The Stiletto Gang

Close To Home

noreply@blogger.com (The Stiletto Gang) — Fri, 27 Jan 2012 10:00:00 +0000

By Laura Bradford

Ever have one of those Ruh-Roh moments ala The Jetsons?

Well, I just had one when I realized it was Friday and I was up for a post here with my fellow Stiletto babes.

In my defense, I truly had no idea it was even Friday, let alone the fourth Friday. You see, my nose has been pressed to the keyboard for the past few weeks as I churned out yet another book. This one was a romance with a subject line very near and dear to my heart. And as I'm writing this post, I'm finally realizing why I found this book so exhausting (Ruh-Roh moment #2).

It wasn't that I didn't love it...because, in fact, I do. But I guess, since I could relate to the main character in so many ways, it called on more of me to get it done. Not the me who was typing, or the me who was creating, but the me who gets it on a very different level.

When I was diagnosed with M.S. in 2006, I was heavy in denial. So much so, it took me a full year before I found the courage to start the meds. But even over the next few years (I can't believe I'm coming up on six), I always wondered if the experience would find its way into a book.

Well... Surprise! It found its way into a book.

Only it found its way in via a character with a very different story than mine. Still, as I wrote the book, I felt what she felt. I got the parts that scared her. And I finally see now, why I struggled with this book right up until the last edit...when everything suddenly clicked.

Hmmmm. Little did I know when I had my Ruh-Roh moment about posting today, I would finally figure out why the writing process of this book was so very different for me. Wow.

So tell me, have you ever found yourself in a similar situation? Either writing or, perhaps, even reading something that hit a bit closer to home than normal? Does it change the writing/reading process for you?

~Laura

P.S. I'm off to go sledding with dozens of middle school aged girls as part of a Girl Scout weekend this afternoon. Not exactly the post-book sleep fest I was looking for, but it'll do! :)

Punctuation saves books

noreply@blogger.com (Maria Geraci) — Thu, 26 Jan 2012 08:51:00 +0000

by Maria Geraci

I have to admit to getting a tickle out of this. I ripped it off a friend's Facebook status and discovered that there is an entire Facebook page devoted to the love of punctuation and all things wordly. Yep, it's right here.

All of which is extremely appropriate for my current state of mind because I just handed in the reviewed copy edits for my latest novel, A Girl Like You, which comes out this August. All I can say is: Thank you, professional copy editors of the world. Without you, I might indeed be "eating grandma!"

For those of you who might not be writers, let me explain what I'm talking about. After you hand in your *polished* manuscript to your editor, she/he asks for revisions or rewrites. Once you and your editor agree on the completed manuscript, it then goes to the next stage: the professional copy editor. This is the God/Goddess who goes through your 90,000 plus word manuscript with a fine tooth comb to correct typos, misspells, grammar and punctuation. You (the writer) then review the copy-edited manuscript and make any last minute changes/corrections, etc...

When I wrote my first novel for Berkley (just four short years ago), the copy-edited manuscript came to me via UPS in paper form and copy-edits were done in long hand. Thank God we're more civilized now and the copy-edits come back via the air waves in the form of Word and the copy-edits in Track Changes.

Just for giggles, here are just a few of the snafus on A Girl Like You. In my defense, I will say that when I'm writing I'm concentrating on content. Plus, I know there is this terrific copy-editor that is watching my back...

Original::
Torie is not a classic beauty, but she gets hit on more than Kimberly and I combined.
Copy-Edited:
Torie is not a classic beauty, but she gets hit on more than Kimberly and me combined.

This is the first of my books written in first-person, present tense. Boy, do I now know the difference in using "I" and "me."

Original:
Luckily, it is at this moment that the crowd begins to hoop and holler,
Copy-Edited:
Luckily, it is at this moment that the crowd begins to hoot and holler,

Um, I guess crowds don't hoop, do they?

Original:
"So then I ask her if she’ll take a breathalyzer test..."
Copy-Edited:
"So then I ask her if she’ll take a Breathalyzer test..."

And last but not least, here's one that was particularly embarrassing considering I'm referencing one of my personal favorite movies:

Original:
I like to imagine myself as the Rosalind Russell to his Cary Grant (think My Girl Friday)
Copy Edited:
I like to imagine myself as the Rosalind Russell to his Cary Grant (think His Girl Friday),

So, while in my case punctuation probably does not save lives, it definitely saves books.

Thank you, copy editors of the world!

V-Day is Upon Us

noreply@blogger.com (The Stiletto Gang) — Wed, 25 Jan 2012 09:23:00 +0000

And You Should Pass the Chocolate
By Bethany Maines

The ads for that certain holiday have started already. You know the pink, frilly, and frequently scantily clad ads I’m referring to. They also come in diamond and/or chocolate covered versions, but they all say pretty much the same thing: buy, buy, buy and if you don’t buy, or someone isn’t buying for you, then your life sucks. Number one, I generally have a problem with ads that try to make me feel bad about myself. And number two, I think it’s possible that I was born with a genetic disorder referred to as Lowdramatitis. For the record, problem number three is that I think it’s rude to show someone chocolate without instantly providing some.

Anyway, back to my genetic disorder. People suffering from Lowdramatitis have a tendency to say things like “Seriously?” during key moments in dramatic films, snort loudly at just about anything teenagers say, and exist in a state of incomprehension during a friend's monologue about their dating life. (Apparently, “So… you can’t just call him?” is never an appropriate question.)

So every year, as the hype of Valentine’s Day rolls around, I also find myself rolling my eyes. Which is why I thought for years that I suffered from Lowromantitis. I thought my impatience with the stupidity of others was an indication that I didn’t like romance. This, my friends, is not true. I like romance. I like it when my guy brings me flowers and says sweet things and what-not. I quite enjoy the what-not. What I don’t like is when the girl trips in a horror movie simply because someone wanted to put in that piece of music where the string section goes eeeeee-eee-eeeeeeeeee. I just hate inconsistent character development, if nothing else.

Along that same topic, I recently read a blog about the ratings system for Romance novels. (If you’re dying to know… It’s Time to Revamp our Sensuality Ratings) It was an interesting glimpse into a genre that I rarely read, and that hinted at the genre politics boiling away over there in the Romance section. Which is always funny when you write for another genre and not in the least bit funny when you do. But it got me to thinking that while I rarely read romance and I get seriously impatient with adult characters that act with all the impulsivity and sanity of teenagers (Yes, Three Weissmans of Westport, I’m looking at you), and I’m not sure I want to read books that need a rating system on a regular basis, I really do prefer books that have an element of romance in them. Which is probably why I write genre benders that mix in a little mystery, action, and romance all at the same time. I could try to explain why I added humor to the mix, but we’d probably be here all night and someone would have to call Freud. What they would call him, I don’t know, but they could call him.

Trusting your gut

noreply@blogger.com (The Stiletto Gang) — Tue, 24 Jan 2012 07:00:00 +0000

by: Joelle Charbonneau

I have a sick tot. Friday he was fine. Friday night he coughed himself awake until morning. By Saturday at noon he had a 102.0 temperature. Now, I’m not a worrier by nature. I know fevers can run high for kids. (Heck, I still spike a high temp when I get the sniffles.) I gave him some Ibuprofen and settled down with the kid on the rocking chair and watched The Wiggles as we waited for the medication to kick in. The meds didn’t put a dent in the fever. And I started to worry while feeling stupid for worrying. I mean, all my friends with kids were talking about some bug going around with high fevers. We just needed to wait it out.

Swapped out the Ibuprofen for Tylenol and prepared to watch the thermometer drop.

Nope.

For the next 48 hours we tried every trick in the book. Alternating the meds every couple hours. Cool baths. Wash cloths on the forehead. Nothing broke the fever. Yep, I was worried even when people told me it would probably be fine by morning. Most of the time I would have said the same thing. But this time something felt “off”. My gut told me something more was going on even when I finally got the fever to break last night before midnight.

This morning my mother went with me and the tot to the doctor. The kid’s fever was almost non-existent. He was perky and greeting everyone who walked into the doctor’s office with a cheerful smile and a happy dance. The kid looked fine. Minus the cough he sounded fine. The chest x-ray told us that he wasn’t fine. Diagnosis – pneumonia.

It’s a mild case. We have drugs and hopefully by the end of this week this experience will be behind us. However, I did realize that no matter how much I told myself I didn’t want to be the parent who freaks out at every snuffle, I have to trust my gut. In fact, trusting my gut is a lesson I need to remember both in parenting and as a writer.

