Writers Who Kill

An Interview with Krista Davis by E. B. Davis

2026-05-27T00:30:00.000-04:00

Old Town Virginia’s entertaining guru and occasional sleuth Sophie Winston – a young Martha Stewart in the making – juggles Fourth of July fireworks, a houseful of guests, and homicide in the latest Domestic Diva culinary mystery from New York Times bestselling author Krista Davis.

With a big crowd descending on her Northern Virginia home, it’s a good thing event planner Sophie Winston is an expert at entertaining. Whipping up patriotic pastries is as easy as pie for her, though meeting the man her widowed Aunt Melly just impulsively married in Las Vegas is a little more awkward. Especially when Melly’s longtime, now-heartbroken secret admirer is there too, which could lead to some fireworks.

But the house party really gets explosive when Sophie’s favorite tour guide falls victim to a killer—and evidence points to Sophie’s own father. Will DNA really incriminate her dad? And what’s the real story with her new uncle-by-marriage and the mysterious pal he’s brought along with him? Some of the secrets Sophie’s discovering are raising flags—and while the police department casts suspicion on her father, she has to declare her independence as a detective to find the real culprit, and serve justice along with her red, white, and blue cupcakes . . .

Amazon.com

Krista Davis’s Domestic Diva mystery series never gets old for me. It’s more like coming home to friends and family. The Diva Hosts a Murderer is the nineteenth book in the series and was released yesterday. The story takes place over the Fourth of July in Old Town Alexandria. I was glad for the heat given off in the book since it’s been a cold spring, and it made me long for the warmer days of summer, soon to come, but not soon enough!

Second-chance romances versus the single life seem to be a topic that Krista explores for the middle and older characters in this book. It’s an interesting topic with no one answer as the characters find. And there are a lot of characters because Sophie is hosting her family: mother, father, sister, plus an aunt with her newly-wed husband and his friend, along with two men from Sophie’s hometown of Berryville, VA, where her family still lives. With that crowd, even a domestic diva can find being the perfect hostess problematic.

Please welcome Krista Davis back to WWK! E. B. Davis

When I started to read, I thought this was the first book in which you showed Sophie’s family. But over the years/books, you must have brought them into the story. Did you?

They were in the first two books and then occasionally showed up in holiday books.

Does Hannah, Sophie’s sister, still live with her parents in Berryville?

Hannah has been living in Berryville but not with her parents. She’s been in transition, spending a lot of time in Old Town, but not with Sophie!

Is Sophie being nosy by wanting Hannah to account for her whereabouts in the wee hours of the morning or is she just being an older sister?

Sophie lets her sister be an adult and do her own thing. But when someone comes home closer to the crack of dawn, and the bars closed at 2AM, it’s natural to wonder where she has been.

Sophie and Hannah don’t seem to have much in common. Is Sophie the extrovert and Hanna the introvert?

They just have different interests. Sophie loves entertaining, after all, she’s a professional event planner. But Hannah is a computer whiz.

Nina’s pathologist husband is usually off testifying somewhere. Although he doesn’t stay for long, he does make an appearance. Has he been in other books before?

He makes his sole appearance in this book! After all, it’s a holiday so he’s finally home for a few days.

Why does Officer Wong dismiss Sophie’s older neighbor Dollie’s account of seeing a dead man in her house?

Dollie has a record of calling the police to report sounds like creaking floors and footsteps in the night. But there’s never anyone there and no sign of a break-in, so the police think she has an active imagination. Her family has owned that house for generations, so there’s always the possibility of ghosts or just a creaky old house.

Are the Masonic Temple and the Apothecary Museum real and open to the public?

Yes, they are! Old Town Alexandria is often on lists of great places to visit. Good food, lovely old architecture, and loads of history. One of the popular restaurants was a hospital during the Civil War. And for history buffs, Alexandria found itself between the South and the North, so it was packed with spies!

Why did Natasha throw a 1820s costume party?

The 250^th celebration of the Declaration of Independence was coming up. Natasha was all in with a huge party. She asked guests to dress in the type of clothes people would have been wearing at the time. Even the menus were based on a typical dinner in the 1820s. Natasha always has a scheme in mind and this is another one of them.

What was the story about burying politicians in unmarked graves so their enemies wouldn’t find them and then the locations of the unmarked graves were lost?

The most notable story (true or false, it’s a fun legend) was about John C. Calhoun from Charleston, who was the Vice President of the United States twice. The story goes that he died in Washington DC and was buried there. But due to the Civil War, they feared his foes would disturb his grave, so in the dark of night they dug him up and moved him to an unmarked grave. His wife then asked that he be moved to Charleston, but apparently there was some confusion about which grave he was actually occupying at that point. Eventually, they dug him up again and moved him to Charleston. But he had been born upstate, not in Charleston, so he was buried across the street from the church, in the Stranger’s Graveyard for visitors and non-locals, not in the proper cemetery. Eventually, he was dug up again and finally moved to the St. Philip’s Episcopal Church cemetery.

It's a story that a lot of tour guides enjoy embellishing.

After her father is arrested for murder due to his DNA found on the victim, Sophie researches DNA evidence and finds that it may not be conclusive evidence since DNA could be spread by mere contact and not necessarily during the time of death. Since the victim was Sophie’s family’s tour guide, they were on his bus and in his proximity for several days. Would the police arrest him on just that evidence?

They did, based on the DNA. There is a difference between DNA from skin cells and DNA from blood, which yields a higher quantity and quality.

What is a Dunlap Broadside? Why do they call them that?

Remember that we’re talking about 1776 when there were no computers or copy machines that could copy papers in a minute. So a Philadelphia printer named John Dunlap churned out 200 copies overnight. They were the very first broadly distributed copies of the United States Declaration of Independence, now referred to as Dunlap Broadsides. Today, there are only 26 known copies still in existence. But every once in a while, one turns up in a basement or box of old papers. The last auction of one brought in $8.14 million.

What’s the difference among a buckle, crisp, cobbler, crumble, and a betty?

That’s a tough question. They are all baked desserts with fruit. According to the Farmer’s Almanac and St. Louis Magazine, these are the distinctions. https://bit.ly/42Iwc0H and https://bit.ly/4ulsGFG

A buckle has a streusel topping. The berries are folded into the batter.

A crisp usually has oats in it. Often confused with a crumble. It has a crumb topping and sometimes nuts.

A cobbler has a biscuit topping, sweetened fruit, and spices.

A crumble never contains oats, unless it does. Major confusion on this issue!

A Betty is like a crisp but has no oats. There are crumbs inside as well as on top in a buttery crumb topping.

Whew! Still confused? Me, too. LOL! They’re all delicious!

What’s next for Sophie?

Hmm. I don’t want to reveal any spoilers, but a lot happens in the next book! Stay tuned!

Polish to Perfection by Martha Reed

2026-05-26T05:30:00.000-04:00

“Trim the words but keep the story.” – Martha Reed

This month I enjoyed a challenging writing craft exercise. Answering an open call for a new crime fiction anthology, I decided to take a break from my current novel-length WIP (work-in-progress) and try my hand at quickly drafting something shorter.

The anthology’s stated eligibility guidelines included a maximum threshold of five thousand words. Usually, my short fiction drafts run short, and then I flesh out the story as needed from there. Imagine my surprise when I sat back and discovered that my new draft manuscript clocked in at six thousand words.

Yikes! And this was my short story in its roughest form. Somehow I needed to delete almost twenty percent.

I found the idea of deleting one thousand words daunting. How did I ‘kill my darlings’ and do it?

1. The setting and the reason the characters were gathering was to attend a family wedding. The introductory paragraphs included a description of the protagonist’s trip to get to the wedding and what she saw as she approached the venue. First, I deleted all of that travel description. As the writer, I needed to know the wedding details, but it was unnecessary information for the reader. With this ruthless edit, I dropped the reader straight into the action. Then, in a final desperate act, I deleted the bride. (Never fear, I sent Callie to Aruba to enjoy her honeymoon.)

2. Next, I deleted other unnecessary characters (apologies to Benton Overbeck and the Big House staff members). I needed to shut my eyes to make this edit because I adored reading about these funny and oddball people. I had spent hours having fun imagining them and the trouble they were getting into, especially the hired bagpiper who got caught stealing Junior Senior’s Cuban cigars. In the end, calling the wedding venue ‘a madhouse’ was all the description that the story really needed.

3. I ruthlessly deleted descriptive adjectives. In the original manuscript I created a ‘cozy reading nook’ which included a tasseled silk-upholstered chaise longue plush with needlepointed pillows, a marble fireplace filled with sweet pine logs ready for a rare but chilly Florida winter night, and a Tiffany stained-glass floor lamp. I kept the chaise longue because my protagonist needed something to sit on, but bye-bye Italian marble fireplace and the Tiffany dragonfly lamp.

In the end, after too many delicious pots of coffee and three intensely satisfying days of joyful editing, I hit the mark at 4,998 words.

How about you? Share your editing tricks for trimming those pesky and unnecessary words.

And, in case you’re interested, the Mary Roberts Rinehart Pittsburgh Sisters in Crime is hosting an open call for short crime fiction for “Gold Bridges, Dark Rivers,” our new anthology. Visit our website www.pghsinc.com for the eligibility guidelines, sharpen your pencils, and good luck!

Updates by Nancy L. Eady

2026-05-25T01:00:00.000-04:00

One of the exciting things about a holiday weekend is snatching a couple of hours all to myself to write. Alas, this morning, as I be-bopped into my temporary office (otherwise known as the den sofa), my plans came to a screeching halt when I received the dreaded “update” message. My iPad recently updated itself, and Microsoft, not to be outdone, pushed one out at me as well.

How software companies update my devices has changed over the years. Way back at the beginning, when computers ran off of DOS and we stored data on 5.25 - inch floppy disks, updates didn’t happen automatically. The internet did not exist. If you wanted the newest version of a program, you had to go to a store and buy it. The wisdom of the day was that you never wanted to buy a program when it was just released. You needed to wait at least six months to give the programmer a chance to discover, and fix, all the bugs in the program. Over time, the programs got bigger, which meant that the medium storing them had to hold more data. At first, the programs were on large floppy discs; then the vendors moved to smaller, plastic, solid “floppy” discs; then CDs.

As the internet continued to grow, programs were sold online. The first Windows version sold online was Windows 8. We could still avoid updates by refusing to buy the newest program but the writing was on the wall. Even once updates and security patches started being sent over the internet, we could choose whether we wanted to update immediately or be reminded later. I guess too many of us asked to be reminded later and never got around to updating, because we no longer get to choose.

Now, updates begin automatically when you start or turn off your computer. If it happens when I turn off my computer, and I am trying to close out a laptop to head home, I receive dire warnings inferring that I will destroy the laptop and most of the Eastern Seaboard if I dare to turn it off without letting those updates get installed. One day, though, I was trying to head home, and I did the unthinkable—turned the computer off in the middle of the update. The Eastern Seaboard and my laptop survived. Windows got a little snippy about forcing the update on me the next time I opened the laptop.

Given my personal history, I understand why software manufacturers have had to ramp up their methods of getting consumers to upgrade. Without their coercion, I would still use Windows 98 and save data on floppy discs. But I wish they’d avoid such updates on holiday weekends.

