Trash or Treasure? by Stuart R. West

Trash or Treasure? YOU decide by clicking here!

"Chaotic, fun and hilarious." So says Boundless Book Reviews of my Zach and Zora comedic mystery (kinda cozy) series, detailing the wacky antics of a vapid male stripper (Just don't call him that! He's a "male entertainment dancer," after all.) and his very irritable, very pregnant sleuth sister who has to solve murders to get her doltish bro out of trouble.

But, wait, here's another spin...

"Total trash," says an enlightened, anonymous Amazon reviewer.

Out of my 23 books, this was the only one-star review I've ever received. It used to bug me. Until I learned to embrace it, kinda like that tattoo you got in college of Weird Al Yankovic. I began to wear it proudly like a scar of war, proof of my time in the battlefield of writing.

And I don't know about you guys, but honestly, if someone calls a book "total trash," I'm immediately interested to find out more. Call it our car-wreck, lookie-loo culture or the training ground of voyeuristic "reality" TV, or just plain masochism, if someone calls a book trash, sign me up!

The reviewer in question goes on to say (specifically about Bad Day in a Banana Hammock), "I only read the first five pages. The guy wakes up in a strange room with a dead body yet he stops to pose in the mirror an (sic) notice how good he looks...too much for me" 

(Despite how this sounds, the books are a mild PG rating across the board.)

Total trash! Yay!

Hmm. Regardless that it's ludicrous to rate a book one star based on the first five pages (and, yes, I tried to battle the Amazon behemoth on this; a very polite robot responded with a rote reply that had nothing to do with my complaint), I think the real issue is the (sorta) reader didn't think the book was funny. In fact, I'm not even sure Mr. or Ms. Enlightenment even realized it was supposed to be a comedy.

That's okay. Humor is extremely subjective. I cringe at most modern comedy films (Adam Sandler, anyone?) and I know it goes against being a guy, but take the Three Stooges...please! I mean, writing and reading are very subjective, everyone knows that, but humor is really tough. It's impossible to please everyone when it comes to writing humor, so why do I continue to do it? 

Two reasons: A) If I make even a few people laugh and forget their daily grind for a bit, it's worth it.  B) I can't help it. Many times I set out to write, say, a straight horror tale, but then things take a turn for the absurd.

As Steve Martin said, "Comedy isn't pretty."

Quick! Someone notify the Decency Council!

Back to my enlightened critic on Bad Day in a Banana Hammock, I'm not sure if their inability to grasp the humor of the book says something about the reader or my lack of writing skills, but, um...can you possibly read that title and not expect a comedy? Or maybe look at the other reviews? Read the blurb?

I'm reminded of the hullaballoo in the 80's when the remake of the horror film, Cat People, came out. Parents were outraged because they took their children to see it and witnessed gore, sex with animals, nudity, and other fun family topics. It's their own fault. The fact the movie was rated "R" should've probably tipped them off that the subject matter wasn't about cute, lil' kitties. Or maybe they could've read a little bit about the movie. Look at the poster? Nah, too much work.

So, what have we learned here today? Some people like Adam Sandler movies. Don't take your kids to see Cat People (the 80's version, at least). No matter how dumb, drunk and young you are, never ever, EVER get a Weird Al Yankovic tattoo. Oh! And the third book in my ongoing Zach and Zora series, Nightmare of Nannies, in a remarkably timed coinkydink, happens to be on sale this week for the incredibly crazy low price of .99! (Don't worry, you don't need to read them in order). Read it, laugh, or send me hate mail...please!

Funny or not? Accept the challenge!

Here Comes the Brides of Banff Springs by Stuart R. West

Click here to purchase!

Rarely do I read romance. Even rarer? Rereading a book. But that's exactly what happened with author Victoria Chatham's elegant and entertaining historical romance novel, Brides of Banff Springs. The first time I read the book, I sat back with a sigh, wishing I could spend more time with Ms. Chatham's wonderful characters.

