Author: Kristina Stanley

Woo Hoo. 50% of Camp Nanawrimo Target Met, and I know who killed Nick!

~ Kristina Stanley ~ 11 Comments

Only 10,000 more words to go, and I have the first draft of my 5th novel written. Starting to get excited.

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As I was writing this morning, I was wondering if anyone else writes out of order.

Part of writing a mystery means having a murderer and catching that person. I never know who the murderer is until I’ve written most of the book. The fun part of the journey is having a host of suspects and then selecting the best one.

Today, I decided who killed Jaz’s husband, and it surprised me. Then I wrote the climax and the resolution. Now I have to back and connect the first 65,000 words to the last 5,000 words, and I have that draft.

Who else writes like this? Do you always know who committed the crime before you start writing?

As many of you know, we’re about to launch Feedback (an online tool to guide a writer through a rewrite.) I plan to use Feedback to perform a big-picture edit on Evolution, and I can hardly wait.

If you’re going to rewrite your first draft in August, join me on the adventure. We can cheer each other on!

Thanks for reading…

 

Mystery Mondays:Kelley Kay(e) Bowles on How She Became A Mystery Writer

~ Kristina Stanley ~ 11 Comments

Welcome to Mystery Mondays. I took a break last weekend to celebrate Canada’s 150th birthday.  The funnest part. A bear came by and checked us out at Happy Hour. He climbed a tree, so he could see us on our balcony. How Canadian is that?

We’re also celebrating the 2nd anniversary of Mystery Mondays. I’d like to take a moment and than all the wonderful authors who have contributed. You know who you are and you rock!

To kick off the third year of Mystery Monday, we have author Kelley Bowles here to talk about how she became a mystery writer!

Kelley Bowles on Becoming a Mystery Writer:

I am a Pacifist. My whole family is a pack of Pacifists. Proof of our Pacifism, beyond the fact that I must gently deposit all spiders outside, is shown in a much-loved family story. My father, when he was 17, was taken deer hunting. This happened in 1950, when definitions of masculinity were, however right or wrong you feel this is, more clearly defined. Hunting is manly, and was considered a crucial rite of passage for many generations of men.

For my father, (who was in my opinion very manly, 

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but, you know—he’s Daddy) as soon as he picked up the gun and pointed it at the deer he put it right back down. “The deer and I made eye contact,” he said, “and that was all she wrote.” He never picked up a gun or raised a fist to another living thing, on two legs or four, ever again. Well, he did slam some guy’s arm in a door once, but that guy was trying to steal a camera from his office!

I, personally, have never owned or used a gun or even been in a fight, although I broke up a few during my 20 years of teaching. But I love murder mysteries. I’ve loved them since before I’d read every possible Nancy Drew, Trixie Belden, and Encyclopedia Brown I could find, and I learned this from my father.

He was a voracious reader and a lifetime learner, who by the age of 32 hadn’t figured out what to do with his hundreds of college credits that had never turned into any kind of degree. He asked my mother, who was his girlfriend at the time, what he oughta do with his life. She said, ‘Well, how many books do you have?’ He said, ‘I dunno…five thousand?’ ‘Why don’t you open a store?’ was her response.

So he did—in 1966 he opened a used bookstore way before the idea became normal (I call him the ‘inventor’ of the used bookstore). He ran the bookstore for 40 years and always forwent some of his sales to bring his favorite books home to my mother, my sister and me. No question about it, the mysteries, thrillers and spy games were his favorites, and consequently became mine. Now I even write them!

The question then becomes WHY?

 Why does this family of Pacifists revel so in humanity’s worst behavior? This is a question people ask me, and I ask myself, all the time. I remember watching my dad fly through book after book, from Elmore Leonard to Clive Cussler to Agatha Christie, and he never slowed down and he never tired of the genre. I am more of a Harlan Coben Sarah Paretzky James Lee Burke kinda gal, but I feel the same way. And writing them? Fuggedaboutit. I practically salivate at the thought of solving the mystery, whether I’m writing my own or inhaling somebody else’s. None of us want to cause death or think too much about dying, but we love these stories about it SO MUCH! I think, for me it’s as much about looking at what good things people can do in the face of bad behavior as anything.