What’s the longest amount of time you’ve ever been help up by a Windows or other update? Am I the only person who disabled the “new” Adobe Acrobat look to go back to “classic” as soon as that update finished? Mac users, does Apple manage your updates the way they do the iPads?

Staycation Writing Retreat by Annette Dashofy

2026-05-24T00:00:00.000-04:00

As I’m writing this, my husband has just left for a four-day fishing trip with his buddy. That leaves me at home with Kensi Kitty, who some of you know was very sick a few weeks back but is doing great now.

This means I have four days with no meals to prep, no questions to answer, and no “Can you give me a hand for a minute” requests. Yes, I do have to eat, but I have a curbside grocery pickup this afternoon, consisting of microwave meals.

My to-do list, beyond the grocery run, is simple: WRITE.

I’m currently at 59,000 words of what I unaffectionately call my Frankenbook. It’s basically a hot mess. I’ve written, rewritten, copied and pasted scenes from one chapter to another, and slashed large chunks completely. Okay, not completely. I have a separate “clip file” where I stash those cut pages, just in case. I have high hopes of adding several thousand more words before my husband rolls back into the driveway.

I’m not giving a solid wordcount goal because lately the Universe has been looking at my plans, only to laugh hysterically and say, “Hold my beer.” I will be happy with what I get.

Some writers (myself included) go on writing retreats away from home. I’ve attended group retreats with my Sisters in Crime chapter at various rental houses.

Pgh SinC Retreat House

I’ve also driven nearly nine hours to join writing friends, including the late Ramona Long, at a spiritual retreat center run by nuns, who didn’t seem to mind that crime writers were doing fictional dastardly deeds while holed up on their property.

Spiritual Retreat Center near Philadelphia

Dinner at Ramona's retreat
with Martha Reed & Edith Maxwell

My writing nook at Ramona's retreat

One big benefit of a staycation writing retreat is no travel time and no sticker shock from filling up the gas tank to get there. Another benefit is having my personal library of research books within easy reach.

I do miss the camaraderie of sipping wine with fellow mystery authors after a long day of torturing our characters. The only living being I can discuss plot holes with is Kensi Kitty, who frankly doesn’t care about anything but getting pets and snacks.

By the time you read this, my husband will be home, and I’ll be doing mountains of his laundry. And hopefully, I’ll be considerably closer to the end of the Frankenbook.

Dear readers, have you ever taken a staycation? Did you enjoy it? And fellow Writers Who Kill, have you ever attended a writing retreat, either alone, with other authors, or simply holed up in your house? Did you find it productive?

How Fast Do You Write?

2026-05-23T03:00:00.000-04:00

By Kait Carson

“The mind travels faster than the pen; consequently, writing becomes a question of learning to make occasional wing shots, bringing down the bird of thought as it flashes by.” — E. B. White

“There is no rule on how to write. Sometimes it comes easily and perfectly; sometimes it’s like drilling rock and then blasting it out with charges.” Ernest Hemingway

“Writing is easy: All you do is stare at a blank sheet of paper until the drops of blood form on your forehead.” — Gene Fowler

I always knew I wanted to be a writer. My parents were great readers and my dad taught me to read at age 2. In his defense, teaching me to read was his best offense. He hated the Prince Valiant comics in the Sunday paper and, being possessed of curly hair, I loved the Prince’s stick-straight do. Toddlers pitch epic fits, and he turned mine into a teaching moment. Once I discovered that all those marks on the page made words, I was hooked. And I wanted to make my own marks.

By the time I turned nine, I had read Little Women and set my goal higher. I proclaimed I would be just like Jo March and write for a living. Every day after school, I would hurry home, put on the remains of my mother’s wedding dress (she had cut the train for chair covers years before, but kept the gown), pull out my fountain pens and ink, and write. I don’t remember any of the stories, but I remember lots of gigantic exclamation points.

Writing, I decided, was easy. I mean, look at all the books out there. How hard could it be? A monster stroke of luck confirmed my assessment. I wrote a letter to the editor, and the publication resulted in an offer of representation. I accepted. The poor guy never knew I was twelve when I signed the contract. What followed were sales to various teen fashion and lifestyle magazines. All that changed when I went to college. My agent passed away, and I put writing aside in the name of fun and experience.

The writing bug remained dormant until I hit middle age when it returned with a vengeance. In my memory, the only requirement for churning out stories was sitting at a typewriter. No plotting, planning, or even a topic required to unleash the flow of words. I can’t say if maturity, or computers and keyboards changed my style, but suddenly, the Gene Fowler quote made perfect sense.

Writing, I discovered, is not only hard, it’s glacial. At least my writing. I have writing friends who write ten to sixteen books every year. Good books, well-written and edited books, and since I’m writing this in 2026, I need to emphasize the books are NOT the product of AI. How can I know that? Easy. They’ve been keeping up the pace since before AI was a gleam in Silicon Valley’s eye. These authors are simply fast writers. And I envy them.

As for me, my writing speed stalls at a book every two years. At first, I blamed the day job, but that hasn’t been an issue since 2020. And I’ve taken steps to speed up the process: classes, how-to books, bullet-point outlines, detailed outlines, no outlines but shooting from the cuff. Nothing works. I putter along at the same snaillike pace.

If you’re looking for a big reveal here about how I solved my problem, you’ve come to the wrong place. I finally accepted that every writer has their own style and pace, and wishing does not change that. All of this introspection and speaking with another writer friend offered a clue to my less than snappy pace, and it’s one I’m fine with. Against all writing advice, I edit as I write and refuse to leave any chapter until it’s as polished as I can make it. Slow in the execution, but fast in the editing.

Have I gotten faster? Yes. Part of that is learning the craft, but most of it is consistency, and it’s possible that my secret sauce is working on more than one project at a time. Right now, I have two books in the works, and I get up every day looking forward to reconnecting with the characters and stories of each book. Variety is the spice of my creativity.

I will never write sixteen books in a year. Heck, I can’t type that fast!

Writers, do you stress over your production? Readers, how do you feel about slow writers?

Kait Carson writes the Hayden Kent Mysteries, set in the Fabulous Florida Keys, and is at work on a new mystery series set in her adopted state of Maine. Her short fiction has been nationally published in the True Confessions magazines and in Woman’s World. Kait’s short story, “Gutted, Filleted, and Fried”, appeared in the Silver Falchion Award-nominated Guppy Anthology Hook, Line, and Sinker. Her nonfiction essay was included in the Agatha Award-winning book Writing the Cozy Mystery. She is a former President of the Guppy Chapter of Sisters in Crime, and a current member of Sisters in Crime and Guppies.

Living Vicariously by Nancy L. Eady

2026-05-22T01:00:00.000-04:00

Marilyn Levinson’s post yesterday about how she decides on the victims in her novels got me thinking about how I choose my characters in toto. My sleuths and their supporting cast tend to be individuals I create, although sometimes they may inherit individual traits from the people I admire, and a collection of my own and other’s insecurities, to humanize them. Some insecurities are universal—who hasn’t wished they were prettier, more handsome, had different hair, had a differently shaped body, or had a pony as a child? (Okay, I made the last one up. Neither my parents nor my husband’s parents bought either of us a pony, and we turned out okay. At least we think so.)

I have a hit list in the back of my mind I am working through. People who harmed people I love are on it. The physician who was rude to one of my dearest friends at a particularly vulnerable time is on it, too. Anyone who I’ve seen take joy in tearing someone else down is on it. I try to obey the stricture to “turn the other cheek,” but does it count when I take vengeance on someone on paper in a fictional setting? What fun to make them villains or victims!

Redemption can be a theme as well. I combined several high school nemeses into one character, put her through painful life experiences, and forced her to apologize to my sleuth for systematically bullying her in high school. Then I made them best friends.

I also live vicariously through the books I read. When I’m stressed financially, as happens to all of us from time to time, it’s a relief to read novels where the main characters never have to worry about money. When I’m scared by the madness in the real world, I sink into a good book and enter a different world. When my favorite college football team is sinking into a losing season, I pick up a “Win One for the Gipper” book—Whoops! I got carried away. I can’t erase a bad football season with a book. I have to tough it out and hope next year is better. A character flaw on my part, I’m sure.

The magic of being a writer comes in the ability to channel our pains, irritations, joys, rewards, and sorrows into fictional characters and send them on journeys that make our readers feel better. And if we knock off a few bad guys vicariously along the way, that’s a bonus.

Who Will Live and Who Will Die? by Marilyn Levinson

2026-05-21T01:30:00.000-04:00

Until recently, I've never given much thought to how I select the murder victims in my mysteries. I don't usually go along with the popular cozy trope of killing off the character everyone loves to hate because part of maintaining suspense is keeping readers wondering who will be the first victim. But I will confess I couldn't wait to do away with my most recent murder victim because he has harmed so many innocent people.

There are many reasons why characters become homicide victims. In some of my books, the murder has occurred before page one. The first victim in Death Overdue, the first book in my Haunted Library series, died fifteen years ago, and the second victim is murdered to prevent him from announcing the killer's identity. In Giving Up the Ghost, my ghost Cameron Leeds wants Gabbie Meyerson to find out who murdered him in the previous year.

Very often a murder victim has no idea why she's been targeted. In Death on Dickens Island, Missy Faraday's killer hears Missy asking questions about her family background and feels threatened enough to murder her.

Jealousy is often a reason why a killer offs his or her victim. In A Murderer Among Us, Claire Weill has no idea that her killer's in love with her husband.

Blackmailers sometimes fall prey to their victims. That's what happens to Ilana Reingold in Checked Out for Murder, the fourth Haunted Library book, when she sees the murderer kill someone and tries to blackmail her.

Lastly, some victims are simply unlucky and are murdered by accident. Which is what happens in Murder a la Christie when poor Sylvia Morris drinks the poisoned refreshment meant for someone else.

A final word: I have killed off a few characters I'd grown to love, but I never murder my sleuth or anyone close to her.

How do you decide who will be murdered in your mysteries?

Killer Questions - Favorite Home Improvement or Cooking Show

2026-05-20T00:00:00.004-04:00

Killer Questions – Favorite Home Improvement or Cooking Show

You can tell a lot about people by the television shows they watch. Let’s see what you think about our respective favorite home improvement or cooking shows.

Martha Reed - Anthony Bourdain: Parts Unknown.

Susan Van Kirk – The Great British Baking Show

Debra H. Goldstein - Top Chef

James M. Jackson – Never watched; never will.

Annette Dashofy – Farmhouse Fixer. I want them to come to my house! Also, I want to move into one of the houses they’ve already fixed up.

Heather Weidner - Maine Cabin Masters, Motel Rescue, and a blast from the past, Trading Spaces

Sarah E. Burr - I will always have a soft spot for the original Fixer Upper with Chip and Joanna Gaines. Joanna has my kind of style, and I love how they design houses.

Kait Carson - House Hunters, Log Cabin Living. I have never watched the Great British Bakeoff, but it’s on my bucket list.

E. B. Davis - I watch cooking and home improvement clips on Facebook. My favorites, Ina Garten, Joshua Weissman, and Alton Brown. There are a lot of fixer upper shows, but Julie Jones, designer—space planner is my favorite.

Margaret S. Hamilton - Love it Or List It

K.M. Rockwood - Can't remember ever having watched one.

Korina Moss - The Great British Baking Show is by far my favorite cooking show. It’s so cozy and heartwarming.

