Murder She Writes

Do you know the feeling? When I was a kid it was the first day of school. I had a brand new outfit (which was a big deal growing up on a farm—money was scarce) and I couldn’t wait to wear it that first day. A new teacher and new things to learn, maybe even new friends—it was all ahead of me on that first day. As I grew older first dates offered that same sense of excitement. Would he kiss me goodnight? Would there be a second date? Would he be the one? Adulthood and the start of a new job provided a similar sense of expectation. And, of course, my wedding day. Each time I was expecting a child…anything was possible!

Every year the month of March is that way for me. Here in Alabama we can pretty much count on the worst of winter being over when March arrives. Sure we might experience a few more cold spells, maybe even several days here and there but, for the most part, it’s better-days-ahead temperature wise. March means preparing the garden for planting vegetables and mulling over how I’ll do the flower beds this time. I love, love, love that part. There’s nothing better than a ripe tomato right off the vine from your own garden or fresh cut roses on your table from the lovely bush right outside your back door. My neighbors all know how much I love my vegetable garden and my flowers. I adore getting the dirt under my nails and finding new ways to make my yard and porches beautiful. And there’s mowing the yard for the first time and that wonderful smell of freshly cut grass. Feeling the sun on your face as you resurrect your landscape from its winter hibernation. Watching the birds build nests and the trees begin to bud. It’s just awesome. I love it!

 Most of all, I love that as the days of March roll forward and get longer I experience that incredible feeling of “anything is possible!” I’m preparing for conferences and anticipating time with editors and all my wonderful friends in the biz. I’m planning the stories to be written for the rest of the year. Every day is filled with hope and certainty that something new and amazing can happen.

 It’s the same giddy feelings as I launch into a new story. As I type those first few sentences and paragraphs infinite possibilities lay before me. Who will these characters be when they’re fully formed? What unexpected difficulties will my twisted imagination come up with for them? How will they be different from other characters I’ve written? There’s always that slight underlying worry that somehow these characters won’t be as good as certain other characters from past stories or that somehow the pacing will be off or the story simply won’t be as good as the last. But no matter, the idea that something magical could happen on the next page keeps me charging forward. With each story the potential for breaking new ground, for reaching new career heights, for touching a new reader is there. Anything is possible!

But as with watering the flowers and cutting the grass in the heat of mid summer or the frustration of keeping your garden going during those final sweltering weeks of August, the writing can become frustrating and difficult. Maybe there’s a sticking point or logic problem in the plot. Or maybe a character simply won’t behave and stay “in” character. Or, worse, your editor hates some aspect of the story and wants you to revise heavily. And copy edits and galleys for other stories are bogging down your days (and nights!). You begin to wonder why you planted that stupid garden anyway. Who cares if the flowers look like crap (despite copious watering and careful fertilizing and weeding)? Maybe you should have come up with different characters or a different storyline—this one refuses to be finished! It’s too damned hot and you just want it to be over.

 Yeah, yeah, those moments come. As we watch winter fade in the rearview mirror and long fondly for spring and summer, deep down inside we know that it isn’t all tall glasses of lemonade and rocking on the front porch. The beauty of summer is hard work. That “yard of the month” sign stuck between the knock-out rose bush and the azalea wasn’t earned by sitting in that rocking chair drinking lemonade or iced tea. And those wonderful vegetables that grace your table all summer (and into the fall if you’re lucky) didn’t rise up from the earth without back-breaking work from you. Likewise, by the time I’ve written the final page of the story, completed the revisions and polishing, I’m so glad to see it off that I wonder why I wanted to write it so badly in the first place. It will never be as good as the last story (at least not until my editor assures me that it is).

All of it, the flowers, the vegetable garden, the stories—LIFE IN GENERAL—is work. It’s dedication and determination and investment and hopes and prayers.

But right now, March 2^nd, it’s amazing. I can smell spring coming…I can feel that new beginning awakening as I write chapter one. And anything is possible! What do you love about March? Are you planning a new project? And…isn’t it amazing?

(Just so you know, I wrote this yesterday after a beautiful weekend…and woke up this morning to snow….but it won’t last. By the weekend it’ll be up in the sixities and the sun will be shining!)

