d spoken. She stood five feet tall, in three-inch heels. Her purple head-to-toe ensemble (complete with hair and shoes dyed to match) and accessorized with more strands of Mardi Gras beads than I cared to count, gave her a presence which belied her stature. If she was an arsonist, then I was Elle McPherson.

“I might be,” I responded.

Without invitation, the woman in purple slipped into the seat across from me and signaled to the waitress for a mug of coffee. “Do you know the carb count on one of those?” She tipped her head in the direction of my half-eaten cruller.

“No.” And I didn’t want to. Carbs were the enemy to Atkins dieters.

“Twenty-six grams. And fourteen grams of fat. They do more damage to your body than a pack of cigarettes.”

Yikes. I’d consumed three week’s worth of carbs in one sitting. I dared not contemplate the fat exchanges for fear of my head exploding.

“Here’s the thing,” the woman said. “My husband is a Cappy’s Crullers addict. He was diagnosed with diabetes a few months ago after suffering a mild heart attack. High blood pressure and off-the-charts cholesterol complicate things. He needs to lose weight or he’ll die. But he can’t kick the Cappy’s habit.”

Wondering where this was going, I nodded for her to continue.

Her story was one of true love, filled with a half-century of romance, devotion, friendship, humor and loyalty. On more than one occasion I found myself reaching for the napkin dispenser. I had to snag additional supplies form the next table when she got to the part about recently burying their only daughter, her husband, four children and two loyal golden retrievers who’d all perished when a semi-truck crossed the center line. Through tears, she explained that losing her husband too was more than she could bear. “So I had to find a way for the Cappy’s Crullers habit to kick him,” she said.

“You set all the fires?” I asked.

“I had to. Don’t you see?”

I did. All too clearly. “You have the right to remain silent…”

She held up her hand to stop me. “Going to jail would defeat the purpose of me confessing to you. My place is by my husband’s side, not separated by steel bars. Yes, I set the fires, but I made sure nobody was hurt and property damage was limited. I just needed them closed long enough to get Joe through his cold-turkey withdrawal. Here.” She slid a cashier’s check across the table to me. “This should cover the damages. Tell ‘em a donut lover wanted them to reopen quickly.”

I glanced at the amount. It would more than cover the costs of repairs—and remodels--along with the lost income and employee wages.

“That maybe you can stamp the case unsolved.” The woman in purple slid another check in my direction. I stared at the amount—more than double my year’s salary as a sleepy beach borough detective. Enough for a down payment on cottage by the sea. I’d seen the For Sale sign at the perfect place yesterday…

But I couldn’t. That wouldn’t be ethical. The woman had committed arson, a felony, and it was my job to make sure she was locked up and prevented from doing more harm to society. I pushed the checks back across the table, but when I looked up, the woman was gone.

I folded the checks in half and tucked them in my back pocket. After ordering a dozen Cappy’s Crullers to go, I meandered back to my car and drove home, where I Googled the address of Cappy’s home office, then dropped both cashier’s checks in the mail.

Top story the next morning showed the ashes of the last remaining Cappy’s Crullers store on

Ocean Drive

. No one was injured, and the store would be closed for six months, minimum.

I figured if anyone ever tried to tie me to the lack of arrest, I could plead the Temporary Insanity Due to Too Many Cappy’s Crullers defense. If the judge had ever been on the Atkins Diet, the odds of acquittal tilted heavily in my favor.

Beach Chat with Lois Winston

2012-01-20T00:01:00.000-08:00

Name: Lois Winston, author of the Anastasia Pollock Crafting Mysteries

Book you are reading right now: I recently finished The Past Came Hunting by Donnell Ann Bell and plan to start reading Back in the Habit by Alice Loweecey as soon as I find a free moment.

Preference, print or ebook: It used to be print but I’m enjoying ebooks more and more lately because I can make the type larger.

Genre you write: humorous amateur sleuth mysteries

Current work in progress: I recently turned in Revenge of the Crafty Corpse, the third book in my Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mysteries. As soon as I finish up my blog tour for the release of Death By Killer Mop Doll, the second book in the series, I’ll begin the fourth book.