Lori Roberts Herbst - Fixer Upper. I don’t watch often, but it always makes me smile.

Grace Topping - Nancy Birtwhistle's online posts. Nancy won one season of the Great British Bakeoff and gives terrific baking advice. She also features natural, homemade cleaning products for everyday use.

Shari Randall - My favorite is the Great British Baking Show. So inspirational! How I would love a Paul Hollywood handshake!

Mary Dutta - I don’t watch any.

Centering and Focusing

2026-05-19T00:30:00.000-04:00

by Paula Gail Benson

Lately, I’ve been facing days with a lot of tasks coming to me at once. I’ve had to clarify the order and set priorities. Unfortunately, I’ve often been told all matters are urgent and do the best I can. So, I do, and hope for the best.

After a flurry of activity, writing is a much stiller, calmer course. Its quietness in fact can be disconcerting and make me wonder, am I able to do this? Can I be alone with my thoughts and create when no one is imposing requirements upon me?

The empty page becomes a frightening thing because it makes no demands upon me. It simply reflects the demands I make upon myself: to produce, and hopefully to do so brilliantly.

When I dispel the feeling of possible failure and convince myself to write, I begin to recognize what a gift it gives me. The time and words are mine to explore. I can center myself on the topic I select and then focus on the elements as I uncover them.

Thanks to the Internet, I can stop briefly to look up definitions; historical, mechanical, or scientific facts; or verify that I’m remembering something correctly. Then I push myself back to my waiting page and develop what I’ve determined to create.

At this moment, I don’t let the pressure of finishing or summarizing make me frantic or turn to AI. These will be my words carefully considered, my discovery new and fresh.

I may be able to visit a place I’ve never seen or return to a familiar spot. Like an actor, I can walk around in a character’s shoes, focusing on what I might fail to notice in the hustle and bustle of everyday existence—maybe even regretting that I might not ordinarily see it.

With pen in hand, I feel the flow of the creative process through my body. I guess I feel it also when my fingers are poised over a keyboard, just in a different way.

I am centered. I am focused. I pursue the creative process alone, but hopefully I will share the results of that process with others.

How is it for you when you come to write after being involved in another experience?

When the Groove Comes Back or Being in the Zone

2026-05-18T00:00:00.001-04:00

When the Groove Comes Back or Being in the Zone by Debra H. Goldstein

Since I moved to Atlanta on July 4, 2025, I’ve been busy participating in social activities that have allowed me to make new friends and spending quality family time with my little readers who live here. I’ve learned canasta, perfected my Mah Jongg, eaten out more than my waistline needs, worked with a trainer to balance the eating out, babysat, and also attended numerous lectures, musical events, theatrical performances, religious service and study groups, and participated in various volunteer opportunities. What I haven’t been doing, which has created quite a bit of anguish for me, is writing.

Oh, I’ve performed by post writing and other duties for the four blogs I am part of (Writers Who Kill, The Stiletto Gang, Booklovers Bench – Where Readers Are Winners, and my own, It’s Not Always a Mystery). I have faithfully gotten out my monthly newsletter (which you can subscribe to from my website, https://www.DebraHGoldstein.com … while there, you

can also download a free copy of the cookbook Kensington made from my Sarah Blair series – Simple Recipes for the Sometimes Sleuth) and responded to emails from readers. What I haven’t done is write.

Although I have several short stories being published this year, until the beginning of this month, I’d only written one new one since I’ve been in Atlanta. Two weeks ago, I stopped fretting about not writing. I took a week off to simply read for fun. I relaxed. When I decided to rejoin the real world, I saw an open call for a story. It sparked an idea. I spent days researching the background materials I would need to write the story and then I sat in my favorite chair, with show music playing, and wrote.

The words flowed. I lost track of time. I was in that special zone. When I finished, I put it aside to edit the next day. Several re-readings and revisions later, I submitted the story. I smiled. My groove is back!

The Joy of Revisions by Sarah E. Burr

2026-05-17T00:30:00.000-04:00

There is a particular kind of relief that comes with finishing a first draft. The story exists. The characters have made it from the opening scene to the final reveal. The clues are on the page, the body has been found, the suspects have been gathered, and the killer has been named. For a mystery writer, that alone feels like a triumph.

But for me, the real joy begins in revision.

I’m currently working on revisions for the next Glenmyre Whim Mystery, and it has reminded me how much I love this stage of the writing process. For me, drafting is discovery. It’s messy, instinctive, and sometimes a little nightmarish. Revision is where I get to take everything I uncovered during that first pass and shape it into something stronger, clearer, and more emotionally resonant.

With the Glenmyre Whim Mysteries, revision feels especially rewarding because these books are built on several layers at once. There is the central mystery, with all the suspects, motives, secrets, and red herrings that need to hold together. But there is also Hazel Wickbury’s personal journey, the history of the Glenmyre family, the magical rules of their “whims”, and the relationships that give the series its heart.

Those pieces don’t always arrive neatly in the first draft. Sometimes a clue appears too early. Sometimes a character’s motivation needs more pressure behind it. Sometimes a scene does the job mechanically but lacks emotional weight. And sometimes, the draft gives me a gift I didn’t fully understand while I was writing it. A passing line becomes important. A minor interaction reveals a deeper tension. A character says something that points toward the heart of the book before I’ve consciously identified it.

Revision is where I get to recognize those gifts and make them intentional.

One of the most satisfying parts of revising a mystery is tightening the structure. Mystery readers are wonderfully sharp. They notice details. They remember what was said three chapters ago, sometimes even three books ago. They follow the emotional logic of a character’s behavior and the practical logic of a clue trail. That means every scene needs to earn its place. During revisions, I look closely at what each chapter is doing. Is it advancing the investigation? Deepening character? Increasing tension? Revealing something about the world? Ideally, a scene does more than one of these things at once.

That process can be demanding, but it’s also deeply satisfying. There is a real pleasure in seeing the machinery of the mystery begin to work more smoothly. A clue lands better. A suspect becomes more layered. A twist feels less like a trick and more like an inevitable surprise. The goal is not simply to hide the answer from the reader. It’s to create a fair and engaging puzzle that rewards attention while still delivering a satisfying reveal.

Hazel’s adventures also ask me to think carefully about how the magical elements interact with the mystery. Her whim and her family lore cannot function as shortcuts. Hazel, Poppy, and Holden (the three living Glenmyres) need rules, limits, and consequences. In revision, I pay close attention to whether their magical abilities add depth and tension rather than solve problems too easily. The magic should complicate their lives as much as it helps them understand it.

That balance matters to me. I want whims to feel meaningful, but I also want Hazel’s intelligence, courage, and persistence to drive the story. She is not passive in her own series. She is a business owner, a niece, a friend, a partner, and an amateur sleuth learning how to carry the weight of what she knows. Revisions give me the chance to sharpen that emotional arc and make sure Hazel is not simply reacting to events, but growing through them.

There is something deeply rewarding about returning to a manuscript with fresh eyes and seeing not only what needs fixing, but what is already working. Revision is not punishment for an imperfect draft. It is an invitation to make the book more fully itself.

And with every pass-through, I get to understand Hazel, Poppy, and the Glenmyre legacy a little better. For me, that is the joy of revision: taking the raw material of inspiration and shaping it into a story that feels polished, purposeful, and alive.

And speaking of a story that feels alive, check out the book trailer Get a Candle on Crime below!

AI and Highways by Nancy L. Eady

2026-05-15T01:00:00.000-04:00

The Florida Everglades are suffering from a surfeit of invasive Burmese pythons. Because the pythons have no natural enemies there—except maybe alligators, although pythons busily digesting alligators have been found—the snakes are destroying the already fragile ecology there.

The state has tried many tactics to deal with them. I say “deal with them,” because Florida won’t let you shoot the things. Instead, they have to be caught and “humanely disposed of.” If you catch a note of skepticism in my tone, you’re not mistaken, but that’s a topic for another day. (I am not, and never will be, an ophiophilist.)

One of the more unusual tactics was the dispatch of robotic marsh rabbits, solar-powered, designed to have the movements and heat signatures, and various other characteristics of live marsh rabbits. The rabbits, kept in clear pens, were to sense pythons drawing close and send out a signal to call a snake disposal expert (whatever one is called) to retrieve them.

It worked at first, but there was a flaw. The same rabbits that attracted the pythons also attracted alligators. The pythons weren’t able to destroy the pens the robots were in, but an alligator? When a six- to ten-foot alligator crashed into a pen, the pen became toast, as did the roughly $4000 robotic rabbit.

But then a bright soul realized that even if the rabbits were toast, the data generated from them was not. The scientists fed the data to a powerful AI program, which discovered a hidden pattern. The pythons and other predators were following regular routes through the waters of the Everglades, slithering superhighways. Armed with this information, the python hunters have been able to find and remove more pythons than they were before. This doesn’t mean that the python problem is solved, but it is a step in the right direction.

Now press pause.

As you may remember, my family recently moved. My daily commute was cut down from two hours each way to one hour each way. My route is sixty-odd miles, straight interstate, between one small city and another medium-sized city separated by farmland. Piece of cake, right?

Resume play.

No. The interstate is two lanes in both directions and should have been three-laned on each side two decades ago. It connects Atlanta to I-65 and thus Birmingham to the north and New Orleans (via Mobile and I-10) to the south and west, all huge metropolitan areas. Like any other bottleneck, when more traffic squeezes through than the original design anticipated, strange things happen.

Like many people, I rely on my phone to help guide me through the ever-swirling fog of traffic. Siri is exceptionally good at giving me alternate routes when there is a traffic snarl due to an accident or construction.

The thought hit me this afternoon—with every user, Siri is collecting bunches of data points about travelers on my stretch of interstate, just like the robot rabbits in Florida. What kind of hidden patterns might an AI program sorting through that mass of data discover?

And then my brain tries to spin that idea into a story…

Amanda Flower's Because I Could Not Stop For Death

2026-05-14T02:00:00.001-04:00

By Margaret S. Hamilton

Amanda Flower’s historical mystery featuring the poet Emily Dickinson is the first in a proposed series. The book takes place in winter and spring, 1855, and is set in two locations, the Dickinson family home in Amherst, Massachusetts, and at a hotel in Washington, D.C., when Emily, her mother, and sister Lavinia visit Emily’s congressman father while Congress is in session.

The book is narrated by the household second maid, Willa Noble, an intelligent, diligent, and educated older teen, who is the guardian of her younger brother, Henry. Emily is twenty-four, an avid gardener and poetry writer, usually accompanied by her Newfoundland dog, Carlo. Emily selects Willa as the new family maid. Willa soon becomes Emily’s companion, and while solving the death of Henry, her confidant.

Willa’s narrative tone is perfect, walking a narrow line between mid-nineteenth century colloquial speech and modern English. Flower distills a veritable mountain of research into the sensory details of Amherst in the middle of winter, and then the hustle-bustle of Washington, D.C., as spring emerges.

Emily is not yet a recluse. In the book, Flower lays the fictional groundwork for her later poems. Emily is bright, well-educated, enjoys a correspondence with friends and relatives, and is an advocate for justice. When Willa is devastated by the death of her younger brother, Emily pounces on the uncertainty surrounding the events of Henry’s death. With Willa and Carlo at her side, Emily launches an investigation which leads to identifying the true culprit.