The cozy mystery series I write, called Chalkboard Outlines®, follows Emma Lovett and Leslie Parker, two high school English teachers in the fictional town of Pinewood, Colorado. They are way into Shakespeare, an obsession of many real or imagined English teachers, and his quotes and stories are integral to the books. Shakespeare, in my opinion, knew more about human nature than…anyone, really. It’s turning out to be a wonderful element for cozy mystery amateur sleuths who have more than a passing knowledge of him and his themes—the ladies can tap into his vast understanding of humanity when they’re searching for a killer (Shakespeare understands our love of the murder mystery, for sure!). I love seeing what good things Emma, Leslie and the other characters in the books try to do in the face of bad behavior.

I, also, was a high school teacher in an actual Colorado town. The high school setting is such a perfect place to examine this theme. I’ll be honest–sometimes it was tough to be a Pacifist there. J But as far school being this macrocosm of the larger society, with every possible character and event, outlook and reaction on display, it was a writer’s dream. Thomas Jefferson High School in my books is based on my Colorado school (and the one in Lake Tahoe where I landed my first teaching job), but when people ask me if the characters are based on real people, the answer is no. But also yes, because I draw from a huge pile of things that I’ve seen and experienced in this tiny universe. It’s the perfect place to continue my journey to answer the question of why this Pacifist is obsessed with murder mysteries!

I’m super excited to say the Chalkboard Outlines® adventure endures! The first book, Death by Diploma, published by Red Adept Publishing, came out in February 2016 and went #1 for Cozy Mystery on Amazon in August. Book 2, Poison by Punctuation, is under contract with RAP and will be released in early 2018. I am currently working on book 3, working title Strangled by Simile. I’d love to hear from other mystery lovers about their own answers to the question of why!

Kelley’s Mystery Novel: 

covernameEmma Lovett leaves her philandering husband and crosses the country to begin her teaching career at a high school in Pinewood, Colorado.There, she meets Leslie Parker, a fellow teacher given to quoting Shakespeare to fit all situations, and the two become fast friends.

Arriving at work early one morning, Emma discovers the body of the school custodian, a man who reminds her of her late father. When the police struggle to find the killer, the ladies decide to help solve the murder. Their efforts lead them to a myriad of suspects: the schizophrenic librarian, the crude football coach, the mysterious social studies teacher, and even Emma’s new love interest.

As Emma Lovett discovers the perils of teaching high school, she and Leslie learn more than they ever wanted to know about the reasons people kill.

 

 

 

 

 

Camp Nanowrimo: How’s your word count coming? Let me know.

~ Kristina Stanley ~ 9 Comments

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We’re five days into Camp Nanawrimo.

Last summer I wrote 50,000 words of my WIP progress, EVOLUTION, as part of CAMP NANOWRIMO 2016. Since then, I’ve added another 10,000 words.

I’d like this novel to be around 80,000 words, meaning I need to write another 20,000 words.

I had a slow start over the long weekend, as I’m guessing many of you did with the Canada Day and July 4th celebrations going on.

Today I caught up.  I wrote 1,362 words this morning, bringing my total to 3,562. I’m so thrilled to so close to finishing this novel.

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Part of the reason I’m so excited to be making progress, other than I’m going to finish this novel, is that we’re getting ready to launch a new software tool for writers. Feedback – A New Online Tool That Guides Fiction Writers Through A Big-Picture Story Edit.

I plan to use Feedback to perform my own big-picture edit on my WIP. I’ll spend August and September rewriting my story. Then I’ll polish it in October and be ready to start a new novel in November – of course participating NaNoWriMo to get the first 50,000 written.

If you’re finishing up a novel in Camp Nanowrimo, we plan to launch Feedback this August, just in time for you to start your rewrite and edit that first draft. Find out more at www.FeedbackForFiction.com.

Let me know how your doing this month in Camp Nanowrimo!

In case you didn’t see this on my last blog post about Camp NanoWrimo, here is an excerpt of the novel I’m writing. I’d love to know what you think.

Excerpt from my WIP.

I shut the refrigerator door for the fifth time. Why did I keep looking inside the box for answers? Food wouldn’t solve my problems.