This summer, I took a crack at writing a young adult novel. (For those keeping score, this is THE TESTING that will be published by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt in Spring of 2013) I zipped along telling the story enjoying every minute of typing then came a moment where my gut told me I had done something wrong. I was at 85,000 words. Just a chapter away from THE END. And yet – I knew something was “off”. The character was in exactly the right place I needed her to be in to write that final chapter. I told myself to just forge ahead and wait to critique my work after had hit the final page.

But I couldn’t. I was stuck. My gut told me there was something wrong and that while my character was physically in the exact place I needed her to be, how she got there was more important than where she was. (Does that even make sense to anyone but me?) So I started scrolling back through the pages to where my gut told me I’d gone off the rails. I highlighted almost 8000 words and hit cut. I pasted those words in a separate file and started anew agonizing over the new pages for days. I had been so close to the end and then hit the square on Chutes and Ladders that sends you sliding back to where the finish line looks like it will take dozens of spins to get there.

The thing is – I was right to go back and start where I felt I’d gone astray. The new pages were very different. The heroine finished in the same place, but she was not the same person when she got there. I trusted my gut and the story was better for it.

Thankfully, I trusted my gut today in that same way and got the tot in to see the doctor. Hopefully, by the time you are reading this he’ll already be better for that decision.

Who Defines Me?

noreply@blogger.com (The Stiletto Gang) — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 10:00:00 +0000

By Evelyn David

I was talking to a friend whose oldest child is in the midst of the college admissions/decision process. Needless to say, it's very different from when I was a senior in high school. Granted that was a minimum of a million years ago, but if you weren't going to the state university, you applied to three or four schools in the fall, and come April, you got your letters: fat envelopes signaled acceptance; thin ones were polite no's. It was probably the only time when being fat was a good thing.

By the time my oldest was ready for college, things had ramped up. SAT prep was a given. Students applied to many more schools. But a dozen years later, when my youngest was in the college mode, there had been a sea change. Among other things, the whole application process was now online. No stamps were involved on either end. College admissions had become a multi-million dollar industry, with private college admissions counselors charging as much as $40,000 for their services.

But here's what hasn't changed, even from when I applied to school.

Rejection still hurts. Whether it's from your first-choice college or it's from a publisher who has decided that your mystery doesn't fit their needs – it's painful to the core to be told that you don't make the grade. There are usually lots of reasons for the rejection that have absolutely nothing to do with you or your work. But when you're in the midst of it, when you've gotten the real or virtual "thin" envelope, it's very personal and the wound can run deep.

Most writers are full of self-doubt. Being rejected merely confirms your worst fears about your talent. You can sell 100,000 books through Kindle Direct Publishing, make more money off your self-published mysteries than you ever did through traditional publishing houses – and you're still looking for outside confirmation that you're a "real writer."

Or is that just the insecure me talking?

I can remember when my oldest got deferred from his first-choice college (the decision on his application was put off until the regular admissions cycle). He was hurt; I was devastated. But when I pulled myself together and thought it through, I was able to tell him what I need to remember myself.

Don't let someone else define you. Whether it's an admissions officer, an editor, or a reviewer, you can't let their decisions, be it reasoned or capricious, affect your sense of self-worth. You are who you are, valuable and worthy, regardless of whether they decide to let you in "the club."

I wish for each of you fat envelopes that say yes to your dreams. But if a thin envelope is delivered, don't stop believing or pursuing your passion. You may have to take a different route to achieve it, but your worth is never in question.

Marian aka the Northern, often insecure half of Evelyn David

Brianna Sullivan Mysteries - e-book series
I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
The Dog Days of Summer in Lottawatah- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
The Holiday Spirit(s) of Lottawatah- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Undying Love in Lottawatah- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
A Haunting in Lottawatah - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Lottawatah Twister - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Missing in Lottawatah - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords

Sullivan Investigations Mystery - e-book series
Murder Off the Books Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Murder Takes the Cake Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Riley Come Home (short story)- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Moonlighting at the Mall (short story) - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords

Romances
Love Lessons - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords

Four Very Important (and Sometimes Strange) Things I Learned from My Mother

noreply@blogger.com (The Stiletto Gang) — Fri, 20 Jan 2012 08:01:00 +0000

By Susan McBride

I feel a little like a copycat after Laura Spinella wrote that wonderful post about her mother last Friday. Not only was it Friday the 13^th, but it was her mom’s 83^rd birthday (hope it was a happy one!). Tomorrow is my mom’s 75^th birthday. So that she doesn't feel left out, I figured I’d pen a piece in her honor, all about some very important life lessons I’ve learned from her. Let’s just say, they’re invaluable (or at least chuckle-worthy). Here goes!

Lesson #1: Threats Don’t Work

I remember one particular time in my young life when I was furious with my mother…for what, I can’t remember. I was about 10 or 11, and I recall very clearly telling her how she’d pissed me off and then letting her know I was running away. Not only did she basically say, “Terrific,” I think she offered to help me pack. I ended up leaving the house, racing across the lawn and down to the grassy triangle up the street, and climbing a tree so I could see the house. I was certain she’d run outside crying hysterically and shouting at the top of her lungs, “Susan! Sweetheart, I’m so sorry! Please, come back!” I don’t know how long I sat in that tree, waiting and watching for her, but it had to be at least an hour (which felt like days). My pride wounded and stomach growling, I finally slunk inside and found her in the kitchen. “I see you’re back in time for dinner,” she said. “It would’ve been a shame to give the dog your meatloaf.”

Lesson #2: Don’t Troll Mom’s Bathroom for Empty Boxes

I bought what was surely a fabulous present for my mother one Christmas long ago but I needed an empty box in which to stuff and wrap it. So, of course, I poked around my parents’ master bathroom (this was before The Container Store, you see). Lo and behold, on a shelf in the linen closet, I found a cardboard box that was light blue with tiny white flowers all over it. Gorgeous! It wasn’t until Mom unwrapped the box and began laughing that I learned the box once contained Tampax tampons. Not sure at that point I even knew what that meant. But she said that next time I needed an empty box, I should just ask.

Lesson #3: When it’s Dad versus a Kitten, the Kitten Wins

We always had at least one dog in the house. When I was really little, it was a cocker spaniel named Cindy. As I got older, we had a couple of golden retrievers and a giant mutt named Puppy. At some point after my sister and I were in grade school, we started asking for a kitten. My mom thought that was a grand idea. My dad was not so keen. “It’s either me or a cat,” he very sternly told us all one night at family dinner. My mom replied, “You’re going to lose there, buster,” then asked us, “So is it a kitten or your father?” My sister and I looked at each other, grinned, and squealed, “Hooray, we’re getting a kitten!” And we did.

Lesson #4: Don’t Dump a Guy Just Because He Wears Weird Shoes

When I was a sophomore in high school, I dated a senior who was brilliant (he went to the Air Force Academy), talented (he played piano like a pro), athletic (he was a star on the soccer team), and hunky. He also wore desert boots when no one else was wearing desert boots. For some reason, that bothered me enormously. Superficial, I know. But then again, I was 15. My mom kept saying, “Don’t break up with this wonderful boy over a pair of shoes.” But I did anyway. Fast forward 26 years to when I met Ed. He used to wear this motorcycle jacket—a real one, with hard pads that made the shoulders stand out like a linebacker—only he didn’t ride a motorcycle. (Oh, he had one. It was just not drivable and still resides in his parents’ garage because he won’t get rid of it.) My friends teased him about it unmercifully. The meanies. But Ed wore it anyway. He also had a neon-green striped shirt he donned for Christmas Eve dinner at my folks’ the first time they met him. The next morning, Mom asked, “So, what about that green shirt?” I felt the same way about it as I did the motorcycle jacket. Yuck. But thank goodness I wasn’t 15 any more. I recognized and appreciated all the wonderfulness of Ed that had nothing to do with his clothes. To this day, I’m so glad I didn’t dump Ed over something as superficial as a silly jacket or a fluorescent green shirt. I would have missed out on the best thing in my life.

Not sure what the moral is to any of this except that moms are sly creatures. They know things—sometimes strange things—and we can learn from them if we pay attention. Seeing as how I’m going to be a mom myself, maybe I really need to write more of this stuff down. Or make up some new stuff.

Acceptance Awards do's and don'ts

noreply@blogger.com (Maria Geraci) — Thu, 19 Jan 2012 10:24:00 +0000

Although I'm knee deep in copy edits that are due back to my publisher by Friday (yes, tomorrow, that Friday) I still took a break last Sunday night to watch the Golden Globe Awards show.