Flower focuses on three elements of Amherst society: class, status, and politics. Emily has enjoyed the best education offered to young women in the mid-nineteenth century, including attending what would become Mount Holyoke College. Mr. Dickinson is a prosperous lawyer in Amherst and a Whig representative in Congress. Emily’s brother, Austin, is a Harvard-trained lawyer, engaged to Emily’s best friend, Susan Gilbert.

In 1855, the Whig party is neither pro-slavery nor anti-slavery. Henry’s death is connected to the actions of local citizens assisting slaves fleeing north on the Underground Railroad. Complicating matters are the bounty hunters who routinely grab both escaping slaves and free Black citizens and sell them. Combined with the chaos of local residents thwarting the actions of the bounty hunters, the coverup of Henry’s death blows up.

I enjoyed Amanda Flower’s historic cozy and anticipate Emily’s next case in the Emily Dickinson Mystery series.

Readers, do you enjoy historical fiction, particularly fiction that focuses on real characters?

Writers, do you write historical fiction, and if so, do you include real characters?

Margaret S. Hamilton is the author of forty short stories, the first two books in the Jericho Mystery series, and a novella, Erased, set in 1972.

Home - The Official Website of Margaret S. Hamilton

Libby Klein's Gimme Shelter: A Review by E. B. Davis

2026-05-13T00:30:00.001-04:00

For Vader, my emotional support puppy. And Tony, my emotional support human.

I’d thank the cat but she’s really just in it for herself.

Libby Klein, Gimme Shelter, Dedication

As the song says, you can’t always get what you want. Maybe that’s why, instead of fulfilling her youthful dream of being a rock star, Layla Virtue is living in a trailer park while playing third-rate gigs, including a stint at a seventies ABBA brunch. Given everything else she’s been through lately, she’s not complaining (much) about satin ruffles and go-go boots. She has a squad of supportive new BFFs, and she’s reclaimed a relationship with her famous rocker dad. His recent diagnosis has brought them even closer—sharing the trailer park’s lake house, which he’s had remodeled in typically over-the-top style.

Layla’s dad loves his new community and the feeling seems mutual. So, why is one of them blackmailing him? It’s a mystery almost as baffling as the assignment Layla receives from her former commissioner. Look into the brutal murder of a mild-mannered school teacher. Archie Wilkins was bludgeoned with a candelabra, shot up with drugs, and stuffed into a church confessional. Not the kind of outcome expected for a guy reputed to be the world’s nicest.

Perhaps Archie had secrets. Perhaps everyone does, including Layla’s one-time cop colleagues. She’s been blaming herself for a deadly ambush that destroyed her career and her peace of mind, but as her new friends help Layla regain her memories, a different picture emerges, and it’s one that forces her to question so much that she’s taken as truth . . .

Amazon.com

There’s something about Libby Klein’s humor that just hits my funny bone. I laughed through most of Gimme Shelter starting with the above dedication. I was happy to see that Libby had started a new series, although I was also dismayed that I missed the first book, Vice and Virtue, which was released April, 2025.

In this book, the backstory and plot intersect for character-driven mystery resolution and provides the impetuous for the next book’s plot. Because Libby has two other subplots, those are solved, but while the character-driven main plot comes to a head, the truth isn’t fully revealed.

Libby’s main character, Layla Virtue, is the daughter of a rock star, a former police detective, and she is an alcoholic—like her father. In Gimme Shelter, we get the backstory of how Layla was thrown off the force when her sting operation ended in disaster, an explosion that ended the lives of her team. Layla wasn’t killed because she was dead drunk in a bar during what was supposed to be the takedown of a drug syndicate. She’s down on herself big time—and yet—what she thinks happened may not be the truth. Her posse of gals she met at Alcoholics Anonymous prod her to find out the truth. In addition, her old police commissioner asks her to get information about the murder of an elementary school teacher who seemed to be everyone’s friend.

In her personal life, rock-star Dad has dementia and has moved from Malibu to the Northern Virginia trailer park that he bought for Layla. He fixes up the one real house on the property by bringing in his CA designer. She turns the house into a fairy tale/Hobbit house. His dementia is coming on fast, which is worrisome to Layla. But the other man in her life, an ex-marine fresh from three tours in Afghanistan suffers from PTSD. They are attracted, but the time is not right for fresh starts. Not until each of them can slay their demons. Hopefully, they will help each other’s conquests.

Layla is a strong character, and the secondary characters display a variety of human pitfalls that beleaguer mankind from dementia, alcoholism, PTSD, drug abuse, criminality, and the frailty of human relationships. I hope this series takes off. Libby’s writing is superb.

Should I Consider Self-Publishing? by KM Rockwood

2026-05-12T00:10:00.000-04:00

The publishing world has changed dramatically from the days when “self-published” was shorthand for amateurish, poorly edited,

or couldn’t get a real publisher. Back then, even authors who poured care into their work often found themselves dismissed by peers and ignored by readers.

That era is gone.

Today, both debut and veteran writers self-publish. Many produce books every bit as polished and professional as those released by traditional houses. And readers—far more open minded than the industry once assumed—have embraced the idea that some of the most original, memorable, and enjoyable stories come from outside the Big Five.

Which brings me to the question I keep circling: should I consider self-publishing?

I have a backlog of previously published stories I’d love to gather into a collection, along with several nearly finished pieces that have never seen the light of day. My work tends toward the quirky, the off center, the not-quite-marketable—traits that don’t exactly thrill the major U.S. publishers. Agents, ever attuned to what sells, pass. Small presses, who are usually more welcoming of unusual material, have also declined.

I’d like to believe this isn’t a referendum on the quality of my writing—though of course that doubt whispers in the background. Are those “encouraging” rejections simply polite brush offs? Possibly. But that’s not the point.

The real question is: should I take the leap into self-publishing?

I write because I love it. I’ll keep writing whether anyone reads my stories or not. But sharing them—seeing them land in someone else’s imagination—brings a satisfaction nothing else quite matches.

Self-publishing is not for the faint of heart. Some authors thrive at it. Some earn real money. Some break even. And some end up with boxes of unsold books tucked behind the extra toilet paper in the back of the linen closet.

Is that where mine would end up?

The considerations feel endless.

Establish a small “private” press? Plenty of writers have found success doing exactly that.

Editing is non-negotiable. Nothing screams “incompetently self-published” like sloppy line editing. Weak content editing may be less obvious at first glance, but it still undermines the work. I don’t want to release anything I’ll later be embarrassed to claim as my own.

Fortunately, I do have a network of people who can help with that. And I know some very capable editors whose rates are not totally outrageous.

Would I contract someone else for formatting? Many people quite successfully format their own work. My tolerance for that type of work is limited. After the fiftieth “What did I do wrong this time?” incident in the past hour, I’m likely to seriously consider tossing my computer through the window. Which would not bode well for the computer, the window, or the piece on which I was working.

I know I’m totally incapable of coming up with illustrations, either for a cover or to accompany text. Some of my stories cry out for illustrations. Definitely an area where I would have to contract out anything I needed.

Whether a work is published by a press or not, marketing in today’s world falls directly on the shoulders of the author. Some people excel at marketing. Some people even enjoy it.

Since childhood, I have always had a deep innate dread that any attention is a direct prelude to being in serious trouble, so my inclination is to fly under the radar as much as possible. Not the best basis for establishing a successful marketing campaign.

And beyond those considerations lie other steps: ISBNs, distribution, copyright, metadata, reviews, discoverability—the whole ecosystem that traditional publishers handle behind the scenes.

It’s a lot.

But maybe it’s time to explore it seriously.

Reading for the Day After Mother's Day

2026-05-11T00:00:00.125-04:00

by Shari Randall

Romantic Outlaws: The Extraordinary Lives of Mary Wollstonecraft and Mary Shelley by Charlotte Gordon.

If you're expecting the story of two prim and proper ladies of the late 1700s and early 1800s, look elsewhere. This mother and daughter were passionate trailblazers who continually pushed against the limits placed upon them by society. And the drama! Romantic Outlaws reads like an opera (and even a soap opera), with heightened passions, life and death stakes, and a cast of characters that's a who's who of Enlightenment and Georgian Europe.

Mary Wollstonecraft was a philosopher and author of the groundbreaking A Vindication of the Rights of Women. She died in 1787 after giving birth to daughter Mary.

Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin grew up to become Mary Shelley, wife of the Romantic poet Percy Shelley and author of the groundbreaking 1818 novel, Frankenstein.

The biography's dual structure, with one chapter about Mary Wollstonecraft alternating with one about Mary Shelley, underscores the similar challenges each woman faced in her unorthodox personal and professional life. Though Mary Shelley never knew her revolutionary mother, her mother's writings were a North Star she followed, for better or worse, all her life. Far from being a dry biography, Romantic Outlaws reads like a juicy and surprising historical novel.

Highly recommended.

Have you read a good biography lately?

Shari Randall is the author of the Lobster Shack Mystery series and, as Meri Allen, the Ice Cream Shop Mystery series. She loves biographies.

STIRRING MY MUSE by Korina Moss

2026-05-10T01:00:00.001-04:00

In last month’s blog post, My Full Circle Journey, I wrote about the Malice Domestic Fan Convention I was about to attend and how it would be different for me this year going as a dual cozy mystery author/ freelance editor. I hadn’t written in a while, and my personal goal for the conference was to stir my sleepy muse. Whether that would happen or not, there was so much to look forward to.

Author Leslie Karst & SinC president Raquel Reyes
showing their love, lol

I watched like a proud auntie while a client of mine, Megan Gerig, looked like a pro on her first author panel to talk about her first novel, Beatrice Ophelia is Flickering Out.

I chatted with another client at her first Malice, Faith (pseudonym Tanzy Kohl), readying herself for the submission process.

I got to watch my dear friend, Ellen Byron, charm the crowd as toastmaster, and my friend and our fellow Writers Who Kill member, Annette Dashofy, give her heartfelt speech as Guest of Honor. I cheered when my close friend Mindy Quigley won the Agatha Award for Best Contemporary Novel for At Death’s Dough.

And I jumped out of my chair next to my friend and client, Adrian Andover, as he won Best First Novel for Whiskey Business. (Click here for the full list of honorees and Agatha Award nominees and winners.)

Of course, getting to spend four days with dear friends and new friends always lifts me up. Among the laughs and the personal catching up, one-on-one or in small group settings, it’s no surprise that we talk a lot about writing and publishing. It’s encouraging to hear everyone’s stories—where they are in their journey, how they’re feeling about it, and what’s changed. We have real talks—it’s not all rainbows and unicorns, as most every writer knows. But it’s still our common passion. There are writers who are just getting their careers started, while others are taking a break. Some writers are busier than ever, and others are changing course. It doesn’t matter. Our shared goals and challenges are what bond us. Celebrating and supporting each other no matter where we are in our journey is what makes the mystery writing community so special.

Back L to R: Jackie Layton, Rosalie Spielman, Korina Moss, Annie McEwen
Front L to R: Daphne Silver, Tiffany Krieg (The Beachbum Bookworm), Tricia Maniaci, & Holly Pirtle (Short, Sweet, & Cozy)

It’s been two weeks since I dragged myself and my luggage home from those whirlwind four days. As for my personal goal? I left inspired with my muse awakened.

Writers: What stirs your muse?