I’m not a big country music fan but Garth Brooks has a couple of songs I really like, If Tomorrow Never Comes and The Dance. Both tug on my heartstrings. Both are about love and life as well as the unexpected. Can we ever really be sure we’ve said the things we really need or want to say…in case the worst happens? Would we do things differently if we knew what the future held? Music has always been a major inspiration for me. My first editor at Harlequin asked me to describe what I wanted to accomplish with my writing. The answer was simple. I want my stories to move my readers the way a favorite song moves me. I love writing. It’s my passion. But after two major tragedies I’ve been a little distracted from my writing the past week or so and I’ve done some major reflecting.

On Friday, February 5^th, a family in a nearby suburb of my hometown of Huntsville, Alabama, sent their ninth grade son off to school as usual. I don’t know the family personally, but I’ve wondered if it was like a typical Friday morning around my house. There’s never enough time. The daughter rushes out the door and heads for school. The husband heads out to do whatever is on his agenda for the day. Most of the time it’s simply a relief that everyone got off on time—or close to it. But on Friday, February 5^th, this young man left home and it was the last time his family would see him alive although he would spend the day at a place we parents consider “safe.” That tragic day another ninth grader at school shot him—an injury that would end his life a few short hours later. Discovery Middle School went into lockdown and families were devastated. Shock waves laden with misery reverberated across the community. Our innocence was gone…that horrible thing that has happened in so many other towns and cities had happened to us.

A few days passed and we shored up our beaten and fallen spirits and got on with our lives. We’ve all heard about the horrors of school shootings over the past decade or so. Just because we live in a smallish southern town doesn’t make us immune. It was done. In time the police would determine a motive, etcetera, but two families would be forever changed…forever devastated. Then, as if fate had turned against us for some reason, on Friday, February 12^th, another school in my hometown went into lockdown. A professor entered the Shelby Center at the University of Alabama in Huntsville and commenced firing her weapon. In abject horror, my family and I sat glued to the television. We have friends whose children attend the university and friends who work there. My own daughter attended class there. How could this happen again?

I watched the local news folks talking to those who had rushed to the campus in hopes of learning about loved ones inside the school. I wondered whose parent or child would be injured or—God forbid—dead. I wondered what were the last words exchanged. Had their morning been as hectic as that of my family? How would their lives be changed after this tragic moment in time? And I prayed.

Six people had been shot, all faculty members. Three were dead. Three were critically injured. Families were devastated. The community was shocked once more.  Shocked and devastated and still aching from the first tragedy. Nothing would ever be the same.

If you watch the news you’ve heard about this and there’s no need for me to repeat the details and theories. But the point of this post is to reiterate how quickly things can change. Never miss an opportunity to say how you feel. Never hold back or turn down a hug. Never, ever hold restrain your passions. If you love to read, write, knit, paint, hike, climb mountains, whatever, find the time to do it! And never, ever take a moment of life for granted. No matter how crazy, how frustrating, how worrisome, or how painful, every second is precious.

This morning as my daughter left for school, I told her to drive safely, to have a good day and that I loved her. Then, unable to help myself, I told her that she was beautiful and brilliant and that she was going to be the best nurse ever. She just shook her head and said, “I love you, too, Mom.” Then, I poured myself another cup of coffee and sat down with my laptop to do the thing I love…write.

What did you say to your loved one(s) this morning as you parted ways? Can you take just five minutes today to do something you love?

Today is February 2nd, Groundhog Day. In North America that means if the groundhog comes out of his hole and sees his shadow we’ll have six more weeks of winter. If he doesn’t see his shadow, spring is imminent. Some statistics say he, the groundhog, has been right about 40% of the time. Well, dang it, he saw his shadow this morning. So I guess winter is not over just yet. Happy February 2nd!