I'm such a sucker for these awards shows. I love watching the stars in their glittery gowns, seeing the men in their tuxs, listening to the acceptance speeches, etc.

As per my own tradition, I kept a running list of my personal likes and dislikes:

Do's:

DO invite British comedienne Ricky Gervais to host the show again. Despite his acerbic and rather insulting wit, I find him funny. Apparently, so does someone else because he's done it 2 years in a row now.

DO have a great acceptance speech set up. Even if it's an obviously pre-rehearsed skit. You people are entertainers, so entertain. Best acceptance speech of the night? The Modern Family gang, accepting their award for Best TV comedy. Love that Sophia Vergara, who looked absolutely stunning.

DO invite back sexy film stars who are classy and look drop dead gorgeous in a tux. Namely, Mr. Darcy, er... I mean Colin Firth (sorry, he will ALWAYS be my favorite Mr. Darcy!)

Now for the DONT'S:

Is it just me or was I the only person in America who couldn't take their eyes off these star's arms? I mean, yes, Angelina Jolie and Madonna are beautiful women, but enough working out is enough. They need some meat on those arms! Or at the very least, cover them up. Apparently, no, I'm not the only one who thinks this either. So does Piers Morgan.

And lastly, my personal awards show biggest no-no. Stars who go over their limited time in their thank you speech.

This year's biggest offender? Meryl Streep.

Now, don't get me wrong. I LOVE Meryl Streep and think she deserves every award she gets. I can forgive her for looking as if she's just crawled out of bed and thrown on her bathrobe here, but I can't forgive her for sounding like a flustered ninny on the stage.

Meryl, you have to know that whenever you are nominated, there is a GOOD chance you will win. Prepare a speech, for God's sake, and rehearse it.

So who's looking forward to the Oscars?

Maria Geraci

When Salsa and Writing Collide

noreply@blogger.com (The Stiletto Gang) — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 10:00:00 +0000

I have to learn to salsa dance. By Saturday. While wearing heels.

I can’t reveal the reason for this challenge but suffice it to say that the continuation of life as we know it depends on me being able to remain upright while dancing to Tito Puente. Oh, and did I mention that fifty percent of the people there will already know how to do this? It’s definitely a pride thing with me and it all goes back to the fact that no matter how hard I try, I still can’t figure out how to do the Electric Slide. Having stood silently against the wall while everyone slides around to the verses that talk about “it’s electric…boogiewoogiewoogie” is not the way I roll and I’m determined never to let it happen again. So salsa I will, even if it’s the last thing I do.

I’ve downloaded several salsa tunes and even accessed a video on YouTube where a lovely couple demonstrates exactly how to dance salsa like a pro. Hey, even Victor Cruz of the New York Giants can bust out salsa moves after scoring a touchdown; just how hard can it be? Very, apparently. I’m still working on it and may even have some video to post next time I post, so stay tuned. It may be a thing of beauty or so embarrassing that it becomes a YouTube sensation. You know I’m not shy—I’m the first person to don a lampshade on my head if the situation calls for it—but this may even break my gregarious spirit. We shall see.

But all of this talk about salsa dancing got me thinking about writing. Really. (Wait for it; I'll get there.) I’m a fairly good dancer—some would even say that I have good rhythm—but trying to stay true to traditional salsa has proven hard for me because I fancy myself more of an interpretative dancer, allowing the music to dictate where I go and how. Following specific steps and not deviating from those steps, while staying true to the salsa tradition, would not allow me to stay true to myself as an “artist” (and yes, I mean that in a tongue-in-cheek way).

It’s kind of like writing. I know some of the steps and can even put them together in a cohesive package that looks fairly attractive and has some rhythm. (Based on some of my reader mail this week there are some who would beg to differ that point.) But try to adhere to a formula? Well, the wheels fall off the bus for me. Learning to salsa correctly, following the intricate steps, is the equivalent of starting a writing project with a complete and thorough outline, something that goes from point A to point Z in a straight line. I can’t do it. What I can do is jiggle to and fro to the music in time while salsa dancing, making a passable attempt at mimicking the steps and everyone who knows how to do salsa well. In writing, I can do the same, going back and forth, to the future and back to the past, over something a thousand times to make sure the words say what I want them to say, and doing it all again the next day and the next with no pattern, no particular flow, no organization.

I will probably never win a salsa dancing contest nor will I ever win the Pulitzer, at least until I stop writing about bumbling college professors, sly nuns, and people who kill in the heat of the moment, but for now, I’m content to sway to the music and let the words that I want to write come out in one interpretative jumble until I can put them in an order that makes some kind of sense.

Writers out there, how do you do it? And can anyone come over and teach me to salsa before Saturday?

Maggie Barbieri

A Bit from the Older Woman of the Gang

noreply@blogger.com (The Stiletto Gang) — Tue, 17 Jan 2012 06:25:00 +0000

Reading Laura Spinella's post about her mother made me realize once again, how much older I am than all the other members of this Stiletto Gang.

As I wrote in the comment to Laura's post, I know her mother still feels young inside no matter how many years she's been on this planet, I know I sure do.

I was born at the tail end of the Depression and when I was a kid heard a lot of tales from my older family members about how hard it was--but they always laughed while they were telling about cooking cabbages that had fallen off a truck, and eating rabbit my dad shot in the backyard. (They lived in South Pasadena, not in the country somewhere.) For awhile, dad didn't have a job and we lived in a house that belonged to my grandparents and I guess we were poor though I certainly didn't ever feel like we were. We were rich in family.

The top photo is when I was the flower girl in my auntie's wedding--and she made the dress.

Digressing a bit, the only store bought dresses I had when I was in grammar school my grandmother bought me, mom made the rest. And yes, we wore dresses to school, and in Junior High and High School, sweaters and skirts or skirts and blouses. Mom bought what she thought I needed, with babysitting money I bought what I "had" to have.

I planned to go to college, I certainly had the grades for it, but I fell in love. See that cute sailor, that's about how he looked when I met him on a blind date. Wasn't love at first sight, but it didn't take but a few dates to know we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together.

And here we are on our wedding day. I traveled clear across the country by train with my mom and she and Hap's dad were our only witnesses. We lived in Norfolk VA for awhile, then I went back to Cambridge MD where I had my first child. It wasn't long before we headed back to Los Angeles because Hap was going over seas.

Over the years we had five children, our oldest boy died of cancer a few years ago. This photo was taken last year at one of our granddaughter's weddings.

Hap did lots of traveling during his 20 years in the Navy, I stayed home and raised the kids, mainly in Oxnard CA. I was PTA president four years in a row, and had a Camp Fire Girl group for 10 years. I had a lot of jobs to help make ends meet: telephone operator, teacher in a a preschool for developmentally disabled kids, managed to get my AA in Early Childhood Development, taught in day care centers for disadvantaged kids, and all the time I was writing. Hubby finally retired from the Navy.

We moved and took over a licensed 6-bed facility for developmentally disabled women. My first book was published in 1981. Besides everything I did for my ladies including the required paperwork, I wrote nearly every day and got published again--and again. I went to some mystery writing conferences and then hubby and I went together to mystery conventions all over the country. After 22 years we retired from the residential care business, but we're still going here and there. I must confess, I can't get nearly as much done in a day as I used to, nor can my hubby--but inside I feel as young as I ever did.

This year we celebrated our 60th wedding anniversary on a cruise to Mexico.

And my mother said it wouldn't last.

Marilyn

This Old House

noreply@blogger.com (The Stiletto Gang) — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 10:00:00 +0000

By Evelyn David

My house is almost a hundred years old. We bought it from the estate of the woman who, with her husband, had it built. Just walking in the door, I could feel the good karma. The parents had raised seven children here. As we wandered through, the realtor described the festive family parties with children and grandchildren.

I was originally hesitant because one daughter had remained in the home, caring for her mother, who died at 90+. I worried that we were displacing this poor elderly woman who had never lived anywhere else since her mother was pregnant with her when the family moved in. But as we were inspecting the house, my husband discovered a sporty, two-seater Jaguar in the garage and we realized that this wasn't any shy, reclusive old lady with cats. Turns out that this house was just home-base. The daughter worked for an airline and traveled all over the world.

