Death in Darkness - Doug Fletcher mystery #19 - by Dean Hovey

 As always, research is a big part of my preparation for writing a book. My wife and I toured Jewel Cave National Monument and were inspired by the beauty, and intrigued by the possibilities offered by the remote Black Hills location. I had conversations with Kristina Doyle, a member of the "Paha Sapa Grotto" South Dakota spelunker's group, and Natalie Lund, who worked at Mammoth Cave National Park. By piecing together bits of what I saw and heard, I came up with a story that originates as a forest fire arson investigation (thanks Brian Garvey, MN Forestry Department arson investigator).

My investigative team of Doug and Jill Fletcher are assisted by Susie Rickowski, Jill's cousin, and caretaker of Jill's parents. Susie is an unemployed arson investigator who is brought in to determine the cause of a forest fire. She quickly determines the fire's origin is inside the US Park Service property. A burnt brush pile includes human remains.

While checking out the origins of the fire, the Fletchers are summoned to Jewel Cave where a member of an underground survey team reports that a team member has been injured and his remaining crew are carrying (and pulling, and pushing) her out of the maze of narrow passages inside the cave. Because the team was several days of travel into the cave, a rescue team is called in to assist them with the transport of the injured caver, who dies during her transport.

They determine the woman's death wasn't an accident, leaving Doug and Jill with the small, closeknit team of spelunkers as the only suspects. There's no open animosity among the team members, and none have an obvious motive.

Doug and Jill struggle to investigate a murder where the murder scene is inaccessible and the only suspects don't seem like suspects until an FBI intern uncovers one suspicious tidbit in the victim's past.

Check out "Death in Darkness" on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and at your favorite bookseller next month.

Rough Travels in the Eighteenth Century, by Diane Scott Lewis

 

The sequel to "Escape the Revolution", to purchase "Hostage to the Revolution", click HERE (or scroll to the bottom)

In modern times we take travel for granted. We can fly around the world if we wish. But in the eighteenth century, it was a rough, often dangerous trip, where you didn't get very far in a day.

Enjoy the ride.

Writing novels set in this era, I had to take into account how far my characters could get from point A to B. Were there even roads where they wanted to go?

When my heroine sailed to New York in 1796, she found she had to take another ship to New Orleans as no roads existed to travel on land that far.

The foreign traveler to England usually came across the English Channel, a stormy and uncomfortable sail in raging water, when at last they rejoiced to see the white cliffs of Dover. 

Then they had to clear the Customs' House. Their person and luggage were thoroughly searched, and any precious items could be confiscated. The richer could bribe the customs men to let them pass easily.

Once onshore a group of bawds, pimps, and pickpockets waited to take advantage of them. The Englishmen considered foreigners suspicious; people who ate snails and disregarded good English beer.

The visitors might be lodged in noisy, dirty inns, waiting to secure a coach to other cities, especially London--eighty miles away. It would take up to twelve days to make the journey.

The rich could hire a carriage and horses, or a post-chaise, but the average traveler was forced to board a crowded coach. The poorer among them rode on top of the coach, suffering the wind and rain. Even the luggage basket at the rear might hold a passenger or two.

Bad roads could turn to mud, and bogs, and coaching accidents were frequent.

The stage-coaches were heavy and lumbering. And your fellow travelers might be smelly and loud. The ride would be jolting, especially before the 1750s when springs were introduced.

The traveler paid by the mile and was expected to tip the driver and guard; the awful trip could be expensive. The guard rode next to the driver and carried a shotgun, hence the term "I call shotgun." Highwaymen often watched who boarded and if they looked rich, they'd rob the coach out on the open road.

When the coach entered an inn yard, the roof passengers had to climb off or be knocked over by an archway. Staying at the coaching inns, men and women crowded in beds, sharing with strangers, and might come away with fleas or bedbugs.

A bill was introduced in Parliament in the 1780s to regulate how many passengers could be allowed to ride inside and on the coach roof. It didn't pass.

All in all, travel is much more convenient now. And hotels cleaner. But putting these details into my writing brings the story to life.

To find out more about me and my books.

                    

Diane lives in Western Pennsylvania with one naughty dachshund.