Books We Love LTD recently rereleased an extended second edition of Banff and, of course, I dug right into it. I loved it all over again.

The title refers to a myriad of "brides" of varying social and economic fortunes, a sort-of "brideacopia" of Downton Abbey-styled colorful characters. There's Fliss, a poor, sad maid at the ritzy Banff Springs Hotel in Canada, who's married to a bellhop, but has to keep their unity a secret in order to maintain her job; on the flip side, there's Burma, a brassy, sassy spoiled brat of a socialite who's engaged to a truly cretinous gold-digger; hey, how about the mysterious ghost bride who haunts the Banff Springs Hotel?; finally--and best of all--there's the heroine, Tilly, a down-on-her-luck poor girl who begins her backbreaking duties as a maid at the hotel while maintaining a never give in attitude and upbeat spirits. She's also being pursued by amorous trail guide, Ryan, but holds her own.

I'm certain you'll agree after checking out the following excerpt:

* * *

To Tilly, it was the loveliest evening of her life. Just before Ryan left her, he chucked her on the chin, and she smiled up at him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. “Wear pants if you’ve got them. I’m taking you trail riding.” Tilly choked back a groan. There it was again, that proprietary streak that gave Ryan his take-charge attitude. It might work for guides and packers, but it sure wasn’t going to work for her.

She fisted her hands on her hips. “I’m going to marry you. I’m going to take you riding,” Tilly said. “Doesn’t it ever cross your mind that a girl might like to be asked what she wants?”

Ryan looked at her in mild astonishment. “Don’t you want to go riding?”

“That’s not the point,” Tilly sputtered. “Why can’t you just ask me, instead of telling me? I do have an opinion of my own you know.”

His easy-going shrug infuriated her even more. “All right. Would you like to go trail riding with me tomorrow?”

“Thank you.” Tilly tilted her chin up as she glared at him. “I would very much like to go riding with you. And I do have pants and boots.”

“Hmm.” He appeared to be considering her response. The gleam of humour in his eyes put her on edge and she looked up at him warily, waiting for the comeback she knew would trip off his tongue. “So, if you’re coming with me anyway,” he said, “why make all that fuss? Why not just say okay?”

 “Because you can’t just take it for granted that I’ll fall in with your plans.” Tilly pulled away from him. “What if I’d wanted to do something else?”

“Do you?”

“Ryan!” She threw up her hands in despair. “I can see that arguing with you will be like trying to catch a cloud.”

“Don’t waste your time then.” He kissed the tip of her nose, wished her goodnight, and walked off leaving her laughing.

* * *

I adore the character of Tilly. And I think that's the secret to the book's success. Hands down, she's one of the best heroines I've come across lately in fiction. She puts the pluck in plucky. But the other characters are just as vividly drawn by Ms. Chatham's exquisite prose. And did I mention there's a ghost story involved? Something for everyone. Hey, if this ol' persnickety codger fell for the book's charms, ANYONE can.

I give it 5 enthusiastic thumbs (or...um, something like that)!

Check into the lovely Banff Springs Hotel today. Tell 'em I sent you.

Book your reservations now!

Hauntings on the University of Missouri Campus by Stuart R. West

In honor of all things Halloween, I'm taking a break from regaling all of you with tales of my visit up and down the Amazon River this month. But not to worry! Like everyone's least favorite uncle at Thanksgiving, my tales will continue next month!

But now is the time for everything spooky, like some of my books. Recently, my wife and I went on a local "haunted" tour of the University of Missouri in Kansas City campus.

Wait...that light just turned on, right?

Fascinating history hosted by the very knowledgeable Chris Wolff, unofficial historian of UMKC and author of A Pearl of Great Value: The History of UMKC. 

I only yawned a few times. 

Onward!

All that's left of the University Playhouse. Except, of course, for ghosts!