Fatigue wrapped its heavy blanket around my shoulders, muting my strength. The sound of the grandfather clock intermixed with sleet hitting the windows in the early morning hours made me want to lie down on the kitchen floor and never get up.

The clock chimed past the time of day I now hated. A family heirloom that had belonged to my parents and before that my grandparents. Somehow I’d inherited it. My guess was my dad didn’t want the noisy contraption in his house, so when Nick and I had moved into our home on Loughborough Lake, my dad had “gifted” it to me, Jaz Cooper. Some gift.

Two weeks ago I was happy. Today, well, today was different. My stomach tightened. I wasn’t sure I could move away from the fridge. I didn’t know how to spend my time. And who would care about what I did, anyway?

I’ve never been one to feel sorry for myself. That’s not who I was, and it’s not who I would become. I bit the inside of my lip, mostly to refocus the pain in my gut. It was too early to go to work, but coffee might help.

I plodded across the empty kitchen, the floor creaking underneath me with each step, and hit the power button on the coffee maker. The timer wouldn’t go off for another two long hours.

Coffee was my new habit. Nick and I used to drink tea together. But no more. I was slowly getting used the strong aroma that wafted from the beans and to the acidy taste. It was the caffeine I needed, not a feel good drink.

Out of habit, I opened the bottom cupboard door and reached for the dog food, then my mind caught up to reality. An overwhelming sense of loss ripped at my heart. That horrible knife of pain.

I slammed the cupboard door, walked to the living room, and lowered myself into the dog bed. I curled into a ball and inhaled Bandit’s smell, like that would bring him back. At night, he used to sleep in my bed, tucked behind my knees, soothing me with his deep breathing. During the day, he’d slept here. Most of my waking hours were filled with the company of dogs. I only had Bandit as a pet, but I ran a dog training school, so I could have many dogs in my life.

Unable to bear the real reason from my grief, I focussed on the dog. I’d always known I would grow old without Bandit. Dogs owners all know that awful truth. They don’t like it, but they live with the knowledge.The dog’s loss I could handle. The other would break me.

Through the tapping of the sleet on the living room window, I heard a howl. I held my breath and listened. The wind rattled the trees beside the house and drowned out any other sound.

I waited.

Another howl followed by slapping water. I shuffled to the window but couldn’t see anything. I stepped onto my porch, a mere thirty feet from the lake, and concentrated on the sound.

A bark. More slapping water.

The moon broke through the clouds, streaming light onto the lake.

A dog had gone through the ice. Without thinking, I bolted outside and ran toward the lake. My slippers stuck in the snow and were ripped from my feet. The sting of cold hurt my bare skin, but that didn’t matter. I reached the icy surface and kept running.

Daisy, the neighbor’s Great Dane, battled the edge of the ice. Her rump was underwater. Her front claws strained against the snow. Her nostrils were flared.

My heel slid across black ice, and I tumbled backward. My tail bone slammed onto the hard surface, and my elbow cracked. I rolled onto my side, then onto my stomach. I slithered forward, closer but not close enough to grab Daisy’s paws.

Daisy slipped backward and into the water.  Her head dropped below the surface.

I froze.

She burst through the surface, snorted water, and scraped her paws over the edge of the ice. She barked. Her nails clawed at the ice but couldn’t grip the surface. Terror in her eyes? Pleading? Whatever it was, the message was clear. Get her out of the water.

I crawled forward on my stomach, ignoring my throbbing elbow. I should have grabbed a rope. A hundred-pound, panicking dog was not going to be easy to get out of the water. Sleet soaked my back and neck. My pajama bottoms clung to my legs.

I grabbed one paw. Daisy’s nails dug into my arm, and I let go. The dog had power in her limbs. I knew I shouldn’t, but I had to get closer. I’d have to leverage her out of the water.

Her rump remained below the surface, but her head stayed above water. For now.

Another howl. Anyone listening would think I was torturing the dog. I slithered closer. I could join her. Slide past her into the water. Moments would pass, and the pain would end. But then Daisy would drown, too. Selfish.

I could pull her from the water, then drop in. The darkness below welcomed me.

Crack.