Favorite place to write: My office. It’s also the only place I can write because that’s where my desktop computer is. One of these days maybe I’ll get a laptop, but until then, I’m chained to my desk.

Biggest writing challenge: coming up with new and interesting ways to torment my protagonist

Dorothy Parker
One author, living or dead, with whom you’d like to sip Mai Tais with on Waikiki Beach:

Three of my favorite things: Jack, Zoe, and Chase

Worst non-writing job you ever had: art director for a misogynist ad agency owner

Dream car: Morgan (pictured at left)

One guilty pleasure: Broadway

Pet peeve: people who don’t return emails

Favorite quote or saying: “North Jersey’s more mature answer to Stephanie Plum.” From Kirkus Reviews regarding Anastasia Pollack in their review of Assault With a Deadly Glue Gun, the first book in my Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mysteries series. I plan to have it inscribed on my headstone.

Best beach memory: Horseshoe Bay, Bermuda

Bio: Lois Winston is the author of the critically acclaimed Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mysteries published by Midnight Ink. Assault With a Deadly Glue Gun, the first book in the series, received starred reviews from Publishers Weekly and Booklist and was recently nominated for a Readers Choice Award by the Salt Lake City Library System. The new year brings with it the release of Death By Killer Mop Doll, the second book in the series. Read an excerpt at http://www.loiswinston.com/excerptap2.html. Visit Lois at her website: http://www.loiswinston.com and Anastasia at the Killer Crafts & Crafty Killers blog: http://www.anastasiapollack.blogspot.com. You can also follow Lois and Anastasia on Twitter @anasleuth.

Lois is currently on a blog tour for the release of Death By Killer Mop Doll, and she’s giving away 5 signed copies of the book. All you have to do to enter is post a comment to this blog or any of the other blogs on the tour. You can find the tour schedule at her website http://www.loiswinston.com and Anastasia’s Killer Crafts & Crafty Killers blog http://www.anastasiapollack.blogspot.com . Lois is also giving away 3 additional copies of Death By Killer Mop Doll on Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/15173-death-by-killer-mop-doll .

Beach Read: MURDER, SHE WROTE THE FINE ART OF MURDER by Jessica Fletcher & Donald Bain

2012-01-18T00:01:00.000-08:00

Intro: I had the pleasure to meet Donald Bain and his wife Renée Paley-Bain at the New England Crime Bake Conference last November. The two (along with fictional character Jessica Fletcher) write the Murder, She Wrote series. For those of you who don’t know, in the television show, the main character, Jessica Fletcher, is the author of wildly successful murder mystery books who goes around solving murders that seem to happen wherever she goes. The character of Jessica Fletcher was played by Angela Lansbury. The show ran from 1984 to 1996. When I approached the two Bains to autograph my copy, I said, “My father is a huge fan, and speaks of Jessica Fletcher as if she were a real person.” Donald Bain quipped, “I do the same thing.”

Book Title: Murder, She Worte The Fine Art of Murder

Author: Jessica Fletcher and Donald Bain

Genre: Mystery

Setting: Italy, Chicago, and a brief stop in Cabot Cove, Maine

Format: Hardcover

Pages: 277

Publication date: October, 2011

Publisher: Obsidian

Opening Line: “This is the Basilca of Santa Maria di Collemaggio, one of the finest in all of Abruzzo.”

Favorite Passage: Simone’s description of Giovanni di Paolo’s paintings was accurate. They were certainly dramatic, and somewhat upsetting, but I recognized the skill that went into creating them. I tried to picture one of them hanging on my office wall at home and shuddered at the thought.

