A VISIT WITH CANADIAN AUTHOR JOAN HALL HOVEY

A Visit with Canadian Author Joan Hall Hovey

Interviewed by Jean Henry Mead

Joan is featured in the book, The Mystery Writers, with Sue Grafton, Lawrence Block and other well-known and bestselling authors.  

In addition to Joan Hall Hovey's critically acclaimed novels, her articles and short stories have appeared in a number of diverse publications. She has also held workshops and given talks at various schools and libraries, and taught a course in creative writing at the University of New Brunswick as well as tutoring with Winghill, a distance education school in Ottawa for aspiring writers.


Joan, your work has been compared to Alfred Hitchcock and Stephen King. How would you describe your suspense novels?

I'm always flattered to be compared with authors I admire, but I like to think my own writing is unique to me. Of course being a voracious reader all my life, I'm sure my writing has been influenced by many fine authors. We all stand on the shoulders of those who have gone before us and paved the way. I'm a big Stephen King fan. Other authors I enjoy are Edgar Allan Poe, Peter Straub, Ruth Rendell and more than I can list here. It's not easy to describe one's own novels, but I will say that I always strive to give the reader a roller coaster ride and a satisfying conclusion. And characters that will resonate with my reader long after the books is closed.

I like to write about ordinary women who are at a difficult time in their lives, and are suddenly faced with an external evil force. I didn't think a whole lot about theme until I had written a couple of books, but I realized with the writing of Chill Waters that my books generally have to do with betrayal and abandonment, and learning to trust again. And more important, learning to trust oneself. Almost any good book will tell you something about the author herself. (or himself.) You can't avoid it.

All my books are generally rooted in childhood. I draw on my life for inspiration and an emotional connection. Then I'm off and running. The seeds for Night Corridor, for example, were planted in my childhood. On Sundays, I went with my grandmother to visit an aunt in the mental institution, once called The Lunatic Asylum. She'd spent much of her life within those walls. They said she was 'melancholy'. Though the sprawling, prison-like building has long since been torn down, the sights, sounds and smells of the place infiltrated the senses of the 12 year old girl I was, and never left. Night Corridor is not about my Aunt Alice, but it was indeed inspired by her.

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_1?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=joan+hall+hovey

My latest novel The Abduction of Mary Rose was inspired by a true story as well. After her adopted mother dies of cancer, Naomi Waters learns from a malicious aunt that she is a child of a brutal rape. Her birth mother, a teenager of MicMac ancestry, lay in a coma for eight months before giving birth to Naomi, and died five days later. Feeling angry and betrayed, but with new purpose in her life, Naomi vows to track down the man responsible and bring him to justice.

Are your novels set in your home territory of New Brunswick, Canada? And what inspired them?

My novels are set in fictional towns that could be anywhere in New Brunswick or Maine, since the flora and fauna are similar. Although I did set part of Nowhere To Hide (Eppie Award) in New York. I researched the city but I also spent time there. But New Brunswick, which lies on the Bay of Fundy, Canada, is part of my DNA. And the town where I live, whose streets and hills and shops are bred in my bones, is probably in essence where all my novels are set, whatever fictional name I give them.

What have you stressed in your creative writing classes at the University of New Brunswick?

I stress to students (and myself because we teach to learn) to relax and let the story come to them. Not that you don't have to think; you do of course. But sometimes we think too hard. Imagine, I tell them. Imagine.

Please explain the distance education school in Ottawa for aspiring writers.

I have been a tutor with Winghill School for writing for over 20 years. Most of the correspondence is conducted over the Internet, though a few students prefer to correspond by mail. It's a great school. I enjoy my work and get almost as excited when my students publish as when I do myself. I'm sure I learn as much from them as they do from me.

How has your writing evolved since your first books, Nowhere to Hide and Listen to the Shadows.

Language is important to me, and I hope my work is always improving in some way. Maybe the dialogue is crisper, the transitions smoother, the characterizations deeper, but always evolving. And that comes simply from being an avid reader of the best there is, both in my own and other genres. And writing and writing and writing. Since I both love to read and write, it's not a chore. Too, I like to think I've grown as a human being over the years. I've become more insightful, more compassionate. And that reflects in your writing.

What, in your opinion constitutes a good suspense novel? And what’s more important, character or plot?

With any novel, regardless of genre, characterization is the most important element. Without a character readers can care about and identify with at some level, the most ingenious plot won’t matter. That doesn’t mean your character is without flaws, quite the contrary. Consider the late Patricia Highsmith’s Tom Ripley. He is a ruthless killer, but we are fascinated by his complexities and we're happy to follow him throughout the books.