When it came down to a decision, it seemed easy. I could feel the good karma, there were enough bedrooms that each kid could have his or her own, and we could almost afford it. The fact that the kitchen only had one electrical outlet (on the other hand how many did a 90+ year old woman need?), or that the only bathtub in the house was in the attic and I had a little baby, didn't stop us from plunking down our money and moving in. Changes to the house came slowly. A few electrical outlets were added to the kitchen in the first year. A bathtub was added to the main bathroom later. It was years before we renovated the kitchen.

But like all of us who are growing older, this house needs maintenance. The bones, as my friend the realtor tells me, are fantastic. But let's just say that the old body is showing its age. The windows are original, the furnace is probably close to 50 (it had originally been coal-fired), and even the changes we made when we first moved in aren't shiny new anymore.

Which brings me to the perennial question of empty nesters? Do we stay or go? If we stay, how much should we invest in maintenance? Minimal as long as it's safe and comfortable for us? Or more with the hopes that we recoup it when we sell?

My basic rule of thumb has been that anyone who moves in will want to re-do the kitchen eventually (it's now 16 years old), but will be satisfied that there is no urgency to the project. Same thought applies to re-doing the bathrooms. The master bath is small, but again, I envision new owners would break through to the small room on the other side and make one of those master suite spas I see in the magazines (heck, I want one of those). But do we recarpet the threadbare steps and if so, how much do we invest – cheap neutral carpet or something a little snazzier, with extra bucks for every bit of snaz? If we're here for another five years, what's a worthwhile investment and what's not?

No answers yet. Just lots of questions as we begin to figure things out.

I was right the first time I walked in this house. It was more than just a building. For a wonderful family before us; and for my wonderful family now. I know that you can't measure good karma in dollars and cents. I don't need any ruby red slippers, nor do I need to click my heels. Every time I walk through the door, I know that I'm home.

Marian, the Northern half of Evelyn David

Brianna Sullivan Mysteries - e-book series
I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
The Dog Days of Summer in Lottawatah- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
The Holiday Spirit(s) of Lottawatah- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Undying Love in Lottawatah- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
A Haunting in Lottawatah - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Lottawatah Twister - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Missing in Lottawatah - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords

Sullivan Investigations Mystery - e-book series
Murder Off the Books Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Murder Takes the Cake Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Riley Come Home (short story)- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Moonlighting at the Mall (short story) - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords

Romances
Love Lessons - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords

Mother's Day

noreply@blogger.com (The Stiletto Gang) — Fri, 13 Jan 2012 05:00:00 +0000

By Laura Spinella

There are certain things you can’t imagine in life, like how you might prefer summer to winter, and big holy crap things like a published book. The premise of this blog, I think, falls somewhere in between. Today is Friday the 13th (my second Friday the 13th Stiletto Gang post, but not my point) and it also happens to be Mother’s 83rd birthday. I started linking the odds earlier in the week. It’s Friday the 13th AND Mother’s birthday AND my turn to post here at The Stiletto Gang! I couldn’t, in all good consciousness, pass up the forum. She gets another whack at the black-cat calendar birthday in five years, but the odds of it being my turn to blog are debatable. The odds of her enjoying number 88… Pretty damn good, if you know Mother.

And, by the way, it is Mother. Let’s get the terminology correct. Every year I look at rows of greeting cards marked Mom, and wonder who the heck I’d send that to. The card is a struggle on a lot of levels. We’re not an outwardly demonstrative group. I know lots of writers who’d use a card or blog to gush at length. They’d post gooey Facebook notes about how much Mom means and mark it with wingding symbols of emotion. While I’ve been known to tug at the heartstrings when it comes to my characters, it’s just not the way we do it. Think more the decorum you’d display for the Queen. So, I thought, instead, I’d share a little with you about Mother (also never preceded by a possessive pronoun) who lives in Pennsylvania with my father. He’ll be 86 next month; he calls her Tootsie.

Mother’s name is Clarabel, which never struck me as odd, but you can bet spell check just marked it with a big red line. She was born prematurely, and for all the fuss and care taken with preemies today, let it be known that they stuck her in a coal stove. Eighty-three years later, and she’s happy to tell you the story. Her father was an interesting self-made man who, during the Great Depression, built houses and roads in Pennsylvania. Driving down any of those winding macadam-covered paths, she’ll say, “Your grandfather built this.” She attended a one-room school house that still stands next to a chapel; a painting of it hangs in her dining room. She is the middle daughter, of a middle daughter, of a middle daughter. My sister, Christine, got to be the next middle daughter, her daughter, Keryn, wise enough to be a middle daughter too, keeping that genealogical marker going. Mother’s mother was named Nora, which rhymes with Laura, and I like to think was subconsciously intentional on Mother’s part.

She didn’t go to college, and I think this has always bothered her. But post WWII wasn’t an era in which women and higher education were encouraged. On the other hand, do not confuse this with any mark of intelligence or drive. Mother attended Central Communications and Airlines Academy in Kansas City, MO, going on to become one of the first women in management at TWA. To do this, she had to move to New York City, quite an adventure for an 18-year old girl from rural Pennsylvania. There she met my father, whose job wasn’t nearly as important. (No worries, he makes his mark a little later in life. Perhaps his birthday falls on my next blog date.) Men significantly outnumbered women in the workplace, and Mother had her pick of suitors. She even brushed elbows with Howard Hughes, who, of course, immediately washed his. As for my parents, the story goes that Mother had a date to meet a guy named Charlie Hiney under a clock in Times Square. My father showed up early and told him to get lost. My sisters and I are grateful for this intervention and a guaranteed childhood of torment!

The next thirty plus years take place on Long Island, where tradition was at the heart of most everything. Mother sewed like a five-star seamstress; she could make doll clothes and real clothes and costumes and slipcovers. I’m not sure how this skill befell her, but I bet I had the best-dressed Barbies on the East Coast. I know I had the most incredible Halloween costumes. When I was eight, she broke her leg while ice-skating. Mother never missed a beat, wearing a thigh-high cast from February to July. The Sound of Music is her favorite movie, and if you’re not of a Fox News, conservative mindset… Well, it would be my best advice you keep that information to yourself. I do.

My parents have traveled over the years. She’s enjoyed places like Italy, Israel and Austria. She’s not a resort type of person, though they do leave on a cruise next week. Just the other day she was kvetching about the excursions, not the destinations or cost—well, maybe the cost—but mostly she was perturbed by the age restrictions. Apparently, cruise lines are not that excited about folks over 75 participating in their day trips. When she told me this I laughed under my breath, thinking: Good luck to whoever is running that show. Apparently, they haven’t met Mother.

While that merely scratches the surface of Mother, I’ll leave it there, wishing her a happy 83rd birthday and many more!

Love,

Laura Jean

Laura Spinella is the author of BEAUTIFUL DISASTER, 2011 Favorite Book at SHEKNOWS.com and voted Best First Book of 2011 by New Jersey Romance Writers of America. Visit her at her website, lauraspinella.net or on Facebook. BEAUTIFUL DISASTER is women's fiction that asks: What would you risk for a love that is greater than honor or friendship or the passing of time?

Ellery Queen

noreply@blogger.com (The Stiletto Gang) — Thu, 12 Jan 2012 10:00:00 +0000

by Jeffery Marks

Why I am going with Ellery Queen next…

Way back when (or during my teen years, as I prefer to call it), I fell in love with mysteries. Not a passing fancy or a crush, but head over heels with the genre. In the 1970s, when I was first introduced to the world of mysteries, I was working at a roller disco at $2.10 an hour. On this meager income, I had two choices for my book buying pleasure. I could buy a new paperback, which cost $1.99 at the time or I could buy used paperbacks at $0.25 apiece.

You don’t have to be a mathematician to see which option I chose and why. So I had stacks of book, mostly by authors who had been writing in the 1940s and 1950s. Their books were much more likely to be used and forgotten – but not by me.

When I started to think about writing a biography, my thoughts immediately turned to the heroes of my youth. I began with Craig Rice about whom next to nothing was known. The idea of an enigma wrapped in a guffaw was too much for me to resist.

My work on her book begat Atomic Renaissance, which was a group biography of other women authors who are largely (and sadly) forgotten today. Some of them had actually contributed to my biography of Rice and later passed away before its publication. I felt a tribute was needed.

All of that led to my biography of Anthony Boucher who had praised all of these women a half century before I wrote Atomic Renaissance. The book was shorter than most, as he had sadly passed away young and had moved to editing and reviewing towards the end of his life.

That problem was remedied with the biography I’m currently completing. Erle Stanley Gardner wrote over 140 books and 600 short stories and novellas. There’s no shortage of material here. Adding to that is Gardner’s lust for life. He lived hard, and worked himself harder. His accomplishments take up a large part of the biography here.