Beach Read Rating: 5 out of 5 Beach Umbrellas

Review: This is the quintessential beach-read mystery, as it’s a fast, light read that gives you a peek into the Italian art theft world (well researched, and not the slightest bit pretensions, which makes interesting for this fine-art ignoramus) and a glimpse into the world of the Chicago elite. The author (or in this case the trio of authors) manage to create a believable plot that ties together murders from two sides of the Atlantic Ocean. Of course, this kind of coincidence is only believable when Jessica Fletcher is involved! My only complaint is that too little of the book is set in the idyllic town of Cabot Cove, Maine. (I was depressed all day when I learned that Cabot Cove is purely fictional. In fact, the exterior shots for the TV show were filmed in Mendocino, California!) But I remain a fan of the stories, and anxiously await the release of 37^th Murder, She Wrote installment.

Flap Copy: In the latest novel in the USA Today bestselling series, Jessica Fletcher may not know much about art—but she sure knows when someone is being framed…

Jessica vacations in Italy, where she joins a tour that takes her to a variety of private homes,, restaurants, and rural churches where lesser-known Italian masterworks are displayed. Her idyllic time is interrupted by a pair of young Italian gunmen who steal a painting off a church wall, killing a retired policeman in the process. Agreeing to help identify the crooks at a later date should they be caught, Jessica returns to Cabot Cove and puts the shocking experience behind her.

Months later, both art and death land on her doorstep in the form of Wayne Simsbury, stepson of a woman with whom Jessica was friends years ago. Wayne’s father—a wealthy Chicago businessman and owner of an impressive art collection—has been shot to death. Not only is Wayne’s stepmother, Marlise Simsbury, a suspect in the murder investigation, but Wayne himself claims to have witnessed the crime. Unsure of what to do, he has searched out Jessica—the one person his stepmother always claimed could help out with any problem.

Now Jessica has a seemingly open-and-shut murder case to crack in Chicago and also must travel back to Italy to help the police make their case against the church bandits. And she faces a looming danger that may connect the Italian killers to the fate of her old friend…

Beach Tale: A House that Inspired a Novel

2012-01-16T00:01:00.000-08:00

This is a tale about a house by the sea. A young writer visited often with to pass the time with his cousin, Susannah Ingersoll. Susannah was the daughter of a wealthy sea captain who lived with her family in a sprawling mansion right on the rocky coast of the Atlantic Ocean. The cousins spent many a lively evening in the dining room of said mansion. Since water was usually unsafe at this period of time (mid 1800s), spirits were often consumed for health’s sake, but it is not clear if said writer ever over-indulged. But while sitting in that house, something triggered the writer’s imagination, and he went on to write a dark romance, one met with critical acclaim, and one that has stood the test of time.

The novel was first printed in 1851. The setting was Salem Massachusetts. The writer was Nathanial Hawthorne, and the book, The House of Seven Gables.

If you haven’t read it, or in the event you have forgotten, here is the opening paragraph:

House of Seven Gables, Salem, MA

"Halfway down a by-street of one of our New England towns stands a rusty wooden house, with seven acutely peaked gables, facing towards various points of the compass, and a huge, clustered chimney in the midst. The street is Pyncheon Street; the house is the old Pyncheon House; and an elm-tree, of wide circumference, rooted before the door, is familiar to every town-born child by the title of the Pyncheon Elm."

Over the holidays, my DH and I journeyed up the coast and paid a visit to the house. The structure’s age, history and charisma inspired me, too, (although not on the scale of an epic novel.) I thought a brief blog post about some of the houses’ secrets would be something a little out of the ordinary. So here we go.