February 2nd, for me, also means 33 days of 2010, 6 pounds, and 0 cigarettes. Unfortunately the 6 pounds have been added because of the 0 cigarettes. I don’t miss the cigarettes anymore. It really wasn’t a big deal since I had only done it for two years (which I may have told you already). Occasionally I’ll think about having one, like last night when my idol Jack Bauer lit up on 24. He shouldn’t do that, but it was part of his cover so I’ll forgive him. The 6 pounds, however, is another story. That SUCKS! But February is the month I set as the start date for getting serious about getting in shape. I knew better than to attempt that feat on January 1 along with tossing the Camel #9s (sometimes Marlboro Light 100s). But this month it happens. Only one soda a day (that’s my BIG one, I am totally addicted!). Cut back the portions (since I’m not a big snacker, I chow down at mealtime). And WALKING. Yes, every day. One mile at first, then after two weeks two miles and so on. My initial goal is to lose 50 pounds. This is the place where I need to be, according to my fav doc Karen Allen, to be healthy! After that I’d love to lose another 30 just for me. My clothing goal is a size 10. But mainly I want to be healthy. I will, as promised, keep you posted. Cheers and encouragement are welcome. Cheer the loudest and you might just win a prize (vbg)!

This month is also the release month of my first Colby Agency story of the year. My publishing career started 11 years ago next month with UP CLOSE, a Kensington Precious Gems. I had two that year (thank you Hilary Sares and Kate Duffy!). Then in 2010 my first Harlequin Intrigue was released, a Colby Agency story called SAFE BY HIS SIDE. When I wrote that story the folks in my critique group at the time warned me not to write a series and expect Harlequin to buy it from an unpubbed author (I sold to Kensington and Harlequin virtually the same month, but the first Harlequin didn’t come out until over a year after the first Kensington). Well, being the determined person I am, I submitted it anyway. Harlequin Intrigue bought that story and this month number 39 in the Colby series will be released. The Colby Agency series is the biggest (number of books) author series in Harlequin’s history. I am so proud. RT Magazine gave COLBY LOCKDOWN a TopPick and said, “The tenth year of Colby saga rockets forward with this topnotch first installment of a new series that will have readers on the edge of their seat.” Then, last night I received this from Romance Readers Connection:

In September 2000, Harlequin Intrigue Readers bought book number 583, SAFE BY HIS SIDE by author Debra Webb, advertised as a “Secret Identity” novel and a Colby Agency Case. Readers were introduced to their first Colby agent and eagerly anticipated meeting their second, but little did we realize that this remarkable group of men and women that work for Victoria Colby’s private investigation firm and will later work for her son Jim’s more “elite” agency, would become ten year fixtures on our bookshelves.

This month, Colby fans will experience…COLBY LOCKDOWN, Harlequin Intrigue # 1188. The story involves the agency offices being attacked by terrorists and Victoria Colby and some of her agents being held hostage. Can you feel the excitement? Those of us that are fans of this thrilling series are waiting on the edge of our seats for this next installment. So if you’re not a fan and want to become one, rest assured that you are in for many, many hours of very pleasurable reading!

There was more, but you get the idea. I cried as I read the glowing review. The lovely lady who wrote it, Livia, really touched my heart. I had no idea when I wrote that first Colby Agency story that ten years later I would not only still be writing those stories but loving the opportunity even more than I did all those years ago.

I wish I could take full credit for the longevity of this series but I absolutely cannot. Victoria Colby (now Victoria Colby-Camp) is one of those characters who doesn’t come along often. She has been a pure joy to write. And there is my editor, Denise Zaza, at Harlequin. I first started with Natashya Wilson but she left before the first book was published. I had heard the horror stories about changing editors and I was terrified. But Natashya assured me that I needn’t worry that Denise (then O’Sullivan) was going to be my editor. Denise was and is the senior editor of the line and I was terrified about that too! She encouraged me to write more Colby stories. She allowed me to cross the category boundaries too many times to count. And for 2010 she invited me to do a special six Colby stories for Harlequin Intrigue!

All that said, the bottom line is the reader. The readers have kept the Colbys alive and well. For ten years I have received mountains of letters and email about these stories. Folks want more, they want to revisit past characters, they want to know what these characters do when they’re not at work at the Colby Agency, they name their children after characters–now that is loyalty! Thanks to all the readers who have been so faithful, particularly when we all have to watch every penny. To spend their hard-earned money on my stories is the ultimate compliment.