Vikings, Shipwrecks and Ice cream!...by Sheila Claydon

 

Find my books here

Cabin Fever was the first book BWL published for me. I'd had other books published elsewhere over the years, but making long distance friends with Jude, who started BWL, and is and will remain much missed following her recent sudden death, felt like coming home.

Cabin Fever, as is clear from the cover, is a cruise ship romance with many a mishap along the way. It has proved to be a favourite with many readers and it is also now available as a listening book on Audible. All good, but not as good as the true tale below.

I live in a small town of approximately 25,000 people that, until relatively recently, was a village of about 6,000! Indeed the main street is still referred to as the Village Centre, and it has an atmosphere to match. People are friendly and helpful, dogs are welcome everywhere (even in clothes shops!) and in the good weather the pavement cafes are full. Its history can be traced back thousands of years to when the Vikings 'invaded' with many local names having Viking roots.  I've put invaded in inverted commas because the invasion seems to have been no more than the norsemen setting up homesteads, marrying into the local population and making a living by farming and fishing.

For the next few thousand years, that was all there was. That and shipwrecks, because the 'village' is on the North West coast of the UK, facing the Irish Sea. And just a bit further down the coast is Liverpool Bay and Liverpool Docks. In the winter the sea can be stormy and uninviting and the skeletons of a few of the ships that were sailing into the port in treacherous weather can still be seen poking out of the sea bed at low tide. How many perished over many years is unknown but by the 1700s there were so many that eventually the Liverpool Dock Master decided something had to be done about it.  

Now as I've said, Formby (Fornebei in its original old Viking/Norse) was a tiny insignificant village. Looking into its past history I'm not sure it can even be called a village as it was more a scattering of farms surrounded by fields and woodland. It did, however, have pretensions! So in 1776 it became the home of the first lifeboat station in the world! 

How many lives the brave lifeboatmen (and they were all men in those days) saved between 1776 and 1916 when it closed, is unknown. Nowadays all that can be seen of what for 150 years was a very active lifeboat station is a pile of stones in the sand, and a small plaque. Formby Village, however, is not going to let its 250th anniversary go by without celebrating it. From 26-28 June there will be concerts, a gospel choir, live music and entertainment in the village, sea creatures, mermaids and King Neptune, and Lifeboat displays. Then, on the final day, there will be a service of thanksgiving led by a former Royal Navy chaplain, followed by a community concert compered by a TV presenter in one of the two local parks. It promises to be a fun weekend, especially for the families with young children who will be able to see a lifeboat up close, as well as having ice cream and their faces painted to, no doubt, a nautical theme.

Everything is free and Formby is gearing up for some fun. There will, of course, be sunshine! 

What those early settlers would make of it is anyone's guess. I think even the lifeboatmen of the 1700-1800s would be startled, but it's good to know that their bravery has not been forgotten. Nor the bravery of the huge dray horses who had to pull the lifeboat from its station across the beach to the sea. Sadly I cannot display any of the very old photos available as they are all copyrighted, but for anyone interested, an online visit to The Formby Civic Society's Flickr account (free) will give you the whole story.

And, for a romance fiction writer, there is a story in there somewhere. I just have to find it.

Being Late by Janet Lane Walters #BWLAuthor #MFRWAuthor #Writing #Accidents #Childhood

 

After reminding myself for a week about doing this ahead of time, I was diverted again and again. So here I am on the due date. What to talk about?

I am approaching a birthday next month when I will be ninety. I remember as a child thinking I would be lucky to reach the age of 65. Why I chose that age, I'm not sure, Perhaps because I saw relatives and friends of the family celebrate when they reached that age. Since I went past what I as a child thought was the oldest anyone could reach, I'm looking forward to next year.

There will be a gathering of friends and family on that day. Will be fun and hopefully not embarrassing with people remembering my klutzy days and the ways I managed to ruin my body. Being accident prone is part of my life. Right now I have a scraped elbow when I missed a small step outside and ended up on the driveway next to the car. Nothing serious other than the scraped elbow. That seems to be how my accidents go. I'm sure there were hundreds of these little accidents when I was a child. My knees usually bore a scar. I used to tell people I was ambi-awkward and that still holds to today.

Enough about bodily harms. Working hard to finish a book I hate. Not someone else's but the one I'm currently working on. Should ahve it ready to go to the publisher soon. So I'll stop this and return to work.