The house of seven gables was built in 1668 by Capt. John Turner, but had only two gables at that time.
Additions to the house throughout the 1600s brought the total gables to seven.
The Ingersolls (who had purchased it after three generations of Turner ownership) remodeled the house extensively, removing many of the gables (or roof points.)
The house that Nathanial Hawthorne visited only had four gables, but something about seven on one house tickled the writer’s imagination, so that’s what he wrote about.
The house was remodeled again in 1908-1910 in order to turn the house into a museum as a tribute to the famous literary novel. At this time, the seven gables restored, in order to turn th.
In order to resemble the house depicted in the story, the Cent Shop (set up by main character Hephzibah Pyncheon), which was not a part of the original structure, was added off the back. (This may be the first case of life imitating art.)
The stairway around the fireplace from which Clifford (Hephzibah’s brother, recently returned from prison after serving time for killing a man) moves about the house at night was not part of the original structure, either. Documents uncovered in the past few years indicate it had been added as part of a renovation at in the early 1900s. (The tour includes a climb up the narrow, twisting stairs to an attic space. It’s pretty cool!)
A movie based on the book was made in 1940, however Hephzibah (Margaret Lindsay) and Clifford (Vincent Price—originally cast with Bob Cummings but illness prevent him from fulfilling his commitment) were lovers rather than brothers and sisters. (Hollywood knows, best, huh?)
A remake of the movie was made in 1967.
According to my research, despite the home standing in a condition that is true to the time period of the novel, neither movie was filmed on location.

Inspired by the book, James Mitchell built his own “vision” of a house with seven gables in Mayo, Florida, in the 1880s. It still stands today.

If you ever find yourself in Salem, Massachusetts (perhaps doing research for the famous Salem Witch Trials) take the time to tour The House of Seven Gables. Maybe it will tickle your imagination, too!

Beach Chat with Jayne Ormerod

2012-01-13T00:01:00.000-08:00

Fifteen questions in five mintues....GO!

Name: Jayne Ormerod

Book you are reading right now: Murder, She Wrote, The Fine Art of Murder by Jessica Fletcher and Donald Bain

Preference, print or ebook: Print!

Genre you write: Cozy Mystery

Current work in progress: Blond Justice (The third book in the Blond trilogy)

Favorite place to write: I like the idea of writing at the beach, but the reality is there are too many distractions. And sand gets in my laptop. Things go better when I lock myself in solitary confinement in my upstairs office, turn off all music and TV and just escape to my imaginary worlds.

Biggest writing challenge: Getting published!

One author, living or dead, with whom you’d like to sip Mai Tais with on Waikiki Beach: Agatha Christie

Three of your favorite things: Family time, a good meal, and books written by a friend.

Worst non-writing job you ever had: Slinging spaghetti at Mama Rosa’s Italian Restaurant under the water ski stadium at Sea World, Ohio (yes, there used to be one there!)

Dream car: Nash Metropolitan (Nancy Drew drove one in her 2008 movie)

One guilty pleasure: watching House Hunters

Pet peeve: When people don’t show up at the appointed time

Favorite quote or saying: “Life is not about finding shelter in the storm but learning how to dance in the rain.”

Best beach memory: Sitting with friends on the deck of the O’Club while enjoying beach food and beverages, listening to the Jimmy Buffet Tribute Band and watching sailboats speed across the Narragansett Bay, all this painted in a rosy glow by the sun setting behind the Newport Bridge. Life doesn’t get any better than that.

Bio: Jayne Ormerod writes what she knows—small towns (influenced by her childhood growing up in Chagrin Falls, Ohio) and beach settings (a result of 28 years as a navy spouse, always living within a flip-flop’s throw of the ocean.) Thanks to a youth spent reading Nancy Drew and an adulthood devouring the words of Janet Evanovich, Lillian Jackson Braun and Mary Daheim, she can now write about amateur sleuths, wacky escapades and dead bodies with a modicum of authority. Her first cozy mystery, The Blond Leading the Blond, was released in October, 2011 by Avalon Books and is available for purchase or for borrowing from a library near you.

Beach Read: V IS FOR VENGEANCE by Sue Grafton

2012-01-11T07:34:00.000-08:00

Life usually limits me to reading while I eat breakfast and at the end of the day once the computer is closed down, the dishes are washed and the kitchen cleaned. But there are some exceptions to this rule, and one is when the book is so good that no dinners are cooked, no laundry is done and definitely no email sent. This book was one of those that fall into the life-interrupted-to-read categories.