KORINA MOSS is the author of the Cheese Shop Mystery series, which includes the winner of the Agatha Award for Best First Novel, as well as two novels short-listed for Best Contemporary Novel. Listed as one of USA Today’s “Best Cozy Mystery Series,” her books have also been featured in PARADE Magazine, Woman’s World, and Writer’s Digest. Korina is also a freelance developmental editor specializing in cozy mysteries. To learn more or subscribe to her free monthly newsletter, visit her website korinamossauthor.com.

Enjoy a Little Courage of the Heart

2026-05-09T04:00:00.002-04:00

Hello there! I ran out of time to get my blog post ready this week--life got in the way. Don't worry! Everyone is fine. So, today I'm offering you, dear reader, a short story I wrote fifteen years ago, a paranormal romantic suspense! I hope you enjoy it! -- Lisa

COURAGE OF THE HEART

Calvin's grandmother had always told him that his ability to foretell the future was a "gift from the heart" passed on to him from her side of the family. To Calvin, however, it was a white elephant, something he would have readily returned or re-gifted long ago, if only he could have. In his experience, being clairvoyant was a meddlesome burden with far too many costs and too few benefits. The worst drawback was how people reacted after learning of his supernatural powers--folks either shunned him out of fear or harassed him for help with every little life decision.

But it wasn’t until one fateful Saturday morning that the reluctant seer saw his psychic skill as something worse—an insufferable curse, an affliction that would kill his spirit, if not his body. The prophetic vision that came to Calvin as he flipped open his cellphone that day was devastating, dashing long-held hopes and dreams for his own future. In panic, he bolted out the door in a race against time with only an hour to figure out how to change the future, if he possibly could.

Calvin’s apartment was only a few minutes’ walk from the small, red-brick house his Grandma Helen lived in, but that morning he covered the distance between them almost as fast as a world-record sprinter. As he burst through her front door, Calvin was greeted by the sweet smell of vanilla and coconut—his grandmother had baked his favorite cookies. Obviously, she’d seen him coming even before he decided to seek her advice. This wasn’t anything new. The far-sighted old woman was often a step ahead of her grandson.

"Hello, Calvin dear. I'm so happy you're here." The petite, white-haired old woman pulled her only grandchild inside and kissed him on the cheek. "I had a dream last night that you'd stop by today, and here you are. I baked coconut macaroons just for the occasion." She sat Calvin down at the kitchen table and set a plate of cookies in front him. "Would you like some milk? Lemonade?”

"No thanks, Grandma," he said, pushing aside the cookies.

"I can tell that something is bothering you, something big. It would have to be to turn you away from my macaroons. What's on your mind, sweetie?"

Calvin struggled through his heartache, trying to find the words to explain his predicament. The oven timer beeped loudly, offering him a startling reminder that time was running short. His panic returned, causing him to tremble uncontrollably then burst out in a loud, incoherent babble.

"Calvin honey, I can't understand a word you're saying,” Grandma Helen shouted over her grandson’s frantic gibberish. She pulled the finished batch of cookies out of the oven then took a seat next to Calvin and hugged him tightly. “Oh, my! You're quivering like a canary in a roomful of cats.”

With a booming groan, Calvin threw his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands.

"Just take a deep breath, dear. Think through what you want to say and start over—slowly this time."

Calvin pulled his head up, did as instructed but struggled to get out his first sentence. Finally, he spoke.

"Grandma, you know that Kate is my best friend, has been for the last fifteen years," he said, still trembling. "I'm crazy in love with her. Have been since the day we met during our freshman year of high school. I've always wanted to tell Kate how I feel about her, but now it may be too late. When she called this morning and asked me to lunch, I had a vision. I was sitting across from Kate at Al’s Diner, and she was showing off a large diamond ring on her left hand."

Calvin paused to wipe away the wetness forming in the corners of his eyes. He took another deep breath and found the strength to continue. "Grandma, Kate's engaged. She's going to tell me at lunch and then ask me whether she's making the right decision in marrying Jake, the man she's been dating. I want nothing more than for Kate to be happy, but I don't want her to be happy with Jake, I want her to be happy with me. I want her to marry me."

Calvin's fear kept him from asking his grandmother if she saw his fate differently than he did. Instead, he looked into her eyes, hoping to see the future he wanted reflected back at him, but all he saw was compassion and concern.

"I'm afraid to look into her future. What should I do if I see a happy marriage for Kate and Jake, or worse, if I don't see it for Kate and me?"

"It pains me to see you so brokenhearted, my dear," Grandma Helen replied as she took his hands in hers. "The whole family loves Kate. She's always been so sweet and kind to everyone, especially me. I think of her as the granddaughter I never had. I always hoped you two would end up together, but neither your desperation, nor an old woman's wish can change Destiny. What will be will be. You must summon up the courage in your heart to accept what you see with your special gift."

The words stung Calvin to his core, but he knew his grandmother was right. Only a fool ignored the wisdom of the prescient woman who spoke those words. Whether it was predicting something as minor as a fender bender, or something as lifechanging as a surprise pregnancy, Calvin had never known his grandmother to be wrong about what the future held in store. No matter how hard people tried, nothing they did ever kept the future, as Grandma Helen had seen it, from coming to pass.

Al's Diner wasn't a big place or a fancy one. It was a small neighborhood cafe that served satisfying home-style meals atop plain, white restaurant china on brown Formica tables. It was known for its homey atmosphere, the kind of place where customers were treated like family, and everyone felt instantly comfortable being on a first name basis, sharing personal stories and life events. The walls were covered with thirty years of photos displaying Al and his best customers as they celebrated birthdays, engagements, anniversaries, graduations, and other special moments in their lives. Like many of Al's other regulars, Calvin and Kate had fallen in love with the diner on their first visit. To Calvin, it was "their place.”

As he slid into their booth, his eyes fell upon a faded photo hanging on the wall showing short, gangly, plain-faced eighteen-year-old Calvin standing next to Kate--tall, curvaceous, stunningly beautiful Kate--as she proudly displayed her letter of acceptance to Stanford University to study Biotechnology. The look of relief on his face reminded Calvin of the uncertainty and worry he'd put himself through with that letter. With a straight-A transcript, a near-perfect SAT score, and numerous science-related awards in his academic record, Calvin had easily won early acceptance and a full four-year scholarship to study Computer Engineering at Stanford.

But Kate hadn't been the shoo-in he was. Calvin couldn't bring himself to look into the future where the woman he loved was concerned. He’d lived for nearly five months in dread of her receiving a letter of rejection from Stanford. If that had come to pass, he would’ve abandoned his dream of attending Stanford to follow Kate to her second pick school, Georgia Tech, where she’d already been accepted. Calvin knew it was a desperate, clandestine effort on his part to stay near Kate. It wasn’t really a choice for him. She was like oxygen to Calvin, a life-giving breath of air that he needed to stay alive.

Calvin sighed and continued gazing at the photo of the woman he adored more every day.

"Waiting for Kate?"

Calvin turned his head and nodded in response to the question asked by the wiry, black-haired waitress standing next him. "I could really use a cup of Al's coffee, Betty." After realizing his heart was already racing with anxiety over Kate's impending announcement, he added, "Better make that decaf."

The coffee the diner served was on the bitter side, but Calvin had grown to love its taste because with every drop he saw himself sitting across the table from Kate, sharing her life over a pot of the dark brew. He stopped by the restaurant for a cup every morning on his way to work just to start his day with pleasant thoughts of the woman he loved.

Betty soon returned with two white porcelain mugs, a carafe, and a small pitcher of cream. “Anything else I can get you, hun?”

“No, thanks, Betty,” Calvin said, as he quickly poured the hot brown liquid into his cup and added a splash of cream. With his first sip of the comforting brew, he recalled the day he had met Kate.

Fourteen-year-old Calvin had been on his way to the school cafeteria when he nearly tripped over a chubby, pimple-faced girl frantically scampering across the crowded floor of his high school’s English hallway. Dozens of students had walked by the girl, laughing as she chased after the contents of a backpack that had spilled all over the floor, but not Calvin. He had come to her rescue without even a chuckle. As he helped Kate to her feet, his eyes had met hers, so soft and blue, mesmerizing. Then, as if under some kind of spell, Calvin had done something he had never done before--he asked a girl to join him for lunch. Kate had said yes, and it had been a magical meal for the shy teenage boy. Kate had turned out to be different than the other girls Calvin had approached—sweet, attentive, and easy to talk to. He found they had a lot in common, from the classes they liked best (Science and Math), the foods they preferred (Thai and Mexican), to the books and movies they enjoyed (Science Fiction and Fantasy).

"Hey, Cal!"

Calvin's heart skipped a beat when he heard the familiar voice. He turned around. The sight of Kate coming towards their booth took his breath away. She always had that effect on him, even bare-faced and dressed down in jeans and a t-shirt, as she was now. Kate had emerged from her pubescent cocoon in their junior year as a rare beauty with everything that made a man drool from a block away: a silky mane of chestnut-colored hair; clear, ivory skin; a face that Da Vinci would’ve called "perfectly, classically proportioned"; and a lithe body with ample curves and long, slender legs. But even if Kate had remained the plain, awkward girl that she was at fourteen, Calvin would still have thought her the most beautiful girl in the world--that was how much he loved her.

The two friends hugged then sat down. Betty quickly appeared with silverware, napkins, and menus. After setting everything down on the table, she proudly announced the birth of her first grandchild, a girl weighing in at seven pounds nine ounces named Olivia.

"I have big news, too, Cal," Kate said after Betty left with their orders. "Jake asked me to marry him last night.”

Calvin’s eyes darted to Kate’s left hand. There it was, the engagement ring, just as he’d seen it earlier that morning--a glistening teardrop diamond set with two smaller rubies on a platinum band. As he grasped Kate's outstretched hand to examine the ring, another vision thrust itself upon him--Kate and Jake, old and gray, dancing with each other, smiling as a crowd of people, young and old, applauded. The image was more than Calvin could bear, and reflexively, as if he had just burnt his hand on hers, he pulled away, and the vision vanished.

"You know I've never asked you to see my future, but I need to be sure that Jake is my Mr. Right. Please, Cal, please tell me if Jake and I will be truly happy together.”

The anxiety Calvin saw in her eyes couldn’t be more than what he was experiencing himself. He had always feared the future where Kate was concerned, dreaded it for years, but it had been inevitable that she would ask this favor. He’d never mustered the courage to find out if Kate loved him like he did her, and it didn’t take a sixth sense to foresee that eventually some other man would capture the heart of the sweet, lovely angel sitting with him now. Now that the future was finally here and the request made, Calvin realized he had no choice in the matter. He had to be honest with Kate, not because of his grandmother’s advice, but because he loved her too much to lie. So, after feigning a smile, Calvin looked deeply into the eyes of the only woman he ever loved and choked out the truth of the unbearable vision forced upon him moments earlier.

"When I touched your hand a few seconds ago, I saw you and Jake at a big party celebrating your fiftieth wedding anniversary. Congratulations. You two will have a long, happy life together."

Across the table, Kate took the news seemingly without joy. "Cal, I've always suspected that you loved me more than just a friend."