All this leads me to my recent decision to write a biography of Ellery Queen. First, Ellery, the character, has always been one of my absolute favorite detectives. From his earlier works to the 1970s TV show, I’ve been a fan. So much so that my late Scottish terrier was named Ellery. The books, especially the early ones, are incredible problems of deductions. The books may overreach at times, but Queen never fell into a rut or failed for not trying.

Ironically, Anthony Boucher wrote a profile of the two cousins who wrote as Queen. I am amused that I’ll be using the materials created by one of my biographical subjects to write about the latest biographical subject.

Sadly, of all the authors I’ve profiled, Queen has fallen into obscurity further and faster than the rest. I hope to change that with a new biography of one of the masters of the genre.

www.jeffreymarks.com
www.thelittleblogofmurder.com
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Jeffrey-Marks/271929135155
https://twitter.com/#!/Jeffrmarks

Missing: One Brain

noreply@blogger.com (The Stiletto Gang) — Wed, 11 Jan 2012 09:22:00 +0000

by Bethany Maines

The Girls all got together last weekend. We drooped around the place like we were wearing white dresses and existing in the opening chapter of the Great Gatsby, while our dudes seemed to be full of unending pep and chit-chatted the night away. This might be because the girls over-committed to weekend plans and all of us were short on sleep. Or as I prefer to think – it’s because our brains were removed by an alien brain sucker.

Seriously, I used to be able to follow a linear thought. I didn’t always zone out while someone was talking. I used to be able to work on something for at least an hour before I would wander off. And I’m pretty sure I could do all of that before Christmas. Now it’s like someone’s removed my brain and replaced it with dryer lint.

Partially, I blame the Northwest winter. The worst part of the year is from January to April when the weather settles into an unending pattern of grey, over-cast days, punctuated with drizzle, rain, almost rain, mist, fog, and the occasional downpour or drift of snow. It’s weather designed for hibernation, which, let’s face it, coming down off the holiday cookie high is all I really want to do. And this is the time that the government has decided that I should work on taxes for the business. If the aliens didn’t get my brain, I’m pretty sure the tax-man did.

Anyway, back to the girls. My particular set of girls met through aerobic kickboxing, karate, and college. At this point in our relationships, we’ve managed to weather the storms of divorces, weddings, break-ups, cross country moves, and babies. We’re all pretty sure the others are crazy, and we’re probably all correct. But it occurred to me, as I zoned out on my friend’s couch, surrounded by the debris of dinner and Christmas presents, periodically accepting and then returning the toys that the three-year old handed me, that even if my brain had been sucked out, that my friends clearly still liked me. Which is a bit of a relief, and not at all guaranteed when a friendship starts. It’s nice to go to a place where, if one’s brain has been replaced with lint, that no demands are made and they provide with you with cake on a stick.

And so in this new year, it is my wish that all of you find such a safe place and good friends and, of course, cake-pops. Also, if you find my brain, please give it a good rinse and send it home.

Pajama Day

noreply@blogger.com (The Stiletto Gang) — Tue, 10 Jan 2012 12:10:00 +0000

by: Joelle Charbonneau

My son loves preschool and for good reason. He gets to hang around with people his size, play games, do arts and crafts, sing songs, read books and get snacks all during a 2 ½ hour period. It makes me want to go to preschool. Molding Playdough sounds soothing.

Occasionally, the preschool has a special dress up day. Last semester it was, of course, Halloween. This semester they will celebrate pajama day. This Thursday, all the tots have been asked to come to school in their PJs. They are even invited to bring their favorite stuffed animal friend. Yes, I am totally jealous.

I mean, as writers we get kidded a lot about not having to get out of our pajamas. We can get up and walk over to our job without ever having to brush our teeth or get out of our footie pajamas. How cool is that, right? (Well, aside from the not brushing our teeth part. I mean, who really wants to go around all day with morning breath? That’s just icky.) I am almost embarrassed to admit that in my adult writing life I have never spent the day in my pajamas. (Yes, I am hanging my head in shame.) Every day I get dressed in my typical uniform of jeans and a sweatshirt (because it is winter folks and I am COLD), march the tot downstairs and go about the business of my mommy and writing life.

Why? Do I have an aversion to pajamas? Do I think I’m too good for them?

Ha! No way. I love the comfort of my PJs. But that’s the problem. They’re comfortable. Not to say my jeans and sweatshirts aren’t, but they’re “getting stuff done” clothes not “preparing to be unconscious” ones. The minute I put my PJs on my brain loses focus. I start thinking about what I should read before turning the lights out and what things I need to get done the next day. Chapter hooks and character development goes right out the window.

Which makes me wonder if I’m the only one that has this problem. I mean, do you lose all ability to “work” when you put your pajamas on? And if I’m not the only one, I have to admit I’m a bit concerned for the preschool teachers this week. I’ll have to let you know how pajama day turns out!

A Royal Murder

noreply@blogger.com (The Stiletto Gang) — Mon, 09 Jan 2012 10:00:00 +0000

By Evelyn David

I don't want to trivialize the reality of someone being murdered, but I can already envision the Saturday Night Live skit. Guest star Helen Mirren (who played the Queen so well in the movie of the same title) is being grilled by Sherlock Holmes and Watson (think Robert Downey, Jr. and Jude Law). Harsh spotlight on her face, she's being forced to give the details of where she has spent the previous 24 hours ("Well, I fed the dogs, had a cuppa tea, told Camilla that her sweater was ugly…). If Lizzie doesn't have Miss Marple on speed dial, now's the time to check Zabasearch for her number.

The story of the murder at Sandringham, the Queen's vacation home, is slowly unfolding. Security is understandably tight. But let's be honest, if a dead body suddenly showed up on my side of the fence, I'd be spending quite a few hours at the local police station fessing up to everything including lying to my mother about who actually broke her favorite vase (just saying, that sister Rachel may not have been the culprit).

The Royal Family has come under scrutiny for murder before. There's always straightforward Henry VIII, who viewed killing a spouse preferable to divorce or annulment. It might have been legal, but 'twas murder nonetheless. Albert Victor, one of Queen Victoria's grandsons, was a leading suspect in several Jack the Ripper theories. So presumably Lizzie knows how to lawyer up. I bet she's watched Law & Order: UK more than once.

As a mystery writer, I'm always loathe to include real people in my stories. I might use a celebrity to describe one of my characters succinctly. If I say that the office manager had Dolly Parton hair or chest – it's a neat shortcut that will instantly provide the reader with a visual image. But it's my job as a writer is to create memorable characters, settings, and events, not merely figuratively Xerox what I find around me or in the news.

Besides, often the truth is so much crazier than what I could envision (Kim Kardashian telling me that she had married for love and only love). I'm pretty sure that if I'd written it, there would be an outcry that I had asked my readers to suspend too much disbelief. Conversely, sometimes the reality is so bland, that readers would be bored if I offered it up as the solution to a mammoth crime. For example, a few years ago, auditors discovered that a consultant had stolen millions from the Board of Education. I was astonished that the secret to the theft was that she wrote checks to herself for thousands of dollars. Since there was no second signature required, she didn't have to be very creative in order to steal. Sorry, but as a mystery writer, I wouldn't be able to pass that off as a whodunnit.

Of course, we often base characters on people we know, but they are deliberately not clones. Crimes in the news are often the catalysts to storylines, but we're writing fiction, not a true-crime book.

So Stiletto Faithful, play along with me. The Homicide at the Queen's Estate….whodunnit and why?

Marian, the Northern Half of Evelyn David

Brianna Sullivan Mysteries - e-book series
I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
The Dog Days of Summer in Lottawatah- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
The Holiday Spirit(s) of Lottawatah- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Undying Love in Lottawatah- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
A Haunting in Lottawatah - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Lottawatah Twister - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Missing in Lottawatah - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords

Sullivan Investigations Mystery - e-book series
Murder Off the Books Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Murder Takes the Cake Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Riley Come Home (short story)- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Moonlighting at the Mall (short story) - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords

Romances
Love Lessons - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords

My Writing Resolutions for 2012

noreply@blogger.com (The Stiletto Gang) — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 08:10:00 +0000

by Susan McBride

I used to make New Year’s resolutions annually. Until I realized I didn’t really stick to them. By the end of January, they were forgotten, buried under deadlines and other craziness. This year, I’m not even going to try to pin down things in my personal life that I’d like to tackle, other than to deliver a healthy baby in June, meet all my obligations as best I can, and thoroughly enjoy every day as much as humanly possible.

