From Pink Slip to Published Author

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Barbara Bos, Founder of Women Writers, Women’s Books

A couple of months ago, I was approached by Barbara Bos of Women Writers, Women’s Books. She introduced herself by saying she’d learned about me from following The Stiletto Gang and wondered if I’d like to share my backstory to becoming a published author.

I’ll admit to being suspicious. I’ve had “offers” from big name authors (who likely have never heard of me), bogus bookclubs, and countless “reviewers.” I’m still waiting to hear from Reece Witherspoon or Nicole Kidman looking to option one of my books…I’m sure that’s coming next.

Anyway, Barbara’s email to me, unlike the scams, read like a human had written it. And it wasn’t filled with all sorts of fake flattery and inflated promises.

I dared to search for the website (without clicking on any links in her email).

And turned out, she was the real deal. Nonetheless, I responded with a cynical “What’s it going to cost?” Barbara assured me the ask was being made with no expectation of payment. Further, the deadline was flexible. That was a good thing because at the time, I was fully immersed in getting the beta copies completed for my current true crime in progress, A Fatal Affair. We settled on June 1st.

Judy on the way to Whistler, British Columbia

Fast forward to the end of May (and I’m not usually so last minute) and I wondered what the heck I was going to write about. Barbara had suggested an origin story would be of interest, and so I went back in time, to 2003, when two events occurred to change the course of my life.

What were those two events?

Well, you’ll have to read the article to find out, and I hope you do. Because the moral of this story is that “the end” is just a new beginning.

And that the harder you work, the luckier you get.

Here’s the article: https://booksbywomen.org/judy-penz-sheluk-from-pink-slip-to-published-author/

 

Clicking Our Heels Featured Image

Clicking Our Heels – Our Favorite Ice Cream Flavors

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Clicking Our Heels Featured ImageClicking Our Heels – Our Favorite Ice Cream Flavors

Mary Lee Ashford – Much to my family’s chagrin, I’m not an ice cream fan. I don’t hate it but would never seek it out. However, I do like sorbet and raspberry would be my favorite.
Donalee Moulton – Currently Häagen-Dazs mango raspberry. But I am leaning towards Chapman’s Black Cherry.
Donnell Ann Bell – Hands down German Chocolate… okay, strike that, I’ll go with Coconut pecan. They’re cousins, right?
Gay Yellen – Butter pecan. Love the flavors!
Debra H. Goldstein – Coffee, but I’m not adverse to mixing it with chocolate chip mint
Bethany Maines – Strawberry. But good strawberry, not weird chemical strawberry. I like fresh berries and the mix with good ice cream is perfection. If I think it’s icky cheap ice cream then I go with Mint Chocolate Chip, which is harder to screw up.
Lois Winston – It’s a toss-up between Ben & Jerry’s Steven Colbert’s Americone Dream or Cherry Garcia. Why? I love chocolate, cherries, vanilla, waffle cones, and caramel, but I don’t think I’d want to mix cherries and caramel.
Judy Penz Sheluk – Chocolate chip mint. I also like chocolate mint candy bars. A solid combination.
Kathleen Kaska – Anything with chocolate, peanut butter, maple, and espresso, because real ice cream shouldn’t be fruity.
Saralyn Richard – Back in the day, I loved Baskin-Robbins chocolate cheesecake ice cream. I used to buy it in three-gallon packages. That flavor evokes memories of college and dating and the early years of marriage.
T. K Thorne – Expresso. It’s like the best of coffee and cream, but strangely, I drink my coffee black. Go figure.

Sisterhood of the Traveling Book

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When Pesky Things Catch Up With You

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When Pesky Things Catch Up With You by Debra H. Goldstein

I tend to overbook my calendar. It normally works out because my mind remembers each of the things scheduled for a given day. In fact, it’s often like I have a photographic memory for the activities on my calendar and, if I don’t, a quick glance refreshes my recollection.

That’s true except for certain random things where I have my assignment way in advance and the task necessitates addressing something days before whatever it is pops up on my calendar. The two things that most often fall through the cracks is writing this blog every other month for The Stilleto Gang and posting my book cover during my Writers Who Kill week. It’s almost like I have a mental block which results in me scrambling at last minute.

Why? I don’t know. I had no problem posting on time for The Stiletto Gang when I was responsible for one blog a month. Do you ever have a regular task that falls through the cracks, only for you to rescue it at last moment?

Keeping in mind that pesky things sometimes need to be caught up, here’s my most recent book cover that I wasn’t timely with on Writers Who Kill. At least, I wrote this blog on time.