Calvin was stunned. Not knowing what to say, he turned away, trying desperately to figure out what to do. Was it too late to tell her how he really felt? He had wanted to tell Kate during their junior year of high school, but by the time he had worked up enough courage, she was the object of desire by nearly every boy in school. Now that she was engaged to a handsome, successful lawyer who was destined to make her happy, what good would it do to tell her? How could he tell Kate, gorgeous Kate, the love of his life, that she was passionately loved by a scrawny, four-eyed nerd who hoped she loved him the same way? "Beauty and the Geek"--it was an impossible fairy tale. Even if she didn't laugh at him, it would certainly jeopardize any future he had with her. He wouldn't risk losing Kate, even if it meant never being more than a good friend to her.

Suddenly, Kate lunged toward Calvin from across the table, embraced him hard and kissed him even harder, a kiss that lingered on his lips even after she pulled away. The very public display of passion between two of Al's best customers drew hoots and whistles from the diner's regular crowd and staff --You go, girl! Atta boy, Cal! It's about time!

With a blush rushing over him, Calvin turned away from the crowd and caught a glance at Kate. Her eyes betrayed her distress, but though he longed to face her, the awkward revelry of the gallery kept Calvin from returning her gaze. When a grand slam home run that played across the diner’s TV screen finally diverted the crowd’s attention, Calvin knew he couldn’t hide behind his cowardice anymore.

"Tell me what to do, Cal,” Kate pleaded again. “Do I give this ring back or not?"

Calvin thought it would be so simple to tell Kate that he loved her, but his gift had cursed him again. She would be happy with Jake. He had seen it. Kate wanted an answer, and he was ready to give it to her, but he had to be certain--for her sake and his sanity.

Trembling, Calvin reached for Kate's left hand. He slowly closed his eyes, forcing a return to the image he had choked off in despair only minutes ago. Willingly embracing the prophecy this time, he lingered over each frame of the silent movie playing in his mind, looking for any sign from the elderly Kate that could betray a veiled truth that she wasn’t happy in her marriage—a slight rebuff, a cold shoulder, a strained smile, or a melancholy look in her eyes. He saw none. When the vision finally faded away, Calvin was confident in his answer for the woman whose welfare meant everything to him. Recalling his grandmother’s sage words, Calvin now had the courage to accept that he’d seen the future as it was meant to be, one in which Kate was truly happy with her choice of life partner.

Later that afternoon, as they sipped lemonade and nibbled on coconut macaroons at Grandma Helen’s house, Calvin and Kate announced their engagement. After a round of hugs and kisses, Calvin regaled his grandmother with story of how his visions gave him the nerve to confess his love to Kate.

"Grandma,” he continued upon finishing his tale, “I've been negligent in thanking you for my 'special gift,' as you have often called my psychic ability. It was a gift from your heart, so now I thank you from the bottom of mine because it brought Kate and me together."

"There's something that has been bothering us both about all this, Grandmother Helen," Kate interjected. She glanced at Calvin.

On cue, Calvin asked the question that had puzzled the young couple all afternoon. "Yes, Grandma, we don't understand what happened. We're not trying to tempt Fate, Destiny, or whatever people call it, but how could the future change so dramatically from one vision to the next? I really did see Kate and Jake together when I touched her hand that first time. But the second vision, the one after Kate kissed me...," Calvin paused, looked into his fiancée’s deep blue eyes and saw her love reflecting back at him. "I mean, after we kissed, I was in the picture. I was Kate's husband at that anniversary party fifty years into the future, and I could tell that she was truly happy with me as her husband--we both were. It was clear from my vision that, even after five decades of marriage, we were still crazy about each other.”

A knowing smile spread across the wise, old seer’s face. "That kiss did the trick. With it, you two finally declared your true love, which is the only thing in this world powerful enough to alter Destiny. But you never needed psychic powers to see the future as magnificently blissful as it could be--just the courage to express your undying love for each other when you felt in your hearts."

2026-05-08T00:00:00.001-04:00

Interesting Tools You Can Use for Research

(Or When You’re Supposed to be Writing)

by Heather Weidner

The internet is a great place to get lost in research or the rabbit hole of endless clicking when you’re supposed to be writing. Hopefully, these sites can be helpful or at least be a source of entertainment. Here’s my list in no particular order.

https://www.flightradar24.com/ – Check out the aircraft in flight at any given moment.

https://science.nasa.gov/mission/landsat/outreach/your-name-in-landsat/ - Use this site to create an image of your name from photos taken from outer space.

http://howmanypeopleareinspacerightnow.com – Find out how many humans are in space at any given time.

https://web.archive.org – Look up old websites and blogs if they are still available in the webverse.

http://whois.domaintools.com – Use this to see who owns a web domain/web address.

http://10minuteemail.com – Create an email address that lasts for 10 minutes. Many find it helpful when they want to view a site that requires an email address while not providing their own.

http:.//downforeveryoneorjustme.com – Check website and system outages here.

http://futureme.com – Schedule/send your future self an email.

http://privnote.com – Send an email to someone that will disappear after it is read. (Just remember, this is the internet. Nothing is ever gone forever.)

http://window-swap.com – Use this site to discover the view from a random window somewhere in the world.

http://thetruesize.com – See how large states and countries truly are.

http://virtualvacation.us – Take a minute for a quick, virtual vacation.

http://monkeytype.com – See how fast you really type.

http://keybr.com – Use this to improve your typing speed.

https://www.louvre.fr/en/online-tours - Take an online tour of the Louvre.

http://www.britishmuseum.org/collection - Visit the British Museum without leaving your desk.

http://naturalhistory.si.edu/visit/virtual-tour - Check out the Smithsonian’s natural history collection.

http://everytimezone.com – See what time it is in any time zone.

https://radio.garden/ Listen to random radio stations worldwide.

https://app.radiooooo.com/ – Listen to music from a variety of decades.

http://coolthings.com – Check out some useful (and not so useful) gifts and gadgets.

https://www.theliterarygiftcompany.com/ Find the perfect gift for bookworms in your life.

Some of these have some interesting information that may spark some ideas for stories or things to include in your writing. What is an interesting site that you have used for research?

Through the years, Heather Weidner has been a cop’s kid, technical writer, editor, college professor, software tester, and IT manager. She writes the Pearly Girls Mysteries, the Delanie Fitzgerald Mysteries, The Jules Keene Glamping Mysteries, and The Mermaid Bay Christmas Shoppe Mysteries.

Originally from Virginia Beach, Heather has been a mystery fan since Scooby-Doo and Nancy Drew. She lives in Central Virginia with her husband and a crazy Mini Aussie Shepherd.

Romance in the Air and Murder in the Shadows by Susan Van Kirk

2026-05-07T04:00:00.028-04:00

Lately, I’ve been plundering my past writing. It’s not that I’ve run out of ideas for future books. In fact, I already have an idea in mind for my seventh Endurance mystery. Recently, I rewrote parts of my memoir about teaching and reconnecting with students I’d taught in my past life. That project led me down another path I’m starting on now. Here’s a description of a 1940s dance venue called the Roof Garden that I used in my novella, The Locket: From the Casebook of TJ Sweeney:

“That was the beauty of the Roof Garden. If you looked over the edge, you could see people dancing in the street and on the sidewalks. The music simply floated down there from the top of the building, and a whole ‘nother dance was going on below. From above, you could gaze down on the couples and the glowing streetlights. You see, back then, even if you couldn’t afford the dance, you could still have a little of the starlight.”

Back in 2016, I published an 82-page novella about my gorgeous, smart, biracial detective, TJ Sweeney. Normally, the Endurance Mysteries featured Grace Kimball, retired teacher, but for that brief moment, I decided to let her former student and detective friend, TJ, have the spotlight. And, even better, it allowed me to go back in history—one of my favorite trips.

The story featured a murder victim buried in a construction site in the present day that gave TJ a puzzle to solve. Why was she killed? Who was she? Because the bones dated back to the 1930s or 1940s, TJ would need to unscramble a tough puzzle indeed—before DNA, before databases, before other useful law enforcement tools.

When I wrote this novella, I also meant this story to be a tribute to my parent’s generation. In Galesburg, Illinois, where I grew up, the Weinberg Arcade still stands, a brick-and-mortar office building downtown. During the 1930s and 1940s, however, the roof of that building became a glittering dance venue featuring the Big Bands, who toured throughout the Midwest. Tiny Hill, Lawrence Welk, Tommy Dorsey, and Paul Whiteman were just a few of the band leaders whose bands played at the Roof Garden. It was an oasis in a stormy time. My parents went there as often as possible and particularly when my dad was home from World War II.

Besides finding wonderful anecdotal Roof Garden history at the local library, I tracked down a woman who danced at the Roof Garden as a teenager. She told me, “On the dance nights, especially Saturday nights, you had to buy a ticket to get in, and it cost twenty or twenty-five cents. It was a different time, you know. There was a coat check guy who was Black, and an occasional musician was Black, but otherwise the crowd was all white people. Smooching or other displays of affection were frowned upon, and they had security guys there. But never, in all those years, was there a fight or brawl.”

“And soldiers? Were there soldiers?” I asked.

“Oh, yes. You see, the Mayo army hospital was on the north edge of town. [One of sixty-three army hospitals built expressly for war casualties, I later learned. It opened in 1943, and because Galesburg was a major railroad hub, a special spur was created to offload the injured.] The patients who were ambulatory could take a bus downtown and walk a couple blocks to the Roof Garden. Since Knox College [in Galesburg] had an ROTC program, many of their air cadets would come to dance during the 1940s.”

The nostalgic atmosphere of the story is juxtaposed with a terrible murder. The way TJ Sweeney goes

after the identities of the victim and the killer displays her cleverness in dealing with a world far removed from our modern-day technology. Lots of twists and turns highlight her search. Two of my favorite images from the novella came from my imagination and from my source. I pictured soldiers milling around in their uniforms, many smoking, and waiting for the bus to pick them up to go back to the army hospital. The second image was of the people down on the pavement four floors below, who could clearly hear the band music and were dancing on the sidewalks and in the streets among the hazy glow from the street lamps.

My source ended our conversation with a wistful comment. “Eventually the war ended, and everything changed.”

Yes, a decade later, Elvis Presley would show up and my parent’s generation would be appalled. Now I see why.

I’ve decided to write two more novellas about TJ Sweeney, slap the three together, and make a full-sized book, From the Casebook of TJ Sweeney. I’ll keep this first novella about the murder during WWII, but I’ll add two more.

TJ went off to college to follow in the footsteps of her mentor, Grace Kimball. She was going to become an English major and teach on the college level. But something happened during her college experience that set her on a new path to eventually become a police detective. What shattering event changed her life?

The third mystery novella will concern people TJ knew back in high school. Although the plot is about a murder in the present day, there are powerful forces at work, taking TJ back to the personalities and events she remembers from Endurance High School. Grace Kimball might remember her former students with the grace to give them a pass sometimes, but TJ knew who they were when they weren’t in Grace’s literature class. And her memories were often totally different from those of her mentor.

Stay tuned. From WWII to the present day, my readers will hear more about Detective TJ Sweeney, and that’s what they’ve been asking me to write.

Do your readers ever give you directions when it comes to what they want to read?