A Watery Stairway to... by J.C. Kavanagh

 

To purchase your copy (or all three!) of this award-winning series, click here:

https://www.bookswelove.com/shop/series/the-twisted-climb

The stairway goes... up and down. Of course it does. But a watery stairway? The kind you find in a canal? Those stairways are called "locks." And yes, they go up and/or down, depending on which way you're travelling.

Let me explain.

Regular readers know that me and my partner, Ian, are heading home after our sailing adventures to - and in - the Bahamas. An important part of this journey takes us through two canal systems: The Erie Canal and the Oswego Canal. 

Our route home through the Erie Canal System and the connecting Oswego Canal systems (in red)

Remember last month's blog when I wrote about the shallow waters in the Intracoastal Waterway? And our physical reaction to it?

Guess what.

The sphincter pucker reflex was exercised yet again.

Between the 17th lock in Little Falls (a great place to dock) and the 20th Lock in Rome, we grounded our boat three times. That means we hit the bottom. Also stuck to the bottom. We were warned about these shallow spots so we travelled through them in idle mode, letting the current move us. Unfortunately, the suggested route through these sections was incorrect. The Lock 19 area was the worst - it took us about 45 minutes to steer through the muddy impasse. Let me tell you, when we were settled hours later, a glass of wine never tasted so good.

Did you know there are 23 locks in the Erie Canal system, rising 128 metres above sea level (420 feet) to the Rome Lock, and then descending 363 feet to the Three Rivers / Phoenix Lock south of the Oswego Canal? That's the up/down stairway. The Oswego Canal has seven locks spanning 38 kms (almost 24 miles).  

Docked for the night at Little Falls.

Me and our non-sailing sailboat (temporary, though).
The mast must be down in order to travel through the locks and under the dozens of short bridges.
It is snugly positioned on our uniquely designed structure.

To enter a lock, you must radio the Lock Master on your hand-held VHF, channel 13. (The regular antenna is at the top of the mast - but not while it's lying on deck!) When the Lock Master fills (or empties, depending which way you're travelling) the lock chamber, the metal doors will open and you proceed into the lock. There are multiple hanging ropes along both sides of the lock - pick the ones you want to 'hang-on-to' and wait till the lock chamber fills/empties. This is the tricky part. You have to hold the boat away from the slick/slimy/icky walls with a wooden pole while hanging on to the rope to prevent the boat from being pushed to the other side of the lock. My position is at the bow and Ian is at the stern because when the lock doors open, he has to jump to the wheel and throttle to put the boat in gear. Believe me when I tell you the current rushing in/out is strong enough to easily move a 20,000 lb boat.

In this lock, we will be moving upward. This is lock 17 in the Erie Canal system. 
At 12.3 metres (40.5 ft.), it's the tallest lock in the entire New York State Canal system.
It takes six million gallons of water to fill/drain the chamber.

And so our adventure continues as we make our way through the Oswego Canal. We hope to be home in Canada sometime next month.

If you ever wondered where I sourced all my watery adventures in The Twisted Climb series, well, I think you've figured it out. While my sailing adventure has been incredible, there are no paranormal activities like those found in the Dream World and the Un-World. 

At least, not yet.

Stay safe and don't forget to tell the ones you love that you love them.

J.C. Kavanagh, author of
The Twisted Climb - A Bright Darkness (Book 3) Best YA Book FINALIST at Critters Readers Poll 2022
AND
The Twisted Climb - Darkness Descends (Book 2) voted BEST Young Adult Book 2018, Critters Readers Poll and Best YA Book FINALIST at The Word Guild, Canada
AND
The Twisted Climb,
voted BEST Young Adult Book 2016, P&E Readers Poll
Voted Best Local Author, Simcoe County, Ontario, 2021
Novels for teens, young adults and adults young-at-heart
Email: author.j.c.kavanagh@gmail.com
www.facebook.com/J.C.Kavanagh 
www.amazon.com/author/jckavanagh
Instagram @authorjckavanagh
https://www.bookswelove.com/shop/series/the-twisted-climb

In Canada:

https://www.amazon.ca/stores/J.C.-Kavanagh/author/B01H0Q9GLA?ref=ap_rdr&shoppingPortalEnabled=true

In the U.S.

https://www.amazon.com/stores/J.C.-Kavanagh/author/B01H0Q9GLA?ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1&qid=1772905830&sr=8-1&shoppingPortalEnabled=true

 

Summer Reading

Find my books here

Do your summers slow down? Do you go to the lake, the mountains? the seashore? Do you listen to audiobooks while tending your summer garden? Summer reading holds a special place in my heart. 