 

Paws, Whiskers, and Witnesses: Why Animals Are at the Heart of Cozy Mysteries

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Today, we’re joined by cozy mystery author Jacqueline Vick, author of the Frankie Chandler Pet Psychic Mysteries.

There’s a long tradition of animals playing important roles in mysteries—especially cozy mysteries—and readers never seem to get enough of them. Why is that?

Illustration Courtesy of Pixabay

Consider these beloved series:

  • Lilian Jackson Braun’s The Cat Who . . .mysteries
  • Marian Babson’s cat-centric mysteries
  • Spencer Quinn’s Chet & Bernieseries
  • Rita Mae Brown’s Sneaky Pie Brownbooks

Even Agatha Christie used Bob, a wired-haired fox terrier, in Silent Witness.

Each author uses animals differently. Braun’s cat, Koko, nudges reporter Jim Qwilleran toward the truth with subtle clues. Babson’s cats are often part of the mystery but remain on the sidelines. Quinn’s lovable dog Chet narrates the story, while Brown’s Sneaky Pie is a full-fledged detective.

Since the animals play such different roles, their popularity can’t simply be explained by what they do in the story.

I think the answer is much simpler.

Dogs, cats, birds, horses, and even the occasional turtle are there for us through good days and bad. They listen without interrupting. They never criticize our life choices. (Well, dogs don’t. Cats absolutely do.) They somehow know when we need comfort, and they often repay our affection with the kind of quirky behavior that makes us laugh out loud.

Illustration Courtesy of Pixabay

Most of all, they represent safety, loyalty, and home.

That sense of comfort is a perfect fit for cozy mysteries. Even while a murderer is lurking about, the presence of an animal reminds us that we’re visiting a gentler world—one filled with friendship, humor, and hope.

When I created the Frankie Chandler Mysteries, I decided to turn the usual mystery-animal formula upside down.

Instead of making the animals detectives, I made them witnesses.

Frankie Chandler, an animal behaviorist and reluctant pet psychic, receives clues from animals who have seen the crime. The catch? They don’t communicate in words. They share impressions, images, emotions, and memories filtered through an animal’s perspective.

Illustration Courtesy of Pixabay

As you can imagine, that can lead to a few misunderstandings.

In Barking Mad at Murder, Frankie spends much of the book baffled by a clue from a golden retriever. She only understands it after ending up flat on the floor and suddenly seeing the room from the dog’s point of view.

Every animal experiences the world differently, which means every mystery requires a different approach. That also means a lot of research.

So far, Frankie has worked with dogs, cats, a Fiji crested iguana, a chicken, a goat, a cockatoo, a pair of gerbils, and even a white tiger. In my latest book, Giddy Up for Murder, Frankie teams up with two very different animal witnesses: an American Bashkir Curly horse who saw the crime and a service dog who may hold the key to identifying the killer.

My readers seem to enjoy meeting a new animal in every book, and I love figuring out how each species would interpret the clues they observe.

So now I have a question for you:

If you could choose any animal to witness a murder, what would it be? I’m always looking for ideas for Frankie’s next case. (Seriously. Leave your pick in the comments.)

While you’re ruminating over your favorite furry or feathered friend, I’ll settle into my armchair and read about Lois Winston’s Catherine the Great, The Dog Formerly Known as Manifesto, and Ralph, the Shakespeare-Quoting Parrot—pets who are definitely in her Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mysteries for comic relief.

Giddy Up for Murder

A Frankie Chandler Pet Psychic Mystery, Book 9

Pet psychic Frankie Chandler saddles up for murder in the 9th Frankie Chandler mystery. America’s 250th anniversary Revolutionary War reenactment was supposed to mean muskets, tricorn hats, and enough colonial drama to keep the locals busy for a weekend. Instead, the most unpopular man in Wolf Creek ends up dead in the middle of a historical battle, and the only witness is a horse with a vendetta against someone who couldn’t have committed the crime.

Buy Link

 

 

~*~

Jacqueline Vick writes The Frankie Chandler Mysteries about a woman who, after faking her psychic abilities for years, discovers animals can communicate with her. Visit her at www.jacquelinevickbooks.com.

photo of donalee Moulton

Marie-Joseph Angélique – May you rest in peace

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by donalee Moulton

In June 1734, Marie-Joseph Angélique, an enslaved Black woman, is found guilty of burning the lower town of Montreal to the ground. For this, it is determined, she must die.