One of the first stops was the grounds of the (now demolished) University Playhouse. In the 40's and 50's, Broadway actress Vaugn Burkholder worked at the theater, known for prowling the catwalk in an almost obsessive manner. In 1957, she keeled over in the playhouse from a heart attack. After she died, students claimed to have seen her in the rafters. Her high heels tic-tic-tacking across the boardwalk were heard by many. After the building was torn down, some believe her spectral figure still haunts the newer UMKC Conservatory, a replacement for the old playhouse. Hey, ghosts gotta hang out somewhere!

Next was a morbid tale that shed some surprising light on one of America's most notorious, unsolved murder cases. In 1941, UMKC education major, Leila Walsh, returned from a date and went to bed. Later that night, Leila's mother heard a strange thumping sound. She searched the house, found nothing awry. Leila's door was closed, and her brother, George, was sound asleep on the sofa. The mom went back to bed. The next morning, Mrs. Walsh went to wake up Leila and found her dead, savagely bashed with a hammer, her throat slit, and a strip of flesh ripped from her back. Not the best way to start your morning.

Leila's brother, George, was arrested for the murder because some guy claimed he sold the murderer's gloves (found in the yard) to him. The witness was later discovered to be a kook, reneged on his testimony, and said he'd had a vision of selling brother George the gloves. Holy O.J! George was exonerated, primarily on his mother's testimony that he was sleeping during the crime. Plus a chair had been lodged beneath Leila's doorknob.

The Kansas City police were embarrassed, the mob got involved, everything was sorta swept under the rug. Until the KCPD got a call from the L.A. Police Department. Back in 1947, the brutal murder of actress Elizabeth Short shocked the country. Better known as the infamous "Black Dahlia" murder, a name and phone number was found in the victim's purse. It belonged to a World War II veteran, Carl Basinger. Basinger claimed he'd only met Short for a few hours which later proved to be a lie. Furthermore, Basinger trained at Camp Cooke where Short volunteered until leaving due to harassment from a soldier.

I now know who killed her! (Probably a little late to collect that reward, though.)

More intensive investigation unveiled that Basinger went to UMKC at the same time as murdered student Leila Walsh. Hmmm... Also, the two murders were markedly similar, the signature of a strip of flesh torn from the back a giveaway. Alas, the lame Kansas City PD were still embarrassed by the entire unsolved debacle, didn't want to dredge it up again, and didn't cooperate with the LAPD. To this day, the two murders remain unsolved... OR DO THEY?

Let's move on to the haunted Epperson Mansion! Way back in the early 20th century, long before smart phones (and maybe even dumb phones, too), millionaire couple, Uriah and Elizabeth Epperson (along with organist, Harriet Barse--their living arrangement quite the scandal at the time), built and lived in this kooky mansion. The floor plan's apparently super bizarre, every five feet a new set of steps leading to other honeycombed rooms. 

Not as scary looking in the daytime!

Barse died in the mansion from gallbladder issues (the good ol' days!) and her spirit is said to haunt the mansion. The mansion's closed now, but not too long ago it'd been donated to the university where the music school resided. Students heard footsteps constantly, some saw Barse floating through the labyrinth hallways. Notoriously, an antique car nearly ran a cop down in the driveway and then vanished. And, of course, lights mysteriously go off and on.

Sadly, we weren't able to enter the haunted mansion. But as we stood on the cobblestone driveway, a light went on in the now abandoned mansion, then went off. I saw it. Some others (including our guide) remarked on it. My wife totally Scullied me, said it was a reflection from an outside light. (Whatever. The damn mansion's haunted and I saw it with my own eyes! I want to believe, Scully!)

Speaking of hauntings, have you guys visited the very strange and haunted town of Peculiar County in Kansas? Perfect for Halloween reading, it's just a day-trip away (best not to travel at night, though.).

One click away from paranormal mystery and fun, perfect for Halloween.

People Are Dirty by Katherine Pym

 Buy Here

Public Bathing (Unlikely 17th Century tho but a good pic)

I grew up in an engineering family and worked many years for Boeing. There, great flying machines are built that can stay in the air for literally hours and hours and can jet halfway around the world without refueling. This is well engineered stuff.