Y’all pardon my being all sentimental this morning and tell me how your New Year’s resolution is going to date. Any suggestions on my “get fit” journey? Some lucky commenter will receive an autographed copy of COLBY LOCKDOWN!

It’s true. There is something I genuinely hate about writing. Before I share this thing I hate I have to tell you what my horoscope said for today: A distasteful assignment might reveal a wonderful side that you never knew existed. It will no longer be the menace it once was. First, I don’t believe this for a minute. Second, how did whoever wrote this know that I was currently working on a “distasteful” assignment? Come to think of it, this thing I hate is precisely a “menace.”

Let’s cut to the chase here. I hate, hate, hate, hate, hate writing a synopsis. I do. It’s not just frustrating or difficult, it makes me physically ill (maybe even mentally ill–just ask my good friends who kept getting new versions all weekend labeled “This is really the one!”) Nothing I’ve done so far is “the one.”

My process is pretty simple, I guess. My first attempt at a story synopsis is to fill it with anything and everything I know or suspect might happen. By the end it usually reads like a too-detailed agenda for a boring road trip that no one in their right mind would want to take. Then, I whittle it down to the bare bones, hitting all the best selling points. It reads really clean and concise and has two or three very cool lines that I’m certain will seal the deal with anyone who reads it. Except, unless you are one of the unlucky folks who read the first version, you don’t have a freakin clue what the heck is going on. Toni will vouch for me on this. You see, the second go around I tend to wipe out as much info as possible. I mean, I now know what’s going to happen. That’s all that matters, right?

When that aspect of the problem is pointed out, I am astounded that it isn’t obvious exactly what’s going to happen to these characters. Seems perfectly logical what each step will be. What difference does it make if you know what happens between “Hero and Heroine must discover the map to the gold mine if they are going to save grandma’s farm” and “Hero and Heroine discover the map, find the gold and save the farm, falling in love en route”? Jesus, how hard is it to assume that they’ll do stuff that’s scary and dangerous, kiss, tell each other they can’t live without each other while simultaneously  saving the day? That’s why their names are Hero and Heroine after all. You see the problem here, don’t you? I hate, hate, hate, hate writing a synopsis. I become childish and defensive when I write these menacing things. My IQ drops to an exceedingly low level. Worse, my play-nice skills go out the window.

Then I think about my latest feedback a minute, read the lean, mean double spaced four pages and realize that so-and-so is exactly right. (I always require someone to point this out to me. Always. It’s pathetic.) I must show what Hero and Heroine are going to do, how their relationship evolves and other necessary stuff like that. Yeah, yeah. I could write the whole freakin book with less frustration. But I will get the job done. Somehow it always works out and then I wonder what was so hard about the process. For me, it’s kind of like having a baby. Somehow my brain blocks just how hard and painful it was (otherwise I might only have one child and one book published).

That’s what I’m up to as January passes the mid point and marches toward February. The weather is beautiful here this week. Thank God. Those two weeks of unnaturally cold weather sucked! You will be happy to know that it is day 19 of 2010 and I remain a nonsmoker. In fact, it hasn’t given me any trouble at all (except for the 5 pounds I’ve gained!). I gave myself until the end of January to get past the “no smoking” thing and then I’m changing my eating and exercise habits. Since it was so nice yesterday I walked a couple of miles. Very nice. We won’t talk about the five Pepsi colas I drank yesterday. Colas aside, I’m happy with how 2010 is going for me. I’ll be updating you on my progress in two weeks.

For now, any advice on writing a synopsis? Any suggestions on how to get on track with eating right? I can use all the advice you’re willing to give on both…where’s my Pepsi?

Just kidding…I thought that might get your attention.  It’s January 5, 2010. This is my first post of 2010. I’m currently finishing up my first novel of 2010. My house is still under construction. Kitchen is coming together finally. We actually have a finished floor (versus raw plywood). My oldest daughter is writing a horror story. My youngest is looking at wedding dresses and enjoying a break from nursing school. My husband is painting up a storm. We’re all doing lots of things. Things we’ve always done, things we should have done already (the latest WIP should have been finished last month!), things we need and/or want to do. But there are a couple of things I’m NOT doing and those are the things I want to talk about.