Book Title: V is for Vengeance (Kinsey Millhone Series #22)

Author: Sue Grafton

Genre: Mystery

Setting: Fictional town of Santa Teresa, CA, 1988

Format: Hardcover

Pages: 437

Publication date: Dec, 2011

Publisher: G.P. Putnam’s Sons, a member of The Penguin Group (USA), Inc

Opening Line: Philip Lanahan drove to Vegas in his 1985 Porsche 911 Carrera Cabriolet, a snappy little red car his parents had given him two months before, when he graduated from Princeton.

Favorite Passage: I placed a second copy of my report in an unlocked file drawer labeled GYNECOLOGY & FEMININE HYGIENE ISSUES, subjects I hoped the average thief would find repulsive.

Beach Read Rating: 5 out of 5 Beach Umbrellas

Review: V is for Vicarious, because the writing was so rich that I lived main character Kinshey Milhone’s life for a few exciting days. The writing in this book is superb. Sue Grafton pays such attention to detail that the reader can’t help but be transported to Santa Teresa California (a fictional version of Santa Barbara, CA created by Ross Macdonald in his 1949 mystery The Moving Target.) So enthralled was I that one afternoon I was confused when I looked up from my book and saw snowflakes outside my window. Snowflakes in Southern California? Oh, that’s right. I live in New England and I’m not a PI who is being pursued by mobsters. Phew.

The alphabet series was originally written in first person only. Long about the letter S (S is for Silence) Ms. Grafton started weaving 3^rd person omniscient into her 1^st person character of PI Kinsey Millhone. She has perfected the blended viewpoint, and what makes it so well done is the unique “voice” of each of the POV characters. I particularly liked the voice of the mobster, Lorenzo Dante Junior. And the non-POV characters of Rosie the Romanian tavern owner, her psychosomatic husband William, the hapless and loveable thief Pinky Ford—well, the list goes on and on. Every one of them is as real to me as my own neighbor.

How much longer before W is released? One, maybe two years? I can’t bear to think about it!!!

Flap Copy:

A woman with a murky past who kills herself—or was it murder? A spoiled kid awash in gambling debt who thinks he can beat the system. A lovely woman whose life is about to splinter into a thousand fragments. A professional shoplifting ring working for the Mob, racking up millions from stolen goods. A wandering husband, rich and ruthless. A dirty cop so entrenched on the force he is immune to exposure. A sinister gangster, conscienceless and brutal. A lonely widower mourning the death of his lover, desperate for answers, which may be worse than the pain of his loss. A private detective, Kinsey Millhone, whose thirty-eighth-birthday gift is a punch in the face that leaves her with two black eyes and a busted nose.

And an elegant and powerful businessman whose dealings are definitely outside the law: the magus at the center of the web.

V: Victim. Violence. Vengeance.

Beach Musings Monday: "Warm Hands, Cold Heart" a super-short romance

2012-01-09T07:39:00.000-08:00

Caitlyn wrapped her hands around a mug of steamy coffee, inhaling the fragrant aroma of roasted Arabica beans. She absolutely loved the smell of fresh brewed coffee, but detested the taste. The only reason she’d brewed a cup was to have something to warm her hands on. She had never been so cold in her entire life.

Having been born and raised in the sunny southern California, she was suffering her first winter on the desolate prairies of Nebraska. The job offer had been too good to pass up, and being two-thousand miles away from Derek, that cheating skunk of an ex-fiancé, was an added bonus. But she hadn’t realized how brutal winter could be until the first blizzard of the season hit and the furnace conked out.

Caitlyn glanced around the room and took a mental inventory of what furniture she could burn in the old stone fireplace, if it should come to that. She’d purchased the house furnished—more like cluttered—from Miss Jamison’s estate. Plenty of old wood furniture to burn as Caitlyn had no sentimental attachment to any of it. Except for the 17^th century secretary with the light oak maple finish that had lots of hidden drawers and secret compartments. She wondered if some old secrets weren’t tucked deep inside and planned to investigate but hadn’t had the time yet. Caitlyn would save that piece for last, but if that’s all that stood between her and freezing to death…

The whine of a snowmobile drew her attention back to the window. Hallelujah!