With that in mind, I’ve always considered the human body a high maintenance machine. It is fragile and can’t take much without breaking down. It must regenerate for literally half its shelf-life. It requires hours of upkeep, always needs wiping down or, over the years, completely submersed in water with gallons of soap. The fueling of the human body is a constant thing, with a prodigious amount of venting waste. This turns out to be an expensive, never ending maintenance slog.

Who would have thunk this a good design? Not me. I’d really like a conversation with the designer and tell him my thoughts on how the human body could be improved. But with that conversation unlikely, I’ll have to stew over the poor engineering.

Let’s take one of the above items for discussion. Bathing. Keeping clean. It’s a constant thing, but until fairly recently, not much was done about it. You see historical portraits of men and women who don’t smile. They are dressed in their finest ‘Let-us-go-to-church-outfits.’ They look clean, but in reality, were they?

I’d call myself a historian, mainly London during the 1660’s, but through research, I’ve ventured beyond and prior to those years. During my reading, I only once came across the process of bathing. Samuel Pepys wrote in his diary of his wife’s thoughts on the subject, who considered it might be a good thing.

Once born, no one was ever truly naked, again. When you see paintings of naked men and women, it is fantasy. Men and women were considered naked when they wore only a thin muslin dressing gown or shift. Men’s shirts were long and covered their sensitive parts. Drawers were coming into favor but mostly women did not wear any type of undies. Their sleeping, going about the day shift was a multi-tasked garment. 

Bathing Back in the Day

If one immersed in water, he or she wore the shift. No soap touched that part of the body. When one began a new day, he or she might splash water on their faces and again at night, but little else. Bowls of water were on the table for greasy hands. When they went to the bathroom, there was no toilet paper. People used their hands, clumps of moss, damp rags, etc. Household refuse and old water were cast out the window or door to molder in the street.

Soap was available but in potash liquid form. Common bar soap wasn’t invented until somewhere in the 19^th century. Clothes that resided against the skin, i.e., shirts, chemises, shifts, stockings, bed linens were washed and hung to dry on rails or on hedgerows. One text I read said women would dump up to a pound of soap in a caldron to wash clothes. Even after rinsing, surely the fabric would be stiff with soap residue.

Silks, brocades, or woolen clothing would be brushed and worn until they were stiff with dirt. If they were still usable, they’d be sold to a seconds clothing merchant or given to the rag boy.

Bathing in the Thames amongst boats and whatnots

There were waterworks on the north side of London Bridge that pumped water into a few of the wealthier houses (obnoxiously loud and bulky, especially during the tidal flows). There were two conduits for water (on great occasions they ran with wine), one small and the other much larger, along Cheapside Street where you could dip your buckets, but most of the time water-boys dragged water up the London hills to homes from the Thames River, a waterway fouled with human waste and rubbish, sometimes a dead body or other animals.

So, even if you tried to remain clean, it was pretty much an impossibility next to what we expect in today’s hygiene. It would be like smearing a wet dirty cloth over a smudged and sweaty arm.

Nits Anyone?

Men and women wore their hair long. During the 1660’s King Charles II (whose hair was thinning and started to go grey) emulated his rival, Louis XIV and began to wear periwigs. Everyone who was anyone followed suit. Since there was no shampoo, hair and periwigs rarely got washed, and if any sort of soap was used, it made hair sticky. Instead, hair and periwigs filled with nits that turned into lice. Body wrinkles, folds, filled with dirt and body lice. Sores developed and became infected. If they went septic, the person died.

People stank. They covered this stink not with soap and water but perfumes. They shook pomanders filled with perfumes and spices (expensive). They chewed mint for bad breath. They walked down streets riddled with piles of stinking rubbish. Contents from chamber pots would be cast into the streets crowded with pedestrians.

I say, if an extraterrestrial species drifted near in their spaceship, they would smell earth before ever seeing our planet. That’s probably why they only monitor our radio frequencies and don’t make actual contact.