Canada Post stamp of Marie Joseph AngeliqueConflagration! follows the trial, conviction, and execution of Angélique, now honored on a Canadian stamp. In an era when lawyers are banned from practicing in New France, Angélique is on her own. Philippe Archambeau holds court in this historical mystery, a clerk assigned specifically to document her case. He believes Angélique might just be telling the truth. Or not.

This is spectacle. Angélique is being wheeled through the streets of Montréal in a cart. In her hand, she holds a burning torch, an acknowledgement of her crime. Someone, as is tradition, has stripped her bare and placed a white chemise over her body.

This is humiliation. The hand cart that carries Angélique on her final journey is usually used to transport garbage. I look at the people who look at Angélique as she makes her way to the hanging post, and I wonder if this is what they see: garbage. If this somehow gives them a sense of justice. On Angélique’s white shirt is embroidered: incendiaire. A life has been reduced to a single word.

This is revenge. We have won. Justice has prevailed. Angélique stops at Notre-Dame, one last chance to make things right with God, the King, and the crowds who throng the streets. Her amende honorable. I do not know if Angélique believes in God, our god. I can hear my mother’s voice, “There is only one god.” Would the Negress slave agree?

This is power. We have decided Angélique is guilty. She most likely is. The evidence, such as it is, supports this conclusion. There are no other suspects. Does that give us the right to decide what happens to her soul?

On Monday, June 21, 1734, Marie-Joseph Angélique is hanged in front of the house she is said to have burned. Her body will be displayed on a gibbet for two hours. Then it will be placed on a pyre. Her ashes will be collected and scattered to the wind. It will be the final degradation.

cover of book Conflagration! by donalee Moulton

Lessons from Older Movies

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by Paula Gail Benson

During this summer, I’ve taken some time to indulge in the joy of watching older, black and white films. I remember when I was growing up, a channel ran Bette Davis movies every Saturday afternoon. I learned to love her in Now, Voyager, Watch on the Rhine, The Little Foxes, Jezebel, The Corn is Green, and, my personal favorite, All This and Heaven, Too, before I ever heard about What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? or Death on the Nile.

I found The Sea of Grass, starring Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy, in a Western based on a novel by Conrad Richter. Hepburn was the St. Louis society girl traveling west to marry rough cattle man Tracy, who aimed to keep the plains for moving herds instead of accommodating homesteaders with fences and farms. This is the fourth film the actors were in together, yet you still see Hepburn as very theatrical while Tracy is more realistic. They definitely do have a chemistry, but it’s not the same as what’s apparent in Guess Who’s Coming To Dinner? By the time they reach their last film together, I imagine that some of Tracy’s realism had influenced Hepburn’s approach.

Hepburn’s character in The Sea of Grass became estranged from her husband and had an affair with another man, leading to a child being born. During the birth, the Hepburn character in distress revealed the child’s true father. In a more modern film, I could imagine seeing the childbirth scene, but in this 1947 version, the doctor consoled Tracy’s character afterward. Tracy’s character insisted on raising the child and banishing the mother, which led to unfortunate results.

According to Wikipedia, Elia Kazan, who directed the film, initially was excited by the prospect, but became disappointed when he learned they would not shoot on location but use stock footage of the grassy plains. Clearly, a viewer can tell the actors were standing in front of a taped image.

Random Harvest featured Ronald Colman and Greer Garson. Colman played Smithy, a soldier who had returned from World War I, with no memory of who he was. Garson was the young entertainer who found him wandering from the asylum and took pity on him, hoping to offer him some happiness. They ran away together, established a home, and had a child. Then, Smithy had a chance for employment in the city. When he went, he was in a vehicle accident and regained his memory. He returned to his family, who happened to be very wealthy.

Life was going well. A young girl fell in love with him. They planned to be married.

But, what had happened to the Greer Garson character?

Then, during a scene at his office, she appeared. She had been working as his secretary, never telling him about their past together. Never telling him their son had died.

Hearing wedding music from his ceremony with the entertainer stopped the marriage to the young girl taking place. Then, he offered to marry his secretary in name only.

Oh, the twists and turns! How could they ever truly get back together?

Greer Garson said it was her favorite film. I enjoyed seeing how it all flowed together.

Are you a watcher of older movies? What have you learned from them?

I Failed a Lie Detector Test

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I’ve confessed this to only a couple of people, but I’m now making it public: I failed a lie detector lie detector (polygraph) test.