The sound sliced through me. There wasn’t much time to save Daisy. One big shove with my feet, and my arms slid underneath her pits and around her shoulders. She dug her claws into the back of my neck. A warm liquid trickled across my skin. She’d cut me, but I didn’t let go.

I was living the nightmare of anyone who walked on a lake at the end of the winter season. Adrenaline pounded at my temples. My skin prickled. I felt her terror. The emotion was so strong, I gasped.

Daisy dug her claws deep into my neck and shoulders, gaining traction. She hefted herself out of the water. Her rear paws grabbed at the edge of the ice. She tumbled over my head, across my back, and away from the hole in the ice.

I knew I should get off the ice, but I couldn’t move. I lay on my back, panting. The black water called me. All I had to do was roll over and slide in.

Celebrate Canada Day and Buy Yourself A Book. Summer Sizzles E-Books $1.99 Or Less Sale!

~ Kristina Stanley ~ 3 Comments

My publisher, Imajin Books, has put their ebooks on sale for just $1.99 – and some for less!

If you love mystery, suspense, and thrillers check out these bestselling books. Grab ’em now between July 1st and July 15th only! Visit the exclusive book page.

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If you haven’t read one of my books, here’s your chance to get them on sale. Just click the book cover.

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Publishing Journey: Getting a novel cover ready

~ Kristina Stanley ~ 12 Comments

LTOW Early CoverTwo exciting things happened today. First, I received a sneak peek of the cover of my upcoming novel, Look the Other Way. COMING August 2017.

Secondly, I received an endorsement from a talented Canadian author.

The endorsements are important for the cover. My publisher, Imajin Books, puts one endorsement on the front cover and two on the back cover. These are excerpts from the full endorsement.

The full endorsements will be printed inside the novel. For more on endorsements, check out The Importance of Author Endorsements.

I’m thrilled to say my latest endorsement is from Elle Wild.

 

Elle Wild won the Arthur Ellis Award this year for the Best First Novel. This is an award given for the best Canadian Crime Novel. After reading Strange Things Done, I know why the novel won. The novel takes place in Dawson City, Yukon. It’s a mystery full of texture and gives you a view into life in a remote Canadian city in the north.

Elle Wild grew up in a dark, rambling farmhouse in the wilds of Canada where there was nothing to do but read Edgar Allan Poe and watch PBS mysteries. She is an award-winning short filmmaker and the former host of Wide Awake on CBC Radio One.

To celebrate Canada Day, July 1st – Canada’s 150th Birthday – why not read Canada’s newcomer who is certainly going to be one of our best.

And speaking of Elle, she’s read an advanced reader copy of Look the Other Way and had this to say:

Look the Other Way is an entertaining beach read that will have you hankering for strong winds, clear skies, and cool tropical drinks. Stanley’s personal experience sailing in the Caribbean shines through in this suspenseful island romp. Readers will enjoy her lushly imagined settings as Stanley expertly navigates the plot mechanisms of both romance and mystery, keeping her story on a steady course for adventure.

 — Elle Wild, Winner of Arthur Ellis Award 2017 “Best First Novel” for Strange Things Done

Camp Nanowrimo: Who is going to join me?

~ Kristina Stanley ~ 13 Comments

Camp-2017-Participant-Twitter-HeaderLast summer I wrote 50,000 words of my WIP progress, EVOLUTION, as part of CAMP NANOWRIMO 2016. Since then, I’ve added another 10,000 words.

I’d like this novel to be around 80,000 words, meaning I need to write another 20,000 words.

Doesn’t sound like much, except when I think about launching Feedback  (A New Online Tool That Guides Fiction Writers Through A Big-Picture Story Edit), releasing my latest novel, LOOK THE OTHER WAY, published by Imajin Books, and the rest of life that keeps interfering with my writing.

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I decided I would join Camp Nanowrimo with the modest goal 20,000 words, so I can finish this book. Then, maybe I can join NANOWRIMO in December and write 50,000 of another book.

So who else is doing Nanwrimo? I’d love to connect and encourage each other. Let me know in the comments below.

Here’s an excerpt from my WIP.

I shut the refrigerator door for the fifth time. Why did I keep looking inside the box for answers? Food wouldn’t solve my problems.