Susan Van Kirk is is the author of six Endurance Mysteries beginning with Three May Keep a Secret. Her standalone mystery, A Death at Tippitt Pond, was followed by the Art Center Mysteries: Death in a Pale Hue, Death in a Bygone Hue, and Death in a Ghostly Hue from Level Best Books. Member of MWA and past president of the Guppy Chapter of SinC. Her website: susanvankirk.com

An Interview with Susan Van Kirk by E. B. Davis

2026-05-06T00:30:00.001-04:00

When Susan Van Kirk drove into little Monmouth, Illinois, in 1968—straight out of college, with her teaching degree in hand—she thought she was ready to teach English and speech to high school students. She didn't realize she would both teach and be taught by a town, a school, and the students who entered her life. A veteran of forty-four years of public high school and college teaching, Van Kirk will take you on a passionate and unforgettable journey through one teaching life. Meet her students and experience the events that molded a rookie teacher into a veteran. This montage of stories covers the years 1968 to 2008; they describe her early fears about classroom discipline, plots to overthrow "the rookie," handling drug overdoses, the devastating first student death, and a challenge to a major Kurt Vonnegut book in her classroom.

Mr. Vonnegut and Me (And Other Incredible Tales from a Teaching Life) is a second edition, and Van Kirk has added a new introduction plus updated material about where the students from the stories are now. These fifteen stories are incredible, inspiring, and filled with what makes us human.

Amazon.com

I’ve read all of Susan’s books, except Mr. Vonnegut And Me. Why? I guess I’m not much of a nonfiction reader, and that’s what surprised me. I started to read slowly and ended up being engrossed by her stories. For me, the times in which she taught were my history. Her first year of teaching was 1968, the year I entered 8^th grade, so when I got to high school, I might have had Mrs. Van Kirk as a teacher had I lived in Monmouth, IL.

Susan covers topics she dealt with while teaching: sexism, diversity, racism, classroom discipline, family backgrounds, pregnancy, politics, etc. We learn how much these affected her teaching and how they impacted her students.

This 2026 release allowed Susan to update her stories and follow her students after they left the high school, which I found very interesting, like seeing the before and after.

E. B. Davis

Did retirement prompt you to reflect on your teaching, resulting in the book? When was the book first published?

My memoir was first published as The Education of a Teacher (Including Dirty Books and Pointed Looks) in 2010. It was the first book I ever wrote, and the thought that I could write a book came about through a college professor and a college student. I was getting my master’s degree at University of Illinois, and I took a class called “reflective teaching.” The purpose was to reflect on how my values and beliefs affected the way I taught. The professor wrote on one of my papers, “You have a wonderful voice, and this story is incredible. Have you ever considered writing a book?” No, I hadn’t. Then, one of my college students said the same thing, only he was referring to an inspiring story I’d told about why teaching was an amazing profession. He suggested I write it so people who wanted to teach could read it. I did. And a magazine picked it up immediately and published it. I thought to myself, “I’ve taught for four decades and I could write a memoir that might explain what it’s like to teach.” I chose fifteen stories that were funny, sad, poignant, and thought-provoking. That became this book.

Is Monmouth, IL, the prototype of Endurance, the town in your first series? Why is it called “The Maple City?”

People do, indeed, see aspects of both Monmouth and my home town, Galesburg, in my Endurance series. History is ubiquitous here. The Underground Railroad, a Lincoln-Douglas debate, Beecher Chapel (named for the brother of Harriet Beecher Stowe), the birthplace of Wyatt Earp, and the extradition hearing of the Mormon leader, Joseph Smith, were all parts of our area history. My Endurance series has a lot of Midwest history as part of the setting. Monmouth is called the Maple City because it was founded in 1831, and maple trees lined the streets of the town. Western Stoneware, our internationally-known pottery company, used a maple leaf in its logo.

Did your kids have trouble due to your teaching at their school? How about grading their papers?

I taught my three children two years in a row. Fortunately, they were excellent students. We had a deal. If they had problems or concerns with other teachers, they solved those problems themselves. If they heard rumors or gossip, they didn’t tell me. They did their own homework, and I imagine they occasionally heard thoughts about me from other students in my classes. But overall, those were smooth years. It was more difficult having the children of my friends.

In deciding which stories to include in the book, you asked yourself which students changed your teaching and you. How do you think you changed your students, such as John Critser?

This is a long answer! John’s story, “War and Remembrance,” was the first one I wrote that was published by Teacher Magazine. It illustrates the theme of the book: the profession of teaching puts you in a position to change students’ lives, hopefully for the better. John and I had a conversation after school that I didn’t remember until twenty years later when he told me about it at a reunion. He was a junior in high school trying to decide what to do about enlisting during the Vietnam War years. He would have a number in the draft lottery, and he was having moral concerns about killing people. On the other hand, he felt he should do his duty to his country. He stopped in to see me after school on a day when I’d received a telegram that a close friend from college had been killed in that war. I was not the usual “Ms. Van Kirk” who stayed as neutral as possible in class discussions about current affairs. (I’d always encouraged my students to think for themselves and back up their beliefs with logical arguments and evidence.) But that day after school, I was a mess. I didn’t remember, years later, our conversation. But he did. And more than that, he remembered how that death affected me. The next year, he made a decision to go to college, hope not to have his number called, and if it were, to become a conscientious objector. As it turned out, his number was not called before the war ended, and he went on to become a world-renowned research scientist, and, unlike me, remembered that conversation with his weeping teacher. He told me at his twentieth reunion that but for our conversation he might have enlisted, died in that war and never married, had children, or done life-saving research. For many years, we met for coffee when he came back to visit his mother. From him I learned that sometimes you change your students’ lives by tears rather than by Shakespeare.

What quality drew the troubled girls to you? Did they see you as a strong single mother or as a teacher they could trust?

Both of these girls, names changed, came to my house to talk to me over Christmas break. They had some serious problems and felt they couldn’t talk with their parents about them. One had recently discovered she was pregnant, and the other stated she was being abused by a foster parent. At the time, I was going through a divorce, and they’d silently watched as I’d lost weight, been preoccupied, and seemed sad. I think they believed I’d understand their very serious problems. I imagine they saw me as trustworthy and someone juggling a lot in my life. Their stories illustrate yet another moral dilemma. As a teacher, I couldn’t tell them what to do. I was legally required by the abuse situation to turn it in to child protective services. I did. The other was a situation where it was up to the student and her parents to make a decision about her pregnancy. I convinced her to talk with her parents, and we used role-playing to decide how she’d do this. Their stories illustrate some of the moral dilemmas teachers face when dealing with teenagers.

Trying to maintain discipline in the classroom led to nightmares for you. Did this problem get better with time and experience?

Absolutely it did. When you see my photo on the book cover, I was twenty-two. It was my second year of teaching, and my students were 17 or 18. Maintaining discipline was a real learning curve. Eventually, I was able to balance a sense of humor with definite rules and outcomes. I was never a friend to my students. I respected them, and I would say they respected me. Over the years, I learned that balance. This is why people are a much better teachers as time goes by. Experience really makes a difference.

Was your personal life affected by the expectation of professional behavior and decorum outside of school?

It definitely was in a small town, especially when I first started teaching. I couldn’t walk into a bar, and if I went out to a restaurant with friends and had a drink, it was all right. But if students were working there, they might see me, and it would be discussed with their friends. Because I was married, I didn’t have to worry about the dating game and students talking. But teachers back then were held to a higher standard. There was a moral turpitude clause in our contracts, and being picked up for a DUI would definitely end a career.

When one set of parents tried to censor the reading of Breakfast of Champions by Kurt Vonnegut, I wondered about their daughter. You didn’t influence her selection of the book. You allowed her to pick another book. You never knew how she felt about the book. Do you know what happened to her?

No, I don’t. Her parents still live in town, and I see them occasionally. Their daughter left town and has a life somewhere. I believe she got caught up in that situation and possibly lied, telling her parents she was required to read the book for my class. She wasn’t. I’m certainly not naïve enough to believe teenagers always tell the truth when they might get into trouble. It was a book she selected. But the parents really blew it all up and went to the principal, superintendent, the media, the school board, and didn’t talk to me. I would have given her a different book. But it was way-out crazy by the time it all ended after six weeks. And one of my children was in the class, so she was his friend. Now that was a difficult line to manage. It was a textbook case of a book challenge.

How did you connect to those featured students to find out how they led their lives?

I knew a student in town who knew “where all the bodies were.” I found many of them via social media, but if I couldn’t, she helped me find some of them. A few had kept in touch with me. One had passed away last year, and that was a blow. I knew the city where he lived and came upon his obituary. Mostly, the internet was very helpful. I don’t always say that! It was amazing to reconnect with them and hear how their lives had gone. They are doing incredible things, and they came from such a tiny town. Midwesterners from small towns are often known for their kindness. They sure showed me that continued to be true.

Why is it that some people determine their futures and others drift without direction? Is it family background, talent, or personality?

Good grief, Elaine. If I knew the answer to this question, I’d bottle it and make millions. It’s a combination of all of those things plus a bit of luck along the way. One of my children went to college not knowing what he wanted to do. He thought about teaching, but I knew that wasn’t for him. He drifted in that direction. But finally, through classes and reflection, he ended up in a job that was perfect for his personality. In his case, college exposed him to a lot of possibilities, and he was open to testing it all out. So, sure, it’s those items you listed. But never discount luck. I often enjoy going back to reunions of my former students because I enjoy hearing what happened to them after school.

Would you change anything in your career and/or student interactions if you could?

I was very fortunate. I could usually find positive qualities in most of the students I taught. Teaching was the perfect vocation for me. I wish I could have gone back to graduate school before I had a family. But in those days, the social pressure was to marry and have children. And once I became a single mother, going back to school was impossible. On the other hand, graduate school after all that experience made my understanding of education discussions richer. So, who knows? I wouldn’t exchange those years for anything.

Character Voice Is More Than Dialogue

2026-05-05T01:00:00.017-04:00

By James M. Jackson

New writers are often told the bromide that each character in a story should “sound different.” As with most commonly offered advice, it has truth at its core, but the edges are as fuzzy as bunny slippers.

I remember reading in a craft book (being told at a conference?) that in great novels a reader should be able to identify the character solely by their dialogue. The word choices and cadence for each character should be unique. With a short story or a novel with only three or four characters, that might be a reasonable goal.

But I write novels. Complicated novels. My current work-in-progress, Niki Unbound, the third book in the Niki Undercover Thriller trilogy, has thirty characters with speaking roles. Neither the reader nor I has the wherewithal to recognize and keep straight thirty characters over 94,000+ words based on their dialogue choices.

However, it’s my goal that readers will have no confusion between the characters, other than a few Congressmen who could be mistaken for one another, and that is my intentional decision. How does that happen?

Word choices are important. A five-year-old, a pre-teen, and an adult woman will refer to the same person using different words. “Mommy,” from the child; the preteen’s choice of “Mom.” The adult referring to herself as mother, as in “… because I’m your mother!”

And actions without words can augment or substitute for dialogue. Bawling and striking out often accompanies a five-year-old's tantrum. A preteen might slam a door so hard the entire house shakes. And we all know the killer look a mother can deliver without uttering a single word.

When the words and actions are insufficient to clue the reader, the easiest approach to solve the problem—although often abused—is to label the dialogue. Most characters have names. When it is not clear who might have spoken a particular line, a simple “Jim said,” can do the trick. The abuse comes in two forms: unnecessary labeling, because the reader already knows who is speaking, and overuse, because the author didn’t use any other technique.

Other techniques? You betcha. Characters can have unique mannerisms. Set up correctly, if one character responds to any disagreement by standing up and placing their hands on their hips, it won’t take the reader long to associate that behavior with the character.