In the end, I don’t think you can separate character and plot. They are interwoven. With suspense, I am always aware of the thread in my story and I hold it taut, letting it out a little at a time, but never letting the thread go slack. It should grow tighter and tighter until it fairly sings. This is what constitutes a page-turner. It’s a promise I make to my readers and one I take very seriously. Reviews tell me I’ve succeeded for the most part, and that makes me happy.

How has the ebook revolution affected your own work and are the electronic versions outselling your print editions?

Absolutely. It’s totally different now. My first two novels were published by Zebra/Kensington Books, New York, and sold thousands of books. They didn’t take the third one and I was suddenly without a publisher. I didn’t feel up to doing the rounds of agents and publishers again, so I went with a small Canadian publisher, BWLPP Publishing, mainly an ebook publisher who published authors with a track record, but also bring the books out in print.

With ebooks you promote in a totally different way, mainly on the Internet. Although I still do book signings in my local bookstores, I can see that my focus is different now. I’m quite sure I’ll not see those big numbers again, and I really don’t mind. That doesn’t mean I’m not always looking for new ways to promote the books, and without annoying people. Pretty much like most ebook authors. Once, my books could be found in bookstores across Canada and the U.S. That's no longer true.

Now they're available worldwide on the Internet. Sounds great, but that means that you're vying for readers with literally thousands more writers showing up every day, many of whom are self-publishing. Some of those books should never have seen the light of day. But I've also found some excellent new authors among them. We have stars like J.A. Konrath, James Scott Bell, Timothy Hallinan, L.J. Sellers and others who are making a very good living selling their ebooks. So in the midst of this gargantuan storefront window, you have to somehow find a way to make your books stand out. 'Ay, there's the rub'. But the possibilities are endless.

Describe your writing schedule.

I write in mornings when I’m freshest and the day has not yet had a chance to intrude on the muses. I work on other things in the afternoon – tutoring, promoting and whatever else needs doing.

Advice for aspiring suspense novelists.

Try to write true, whatever you write. Find that truth inside the fiction. Write out of yourself. That’s important.

Thank you, Joan.

My pleasure.

You can visit Joan at her website: http://www.joanhallhovey.com/
She's also on Facebook, Twitter, My Space and Booktown.

"Rockin' Robin" & the Derecho

Derecho! It’s a terrific new scary weather word, just entering our vocabulary, thanks to Climate Change and our meteorologists. It’s a straight line thunderstorm, the kind they speak of as showing a radar “bow echo.” The eastern seaboard recently experienced a knock-out punch from a big one. We here in south central PA took a sideswipe from the big storm, the same one which disappeared the electricity from millions of people, in a swath which ran from the Alleghenies onto the coastal plain of Virginia.

I woke in the night to hear it coming. At first, I thought it was just Norfolk Southern, whose trains power up and down our valley all night, but I grew up in western Ohio, near Xenia, in fact, which blew away in the great tornado outbreak of 1974, so that kind of noise makes me anxious. When I got up, wind was roaring through the open windows, and the night sky looked thick, like a rushing wall of dirty water. Lightning came blasting in, then pouring rain—time to stop staring and run to see if Bob was at the door, looking for sanctuary. Next, run to close windows. Then it was time to get the heck away from those windows, because, along with the lightning and roaring wind, limbs were crashing down, things were striking the siding and there was a series of huge cracks and house-shaking thuds. Someone’s trees—maybe mine—were going over.  

Now, I’ll walk back a step. All summer we’ve been serenaded from the neighbor’s fine tall Norwegian maple by a catbird. IMHO the catbird is the true subject of the old song—sure, you know the one. “He rocks in the tree tops all the day long, huffin’ and puffin’ and a singin’ his song…” All members of the mockingbird family are genius jazz musicians, riffing on their own—and everybody else’s songs. I’ve even heard them do crows, as a sort of end of set caw-da-boom. They take the “catbird seat” to best show off their talents, which is the highest tree or pole or, in days of yore, TV antenna on the tallest house they can find. 

Our storm came hard and fast and left the same way. At 5:30 a.m., the light was just coming up and the sky was clearing. The neighbors, I could tell, were out walking around.  When I came out to join them, I was shocked by the damage. Three large, beautiful maples on the street were ripped apart, looking as if a big hand had come down and yanked the limbs off. Only shattered trunks remained. Enormous branches, leaves, dead wood, siding and kid toys were everywhere. Across the street from me, where the shapely old Norwegian maple had been, was only the shattered stub of trunk. All the branches now lay on the roof of their house.