Fatigue wrapped its heavy blanket around my shoulders, muting my strength. The sound of the grandfather clock intermixed with sleet hitting the windows in the early morning hours made me want to lie down on the kitchen floor and never get up.

The clock chimed past the time of day I now hated. A family heirloom that had belonged to my parents and before that my grandparents. Somehow I’d inherited it. My guess was my dad didn’t want the noisy contraption in his house, so when Nick and I had moved into our home on Loughborough Lake, my dad had “gifted” it to me, Jaz Cooper. Some gift.

Two weeks ago I was happy. Today, well, today was different. My stomach tightened. I wasn’t sure I could move away from the fridge. I didn’t know how to spend my time. And who would care about what I did, anyway?

I’ve never been one to feel sorry for myself. That’s not who I was, and it’s not who I would become. I bit the inside of my lip, mostly to refocus the pain in my gut. It was too early to go to work, but coffee might help.

I plodded across the empty kitchen, the floor creaking underneath me with each step, and hit the power button on the coffee maker. The timer wouldn’t go off for another two long hours.

Coffee was my new habit. Nick and I used to drink tea together. But no more. I was slowly getting used the strong aroma that wafted from the beans and to the acidy taste. It was the caffeine I needed, not a feel good drink.

Out of habit, I opened the bottom cupboard door and reached for the dog food, then my mind caught up to reality. An overwhelming sense of loss ripped at my heart. That horrible knife of pain.

I slammed the cupboard door, walked to the living room, and lowered myself into the dog bed. I curled into a ball and inhaled Bandit’s smell, like that would bring him back. At night, he used to sleep in my bed, tucked behind my knees, soothing me with his deep breathing. During the day, he’d slept here. Most of my waking hours were filled with the company of dogs. I only had Bandit as a pet, but I ran a dog training school, so I could have many dogs in my life.

Unable to bear the real reason from my grief, I focussed on the dog. I’d always known I would grow old without Bandit. Dogs owners all know that awful truth. They don’t like it, but they live with the knowledge.The dog’s loss I could handle. The other would break me.

Through the tapping of the sleet on the living room window, I heard a howl. I held my breath and listened. The wind rattled the trees beside the house and drowned out any other sound.

I waited.

Another howl followed by slapping water. I shuffled to the window but couldn’t see anything. I stepped onto my porch, a mere thirty feet from the lake, and concentrated on the sound.

A bark. More slapping water.

The moon broke through the clouds, streaming light onto the lake.

A dog had gone through the ice. Without thinking, I bolted outside and ran toward the lake. My slippers stuck in the snow and were ripped from my feet. The sting of cold hurt my bare skin, but that didn’t matter. I reached the icy surface and kept running.

Daisy, the neighbor’s Great Dane, battled the edge of the ice. Her rump was underwater. Her front claws strained against the snow. Her nostrils were flared.

My heel slid across black ice, and I tumbled backward. My tail bone slammed onto the hard surface, and my elbow cracked. I rolled onto my side, then onto my stomach. I slithered forward, closer but not close enough to grab Daisy’s paws.

Daisy slipped backward and into the water.  Her head dropped below the surface.

I froze.

She burst through the surface, snorted water, and scraped her paws over the edge of the ice. She barked. Her nails clawed at the ice but couldn’t grip the surface. Terror in her eyes? Pleading? Whatever it was, the message was clear. Get her out of the water.

I crawled forward on my stomach, ignoring my throbbing elbow. I should have grabbed a rope. A hundred-pound, panicking dog was not going to be easy to get out of the water. Sleet soaked my back and neck. My pajama bottoms clung to my legs.

I grabbed one paw. Daisy’s nails dug into my arm, and I let go. The dog had power in her limbs. I knew I shouldn’t, but I had to get closer. I’d have to leverage her out of the water.

Her rump remained below the surface, but her head stayed above water. For now.

Another howl. Anyone listening would think I was torturing the dog. I slithered closer. I could join her. Slide past her into the water. Moments would pass, and the pain would end. But then Daisy would drown, too. Selfish.

I could pull her from the water, then drop in. The darkness below welcomed me.

Crack.

The sound sliced through me. There wasn’t much time to save Daisy. One big shove with my feet, and my arms slid underneath her pits and around her shoulders. She dug her claws into the back of my neck. A warm liquid trickled across my skin. She’d cut me, but I didn’t let go.