And that is why I consider our bodies a poorly constructed machine where we should get our money back from the manufacturer.

The End.

~*~*~*~

Many thanks to Wikicommons, Public Domain

It's a Man's World...Unless You're a Praying Mantis by Stuart R. West

No science here! Click for humor and suspense!

And you guys think you have it bad!

Pity the plight of the poor praying mantis. Gather around for a little science lesson...

The other day my wife and I are sitting on the back deck. She's tending to a potted plant and says, "Hey! A walking stick!"

"Kill it," I scream, because everyone knows sticks shouldn't walk, a mutant aberration of science gone awry. And because everything I know about science I've learned from cartoons.

Upon further exploration, my wife says, "No...wait... It's a praying mantis."

Which is even worse. "Squish it! Get rid of it! For God's sake, destroy the beast!"

"No," says my wife, "praying mantises are good. She'll eat the bad bugs."

Hmm. "What in the world makes you think it's a female?" I ask.

She rolls her eyes, says, "There's a huge difference between male and female praying mantises."

I reached deep into the darkest pockets of my useless and dusty stored facts and plucked out something horrific. "Oh, yeah! It has a head, right? Because after the mantises procreate, the female eats the male's head."

"That's not the difference I'm talking about, but, yes, they do that."

"But why?" I knew the females feasted on heads, just couldn't figure out their motivation. "Are the females tired of a lifetime of male oppression? Are they into weird insectoid, extreme S&M and get carried away? Do they hate males?"

At this point, my wife's not a firm believer in the adage, There's no such thing as a stupid question. "They're just bugs doing...buggy things."

Ever the scientist, my wife gives it more thought. "I imagine the males' head is full of protein and good for the eggs. Mantises only mate once, then it's off with the males' head."

"So...you're saying that the male kinda just hangs out, has sex once, then at the peak of his short life, he gets his head eaten?"

"Pretty much."

"...No wonder they pray all the time." 

For more strange science (not really) and weird wonders of the world (or at least a spooky lil' Kansas town in the sixties), check out Peculiar County by clicking....wait for it...RIGHT HERE! 

A World of Weird Awaits Just One Click Away!

I am...the Great Indoorsman by Stuart R. West

CLICK HERE FOR SPOOKY OUTDOOR SHENANIGANS

Let's get something straight. I don't camp. The closest to camp I come is watching the old Batman TV series.

I'm a civilized chap, rather fond of climate control and beds. Beds were created for a reason. I believe it blasphemous not to use them. And cable TV, a must for survival.

Several years back, my wife talked me into a camping trip. We're talking really roughing it. Staying in a cabin in the wild woods of Oklahoma. The sheer Jeremiah Johnson-ish of it all! Sure, the cabin had a hot tub and a VCR player, but, man, I felt so...primitive. I mean, honestly! A VCR player, for cryin' out loud!

It was at this savage cabin I saw my first "walkingstick." Totally freaked me out. I screamed like my name had been called on "The Price Is Right." Sticks aren't supposed to walk. And people can't understand why I don't camp. Duh.

I suppose my Great Indoorsmanship began at an early age. Against my better judgment (and because kids are never given a choice), I was set to go on a cub scout weekend camping trip. Thankfully I came down with a stomach virus and missed the "adventure." On that ill-fated trip, my fellow scouts blundered into a wasp's nest and rolled through a thatch of poison ivy. If I even look at poison ivy, huge blisters develop on my eyelids.

Invariably when people try to convince me how wonderful camping is they fall short of selling it. Usually, their tales are rife with horror (Mosquitos! Flooding! All sorts of Biblical plagues!), hardly a convincing argument.

When you wake up freezing or sweating (both equally awful sensations), I hardly see that as a bonus. Campers are just opening themselves up to the Zika virus or a Bigfoot ravaging. Not to mention the various demented serial killers who lurk in the woods. I know, I've done my research. I've watched lots of horror movies. 