Instead, I decided to make a few resolutions regarding my writing that I want to strive for in 2012 and each year after. Since this is the perfect place to share them (so you all can check on me later and see how I’m doing!), here they are:

**To boldly go where no man has gone before! (Well, at least where this woman hasn't gone before!) Yes, like the opening sequence in “Star Trek,” I want to tackle new galaxies in my writing life. I want to keep trying new things and writing books that I haven’t written before (or even read in some cases). It’s always scary taking on a path that isn’t familiar. But I’m finding that I thrive on it. It’s a risk, yes, and I realize I’m taking a gamble with every novel I write that isn’t a series or that encroaches on new turf, but it gets my blood pumping. I get excited just thinking about stretching my creativity and seeing how far I can push myself.

**To stop worrying about reviews. I want to stop feeling compelled to check Amazon and other places, only to break out in hives because someone gave my latest literary baby one-star and said it’s the worst piece of crap they’ve ever seen. I write because I can’t imagine doing anything else. It feeds me. It drives me. I would write even if Ed and my mom were the only ones reading. Knowing that a hunk of the book-buying population will never warm to me does not affect how I work. I don’t think about it when I’m composing, not one bit (although I know authors who do—one who even told me he considers readers’ suggestions about how he should approach characters and plotlines while he’s writing). All bad reviews do is make me feel lousy personally. So I need to follow in the footsteps of Laura Spinella and Maggie Barbieri who make a point to avoid reading reviews. If I can wean myself in 2012, that will be a very good thing.

**To do a better job at setting my deadlines so that I’m not working on two projects at once in tandem with a new book release and a million other things. It’s amazing how much I feel like Superwoman when events on my schedule are a year away. But once life starts happening—say, you get pregnant!—and other book-related demands crop up, suddenly there’s not enough time in the world. I have always prided myself on getting things done on time, if not early. So it’s been a challenge this past year, juggling everything and making sacrifices. I need time for my real life and my book life…and a few moments to breathe in between.

I feel so fortunate to be doing what I love every day of my life. I just want to make the experience better and better in every way possible. Oh, yeah, and did I mention I need to work on stressing out less? I’m definitely better than I was at that a year or two ago, but I’m still not close to achieving my black belt in Zen.

Happy New Year, everyone! Any resolutions you want to share?

New Year's Resolutions

noreply@blogger.com (The Stiletto Gang) — Wed, 04 Jan 2012 12:41:00 +0000

Some parents—like me—have this misguided notion that everything will always be the same and that the kids will always be there to celebrate holidays, good times, and everything in between. But as my kids get older—almost 18 and 13—I’m finding that, just like they are supposed to, they are enjoying making their own connections and traditions and branching out on their own.

Every year, we get together with another family whose oldest is my oldest child’s best friend; they also have a son, who although more than three years older than mine, will always watch a game or play with Barbieri child #2. This year, the girls had two different parties to attend, one right on the same street and another in town that they had to drive to. My friend’s daughter was dressed to the nines in gorgeous ankle-strap black suede pumps while my daughter went for a more casual look. One came home early, the other late, but both had reveled with their own friends and didn’t kiss their parents at the stroke of midnight.

I am working hard to adjust to this change. I used to scoff at people who would coo over one of my adorable children, still a baby, and say, “Enjoy it now. It goes really fast,” meaning that in the blink of an eye, your baby would be all grown up and ready to fly the coop. I would laugh. What did these people know?

Everything, apparently.

I told my husband that I am now the person doing the cooing and telling people to enjoy their babies now because before they know it, they’ll be off on their own, living their own lives. And the people I tell this to look at me like I’m crazy.

I once heard it said that when raising children, and particularly when caring for babies, “the days are long but the years fly by.” A truer statement has never been uttered. As you trod the floor at night with a screaming baby, it seems like that night will never end but just when you think you have this sleeping thing nailed down, the kid is up all night again, but for a different reason: they are a teenager and teenagers like to stay up late. Granted, there’s no crying anymore, hopefully, but you’re still up and you’re still worried, especially if they are not home.

I am loathe to make New Year’s resolutions but this year, with a daughter going to college in the fall—the longest stint of sleepaway camp known to parents—I’m going to try to remain focused on the present, enjoying every bit of the time we have together, not focused on what will happen in the future. I know that once she leaves here and experiences the world beyond the doors of our little Village colonial, her eyes will be opened to all the great things she can accomplish. And as Martha would say, “And that’s a good thing.”

Maggie Barbieri

I Took the Easy Way Out on Christmas

noreply@blogger.com (The Stiletto Gang) — Tue, 03 Jan 2012 11:00:00 +0000

For years I've cooked a big Christmas dinner. Then two years ago our church decided we would provide a free Christmas dinner for anyone who wanted to come. We put out flyers and had a big sign on the main street about the free dinner.

Everyone brought tons of food, we had plenty of turkey, ham, dressing, mashed potatoes, gravy, green bean casserole, green salad and rolls. All the hot food was in big roasters and other pots that could be kept heated easily. We set up everything on a buffet table, but the volunteers took turns dishing up. We also had another table with all sorts of desserts already dished up on plates.

I cooked and brought food (It was actually easier to do this than have the dinner at my house.) Plenty of others did the same. Since we didn't have a big rush at the beginning, all the volunteers sat down to eat. It wasn't long before all sorts of people started wandering in and it was great fun serving them.

We also had calls from our local low income housing (once a TB sanitorium) from seniors and the handicapped asking for food. To-go plates were set up and one of our gals and her husband delivered them.
Everyone who worked on this project loved it. It was a lot of work but rewarding. The church even got some new members from this effort.

Last year we did it again. Only this time we didn't get anyone off the street--though plenty for home delivery. What we did have was all of our church members decided to come there for dinner--which was fun, we had a good time visiting. Some of the folks who hadn't brought any food jumped in and helped with the clean-up.

This year, because Christmas was on Sunday, we decided it would be too difficult to get the food cooked and teach Sunday School and attend church. Most of the volunteers are people who are busy with other jobs on Sunday morning, so we didn't do the dinner at church.

So I was presented with the dilemma of what I personally should do for Christmas dinner. I don't have any kids around to open up gifts, but the pastor is my son-in-law, daughter is in charge of the praise team, and my granddaughter and her husband and three kids are all involved at church, so I offered to have the dinner.

I still had the dilemma of how could I cook and be at church at the same time? In the mail came a catalog advertising those wonderful hams that you don't have to cook just bring to room temperature. As I was perusing the pages trying to figure out what size ham to buy I saw whole dinners you could buy. Two large side dishes and two desserts along with two kinds of bread. That's what I decided to do--I had to put the side dishes together the night before and cooked them after I got home from church.

Because my guests always have to run kids and others without cars to their homes and lock up the church, everything was ready to eat by the time they arrived.

I'm afraid I'm getting lazier and lazier, but I was still a Merry Christmas.

I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday season, no matter what they celebrated or had to eat.

And now it's time to say, Happy New Year! Hope you have a most wonderful 2012.

Marilyn

Happy New Year

noreply@blogger.com (The Stiletto Gang) — Mon, 02 Jan 2012 10:00:00 +0000

Brianna Sullivan Mysteries - e-book series
I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
The Dog Days of Summer in Lottawatah- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
The Holiday Spirit(s) of Lottawatah- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Undying Love in Lottawatah- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
A Haunting in Lottawatah - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Lottawatah Twister - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Missing in Lottawatah - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords

Sullivan Investigations Mystery - e-book series
Murder Off the Books Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Murder Takes the Cake Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Riley Come Home (short story)- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Moonlighting at the Mall (short story) - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords

Romances
Love Lessons - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords

The Stiletto Gang's New Year's Wishes

noreply@blogger.com (The Stiletto Gang) — Fri, 30 Dec 2011 08:01:00 +0000

Are you making resolutions? Do you have high hopes for what 2012 will bring? We're ringing out 2011 and ringing in the New Year here at Stiletto with a dash of humor, a pinch of black-eyed peas for good luck, and visions of peace, harmony, and fleeing mice from the basement, among other things! While we're at it, we want to thank you, dear readers, for dropping by so often to hang out with us. We take great pleasure in your company and look forward to sharing more bits and pieces of our books and lives with you in the year ahead.

I wish for just one of my sisters on the Stiletto Gang to see their name somewhere on the New York Times bestseller list. I wish for dry basements and leak-free roofs. I wish for the rodent population of the Hudson Valley to live anywhere but in this house. I wish for good health for our bloggers and our readers and everyone everywhere and in between.