I’m not smoking. Yes, I quit. Before you tell me how smart my decision was and what a good girl I am for making that decision, there’s something you should know. This is my second time to quit. I started smoking the first time when I was 21. I smoked for five and a half years (or maybe it was six) and then I quit. I had smoked about a pack a day for most of those years and quitting was hard. Very hard. But I did it.  I remained a nonsmoker for 23 years. Yes, I said TWENTY-THREE years. Then fate sent me a triple dose of bad luck and I started again. At first only a cigarette now and then. Eventually two or three a day.  Then, about May of 2009, it became ten or twelve a day…by the end of the summer it was around a pack a day.  I realized this was only going to get worse. I knew I had to just do it. So, on December 31st around midnight I tossed the remainder of my pack of Camel #9s in the trash. It’s a lot easier this time. Primarily because I hadn’t consistently smoked that pack a day for very long. Still, I could seriously smoke one right now. This very second. But I won’t. I won’t because it’s dumb. It’s nasty and it’s bad for me.

During the holiday break my youngest (the one doing the wedding dress shopping) pilfered through the stuff still in boxes from the move and found my wedding dress. Thirty-five years, five months and three days ago this dress was handmade for me. I was young and excited and couldn’t wait to begin my life. Last week my youngest (who is 19) decided to try on mommy’s wedding dress. I laughed. The very idea that my tall, thin, gorgeous baby would try that big old thing on was ridiculous. Then she walked into the room where I was supposed to be working. My mouth dropped open. I couldn’t believe my eyes. The dress–my dress–fit her beautifully! But that was impossible. I had never been that thin…no way! My daughter rolled her eyes and said, “Of course you were. You had to be! See!” And she was right. Thirty-five years ago I did look kind of like she does now. So…WHAT HAPPENED???? How did I get “this” way? After considerable pondering I narrowed down the possibilities. I wanted to blame it on the aliens that were so popular in the 70’s and 80’s. Surely I had been abducted and this fatter version returned. Or maybe it was the fashion industry. You know as well as I do that a size 12 is not what it used to be. But then I had to admit the truth is was a combination of things: stress, my type-A personality related to business and taking care of family, and stress (in case you didn’t get that part the first time). I spent all my time taking care of everyone else and work instead of taking care of me. You know that’s a cop out, right? Yes, I have always jumped at the chance to take care of everyone else and to work harder than anyone else. It’s me. That’s how I’ve defined myself for nearly half a century. But the truth is, it was way easier than taking care of me.  Much, much simpler than looking in the mirror and facing the truth: There was no me. I was wife, mommy, daughter, sister, aunt, friend, employee of the year. Who had time to be anything else? Me was irrelevant.

But that’s all in the past now. It’s 2010–the year of ME. Sounds absolutely self-absorbed, doesn’t it? Well, it’s not. It’s my turn. Of course I love and cherish my family and friends. But this year I’m going to focus on me. Getting in shape (finally) and moving forward with finding and nurturing me. It’s going to be a great year! Some won’t understand and will call my choice selfish, others will wonder if I need counseling and medication. But if they believe those things then they just don’t know what I know. Life is a journey. Change is necessary. For a very long time I’ve been climbing one hell of a steep mountain. The climb was hard. Sometimes I wonder how I made it.  Coming down the other side was no piece of cake, it was slippery and precarious. But I made it. Thank you, God, I made it. Now it’s time to breathe…to breathe and just be me.

What special something are you going to do for YOU in 2010? Be sure to check back in with me every other Tuesday. I’ll be giving updates on how the “finding me” challenge is going.

Tis the season! I hope you’ll enjoy this post the second time around! Watch for brand new killer blogs from MSW starting January 4th! For today, read on and I’ll drop by to chat!