I gained my Indoorsman legs the hard, practiced way...on the sofa. Many hours spent on many a different sofa have toughened me into the sofa-sitting man I am today.

And I have the best job in the world, too. Writing. I never have to leave the sofa again. (Well, maybe to wheel the mini refrigerator and microwave in next to the couch, but you know what I mean.) 

Everybody Wants to Write a Book by Connie Vines

Topic for January: Everybody wants to write a book, but most do not.
Writing is hard work. What got you started, and what helps you get through a complete story?

How many times have you heard someone say, “Someday I’m going to write a book?”  Many a time, I’m certain.  However, most do not.

Why? Because writing is hard work.

What got me started?  Like most children, I loved reading, drawing, and listening to the oral family history spoken by my grandparents.  I also like to write stories (not particularly good stories) but for a second grader I did have a handle on the concept of plotting.  Thinking back, I unnerved adults with my pointed interview questions, and thoughts about the meaning of life and life-after-death vs death-after-death.  Picture:  Tuesday Addams wearing glasses and constantly grumbling about receiving yet, another stupid doll instead of a filling cabinet for her birthday.

When, exactly, did I start and complete my first novel?

While I wrote short-stories, nonfiction articles for publication during my twenties, I didn’t get serious about completing a novel until thirties. My children were in school and I worked part-time.  That gave me a block of free time to write (vs the scribbling on 3 x 5 index cards when I was cooking dinner or a note pad during a child’s 1 hour nap).  I was serving on my church board when the choir soloist told me her sister was a co-president of the Orange County Chapter of RWA (Romance Writers of America).  At the time, I hadn’t every thought of writing a romance.  I wrote for the YA and middle school market and dabbled in historical fiction, but Shirlee convinced me that the networking and workshops would be beneficial to me.  She was correct.

Attending monthly meetings/workshops, exchanging rough drafts with my critique members during lunch, and input from the multi-published members gave me the confidence to persevere.  It also made me crawl out of bed after my husband left for work (at 3:00 in the morning) and write before getting my children off to school.

I also discovered that I couldn’t give up my YA stories while I found my footing in a new market.

“So, what did Connie do?”  you ask.

I work two novels at once—which I still do to this very day.

Crazing making?  Yes!

Writing romance isn’t easy.  Strong, well-developed characters, good plot (and multiple sub plots), sharp dialogue, and emotion—lots of emotion.

Writing is addictive.  The story unfolds, the characters present themselves, and away the writer goes—into a new Universe.

What makes me complete my novel/story?

The best way for me to describe the feel is I am driven to finish the story.  Native Americans say the story chooses the Storyteller.  It is the Storyteller’s responsibly to bring the story to life.

Happy Reading!

My Rodeo Romances (Lynx and Brede) are on sale this month (click on my Amazon Author Page link).

Everyone needs a little Zombie  Valentine Romance, don’t they?

“Here Today, Zombie Tomorrow” is available on Amazon.com

Free on Kindle Unlimited!

Where am I?

www.novelsbyconnievines.com
https://www.facebook.com/AuthorConnieVines/

https://www.pinterest.com/novelsbyconniev/
http://mizging.blogspot.com/
https://twitter.com/connie_vines

https://www.youtube.com/user/novelsbyconnievines

Perfect Time, Perfect Place, Perfect Setting by Connie Vines

Grauman's Chinese Theater, Hollywood,CA
Corner of Hollywood Blvd & Orange Dr.

When I am writing a novel, character and plot for the “who” and “what” of a story are, in my opinion, are two of the most important factors.  However, setting, the “where” and “when”, comes a very close third.

A powerful setting is almost like a character in its own right. 

The setting is a ‘presence’ in the story.  The setting can become an ‘influence’ on events. 

Without an intimate knowledge and feeling for place, I do not believe a writer can bring the story alive in the reader’s imagination.

Setting is more than just streets, buildings and landscape.  Setting is local history, customs, nature, weather, and legends.  Setting is food, accents, music, fashion, and people going about daily business.