--Maggie Barbieri

Physical Education

http://www.maggiebarbieri.com/

My big wish for 2012 is a healthy, stress-free year for my family and me...and everyone else who needs the same thing. (A tall order, I know).

--Laura Bradford

Dangerous Alterations

http://www.elizabethlynncasey.com/

Hmmm....I've thought about this a lot and my big wishes always seem to come back as rather small. I'm kind of like that for gifts, too. I never really want anything. I can't begin to tell you how much that frustrates my family. However that being said I have two wishes for 2012: that my son continues to grow and thrive and find wonder and happiness in every single day and that everyone finds a way to be respectful and thoughtful during this year's presidential election. (Something tells me my son will deliver on the first and that the second is harder to achieve than world peace...but a girl can dream!)

--Joelle Charbonneau

Skating Over the Line

http://www.joellecharbonneau.net/

We hope 2012 is year of health and happiness for our families and friends, most especially the wonderful women of The Stiletto Gang. We hope that we continue to write compelling stories, with believable characters that capture the interest and hearts of readers. In the next year, may we all write well, laugh more, and enjoy the company of good friends and family.

--Evelyn David

Murder Takes the Cake

http://www.evelyndavid.com/

My New Year's wish is that I take the time to appreciate the people in my life and to remember that it's the little things in life that matter.

--Maria Geraci

The Boyfriend of the Month Club

http://mariageraci.com/

My big wish for 2012….I wish for good health and happiness. I wish for my entire wall-unit bookshelf to be finished so I can display my 1000+ books. I wish for all my author friends to have HUGE success with all of their upcoming titles.

--Lori Gondelman

http://www.lorisreadingcorner.com/

My wish for 2012 is to hold the funerals please! There were far too many family funerals in 2011 and I'd like to use my black dress for more fun events this year. Beyond that... I'd love to sell my latest mystery! Keep your fingers crossed for me!

--Bethany Maines

Compact with the Devil

http://bulletproofmascara.com/

I hope that 2012 brings good health and happiness; that a spirit to make things right brings people together instead of driving them apart; that we stop worrying so much about things that don't matter and learn how better to enjoy every day of our lives. On a personal front, I’d love to start the New Year without this danged pregnancy rash so I can get back to work full-speed on Little White Lies and happily dream about my biggest “production” yet (aka "Peapod"), due in late June.

--Susan McBride

Little Black Dress

http://susanmcbride.com/

Of course, I wish all the usual things for 2012, including peace on earth and good will to men; but mostly I’d like to see a wonderful year for all my family and friends. And for all the Stiletto Gang, fantastic reviews and sales.

--Marilyn Meredith

Bears With Us

http://www.mundania.com/

My 2012 wish, hmm…On the book front, I hope to start the year by handing over my revised version of THE IT FACTOR. Fingers crossed that it meets with approval! I can tell you it’s a much better book than it was in 2011! When I’m not writing novels, I’ll be busy as Editorial Director for AuthorBytes—premier web designer for authors everywhere. It’s something I never thought about a year ago, which goes to show you never know what a turn of the calendar will bring!

--Laura Spinella

Beautiful Disaster

http://www.lauraspinella.net/

Happy New Year, everyone!!!

Cheers,

The Stiletto Gang

Support Your Local Muse

noreply@blogger.com (The Stiletto Gang) — Wed, 28 Dec 2011 10:10:00 +0000

by Bethany Maines

Last time I blogged about identifying ways of marketing a book in preparation for making a marketing plan. My list, to recap, was…

Tip #1: Identify Marketing Message Distribution Channels
(aka Think of ways to promote yourself and your book)
• Live Audience – signings, guest speaking, launch party
• Internet Presence – website, facebook, twitter, youtube, goodreads, linkedin
• Internet Ads – Google AdWords, facebook ads, ads on websites
• Email – newsletters, e-fliers, personal email
• Video – book trailers, promo videos
• TV - news, reality shows, talk shows
• Radio - programs, ads
• Written Word – “expert” articles, reviews of other books, blogging, guest blogging, books, short stories
• Print – newspapers, magazines, print ads, fliers, posters, mailers
• Word of Mouth – book clubs, fans, bookstore staff, reviews

Farhad Manjoo recently wrote a piece about the fact that he didn’t really care if independent bookstores failed. (Don’t Support Your Local Bookseller) He made some salient points about Amazon strengthening US readership and book sales (and annoying hipster sales staff), but when came to the idea that independent bookstores don’t offer authors anything compared to Amazon, I had to shake my head. As a reader, I think bookstores are good things in general, but as an author, bookstore signings are the fastest, easiest way to talk to people about my books and to me that equals sales. Bookstores are an essential part of the writing economy and an essential part of every local economy (To quote the Washington state economist, “Please go buy things.”). So needless to say, I will not be following Mr. Manjoo’s advice and I will be keeping my relationship with bookstores strong (aka buying books and shooting the breeze with staff).

To me talking to readers is my primary sales tool and one that is happily free. Other tools, like social media, are very important, but more secondary. Some of the secondary tools, like having a Facebook page or twittering are free, but many items like ads, book trailers, and giveaways (like book marks), all cost money. So in determining my marketing plan, I will be assessing a “distribution channel” for three things: how much time will it take, how much will it cost, and what will be my ROI (Return On Investment). A Facebook page is fast, free, and has a return of increased awareness and legitimacy. Facebook ads? Definitely not free, and the return depends on many variables. Better stop and consider.

Of course, as I look for ways to market my books I should keep in mind the fact that a marketing goal goes nowhere if I don’t meet the writer’s prime directive (no, I never watched Star Trek, and no, I don’t totally love everything that Data ever did including those two episodes of Night Court, shh, go away now): To be a writer, one must write.

Remembering...

noreply@blogger.com (The Stiletto Gang) — Tue, 27 Dec 2011 07:00:00 +0000

by: Joelle Charbonneau

The New Year is approaching fast. Normally, I looked to the new year with a sense of excitement and anticipation. There are so many possibilities. I am always anxious to see what the year will bring. This year I am finding it hard to look forward. I know there are great things coming. I have two books coming out this year. My son will be doing all sorts of wonderful and exciting things. There are stories to write, songs to sing and life to be lived to its fullest. And yet, I find myself clinging to the old year and wishing I could go back. Not far. Just a few days. Just to last week or maybe the week before. I just want one last moment of this past year to fully appreciate what I had and now have lost.

Last Tuesday night, my father-in-law, Joe Blanco, suffered a severe

aneurysm. Wednesday morning some friends arrived at his house to see him and grew concerned when he didn’t answer the door or the phone. They called 911 and found my father-in-law unconscious. He was rushed to the hospital, but there was nothing that could be done. On Thursday, we were forced to say goodbye.

To say that his passing was unexpected is both true and untrue. Dad B was a walking miracle. Over 16 years ago, he had a heart transplant that gave him a second chance at life. And boy did he use it. He retired from his high powered consulting job and began to teach. He worked with special needs college students. He revived a struggling homeless shelter program at his local church and founded a second one at a different church. He worked on breast cancer walks. He volunteered to drive seniors to their doctor appointments. He sang in two different vocal groups. The list goes on and on. But more important than all of that – Joe loved his family.

Nothing was more important to him than spending time with his family. We saw him only two days before he collapsed. We talked to him that night. Yes, we knew that at any moment the gift he had been given 16 years before could be taken away and yet- we thought somehow he would live forever. Maybe because we needed him to.

And now he is gone and time marches on. A new year approaches….a year he will not ring in. A year he will not be making resolutions for. A year he will only live in our memories. And I don’t want the year to come.

And yet – I know he would not want time to slow down for him. He believed that each day was a gift. I owe it to him to embrace the new year with joy and hope…not with sorrow. And I will try. Today, I will sing at his funeral and say one final goodbye to the man who held my hand when my own father died and did his best to fill that hole left in my heart. And tomorrow I will do my best to look to the future with hope and happiness because that is what he would have wanted.

So to my Stiletto family I say – may 2012 bring you great hope and great joy. And may you remember that every day of that year no matter how frustrating or unhappy is a gift to be treasured.

Lori's Book Sense

noreply@blogger.com (The Stiletto Gang) — Mon, 26 Dec 2011 05:03:00 +0000

Welcome to this months edition of Lori's Book Sense.

I hope you enjoy these great titles I've chosen for you this month.

Wishing everyone a very happy & healthy holiday season.