Since I added the final polishing touches to my latest story yesterday and it’s almost Christmas, I’ve had a few hours to reflect on the holiday and my life. Christmas, I think, was a pivotal turning point for me when I was about eight. You see, I only have one sister and she’s a lot older than me, which left me no one to play with as a child except my brother (two years my junior) and all those male cousins. Mostly we played Cowboys and Indians and other shoot-em-up type games. We used sticks or our fingers as the guns. We had lots of fun running through the pastures and woods on the farm where I grew up. Oh and did we have some adventures! We happened upon snakes and skunks and possum and deer. We climbed trees and occasionally fell out but fortunately didn’t break anything. We waded through creeks. Lots and lots of high energy fun (which is exactly why I never allowed my girls out of my sight as they were growing up). Anyway, when I was about eight we all gathered around the Christmas tree to open presents and my “big” gift was a lovely baby doll all dressed in pink with a diaper bag and bottle. I should have been thrilled but all I could do was look at my brother’s present and wail. You see my brother had gotten this cool gun and holster set. To make matters worse, every single one of my cousins had gotten the same thing! What kind of Santa would do that? How was I supposed to have a shoot out with my brother and cousins with a frigging baby doll???? Thankfully, Santa, having realized his mistake, executed a do over that very night. The next morning I woke up and a shiny gun with holster lay at my feet on the bed.

So you see, I was destined to do something with guns from early on. Since then I’ve branched out and and turned to other methods of torture and murder. Lucky for me, the summer after the baby doll incident my Mother found an old typewriter at a yard sale and made my life complete. I had been handwriting stories and she wanted to nurture my love of storytelling. That was a really long time ago, but since it’s almost Christmas and I just completed a big do over of my own, I was reminded of those carefree days.

We make a lot of decisions everyday, lots and lots of little ones and some bigger ones. Some conscious, some instinctive. At the time of each decision we have motive for making that decision and are fairly certain it’s the right way to go based on how we feel and perhaps advice from others. Sometimes it turns out to be a good one, sometimes not. Sometimes it turns out to be a bad decision which triggers a better decision and ultimately proves the bad decision was the only way to go in the first place–if that makes sense. To prove my point, I just experienced the latter with my latest story for St. Martins. I wrote a synopsis for the story and it was approved. Then, as I was writing the story, I came up with this stellar idea that would surely make it even better than I had proposed. I incorporated all these changes and a couple of extra characters. When it was finished I was proud of myself for this cool new direction. I sent the project to my editor and breathed a sigh of relief. I promptly went to work on another project, one for Harlequin Intrigue, all the while anticipating how surprised my editorial team at SMP would be. They were surprised all right. But not in a particularly good way. A phone call was made and I quickly saw the consequences of the decisions I had made. It wasn’t that the story was bad as written, but there were problems with the way I wanted to end the story and then move into the next one which would be closely connected. Hmm…I hadn’t thought of the points my editor made. Obviously, I should have. All I could see, at the time I was making said decisions, was the story in front of me. Now, time was short. Changes had to be made quickly. So I plunged into the revision knowing I was going to be darned lucky to pull it off as quickly as was needed. I worked day and night, did nothing else but ponder the story when I was supposed to be sleeping and pound the keys the rest of the time. When I emailed it to my editor I was certain I had done exactly what needed to be done based on her concerns. I gave my brain a rest over the weekend. Then, yesterday I read through the finished work. And guess what? SHE WAS MORE THAN RIGHT! The story was ten times better and I was so very proud. My husband breathed a sigh of relief and muttered something to the effect that it was probably perfect the way I’d done it the first time. (He always champions me, the sweetie pie!)

But then, last night as I considered the fact that I have no holiday shopping done and dinner is at my house in a mere two days–I realized something else. Not only was the story ten times better after the revision, but making the wrong decision as I initially wrote the story had been an essential element to the final outcome. If I had not written the story wrong or different or whatever, I wouldn’t have realized certain things afterward. I wouldn’t have looked at the characters in this certain light that my editor pointed out. I wouldn’t have realized I needed another element that proved the final meshing of the two main protagonists. So, ultimately, my do over was absolutely the best thing that could have happened to me the past couple of weeks. Like Santa (aka my mother) all those years ago, the do over prompted a wondrous result.