Everyone has a place that inspires him or her. Or, creates a sense of belonging, excitement, or a desire to escape.

My settings are as diverse as my interests are.  In my Rodeo Romance Series, my settings are the western United States.  My heroes hail from a rugged untamed area: Texas, New Mexico, and Wyoming.   Since I have traveled through and vacationed at my chosen settings, I use my firsthand experience and reactions to enrich my stories for my readers.

Montana is cold, very cold (I do not like being even a little bit cold).  One minute it’s storming, the next it’s sunny, and then the sun goes down and it’s freezing.  Since my heroine (Rachel) has lived most of her life in Montana, the cold is not a big deal for her.  When I begin my story, I scrawled a note to self: do not harp on the temperature, or have said heroine run around in circles shouting, “It’s a snow storm—the T-rex of all snow storms!  We are all going to die!”  (However, this may appear in one of my YA novels—be forewarned.)

Montana is Big Sky Country—a nickname Montana has totally earned.  In Montana, the elk, deer and antelope populations outnumber the humans. Cowboy boots and hats re formal wear.  Montana Pro Rodeo Circuits are some of the best in the country. Most importantly, the whole state is just one big small town.

An excerpt from “Lynx”, Rodeo Romance, Book 1.

Rachel melted against the back or her chair, as Lynx’s fingertip brushed a strand of hair from her face. Her body shivered all the way to her toes. Fidgeting with a silver bracelet on her wrist, Rachel didn’t know how to deal with this type of covert seduction. “You’ll have a good time during Cheyenne Frontier Days,” she said addressing her comment to both men.

“Everyone has a good time,” Lynx clarified.

Dan chuckled. “Everyone who’s able, anyway.”

Rachel reached for her glass, glancing at Dan. “I don’t understand.”

Dan pushed his Stetson further back on his head, revealing a bright crop of red hair.  “I landed in front of the angry end of a bull last year and broke my arm. Lynx had a hell of a good time, though.”

Excerpts from “Brede”, Rodeo Romance, Book 2.

Brede waited for her to seat herself before sitting down.

For some reason he’d thought she was kidding when she said she didn’t know how to cook.  It appeared she was telling the truth after all.  The green beans had an almost-scorched smell that even he’d never mastered. . .

The saucepan slipped from her fingertips and clattered to the floor.

She’d tried to tell herself that it was only the storm and the lights would come back on in a matter of minutes. Still, terror that was icy cold and merciless grabbed her by the throat and crushed what little courage she possessed when the cloudy, moonless night turned the room to inky black.

It was happening all over again!

She was alone.

Alone in the darkness. .

Not all of my stories aren’t set in the great-outdoors, or set thousands of miles away from my backyard.  I also use ‘local’ settings for inspiration.  My Sassy and Fun Fantasy Series is set here in SoCal (southern California and up the coastline).  Meredith is patron of the arts and a local celeb.  She lives in LA and vacations in a cabin in Forest Falls. 

 “Here Today, Zombie Tomorrow”.

El Mexicano was the best (and only) restaurant in town. . . Climbing the steps to the porch entrance, Meredith was glad to see little had changed from their last visit. Cozy and rustic, the outside was on the tacky side of eclectic, but the inside was familiar and welcoming.  The host seated them near the wood burning stove. . .Careful to keep her gaze locked on the contents of her mug, Meredith felt cluttered with a million bittersweet memories of happier times.

Look around in your own back yard (or within driving distance) for inspiration.  You may discover the model for your fictional town, a make-believe stellar world, or an unexpected setting for your historical romance.

Medieval Times, Buena Park, CA

Post pictures on your office wall.  Listen to music.  Explore with you senses.

Remember, only you—the writer, can bring the setting alive for your reader.

Universal Studio, Hollywood, Red Carpet,
"Fast & Furious, 5" Movie Premier

Laguna Beach, California
Where "Beaches" was filmed.

Me in 100 + degrees heat, Hard Rock Cafe,
Hollywood, CA







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