This happened in the early ’80s, when I was young and naïve—long before I began writing crime fiction. Back then, I believed lie detector tests were infallible. When I failed, I didn’t just feel embarrassed—I questioned my own sanity. Was I a chronic liar and didn’t know it?

Years later, as a mystery writer, I know better.

It started when a friend asked me to bartend Sunday nights at a pricey hotel in downtown Austin. Someone had quit without notice, and he was in a bind. I’d bartended in college, so I agreed to help.

There was just one catch: new employees had to take a lie detector test.

No problem, I thought. It might even be interesting.

It was—but not in the way I expected.

I was sent to a private company across town. My internal alarms went off the moment I saw the man who would administer the test. “Creepy” is putting it mildly. He had greasy, dyed-black hair, dirt under his fingernails, and a stained dress shirt unbuttoned halfway down, exposing a thicket of chest hair. Cheap rings crowded his fingers.

At the time, I didn’t yet have the instincts of a crime writer—but I had enough sense to feel uneasy.

When he took my hand to attach the sensors, I shivered.

The questions began.

Had I ever stolen from an employer? No.
Had I ever been convicted of a crime? No.
Had I ever taken illegal drugs? No.

Then he lingered on the drug question, circling back again and again, rephrasing it each time. Today, I’d recognize that tactic immediately—pressure the subject, unsettle them, look for physiological spikes. But at the time, I was simply confused.

Finally, he asked if I was currently using drugs. I said I’d recently taken antibiotics and occasionally used Motrin.

He moved on, then returned to the same line of questioning.

If I were writing this scene today, I’d have my detective note the repetition, the shifting language, the way the examiner controlled the rhythm of the interrogation. I’d build tension there—because that’s where it lives.

But back then, I was just irritated—and certain of one thing: I had told the truth.

The following Sunday, as I was getting ready for work, my friend called.

I had failed the test.

If this were fiction, that would be the inciting incident—the moment everything tilts. The innocent protagonist accused. The system revealed as flawed. The first crack in what’s supposed to be objective truth.

My friend told me not to worry, said I could come to work anyway, maybe even retake it later.

I told him not to bother. I wasn’t coming back.

Years later, after writing crime novels and researching investigative techniques, I learned what I wish I’d known then: lie detector tests don’t always detect lies. They detect stress.

And stress can come from many places:

  • Anxiety
  • Fatigue or illness
  • Medication
  • Confusing or manipulative questioning
  • Even the examiner’s own bias

In other words, the very conditions designed to “find the truth” can distort it.

That realization changed the way I think about interrogation scenes. In fiction, a lie detector can be a powerful tool—but not because it reveals truth. Because it reveals vulnerability. Because it can be wrong.

And wrong can be dangerous.

I recently discovered that lie detector tests were actively used in courtrooms in the 1950s—the world of my Sydney Lockhart mysteries. Which raises a delicious possibility.

What happens when Sydney—sharp, observant, and far less naïve than I was—is strapped into that chair? When she knows the machine is flawed, but the people watching believe it isn’t?

That’s not just a test.

That’s a setup.

And in crime fiction, setups are where the real story begins. I can’t wait to put Sydney in this uncomfortable situation and then watch her wiggle out of it. She’d do a much better job than her creator.

Have you ever been falsely accused?

 

Let’s Hear It for the Arts by Saralyn Richard

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One of my favorite jobs was being the Fine Arts Chairperson at Thornton Township High School, Harvey, Illinois. I came to the position in a circuitous way, since I had previously taught English. The school district had just restructured departments and consolidated the music, art, foreign language, and speech departments into a single department, labeled Fine Arts.

I was transitioning from teacher to administrator, and I was excited to step into the leadership role, even though it meant teaching speech instead of English. It also meant working in an elective instead of a core subject department, where classes were required for graduation. I had no idea of what a big difference that would make, or what challenges I would have to face, but the lessons I learned have been useful, even today as a member of the arts community.

Elective teachers have to recruit fight for students. If too few students sign up for a class (say, it’s band or choir) there will be no band or choir, no need for that teacher. While every student has a designated spot in his schedule for English every year, there are only a few elective spots allowed, and all of the elective teachers are competing for that student to choose their classes over all the other attractive ones.

Equally frustrating was the constant pressure to stay relevant in face of budget cuts for all but the four core subjects (English, math, science, social studies). Whenever the costs of equipment, materials, or small classes (meaning more teachers) became a concern, the first resort would be to cut the “frills.” All the brain-based research stating how valuable fine arts was for helping students learn was easy to ignore when state testing would be core all the way.