Maybe everything does happen for a reason. I don’t know. But I do know that life is a journey and so is the writing. Just when you think you know what you’re doing, you realize maybe you don’t. You’re just going after the dream…or perhaps the obsession. And with some luck and lots of determination it all works out in the end.

So, with mere hours to go before the Christmas festivities, what revelations or do overs have you experienced lately or in the past that made you stop and think and realize that a particular choice (maybe a wrong one) ultimately turned out for the absolute best?

Merry Christmas!

November and December are pretty crazy months for me, as I am sure they are for most folks.  Not only do I have Thanksgiving preparations to make in November but there’s my birthday.  Then there’s the necessary activity of putting up the tree and decorating!  (More about that next time!)  December rolls in and there’s all the craziness that builds to Christmas!  No matter, when dear friend and super book lover and bookseller Edith Yarbrough asked if I could do a holiday booksigning at her Fultondale, Alabama, Books-A-Million store, I said YES!!!!  Immediately I asked my dear friend Peggy Webb of Tupelo, Mississippi, to join me.   Southern Magic sister Karen Beeching (aka Callie James) coordinated the participation of two more fantastic writer friends, Christy Reece and Jennifer Echols!  What an amazing team!  The Bama versus Florida game didn’t have nothing on us!

Peggy drove over from Tupelo to spend Friday night at my house (and watch my husband and I struggle with installing the last of the flooring purchased at the Habitat Restore shop in the downstairs area of our 110-year-old house).  Bright and early Saturday morning we arose to a site rarely seen in these parts: SNOW!!!!  It was beautiful!

Once we arrived in the Birmingham area, Fultondale’s Books-A-Million on Lowery Parkway, we were greeted by the amazing Edith! This woman is so full of enthusiasm and excitement for books!  Watching her in action is amazing!  The staff at the store went out of their way to make us feel welcome and to usher folks in our direction.  Peggy, Christy, Jennifer and I had a wonderful time! I’m hoping each of those lovely ladies will drop by today and say hello (and tell you about their latest release!).

After the Fultondale signing, we were off to the Brookwood Village Books-A-Million.  A lovely, lovely mall near Samford University.  There we met sweetie-pie Carla Swafford (love you, Carla!) and the wise and wonderful Laura Hayden, along with the ever-helpful Karen Beeching (who brought along a gorgeous man!) for lunch (oops, the gorgeous man wasn’t for lunch…he had lunch with us).  Afterward, Christine Corbitt greeted us at the BAM store.  I had not met Christine before and again I was amazed by the exuberance of yet another BAM staffer! Christine had set up a wonderful spot for the four of us to sign and she went out of her way to see that we had whatever we needed!  Fun was had by all!

The holiday season was all around us, from the snow to the gorgeous decorations.  It was a fun, fun time and one that I won’t forget .  So, besides reading great books, what fun times with friends and family do you look forward to during the holidays (beyond the holidays themselves)?

It’s my pleasure to welcome Karen Fenech to MurderSheWrites today.  Karen writes contemporary and historical romantic suspense.  Her novel Betrayal has been translated in Japanese, and her short fiction has been translated in Swedish, Danish, and Norwegian.  Karen lives with her husband and daughter.  Visit her website at:  www.karenfenech.com.

Thank you to Debra and the wonderful authors at Murder She Writes for having me here.  In addition to giving up her blog today, sometime ago Debra read my recently released novel GONE and provided a quote for the book.  Imagine my delight at receiving a quote from an author whose work I had long enjoyed and admired.

Debra’s kindness and generosity, and that of other writers I am privileged to know, has made me think of our community of writers as a family. In our family, a call for help when a plot stalls or a character misbehaves brings fellow writers with sleeves rolled back, ready to pitch in and solve the problem. It’s these same people who are cheerleaders and champions of our work and, when something in our writing world derails us, they are the ones who give us a much-needed kick in the butt to get up, get going, and move on.  No one else really “gets” this part of our lives.