Our grandson Des stays with us over the summer. What fun finding a book we can read together each night before bed. Since he loves animals, especially monkeys, I'm thinking The Summer of the Monkeys by Wilson Rawls might be a good fit this summer.

Mom helps Des get his first library card.

I look forward to sharing great tales we used to read with his mother, her sister and brother, too--the Little House books, Anne of Green Gables, the novels of CS Lewis and Madeline L'Engle. 

Do you read a different kind of book in the summer?  What plots intrigue? Wedding weekend drama? Rich people behaving badly? Maybe you're ready for an alien invasion, a richly tapestried historical novel or a generational family saga? Perhaps friends forever tale is more to your liking? Or a good story of summer love?

Whatever your choice, I wish you hours of delight. And maybe a little strawberry shortcake for dessert!

My Amazing Research Trip: Day One by Susan Calder

Please visit my website www.susancalder.com for information on me and my writing

In May, my husband Will and I travelled to Karlovy Vary, Czechia, to research my novel-in-progress, which is set in that spa city on the brink of World War One. A few months before the trip, I emailed the Karlovy Vary Municipal Library and the Karlovy Vary Museum, explained my project, and asked their advice on how to prepare for my four-day visit.    

Librarian Kateřina Krieglsteinová recommended that I search the library's online catalogue and send her a list of books that interested me so she could have them ready when I arrived. My first morning in Karlovy Vary, she presented me with a stack of twenty-one books, none of which are available to me in North America. 

Will and I poured through the books and quickly dealt with a half dozen either because we could grab the pertinent information easily or we decided the text was too dense to explore during our limited time. Most of the books were written in Czech. While my maternal grandparents immigrated to Canada from (then) Czechoslovakia after WWI, I don't speak the language. 

Translation apps are a godsend and old photographs speak thousands of words.   

Kateřina let me take the remaining books to my hotel. Somehow, in the midst of my other research and touring, I managed to peruse them all during my next three days -- who needs sleep? I took over 250 photographs of text and historical pictures that portray the city during the era of my story.  

After lunch that first day, Will and I met with historians David Čech, Jan Nedvěd, Lukáš Svoboda, and Lukáš' dog in their office in an apartment building separate from the Karlovy Vary Museum. We spent almost two hours talking about life in Karlovy Vary (aka Karlsbad in German) during the Golden Age of the Great Spa Towns of Europe. Eleven of those towns including Karlovy Vary are now a transnational UNESCO World Heritage Site.  

At the end of our productive talk, I thanked the historians for giving me their time. They said it was part of their job to assist anyone interested in the town's history. I further imposed on their generosity by leaving them a bunch of additional questions. Since my return home, David has sent me detailed replies that will make my story more authentic. 

Next, we checked into our spa hotel and scurried back to the library in pouring rain for my 5:00 pm informal talk with library readers. Kateřina had arranged for a translator and created posters in Czech and English to promote the event. 

 

We agreed on a question-and-answer format. Kateřina posed questions, the translator restated them in English, I replied, and the translator repeated my answers in Czech for Kateřina and the audience. I'm afraid I made the translator's job difficult by rambling on rather than pausing in the middle of my answers. Being translated is an acquired skill.     

To my surprise, Kateřina had purchased two of my novels online for the library. I donated a third book, and now my novels live overseas in the Karlovy Vary Library. One attendee had already read my latest novel, A Killer Whisky, and had purchased one of my earlier books, which she asked me to sign. 

I was also surprised to learn that the Karlovy Vary library is administered by the city's Tourism Information Centre. Kateřina told the tourism director about my project, and he invited me to his office for coffee. He explained that their main markets for long-term spa visits are Czechs, Germans, and Russians living in Germany. When my novel is published, he would like to arrange for a Czech translation to encourage interest in longer stays. Would I be open to this? 

Wow! I'd assumed I was writing this book for my usual English-speaking-largely-Canadian readers.  Translation would extend its reach. I said I'd do my best to make this happen.  