Help had arrived!

Caitlyn set her mug on the windowsill and ran to open the front door. A swirl of snow ushered two bundled-up bodies into the cloak room. As scarves were unfurled and hats tugged off, two men emerged. One was short and stocky and possibly eligible for an AARP membership while the other tall and trim closer to her own age.

“Ms. Greer?” the shorter man asked.

Caitlyn nodded.

“I’m Wesley Thompson, from Thompson’s Furnace Repair. Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner, but a snowplow ran into my truck when it was parked. Flipped it right over. And Merle and his tow truck are busy pulling travelers out on the highway so it could be tomorrow before it’s set back on all four wheels. I was just about to call you and tell you I wouldn’t make it out this afternoon when my son Andy here,” he nodded towards his tall companion, “stopped by on his snowmobile. I worked in this furnace plenty when old Miss Jamieson owned the place. I’ll have it fixed in a jiffy.”

Caitlyn listened to the man clatter down the rickety wooden steps to the creepy old basement, but her attention was riveted on the man shrugging off his parka.

“Some storm, isn’t it?” he said. “Haven’t seen this much snow since the winter of eighty-seven.” His eyes crinkled as he smiled. “A blizzard like this closed school for an entire week. I thought my mother was going to go out and hand-shovel the streets just to get them reopened so that my six brothers and I would be out of the house.”

Andy shook the snow from his coat and hung in on a peg by the door. “You’re new around here, aren’t you?”

Caitlyn nodded.

Andy held out his hand. “Nice to meet you,” he said.

“I’m Caitlyn Greer. Nice to meet you, too.” She allowed her fingers to be swallowed up in his smooth, strong grip, enjoying the warmth not offered by a mere cup of coffee.

“Your hands are like ice cubes,” Andy said as he smiled down at her. His left hand slipped around the back of her right and began to slowly rub some warmth into her frozen extremity, which did more than warm her hand. Her entire body began to thaw. Except her heart. Caitlyn doubted it would ever be warm again after the pain she’d endured when Derek had betrayed her.

She tugged her hand free and tucked it into the back pocket of her jeans.

“I appreciate you coming out in this weather.” Caitlyn backed into the living room. Andy followed. “I was afraid I’d have to burn Miss Jamieson’s heirlooms if it got any colder.”

“Don worry. Dad will have that old monster up and running in no time.”

Caitlyn shivered. “I hope so. This is my first blizzard. I’ve never had to do more than add an extra blanket to the bed in the winter down in San Diego.”

“‘I wish they all could be California girls,’” Andy sang in an off-key falsetto.

“Beach Boys fan?”

“Big time. That’s all dad played when we were growing up. I think he hoped his us kids would make our fame and fortune in a boy band like that, only none of us have a lick of musical talent.”

“I saw them in concert a few times when I was a teenager.”

“No way. That had to have been awesome.”

“It was. Let me fix you a cup of coffee and we’ll talk.”

The two threaded their way around the abundance of antiques and into the kitchen, where Andy hitched a hip onto a barstool. Caitlyn busied herself making another cup of coffee and setting out a plate of snicker doodles that she’d made as an excuse to turn the oven on after lunch. The two soon fell into a companionable conversation about music and movies and pop culture in general. They had a lot in common. It wasn’t long before the conversation took a more personal path. Gentle probing on Caitlyn’s part revealed Andy to be the owner of her favorite local restaurant and, more importantly, currently unattached.

“I’d invite you to dinner,” he said. “But this storm’s got the town pretty well shut down. Maybe I could bring over the ingredients to fix you spicy shrimp scampi over linguine tonight? A little toasted garlic bread? Maybe a salad with pine nuts and a mustard vinaigrette dressing? Sound good?” Andy wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
Caitlyn’s stomach rumbled loudly and she laughed. “On behalf of my empty stomach, I accept. That sure beats the pickles and potato chips I was going to have. I didn’t get to the grocery before the storm hit,” Caitlyn admitted. Now that she understood the power of a blizzard, she’d be sure not to make that mistake again.