My latest release GONE explores the subject of family. My heroine, FBI Special Agent Clare Marshall, is searching for the sister she was separated from in childhood when her mother tried to kill her.  Clare has known the hope of promising clues to her sister’s whereabouts and the crushing despair when those clues reveal themselves to be false leads.  Now, she tracks her sister to a small South Carolina town.  This time it’s for real and Clare knows that a reunion with her sister is imminent.  When she arrives in town, however, she discovers that her sister is missing and that someone from the town is responsible for her disappearance.  Fearing for her sister’s life, Clare launches an investigation into her disappearance. Fellow FBI Special Agent Jake Sutton offers help, but Jake is Clare’s estranged lover and has an agenda of his own.

Here’s an excerpt from GONE:

Clare left the nursing facility and stepped into bright sunlight. She shielded her eyes with the back of one hand and with the other reached into the purse dangling from her shoulder, digging for sunglasses. A man was walking across the parking lot toward her. A trick of the light, he looked like . . .

“Jake.”

She hadn’t realized she’d spoken his name aloud until she heard it.

He was close enough to have heard as well, though he didn’t speak. His eyes, narrowed against the sun, fixed on her with an intensity she remembered all too well.

Too late to pretend she hadn’t seen him. It wasn’t too late to walk away, though. She wanted to walk away, really wanted to, and because she did forced herself to stay put and meet his gaze.

Jake now stood in front of her, blocking the sunlight. Clare lowered her hand. His chin was at her eye level. He hadn’t shaved. Black beard shadowed his jaw, made his tanned skin look darker.

The last time she’d seen him, from the other side of her bed, he’d looked a little pale. Tired from working too hard. Tired from going another ten rounds with her.

That was three years ago. He didn’t look to be suffering from sleepless nights anymore. He looked rested and fit. The blue T-shirt he wore over jeans showed his hard, tough body. Was he still with the Bureau? If so, by his casual attire, he wasn’t working today.

“I could say the obvious ‘small world,’” Jake said.

It had been big enough for her until a moment ago. But in response, she said only, “Must be.”

In the awkward silence, a group of women in hospital uniforms dashed by, causing a slight breeze that smelled strongly of spicy perfume.

Jake cleared his throat. “Don’t tell me the Bureau’s sent you to make sure I’m not lazing my days away fishing?”

He said it with a smile, an obvious attempt at lightness. Clare didn’t return the smile.

“You’re assigned to the Columbia office?”she said.

“Resident office in Farley, actually.”

That surprised her. After they’d stopped seeing each other, Jake had put in for a transfer out of the New York office. They’d been members of the same squad for a time and had been paired off. Working together after things ended had strained them both. Jake was very good at what he did and had earned the commendations to prove it. He could have aimed a lot higher than Farley. She couldn’t understand why he hadn’t.

She didn’t know where he’d gone—didn’t want to know—but she would never have imagined him choosing Farley. He was a city boy. She wouldn’t have figured he would come here voluntarily. He must have been desperate to create distance between them for him to accept this post.

“Just me, one other agent, and an admin assistant,” Jake went on. “How about you? What brings you to our fair town?”

When she’d known him, she’d never mentioned Katie. On the nights he’d stayed at her apartment, she’d stored her cork board and files on her sister in a closet. She had no reason not to tell him about Katie at this time. Her being in Farley and the reason for it was likely climbing the town grapevine at lightning speed. But there was no reason to bring Katie up to him now, when she hadn’t before.

“Vacation,” she said simply.

He heard the lie. The humor in Jake’s gaze vanished and in an instant his gaze grew razor sharp.

“I recall you had a preference for sand and surf,” he said.

No doubt he was referring to the one brief getaway they’d taken together—a spur-of-the-moment jaunt following a particularly gruelling assignment. They’d both been wound tight. He’d asked her where she’d like to go.

White sand beach. A pounding surf. No one else around for miles.

Her words returned to her. The next morning, she’d awakened and found he’d packed her suitcase and had found the perfect place for them to go. She didn’t care for the reminder of how perfect it had been between them once.

“Not this time,” she said. “Good-bye, Jake.”

Before he could say anything further, Clare walked away from him.

Have you read or written about the subject of family? As a token of my gratitude for being here with all of you, I’ll be drawing a name from one of the commenters to win a $20 gift card at Amazon.