  

Teplá River, Karlovy Vary

On their website, the Karlovy Vary Library posted a nice writeup about my speaker event  with a photo of me and my interpreter. You can read it in English with their pop-up translation app.  

 

    

 

A Crab Tale - By Barbara Wackerle Baker

 

https://www.amazon.ca/stores/author/B0BMTM18PW

Barnes and Noble 

The first evening of our vacation on the west coast of Vancouver Island we went down to the docks. A man and three kids (two young girls and a teen-ageish boy) stood peering into the water. Two plastic five-gallon pails, a backpack, a small speaker playing catchy dance tunes and a variety of traps attached to ropes were lined up behind them.

You know me, I have to ask. “What are you guys doing?”

“Crabbing.” The man swings the rope attached to his trap back and forth in the air before he releases it into the waves.

“Cool. We’re from Calgary so,” I point at their paraphernalia, “this is new to us.”

And away he goes.

“The kids and I usually come down after supper.”

“Not when it’s raining,” his young daughter pipes in.

“I stand corrected. Except when it’s raining.” He tips his head at her. “We turn on the tunes so the girls can sing and dance when they get bored and Colton and I see what we can catch.

He points his thumb at his son. “We dance less and crab more.”

The older girl laughs as she drops her trap into the water. “That’s because they’re horrible dancers.”

“Crab lesson number one. Only keep male crabs.” The Dad puts his hand in the bucket of water and pulls out a crab. “You tell their sex by flipping them over. See this?” He points to a lighthouse looking shape on the crab’s underbelly. “He’s a male. That’s his pointy penis.” 

 

Both girls put a hand over their mouth and giggle.

“I don’t have a female one to show you, but their undersides look more like a beehive.” He puts the crab back in the pail. “You can only keep Dungeness crabs that are six-and-a-half-inches or larger and Red Rock crabs that are four-and-a-half-inches or more.” He holds one up. “This one’s a Dungeness and he's keeper.” 

 

There’s an excited whoop from Colton at the other end of the wharf. 

“I got a big one.” He plucks the crab out of the cage and there’s a screech - from Colton not the crab. Colton rushes towards his dad with the crab securely attached to his thumb. 

“Stay still or he’ll pinch harder,” Dad says as he grabs the pail of water full of crabs and sets it in front of Colton. “He’s got you good.” 

“It hurts.” Colton bites his bottom lip. 

Dad supports the underbelly of the crab and lowers Colton’s hand into the bucket. When the crab hits the water, it lets go and scurries under the other crabs. Colton waves his hand in the air, and I go over to check out his wound. Four deep crescent shaped cuts bleed as he squeezes the tip of his thumb. 

One of his sisters brings a bottle of antiseptic. “This is gonna hurt.” She smiles. 

“Jerk.” Colton closes his eyes. 

“Be nice.” Dad shakes a finger at them. “Both of you.” 

Colton bites his bottom lip again and winces as his sister pours on the pain. 

“Don’t put it in your mouth,” she says. 

He rolls his eyes at her and walks away. 

“You have to grab them like this.” Dad demonstrates proper crab grabbing technique. “They’re fast and aggressive. It’s easy to get pinched.” 

 

“There’s Sunny,” the youngest daughter shouts as she hip hops across the wharf and points in the water. 

 

We all stare ... and as if on cue - a long eye lashed seal pops their head up as they glide by and then ducks under the next wave. 

“That’s a great name,” I say. “She’s lovely.” 

“I don’t know if it’s a he or she.” The girl shrugs. “I just like the name Sunny.” 

Crab facts you may not know: 

• female crabs must molt their hard shell before they can mate. The male crab hugs and protects the female for days until she sheds and then stands guard until her new shell rehardens. Now that’s a true knight.

• crabs have eyestalks that swivel in all directions. When they hide under the sand, they use their eyes like mini periscopes.

• the majority of crabs skuttle sideways and dig into the sand butt first, so their head is close to the surface to feed and watch for predators.

• the purple shore crab is common and can grow to two inches wide. It comes in every colour except purple – insert WTH emoji.

 

I sigh. I’m not sure which I enjoyed more – the crab trivia or the interaction with the family. A delightful start to our holiday. 