With a loud shake and clatter, the boiler in the basement roared back to life. Soon the radiators started crackling as steam heated the metal. A few minutes later Wesley Thompson poked his head into the kitchen. “Ready to go, son?”

“How much do I owe you?” Caitlyn grabbed her purse form the counter and fished out her wallet.

“Three dollars for the new fuse,” Mr. Thompson said.

“It took you two hours to replace a simple fuse, Dad? You must be slipping in your old age.”

“No, it took me five minutes to fix the fuse,” his dad answered with a shake of his head. “It took you two hours to ask this pretty lady if she’d like you to cook her dinner. I’ll meet you outside.”

Mr. Thompson clomped out of the kitchen and towards the front door.

Andy walked around the counter and stopped in front of Caitlyn. He placed his hands on her shoulders before slowly sliding them down her arms until their fingers were entwined. “I’ll bring back everything we need for a romantic dinner.”

He lifted her hands to his mouth and placed a soft kiss on the back of each one. His eyes held promises of more to come.

Caitlyn smiled as she realized that his warm hands were starting to thaw a tiny corner of her cold heart.

Beach Musing

2012-01-06T06:14:00.000-08:00

It’s 25 degrees outside, and 53 inside (the big old boiler in the basement conked out about 1 a.m.) and I’m waiting for the repairman. It’s hard to type with gloves on, and my fingers freeze up and fumble on the keys when I take them off, so I’m going to turn this frosty Friday blog post over to the professionals. Travel writer and big thinker Bill Bryson gives us food for thought this morning:

“Among the many thousands of things that I have never been able to understand, one in particular stands out. That is the question of who was the first person who stood by a pile of sand and said, ‘You know, I bet if we took some of this and mixed it with a little potash and heated it, we could make a material that would be solid and yet transparent. We could call it glass.’ Call me obtuse, but you could stand me on a beach till the end of time and never would it occur to me to try to make it into windows.”

Beach Read: EXPLOSIVE EIGHTEEN by Janet Evanovich

2012-01-04T00:01:00.000-08:00

I hope everyone enjoyed (or at least survived) the holiday season. If I were to measure the end of 2011 based on how many books I had opportunity to lose myself in, then the last few weeks shall be declared a whopping success! I spent many a happy day tucked into my papasan chair on my sunny ( albeit drafty) front porch wrapped in a cozy fleece blanket wherein I escaped into exciting and exotic worlds. So while I wasn’t technically at the beach (it is, after all, winter here in New England), I have lots of recommendations for Beach Reads (weather you actually go to the beach or do like I do and curl up in your coziest chair) for the ultimate in beach reading.

Book Title: Explosive Eighteen (Stephanie Plum series #18)

Author: Janet Evanovich

Genre: General Fiction, but usually shelved in the Mystery/Thriller section

Setting: Newark, New Jersey, with some wonderfully warming flashbacks to Stephanie’s Hawaiian escape

Format: Hardcover (and you’ll want to buy the hardcover version for the Plum 2012 tear out calendar inside, I’m sure!)

Pages: 305

Publication date: December, 2011

Publisher: Bantam Books, New York

Opening paragraph: new Jersey was 40,000 feet below me, obscured by cloud cover. Heaven was above me, beyond the thin skin of the plane. And hell was sitting four rows back. Okay, maybe hell was too strong. Maybe it was just purgatory.

Favorite Passage: <<quote from Grandma Mazur>> “That spying catches up to you. One minute you’re a spy, and the next thing, you’re dead in a garbage can. Unless you’re James Bond. Nothing stops him. He’s balls to the wall.”