Part of my job was to make sure that students were aware of the enriching and engaging electives our department provided. So as a team, we instituted an annual Fine Arts Festival held right before the students signed up for their courses for the following year. Each of the fine arts teachers offered a mini-class that would allow students who signed up to “taste” what the course would be like. We had tshirts and contests and prizes and lots of creativity for the whole school to partake in.  A lot of work went into the single day’s activities, but everyone looked forward to it each year, and the festival promoted the arts better than any other single initiative we took in curriculum, instruction, or staff development.

Little did I realize how working on the Fine Arts Festival would help me with arts activities in my later years. The Grand 1894 Opera House, a small, historic theater in my hometown, like the Fine Arts department, is the heart of the city. Its program is filled with shows that touch people’s thoughts and emotions in unique ways. Those who elect to attend the shows and support the theater experience culturally enriched lives.

Yet, patronizing a theater requires discretionary income, and not everyone participates. The job of the theater personnel—both paid and volunteer—is to find ways to recruit and retain patrons and supporters.

The same is true for authors, whose literary works fall into the category of fine arts. A book launch is similar to a Fine Arts Festival. The author and publisher must find ways to “advertise” the book, so that readers will choose IT from among all the attractive options for a limited amount of time to read, book budget, and shelf space.

Sometimes I hear fellow authors becoming discouraged about the trials and tribulations of marketing their books, and I think of the fine arts teachers, whose travails were just as daunting and real. And yet, we still have fine arts electives, fabulous program seasons, and exciting new books to read. Nothing ever obliterates the arts, because they are the only things that nourish the human soul. For that reason alone, all our efforts matter, and fighting the battles is worth it.

Saralyn Richard is an educator and multiple award-winning author of seven mystery novels, a children’s book, and numerous short stories, poems, and essays published in anthologies and magazines. Her works include the Detective Parrott Mystery Series, the Quinn McFarland Mystery Series, A Murder of Principal, and Naughty Nana. Saralyn is an active member of Mystery Writers of America and International Thriller Writers, and she has taught literature and creative writing to high school students and adults through the Osher Lifelong Learning Institute. 

“Just One More Thing”

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When you hear the phrase “just one more thing,” what comes to mind? If you were around in the 1970s, you probably remember Columbo, starring Peter Falk as Lieutenant Columbo of the Los Angeles Police Department. The series won 22 awards and received 68 nominations, with Falk earning four Primetime Emmy Awards. It aired on NBC from 1971 to 1978 and has since been rebroadcast on numerous networks.

What I liked most about the show was its structure: viewers knew the killer from the start and then watched Columbo patiently unravel the crime. Each episode featured a guest star as the murderer—Martin Landau, Janet Leigh, Ruth Gordon, Vincent Price, Roddy McDowall, Leonard Nimoy, even Johnny Cash, to name a few.

I recently rediscovered the series after making a practical—if slightly risky—decision: changing hairdressers after fifteen years. When I learned my husband’s barber had begun cutting women’s hair for less than half what I’d been paying, I decided to give her a try. I only needed a trim—no shampoo, no styling. The first visit took less than ten minutes, and I was pleased with the result.

On my most recent visit, I didn’t have an appointment. Four people were ahead of me, and I thought about leaving—until I noticed the television was tuned to Columbo. I stayed. The episode featured Ricardo Montalban as a matador in “A Matter of Honor.”

When Columbo arrives on a scene—hair rumpled, trench coat wrinkled, cigar in hand—he’s easy to underestimate. His suspects dismiss him as absentminded, even inept. But his polite, seemingly scattered questions are deliberate. Columbo is a meticulous strategist, noting every clue and quietly assembling the truth. He wears his suspects down with persistence, circling back again and again until—almost as an afterthought—he says, “Just one more thing.”

Alfred Hitchcock also used this technique in his movies Rope, Dial M for Murder, A Shadow of a Doubt, and Frenzy. His forte was suspense rather than surprise. The audience knows what happened as they watch the story unfold. Suspense builds tension, keeping the audience on the edge of their seats as they participate in solving the crime.

Back to my barber. I waited nearly an hour that day and didn’t mind at all. I was hooked as soon as Columbo began his investigation. I knew he’d solve the mystery, and I couldn’t wait to find out how he did it. Next time I need a trim, I may skip the appointment altogether. I’ll take a seat, request Columbo on TV, and bring my writing journal. I’ll study the master detective at work and take notes for the next mystery.

Have you ever written a reverse whodunnit?

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