 

Baker, Barbara - BWL Publishing Inc. (bookswelove.net)

Barbara Baker Author Page Facebook 

 

Summer of Lies by Barbara Baker — BWL Publishing

What About Me? by Barbara Baker — BWL Publishing

Jillian of Banff XO — BWL Publishing

The Essence of Andy Clitheroe- by Naguib Kerba

 https://www.nkerba.com/the-essence-of-series/the-essence-of-andy-clitheroe

Website:  https://www.nkerba.com

Hazards of Spring Cleaning by J. S. Marlo

 

Wide of the Mark

(Click here to buy)

   

 

  

To buy any of my books, visit

J. S. Marlo's Books

It's been raining for a week over here, so I went into spring cleaning mode. I'm far from done, but I'm making substantial progress. As I install a new celing fan, clean the other fans (bathrooms/ceilings/kitchen...), go up and down the stepladder to clean windows and light fixtures, scenarios of how someone could be killed in ways that looked accidental pop into my mind.

So, for the fun of it, I browsed the web for household  deaths. Did all these events truly happen? I don't know, but I could definitely relate to the following ones:

1- While cleaning outside windows, someone fell from a ladder.

* I missed the last step of 3-step stepladder yesterday cleaning a bathroom fan, but thankfully I didn't break or sprain anything.

2- While cleaning the kitchen, someone tripped over the open dishwasher door and was fatally impaled on knives sticking up of the cutlery tray.

* I did that once, but the dishwasher was empty.

3- While attempting to separate frozen burgers with a knife in the kitchen,  someone stabbed himself in the stomach.

* I did that too many times to count with a regular knife, but I may think twice before doing it again.

4- While someone was dusting a bookcase, the bookcase tipped forward, crushing that person to death.

* When my son was little, he climbed his 3-drawer dresser using the handles as footholds. The dresser, which faced his bed, tipped over him. His room was the smallest in the house, and there was maybe 2 feet between the dresser and the footboard of his bed, just enough space to open the drawers. The dresser hit the footboard, which stopped its fall. I heard a huge bang and a piercing scream. I found my son sitting at the foot of his bed with the dresser inches over his head. He was safe and scared, but not as scared as I was over what could have been.

I guess I should go back to cleaning...

Happy Reading! 

Hugs!

JS

 

 

J. S. Marlo's Website

Rainbows and Puppy Dogs by Julie Christen

We learn early on that life is hard. And it most certainly is NOT fair. What are the old adages? 

Flight comes after the struggle.

Nothing gold can stay. 

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger.  

Life ain't all rainbows and puppy dogs.

Maker knows, I have leaned on sayings like these more times than I can count to get me through some dark times in my life. Like this spring.

But don't you sometimes just get a little exhausted from it all? Don't you sometimes just wish the universe would back off ... For. One. Minute? Wouldn't it be nice to give your "Suck it up" muscles a chance to go soft? Why exactly, Mr. Robert Frost, why can't some golden things stick around? And what's so wrong, after all, with a few more rainbows and puppy dogs?

I do understand the danger of getting too comfortable - how it makes the mind complacent. Makes it easy to quit exploring. Quit wishing, quit being curious, quit wanting much of anything from life. And maybe too much comfort can lull you into taking some of the good things for granted. 

But I do not believe life was meant to be spent perpetually on the toes. And I don't mean prima ballerina-style. I mean, always-on-guard, prepare-for-ninja-attack toes. At some point, aren't we allowed to relish in the deliciousness of relaxed shoulders and a slack jaw? I'm talking as an expected, relished, well-earned part of life, not as a prescribed therapeutic remedy we must be reminded to carry out.

Think of all those in our lives, too, who take (or took) the whole "Never quit" and "Hang in there" kitten poster to Olympic levels. Like Frank Kuntz, who still fights to this very minute through cancer and a heartbreaking yet inspiring past to preserve the Nokota horses. 

Think of Jude. Our publishing warrior. Who took a chance on us. She saw something special in us and made our dreams of writing become something real. 

I can't control the universe. 

I can, however, decide how to tell my stories. While I do not intend to glaze over hardships and struggles for readers to connect to, I will always try to relax some shoulders, unclench some jaws, and share some rainbows and puppy dogs. Every. Single. Time.

Spoiler alert!

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No dogs will die in my books. You're welcome.

To Josie. A beautiful blink in my life. 

(2023-2026)