Beach Read Rating: 4 out of 5 beach umbrellas

Review: There are many people who have lost faith in Janet Evanovich’s ability to recapture the thrills and laugh-out-loud humor that defines the lower numbers in the series. But after reading Explosive Eighteen, I can honestly say, “She’s BAAAaack.” Well, more like on her way back. Eighteen is better than 17, which was better than 16, etc. If you are expecting a bumbling bounty hunter, Stephanie alternating her sexcapades between Ranger and Joe, Lula needing a regular Cluck in the Bucket fix, a trip with Grandma Mazur to a funeral home, and zany adventures that have you guffawing, then you won't be disappointed. If you are expecting more of an "Oprah" style book where Stephanie grows and Lula gets on a health kick (like many of the Amazon reviewers) then you will find this book wanting. I mean seriously, it is Stephanie Plum. Relax and enjoy the ride! Overall, it’s still a fun read. My only complaint is that I had a hunger for fried chicken for two days afterwards!

Flap Copy: Bounty hunter Stephanie Plum’s life is set to blow sky high when international murder hits dangerously close to home, in this dynamite novel by Janet Evanovich.

Before Stephanie can even step foot off Flight 127 Hawaii to Newark, she’s knee deep in trouble. Her dream vacation turned into a nightmare, and she’s flying back to New Jersey solo. Worse still, her seatmate never returned to the plane after the L.A. layover. Now he’s dead, in a garbage can, waiting for curbside pickup. His killer could be anyone. And a ragtag collection of thugs and psychos, not to mention the FBI, are all looking for a photograph the dead man was supposed to be carrying.

Only one other person has seen the missing photo—Stephanie Plum. Now she’s the target, and she doesn’t intend to end up in a garbage can. With the help of an FBI sketch artist Stephanie re-creates the person in the photo. Unfortunately the first sketch turns out to look like Tom Cruise, and the second sketch like Ashton Kutcher. Until Stephanie can improve her descriptive skills, she’ll need to watch her back.

Over at the bail bonds agency things are going from bad to worse. The bonds bus serving as Vinnie’s temporary HQ goes up in smoke. Stephanie’s wheelman, Lula, falls in love with their largest skip yet. Lifetime arch nemesis Joyce Barnhardt moves into Stephanie’s apartment. And everyone wants to know what happened in Hawaii?

Morelli, Trenton’s hottest cop, isn’t talking about Hawaii. Ranger, the man of mystery, isn’t talking about Hawaii. And all Stephanie is willing to say about her Hawaiian vacation is . . . It’s complicated.

New Year's Reading Resolutions

2012-01-02T00:01:00.000-08:00

It’s that time of year, when we shake the dust off from the previous year (and let’s face it, 2011 left a lot of dust on a lot of people) and make promises to improve ourselves for the New Year. Many people resolve to lose weight or eat better or exercise or quit texting while driving (we’d all appreciate that). Those promises to oneself are all well and good, but what about improving the minds? That is why this year I’m making a Reading Resolution, forcing myself to get off the “fast reading” diet of cozy mysteries and regency romances. Oh, not permanently! I could never do that. But, like eating an apple a day, reading a book a month that’s outside my genre will stretch my mind and broaden my horizons and possible make me a more interesting person.

Hmmm, so many books to choose from, from the “classics” to the “literary fiction” that The Oprah endorses. What shall I chose? Oh, I know! Since Edith Wharton has a tenuous connection (she spent youthful summers at a “cottage” (and by that I mean a “mansion” by the sea) in my hometown in Newport, RI I think I’ll read The Age of Innocence. There, I’ve put it in writing and shared it with the world, so now I have to do it. I’ll post a blog on how it goes.

Your turn…what book do you have in your TBR (that’s To Be Read) pile for 2012?

Season's Greetings

2011-12-05T06:24:00.000-08:00

It's that time of year...time for decorating the house, baking cookies, shopping for the perfect give (at the perfect price) and parties. Oh, the parties! Ornament swipes, cookie swaps, cups of cheer and all that good stuff. In other words, writing (be it a book or a blog or at this point, even a Christmas Letter) is at the bottom of the Must Be Done list. But worry not, I will be back in January with more great posts and book recommendations and more.

Wishing you all the joys of the holiday season: the warmth of a home, the love of family and the laughter of good friends.