I was living the nightmare of anyone who walked on a lake at the end of the winter season. Adrenaline pounded at my temples. My skin prickled. I felt her terror. The emotion was so strong, I gasped.

Daisy dug her claws deep into my neck and shoulders, gaining traction. She hefted herself out of the water. Her rear paws grabbed at the edge of the ice. She tumbled over my head, across my back, and away from the hole in the ice.

I knew I should get off the ice, but I couldn’t move. I lay on my back, panting. The black water called me. All I had to do was roll over and slide in.

Mystery Mondays: Jacqueline T. Lynch on The Scene Of The Crime

~ Kristina Stanley ~ 4 Comments

Today on Mystery Monday, we have Jacqueline T. Lynch, author of Cadmium Yellow, Blood Red.  She has also published short stories and non-fiction books. Today we’ll find out a bit about the “Cozy Noir” genre.

The Scene of the Crime: Postwar New England by Jacqueline T. Lynch 

cybr_printI love “cozy” mysteries and love classic film noir. In combing the two genres for a mystery series, I chose not a sinister Gotham or a fog-shrouded San Francisco, or a sun-bleached and cynical Los Angeles in which to set my characters and stories like those old film noirs. I chose Connecticut in the late 1940s and early 1950s.

I write in a variety of genres: nonfiction history (predominantly New England), classic film criticism, a biography of actress Ann Blyth, as well as novels, and plays.

My Double V Mysteries series protagonists are a young widowed heiress and an ex-con.  They are implicated in crimes in the first book, Cadmium Yellow, Blood Red, and join together to prove their innocence, and in later books become hired sleuths.  I’m currently working on the fifth book in the series, set in a summer playhouse on the Connecticut shore in 1951.  The Double V name comes from their surnames: Juliet Van Allen and Elmer Vartanian.

The books are written in what I suppose I would term “cozy noir.”  Much like 1940s noir films (Humphrey Bogart, Lauren Bacall, etc.), grim crimes and crime-solving situations are presented without strong language or sexual scenes.  There is a bit of humor here and there, but for the most part the couple cautiously navigates the series subplot: a tenuous romance.  They each carry a lot of baggage from their pasts and are wary about becoming too close — but they’ll get there in time.

New England is my home and I am more familiar with this part of the country, but as with many historical novels, the era, I think, is even more important to the tone of the books than the geographical setting. Books enfold us an intimate sense of time travel, but it is perhaps easier for some readers to become lost in the Middle Ages or in the Regency period than in the 1950s, where we must actually be more familiar with the history of that period to immerse ourselves in the story and believe it. We may accept tales of knights and lords and ladies without really knowing much about everyday life in those olden times; but though the middle twentieth century is not as distant; in terms of technology and cultural events it might as well have been a millennium ago.

In the post-World War II years New England found itself at a crossroads. The population was shifting; wartime industry lured thousands to our nineteenth century mill towns, who then left the cities for the new suburban world being carved out of our farmland. In the 1950s, a good deal of that industry began to head south. New interstate highways seemed to aid the exodus, skirting cities, or else piercing through the heart of them. The 1950s saw the heyday of the great downtown department stores in Hartford, Connecticut—the duo’s home base—and summer theatre in the country towns.

Times were changing, and though we reached for the promise of a great future to wipe away the memory of war and Depression, we were also afraid of letting go of the past. Elmer, who had spent the war years in prison and feels guilty for having missed serving in the war, and missed his daughter’s childhood, is baffled by ballpoint pens, frozen orange juice concentrate, supermarkets, and a nuclear age that makes him feel a bit like Rip Van Winkle. Juliet is his guide, and ours, to this strange new world. The fads and even great events of the day: backyard bomb shelters, drive-in movies, and vanquishing polio will have a place in future books in this series—and crimes to be solved around them.

The first book, Cadmium Yellow, Blood Red, is about a museum heist, a missing child, and a murder introducing the recent ex-con and even more recent widow.