Internal dialogue can provide excellent character grounding. In Niki Unbound, two of the POV characters are women of the same age. The title character has spent her adult life working undercover; the other is a hacker-extraordinaire who has risen to the rank of brigadier general in the Army in charge of a cyber-ops skunkworks. Their experiences color their worldview. Niki sees the world as a series of physical threats with concrete actions she must take to counteract them; Lisa, the hacker general, sees more amorphous threats that she must deal with strategically.

Here’s an example of how I set up that difference between the two characters:

She motioned Lisa over and stood as she arrived. Unlike Niki’s entrance, which no one had paid attention to, many eyes followed Lisa. That woman had looks and a presence people remembered. Not a good thing for undercover work, but it could be useful if Niki needed a distraction. Either way, something to keep in mind. “I always sit with my back to the wall. If you’re the same, we can sit side-by-side.”

“I’m glad you waved,” Lisa said. “I wouldn’t have recognized you, which I know is the point. In my business, we fight with ones and zeros, not bullets.” She pulled out the chair opposite Niki and sat like a pianist, alert but relaxed. “If my phone explodes, it won’t matter whether I’m facing the door.”

“That’s a pleasant thought.”

Those worldview differences ground the reader, so each time the women face a threat, Niki’s internal thoughts home in on threat evasion; Lisa’s thoughts are about drawing resources to counteract. Seeding dialogue with internal thoughts that show those differences keeps the reader grounded as to which character is speaking.

Even with those alternatives, sometimes language is the only clue needed. One of my characters, an old codger named Owen, never uses a “g” at the end of a word. It is such a major component of his speech that the missing g isn’t replaced by an apostrophe; the word just cuts off. No other character in my novels has that quirk, which makes his dialogue unique. In my earliest novels, another character never used contractions, nor did he swear—so much so that other characters had a pool to pay off on catching him in either of those language “sins.”

Some authors choose to spell dialogue to show regional or other variations. My example of Owen’s missing g is one example. Other authors use that technique to project a Southern drawl, or a Yankee’s moving an “r” to the end of a word. You get the idear, and a little of that goes a long way.

Characters should be unique (unless, like the Congressmen, they are intended to be indistinguishable). Dialogue helps, but it’s the least reliable way to tell characters apart.

Agree? Disagree? What are your thoughts?

* * * * *

James M. Jackson writes justice-driven thrillers with brains and bite, including the Niki Undercover Thriller series and the Seamus McCree series. To learn more information about Jim and his books, check out his website, https://jamesmjackson.com. You can sign up for his newsletter (and get to read Low Tide at Tybee, a novella featuring Seamus, his darts-throwing mother, and six-year-old granddaughter, Megan).

Community, Craft and Christie: Why Malice Domestic Matters, by Teresa Inge

2026-05-04T06:00:00.000-04:00

In April, I attended Malice Domestic, an annual fan convention of traditional mysteries, with a focus on Agatha Christie style storytelling. Since 1989, the event has brought authors and readers together for a fun, welcoming weekend. Located in Bethesda, Maryland, Malice hosts author panels, book signings, networking, and plenty of mystery-themed activities.

My own experience with Malice began twenty-one years ago, when I attended with my husband, daughter, and mother. At first, I was nervous, being around accomplished writers and knowing no one. But very soon, Malice volunteers, Sisters in Crime (SinC) members (an organization that supports crime writers), and other mystery authors and fans made me feel at home. That's when I knew I’d found my writing family.

Fast forward to April: Malice still has that heartwarming “family reunion” feel with hugs in the hallways, laughter between panels, and the ease of reconnecting with old friends while meeting new ones. Attending Malice shapes my writing career in many ways, by helping me connect with mystery writers, build lasting friendships, uncover publishing opportunities, and sharpen my craft. Now I’m proud to welcome first-timers, just as I was welcomed all those years ago.

This year’s highlights began on Friday with Malice Go Round and the Opening Ceremonies, followed by the SinC Guppies gathering at the bar—complete with an “Agatha signature cocktail,” followed by a live charity auction. Saturday was packed with sessions, including Meet the New Authors of Malice, The Roaring ’20s Were Murder, Crime Scenery: Settings Make the Story, and the Short Mystery Fiction Society lunch. That evening, I dressed for the Agatha Awards banquet and joined Agatha nominee Michael Rigg and other friends at our table as we celebrated his nomination along with those of other authors. On Sunday, I served on the Small Towns, Big Secrets: Murder in the Village panel followed by a book signing. The conference wrapped up with A Toast, Agatha Tea, and the Closing Ceremonies.

Throughout the conference, the book room overflowed with literary treasures, and I couldn’t resist adding to my own collection. I brought eight new mystery books home to read this spring and summer, a perfect detail in an unforgettable weekend. Finally, I'd like to give my sincere thanks to the conference organizers for hosting another great Malice Domestic.

Diet Killers: Recipes for Readers and Writers – Flaming Bananas Foster from Molly MacRae

2026-05-03T01:30:00.002-04:00

Image by Janja from Pixabay

Welcome back to Diet Killers, my series that’s become a bit sporadic and doesn’t always (as I’d originally intended) spotlight a chocolate dessert. Not because my family has gone off chocolate, but because we don’t eat that many desserts. I’ve been relying on pictures of desserts I’ve made in the past (and remembered to take pictures of) and am running low. Don’t worry, though, I’ve saved some to sprinkle throughout rest of the year. In October, for instance, you can look forward to Graveyard Fudge.

You’re bound to read more and better reports on this year’s Malice Domestic conference, but here are some of my highlights. First, it was a big weekend for Writers Who Kill. With twelve members in attendance, the blog was well-represented. With three members as finalists for Agatha Awards, we were exceptionally well-represented. I’m proud to be associated with Marilyn Levinson, a finalist for Rufus and the Dark Side of Magic (Best Children’s/YA Mystery), Connie Berry for Grave Deception (Best Contemporary Mystery), and Annette Dashofy for Devil Comes Calling (Best Contemporary Mystery).

Best of all, Annette was the Malice Domestic Guest of Honor. That is incredibly cool and well-deserved. Hank Phillippi Ryan interviewed Annette in front of a packed auditorium, and I enjoyed getting to know more about her. Well done, Annette!

Hank also interviewed Lifetime Achievement Award winner Jaqueline Winspear. Winspear told us about the “moment of creative grace” that gave her the inspiration for her long-running Maisy Dobbs series. She’s a lovely, talented storyteller and author.

Malice-Go-Round, a yearly event subtitled “speed dating with authors,” is a marathon of trying to tell a table of eight readers about your latest book(s) in an interesting, concise, cogent, entertaining way in two minutes or less—twenty times in a row while nineteen other authors at nineteen other tables in the room are doing the same thing. Hoo boy. But! You get to go around with a partner and breathe while they do their two minutes before you both move on to the next table. The person to team up with for this crazy dash is Writers Who Kill member Sarah E. Burr. Sarah has enough bright energy to power both of you through to the finish. Thank you for carrying me along, Sarah.

There are so many moments that make Malice worthwhile to attend. I’ll leave you with one more. Ellen Byron, the weekend’s Toastmaster, opened the conference with the story of the warm welcome she received at her first Malice. She’d arrived knowing no one, feeling like an interloper and an imposter, and she left knowing she’d found friends. At the end of her story, Ellen asked first-time attendees to raise their hands. Then she asked if any of them had come alone and knew no one. One of those people sat directly in front of me. I quickly consulted with my conference buddies and then invited the newcomer to have dinner with us. She accepted with delight. We had a wonderful evening and in one of those odd Malice quirks we kept running into each other for the rest of the weekend. On Sunday we said goodbye knowing we’d found a new friend. For me, that’s a lot of what Malice is about.

Here’s the recipe for Flaming Bananas Foster that one of my sisters gave my husband and me as a wedding present 48 years ago (along with other recipes for more sedate and nutritious dishes). Why is this recipe appropriate for a post-Malice post? Because after a full and exciting Malice weekend, some people might feel bananas, some might need the rum and crème de banana liqueur, and some are on fire to get back to the keyboard and write. Which kind of Malice attendee are you?

Bananas Foster

Combine over medium low heat, stirring:

1/4 cup margarine (or butter)

1/4 cup brown sugar

2 bananas, sliced

Cook until bubbly

Raise temperature to medium high and add:

1 tablespoon rum

1 tablespoon crème de banana liqueur

Have ready two bowls of vanilla ice cream (Or chocolate? That’s worth trying!)

When mixture gets hot enough it will burst into flame. Keep stirring until the flames stop, then pour the mixture over the ice cream and enjoy!

Molly MacRae writes the Haunted Shell Shop Mysteries, the Highland Bookshop Mysteries, and the award-winning, national bestselling Haunted Yarn Shop Mysteries. Visit Molly on Facebook and Pinterest, connect with her on Instagram, Threads, and Bluesky.

You Be The Judge by Mary Dutta

2026-05-02T01:00:00.014-04:00

Note: Congratulations to Deborah Ortega, who is the winner of Edith Maxwell's A Poisonous Pour.

I had a good time passing judgment on a bunch of butts recently. Smoked ones, that is.

I had expected that serving as a judge for the Breast Cancer Research Foundation of Alabama’s barbeque cook-off would provide me with some great food. Surprisingly, it also supplied me with a few thoughts about mystery writing.

The competition was a real learning experience. I discovered that the delicious crust that forms on the outside of a smoked pork butt is called the bark, and that eating approximately two pounds of pork starting at 10:15 a.m. is not for the faint of heart or stomach.

There were ten judges and our tastes definitely differed. I was all about the meat being moist while others focused on the smoky flavor. I already knew that I preferred a sauce that isn’t too vinegary and don’t love Alabama’s unique white barbeque sauce. Some judges were all in on those flavors. Despite the range of palates, two clear top finishers emerged, as did a unanimous least favorite.

While the official judging was blind, the People’s Choice awards were not. Interestingly, there was no overlap in the top three “best butt” finishers between the two groups. Maybe it was due to the larger pool of people judging as attendees. Maybe people were swayed by some of the competitors’ creative names like Fu Man Que or Smoke Your Butt Whole or by the friendliness of the folks behind the tables. Maybe the adorable baby whose dad was handing out samples won some hearts and votes for him.

The experience was not unlike the judging surrounding mystery writing awards and honors. There is no objective “best” when it comes to creative works, written or smoked. Some mystery honors are judged blind or selected by a single editor, but judges and editors still have their own preferences. Some awards are voted on by conference participants or organization members. In those instances, people do vote for works that wow them, but they also vote for friends, or things they’ve seen promoted, or for any number of other reasons not necessarily based solely on a considered assessment of the actual writing.

When my official competition duties were over, I swapped my judge’s hat for my mystery writer one and strolled around. The first thing I noticed was that some bbq smokers could easily fit a human body. It’s probably best to check what’s inside one of those things before firing it up. Tampering with the many different food samples set out for the crowd would clearly be a piece of cake, or more likely banana pudding given this was Alabama. And while the contest prize is simply bragging rights and a pig-shaped plaque, I could imagine a few competitors would nevertheless be willing to kill for them.

I left the event that day as full of story ideas as barbeque. Maybe even some award-winning ones.

Have you ever judged a contest, writing or otherwise?