Catch Me by Lisa Gardner (release date Feb 7th) ~ In four days, someone is going to kill me . .Detective D. D. Warren is hard to surprise. But a lone woman outside D.D.'s latest crime scene shocks her with a remarkable proposition: Twenty-seven-year-old Charlene Rosalind Carter Grant believes she will be murdered in four days. And she wants Boston's top detective to handle the death investigation. It will be up close and personal. No evidence of forced entry, no sign of struggle. Charlie tells a chilling story: Each year at 8:00 p.m. on February 21, a woman has died. The victims have been childhood best friends from a small town in New Hampshire; the motive remains unknown. Now only the last friend remains to count down her final hours. But as D.D. quickly learns, Charlie Grant has been preparing, and she doesn't plan on going down without a fight. As D.D. tracks a lone gunman who is killing pedophiles in Boston, she must also delve into the murders of Charlie's friends, seeking the elusive insight into who might be stalking and killing these childhood playmates, in the hopes of preventing whatever might come this February 21. Just how much can she trust Charlie Grant, a woman who by her own admission can outshoot, outfight, and outrun anyone in Boston? Is Charlie truly in danger, or is she hiding a truth deep within her that may turn out to be D.D.'s biggest surprise of all? .....In four days, someone is going to kill me. But the son of a bitch has gotta catch me first.

Catch Me once again brings back the formidable Sergeant Detective and her tight-knit team, definitely Boston’s finest! While D.D. may be in mommy mode a lot of the time, she is still a detective at heart and determined to find both the vigilante killer and Charlie’s intended killer – hopefully before it’s too late. Being the sixth book in the D.D. Warren series (see Alone, Hide, The Neighbor, Live to Tell, & Love You More) the characters are well developed and familiar. You can certainly read this book as a stand-alone, but to fully enjoy D.D. and her crew, you should start with reading Alone. Catch Me is a pulse-pounding, earth-shattering thriller that will take you on the ride of your life. But pay close attention, because not everything is as it appears to be. This is, without a doubt, Lisa Gardner at her finest.

The Burning Edge by Rick Mofina ~ Lisa Palmer has barely recovered from the sudden death of her husband when she is drawn into a new nightmare. On her way home from upstate New York, Lisa stops at a service center minutes before an armored car heist. Four men are executed before her eyes—one, an off-duty FBI agent she tried to help. Now Lisa is the FBI's secret witness and the key to finding the fugitive killers. FBI agent Frank Morrow leads the investigation of the high-profile case. Hiding a very personal secret, Frank knows this assignment will be like no other he's ever faced…and it could be his last. Pressured to land an exclusive, journalist Jack Gannon chases the elusive thread of an anonymous tipster. With every instinct telling Jack the story is within his grasp, he risks everything to reveal the chilling truth…before the cold-blooded killers can take the next step in their vengeful mission.

The Burning Edge is the story of one woman’s need to regain her life, one man’s desperation to save his brother, one man’s desire to stop everything from crumbling down around him, and one man’s drive to simply do his job. The Burning Edge, the fourth book in the Jack Gannon series (see Vengeance Road, The Panic Zone & In Desperation) is Rick Mofina at his pulse-pounding best. The writing is solid, the storyline intense, and the action non-stop. It’s a story of despair, redemption, salvation, hope, family, and the future.

Affairs of Steak by Julie Hyzy (release date 1/3) ~ White House chef Olivia Paras and her arch nemesis, White House Sensitivity Director Peter Everett Sargeant, must work together to solve the double murder of one of the First Lady's assistants and the Chief of Staff-before they become the next victims of a merciless assassin with a secret agenda.

Affairs of Steak, the fifth book in the White House Chef Mystery series (see State of The Onion, Hail To The Chef, Eggsecutive Orders & Buffalo West Wing) once again brings you into the heart of the house – the kitchen. And so what if that house just happens to be the most important house in the United States – the White House? Julie Hyzy has created a culinary delight that will appeal to all of your senses.

Until next month.....

The Gift of Thanks

noreply@blogger.com (The Stiletto Gang) — Fri, 23 Dec 2011 10:00:00 +0000

By Laura Bradford

While I know the official holiday for being thankful took place about four weeks ago, I've decided to take a do-over and merge it with a holiday more often noted for new starts.

Don't get me wrong, when I see the ball making its way down the pole in Times Square each year, I find myself considering the notion of a "New Year/New Me" just like everyone else. I could certainly stand to drop about 10 pounds and get in better overall shape. And maybe in 2012, I'll do just that. But before I look forward, I also like to look back. You know, to see where I succeeded and where I failed. Where I improved and where I need to do better.

I also like to whip out my stationery and write letters...to the people who made a difference in my life throughout the year. Sometimes, the difference was more indirect, like a teacher who has been particularly good with one of the girls. Sometimes, the difference is something I experienced first hand--like my Aunt Mary who never ends an email or a phone call without saying, "I love you."

The notion of a "thanks for who you are/what you do" letter started when I was young. At that time, it took the form of the more traditional "thanks for the present" acknowledgement I was expected to write after every birthday or Christmas. But as I got older, I began to see the things people do that go far beyond the normal gift wrapped affair.

I wrote my first extensive "thanks for who you are/what you do" letter to my high school history teacher, Mr. Filo. I gave it to him the morning of graduation. He was passionate about teaching and, in turn, had made me passionate about a subject I'd had little to no interest in prior to my time in his classroom. I wrote that letter because I wanted him to know that his work, his efforts had meant something to me. To this day, I'm glad I gave him that letter. I'm glad I said, "thanks." I'm glad I said, "you made a difference in my life." Because when Mr. Filo died of a massive heart attack two weeks later, he knew he was valued. He knew he'd made a difference.

For a long time, I was good about letters like that. Until life got busy--first with kids, and then a host of assorted stuff that made the concept of putting off 'til tomorrow way too easy.

So I'm getting back to that now. Call it a resolution, if you will. Call it a long overdue case of manners. Call it my holiday mix-up. Regardless, I'm going to start here...now.

2011 has been a wild year, full of ups and downs the likes of which probably should have come with some sort of warning. But the ride was made easier by a handful of people who deserve a "thanks for who you are/what you do." Each one made a difference in my life, and for that I am grateful.

*Our own Maggie Barbieri--for humoring me with an occasional lunch outing. Moving (yet again) at this point in life is tough. But having someone be open to a new face has made the transition a bit easier. Thanks, Maggie!

*My friend, Lynn C--for, well, being a loyal, steadfast, and true friend. I've learned so many things from this woman...not the least of which is courage and persistence.

*My friend, Lynn D--for teaching me about basic kindness. Not sure what I did to have God put this angel in my path but I am truly blessed.

*The aforementioned Aunt Mary--for loving me unconditionally. There is no greater gift.

*My readers (Dru Ann, Aimee, Carol S, Mary H, and so many others)--for helping turn my childhood dream into a reality and for becoming my friends in the process. Thank you from the bottom of my heart!

So here's to 2012. May it be an extra special year for all of us--a year in which we laugh often, love unconditionally, and take a moment to thank those who make our world brighter!

~Laura

Creme de Vie!

noreply@blogger.com (Maria Geraci) — Thu, 22 Dec 2011 13:15:00 +0000

by Maria Geraci

Every Christmas there are traditions that I strive to keep alive. Such as buying my kids their own Christmas ornament (no matter how old they happen to be!). Another one is making traditional Cuban eggnog (or Creme de Vie) to enjoy on Noche Buena (or Christmas Eve).

If you've never made homemade eggnog, then this might be the year you need to start. Creme de Vie is not only easy to make, it's extremely tasty. It's also not for lightweights. Bacardi Rum is a major ingredient!

Here you go:

2 cups sugar
1 cup water
8 egg yolks (no whites!)
1 can evaporated milk
1 can sweet condensed milk
1 tsp vanilla
1 1/2 cups white Rum
ground nutmeg for garnish

Add sugar to water and bring to a boil over med heat until the sugar completely dissolves and the syrup lightly coats a spoon. Set aside and allow to cool.

Lightly whisk egg yolks. Add the evaporated and condensed milks and whisk until blended. Mix in vanilla and rum. Slowly add the cooled syrup, mixing in well.

Strain the mixture.

Pour into bottles and let sit one hour, then refrigerate. Most recipes call for you to allow the Creme to Vie to settle for a couple of weeks before drinking, but I think it tastes perfectly awesome within 12 hours. Yum!

Enjoy! And Feliz Navidad!

PS: This also makes a great Christmas gift or host gift!