In Hartford, Connecticut, 1949, Juliet Van Allen, an administrator at the Wadsworth Atheneum, a prestigious art museum, discovers that her avant-garde artist husband is having an affair with another woman. Juliet’s husband is murdered, and she is the prime suspect. Elmer Vartanian, recently released from prison, is coerced into helping scout the museum for a heist by a gang that has kidnapped his daughter.

Juliet, the rebellious only daughter of a wealthy financier, and Elmer, a lower-class ex-convict who has educated himself in prison, must partner to solve their separate crises, compelled to work together while dogged by the scandal-monger newsman, the shrewd police detective, and scrutinized by the even more judgmental eye of Hartford’s elite in world where Modern Art meets old-fashioned murder.

 Who is Jacqueline T. Lynch?

JLynch photoJacqueline T. Lynch’s novels, short stories, and non-fiction books on New England history and film criticism are available from many online shops as eBooks, audiobooks, and paperback. She is also a playwright whose plays have been produced around the United States and in Europe, and has published articles and short fiction in regional and national publications. She writes Another Old Movie Blog on classic films, and the syndicated column Silver Screen, Golden Years.

Website:   www.JacquelineTLynch.com

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Farley’s Fridays: Are Wheaten Terriers Ever Sad?

~ Kristina Stanley ~ 9 Comments

Farley here,

Sad eyes, that’s what I have. The question is why. I’m standing in a beautiful creek. I’m off-leash.  What could be making me sad?

Farley In Creek

Kristina is telling me it’s time to get out of the creek and head home. I don’t want to. I love it in here. My tummy is cool. My paws tingle in the running water.

I put on my “best” sad eyes. They get Kristina every time. She can’t stand it if she thinks I’m unhappy, so she gives me more time to play in the water.

But to answer the question: “Are Wheaten Terriers ever sad?” Not a chance. I’ve been gifted with eyes that can look sad, but inside I’m all giggles. I know I’ll get my way, especially with a human like mine.

Woof Woof

DEADLY SHORE by Andrew Cunningham: Introducing The Audio Book Edition

~ Kristina Stanley ~ 1 Comment
It is with great excitement that I’m participating in Andrew Cunningham’s audio book tour. DEADLY SHORE is narrated by Greg Hernandez, and will give you 6 hours and 46 minutes of thrilling listening time.

Listen to this excerpt and you’ll be excited to buy the audio book!

About the Audiobook

fe1cfa9f-39d2-4dea-aaf6-261029657771Synopsis:  It’s July 5th, and the Cape Cod roadways are clogged with tourists heading home from the holiday weekend and trying to outrun an approaching potentially catastrophic hurricane. But in the blink of an eye, their lives are thrown into chaos when terrorists bring down the bridges to the Cape. Instantly, a half million terrified people have no way to escape. And when the terrorists threaten to release anthrax on the captive population if their demands aren’t met, fear turns to all-out panic.
With time running out, Marcus Baldwin, a private investigator and former CIA operative, and Sara Cross, a disgraced ex-homicide detective, are brought together by a sole clue to the identity of the terrorists. They quickly realize that they may be the only ones with even a chance at stopping the plot before it’s too late.
With Hurricane Chad barreling up the coast on a path for a direct hit on Cape Cod, it becomes frighteningly clear to everyone trapped on what has now become an island – one way or another they are probably all going to die.

Publisher: Andrew Cunningham⎮2017

Genre: Mystery/Thriller

Release date: January 31, 2017

ABOUT ANDREW CUNNINGHAM:

andrew-cunningham-facebook-photo-2I was born in England, but have spent most of my life living in the U.S.—including  25 years on Cape Cod before moving to Florida. A former interpreter for the deaf and long-time independent bookseller, I’ve been a full-time freelance writer and copy editor for many years. A 4th-degree Master Blackbelt in Tang Soo Do, I finally retired from active training when my body said, “Enough already! Why are you doing this to yourself?” I’m married, with two grown children and two awesome grandsons. My wife and I spend as much time traveling as we can, and are especially fond of cruising the Caribbean.

​I have been gratified by the response to my books. When I published Eden Rising back in the spring of 2013, I had no idea what to expect. When I sold my first few copies, I was excited beyond belief that someone was willing to take a chance on it. Numerous books and thousands of copies later, I am still humbled by the emails I get from readers telling me that my books kept them up late into the night.

In October of 2014, Wisdom Spring made me an official Amazon Bestselling author, a thrill I never thought would happen. But it still comes down to being able to bring a few hours of escape to a reader. That’s what it’s all about for me.

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About the Narrator: Greg Hernandez

greg-hernandez-acx-72dpiFor more than 20 years I worked as a radio news reporter and news writer.  I spent half of my broadcasting career at ABC News Radio in the Washington, D.C., bureau.  I covered all the federal agencies as well as Congress and the White House.  I reported on a wide range of stories during my career, including financial and entertainment industry news.

I have worked as a federal government spokesman at three separate agencies for more than 20 years.  At the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA, U.S. Commerce Department), I introduced podcasting in 2005 just a few weeks before Hurricane Katrina struck the Gulf Coast of the United States.  The 19 podcasts I narrated and produced from August 2005 to June 2007 were downloaded more than 600,000 times during that period.  They’re still online at the following link.

http://www.noaa.gov/podcasts/podcast-archive.html

I enjoy narrating audio books because it gives me great satisfaction bringing to life books of all genres, especially mysteries and thrillers.

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Guest Post: Donna Galanti with 7 Reasons to Join Genre-Based Writing Orgs

~ Kristina Stanley ~ 7 Comments

Why you should join a genre-based writing organization
by Donna Galanti

 

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Joining a genre-based writer organization can be key for any author.

There are many big genre categories for writers such as science fiction and fantasy, westerns, romance, horror, and mysteries. Do you write in one or more than one of these?

Take the time to research writing organizations in your genre(s) that provide representation for writers in that particular line of fiction. They provide many member benefits that can be extremely helpful to new and veteran writers. Before joining any writer’s organization, be sure to ask questions to ensure that the group is a good fit for you.

Not published yet? There are usually levels of membership based on published and unpublished, but all may have the same benefits. There can also be an annual fee. Why pay this if you write in one of these genres?

Benefits of joining a genre-based writing organization:

Private forums. In these you can ask advice of members on areas of craft, publishing, marketing, and book contracts.

Networking opportunities. These can be offered through local chapters, national meetings, conventions, and conferences.

Mentor program opportunities. You could be paired with an established author in your genre as a guide.

Strengthens your resume. Being a member of a genre-organization beefs up your author bio and shows you are serious about your author career.

Writing awards. Many genre-based writing organizations have prestigious writing awards that novelists can apply to win.

Member-only anthologies. These are great opportunities to submit short works and have the chance to be published alongside major authors.

Go the Extra Mile: Volunteer within an organization!

This is a great way to engage with editors, agents, publishers, writers, and veteran authors.

How? Volunteer to help at the organization’s affiliated conference, do social media, conduct interviews, do public relations, or work in recruitment. Think about where your talents lie and how you can benefit the organization.

My first volunteer role was within International Thriller Writers (ITW ) where I did social media for ITW’s debut authors. For several years now I’ve transitioned to the role as a contributing editor for ITW’s Big Thrill monthly magazine.

With both roles, I’ve had the chance to interview and meet many authors from debut to established, and most importantly – build connections. Many of these authors have blurbed my books, been guests on my blog, asked me to be a guest on their blog, advised me in my author career, been guests on my Facebook book launch parties – and more!

Writing can be a lonely profession and writer organizations give writers a chance to join with others who share common goals and experiences. I hope you can see the many benefits of joining a genre-based writing organization. Not only can it help build your author platform but it can also be a great community resource.

For more tips on building your author platform, check out my 4 proven steps to connecting with readers before your first book even comes out.

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Donna Galanti is the author of the paranormal suspense Element Trilogy (Imajin Books) and the children’s fantasy adventure Joshua and The Lightning Road series (Month9Books). She is a contributing editor for International Thriller Writers the Big Thrill magazine and blogs with other middle grade authors at Project Middle Grade Mayhem. Donna has lived from England as a child, to Hawaii as a U.S. Navy photographer. She enjoys teaching at conferences on the writing craft and marketing and also presenting as a guest author at elementary and middle schools. Visit her at www.elementtrilogy.com and www.donnagalanti.com. She can also be found on Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, and Goodreads.