On the broken tip of the tree sat the cat bird, as he’d done since spring. He kept moving around on the raw wood, gazing at the leafy paradise in which he’d once lived, now on the ground below. He tried to sing once or twice, just a few grace notes, but his heart wasn’t in it. The green shade world in which he’d lived, loved and rejoiced was gone forever.

http://www.julietwaldron.com

Time to Love Again

Fifty-eight year old, Rose Asbury knows people think she’s a recluse, but she doesn’t care. She just wants to be left alone. She doesn’t need anyone and no one needs her and that’s just fine. At least she didn’t until this year. For some reason this year is different. Suddenly, she’s melancholy and discontent with her life. 

And the man next door doesn’t help matters. He insists on speaking to her. So her stomach tumbles every time she sees him, that doesn’t mean anything. Hunger pangs, nerves, she just wishes he’d leave her alone. Or does she? To top it all off, his granddaughter and her friends insist on playing in her yard, sledding, building snowmen and throwing snowballs at her house.

Then her sister's ghost shows up. Will Rose come out of her seclusion?

Rose Asbury is my sister – sorry, was my sister.  After I passed away she became a recluse. Not that she doesn’t have reason to, mind you. We lost our parents within months of each other and Rose and I clung to each for support during our grief. Of course our husbands helped, but Rose and I understood each other.

We were finally adjusting when Rose’s husband passed away suddenly. Poor Rose fell apart, not that I blame her. I would have reacted the same way if it had been my husband.  I was just getting Rose to come out of her shell when bam, I was gone.

That did Rose in. She went to pieces and to make matters worse, her kids moved three thousand miles away. She ignored all of her friends, except for Louise. That’s only because Louise wasn’t about to let Rose ignore her. But everyone else gave up. After all, you can only call people so long and have them ignore you, not return your calls and won’t talk to you before you give up. So that’s what everyone did. Louise wouldn’t give up. She marched right over to Rose’s house and read her the riot act until Rose gave in and at least went to the store.

At least now Rose visits Louise and came to grips with life. Not that she has much of a life. Stephen Daniels the guy next aimed to change that – or so it seemed. Good looking guy, too. Anyway, he moved in to take care of his granddaughter while her parents did their tour of duty in the Mideast. He kind of took a shine to Rose. Not that Rose would give the poor guy the time of day. Most she did was nod at him. Amazing she did that.

Well, that’s all she did until that day. I can’t help but giggle thinking about it. She fell on the ice and splat, groceries went flying everywhere. Okay, I admit it, I kind of tripped her. I had to do something. The woman was the most stubborn person I’d ever seen. Always was.

 Stephen came to her aid – or tried to. Rose, true to form, tried to ignore him. That’s when I’d had enough. Nothing else was working so I had to take drastic action.  I showed up to talk some sense into Rose. Of course, she tried to ignore me, too, but I wasn’t about to let that happen.  I was more stubborn than Rose. Always was.  Nope, it was time Rose started to live again. She was much too young to waste her life away.

Now it seems Stephen’s granddaughter, Sarah, saw the whole thing and had other ideas, too. She didn’t care for the way the old lady ignored her grandpa. Yeah, all kids think anyone over 40 is old. What can I say, we thought the same things.

But I digress. Sarah devised a plan to get Rose to talk to her grandpa. She talked her friends into building a snowman in Rose’s front yard. You’d think that wasn’t a big deal right? I mean what harm could a snowman do?

Of course, Rose, being the neighborhood grouch –at least that’s what the kids pegged her as – had a fit.

After that things got real interesting. If you’d like to find out more about Rose, you’ll have to buy the book available from Amazon at http://amzn.to/timetoloveagain

To learn more about my books check out my website at www.roseannedowell.com.

Excerpt:


Doesn't that man ever stay in the house? Rose slammed her car door and tried to ignore
the man next door. Just once, she wished he'd let her get away without trying to talk to her. But
why should this time be any different? Lowering, her head, she hurried toward her house. Right
now she wasn't in the mood for conversation. At least not with him.
"Hello, Rose, uh... Mrs. Asbury." He dropped his snow shovel, grabbed something from
the garage, and hurried toward her.
His relaxed, tall, lean body in a denim jacket and jeans caused a stir of excitement in her.
Even his graying temples aroused something in her that she found way too familiar. Stirred up
feelings she didn't want stirred up. She barely glanced at him, yet felt a tug on her heart.
Damn! Rose threw the scarf around her neck and pulled her coat close against the cold
wind. Why didn't he just leave her alone? You'd think by now he'd realize she didn't care to talk
to him. Her stomach fluttered, a feeling she hadn't experienced in a long time. Hunger pangs, she
dismissed it. Nerves, that's all. She nodded a hello, like always, and hurried to her house. What
was it with him? Why did he keep bothering her? Couldn't he see she wasn't the least bit
interested?
Suddenly, her feet slid out from under her. Splat! She landed on her butt, fell back, and
hit her head. Groceries flew everywhere. Oh, crap, just what she needed. She looked up to see
the man leaning over her.
"Are you all right?"
Heat rushed to her face. Other than humiliated, she was fine. A bit sore, but she didn't
think she had any broken bones. She tried to sit up.
"Wait!" He pushed her back down. "You may have broken something." He ran his hands
gently across her ankles and legs and up toward her thigh.
A smoldering heat started deep in her stomach. She held her breath, let it out slowly.
Even through her slacks, the heat from his hand sent tingly sensations down to her toes.
That's it, enough. She pushed his hands away, sat up and managed to get to her knees.
The man tried to help her. Ignoring him, she got to her feet and brushed herself off. Heat radiated
from her face. Damn, it probably turned as red as her coat.
She bent down and picked up her groceries. She still hadn't spoken to him. Why didn't he
leave? She could manage just fine without his help. He picked up some of her canned goods and
put them in the bag. She reached for it.
"Here, this is for you."
"For what?" She looked at the flower in his hand.
"It's a yellow rose. It means friendship."
She could see it was a yellow rose, she wasn't a nitwit. And she knew what it meant.
Frank used to bring her roses every week. She took it from him. "I...uh..." Hell, she didn't know
what to say. Why would he give her a flower?
"I saw it and thought of you." Stephen ran his fingers around his shirt collar.
"Here, let me help." He took the bag of groceries and started walking toward her door.
She grabbed the bag from him and ran into her house, too humiliated to speak and
leaving him to stare after her.
* * *
Stephen stared after Rose. Damn woman made him feel like he did something wrong.
Worse than a kid getting scolded by the principal. Why he bought that damn rose was beyond
him. It seemed like a good idea when he saw them in the grocery store. Especially when he saw
their meanings. Now he wished he hadn't.
Crabby, old woman, she could have at least said thank you. Okay, so it's cold and she
fell, but she did the same thing in the summer. How many times had he seen her working in her
yard? Yet when he came out, she jumped up and hurried into the house. You'd think he tried to
attack her or had some horrible disease.
All he wanted was some friendly conversation. He shook his head. Don't know about her.
Obviously she didn't want anything to do with him. Too bad, she's an attractive woman. Not that
he was looking for anything more than friendship. Hell, he lived here over a year and she never
did more than nod at him. Bet she didn't even know his name.
Crotchety, old biddy.
So why did he bother with her? He really didn't need more friends. He had the Senior
Center and the neighbors a couple doors down, Len and Millie Fisher. Why he insisted on talking
to Rose Asbury he'd never know.
Still, he hoped she wasn't hurt. She had taken a nasty fall. Bet she'd feel it in the morning.
Bet she'd have a good black and blue mark too. He chuckled. Served her right, rude old coot.
Something about her, though. Not sure why, but he wanted to break through that tough
reserve. He shrugged and walked back to the garage, put the shovel away and went into the
house.
Oh, well, can't say he didn't try.

SIZZLING SUMMER SPECTACULAR

SIZZLING SUMMER SPECTACULAR  Stock your shelves with spectacular summer reading.  Win one of five $20.00 Amazon gift certificates.  Gift certificates will be drawn monthly.  Two on July 5, Two on August 5, and One on September 5. * * *  PLUS EVERY WEEK ALL SUMMER LONG FROM JULY TO SEPTEMBER WE WILL BE DRAWING ONE NAME TO RECEIVE THEIR CHOICE OF ANY BOOKS WE LOVE BOOK. WEEKLY WINNERS WILL BE ANNOUNCED ON OUR BLOGS, GIFT CERTIFICATE AND BASKET WINNERS WILL BE ANNOUNCED IN NEWSLETTERS.

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SEDUCING SIGEFROI is out - by Vijaya Schartz

Yes, this is the definite cover, and I'm very happy with it. The heroine looks like a dark water creature and wields a sword. He looks fierce, not as red-headed as the real Sigefroi, but so yummy, who cares?

SEDUCING SIGEFROI IS OUT IN KINDLE!

http://amzn.com/B008LW18EG

Luxembourg - 963 AD - To offset the curse that makes her a serpent from the waist down one day each month, Melusine, exiled Princess of Strathclyde, must seduce and wed a mortal knight, the shrewd and ambitious Sigefroi of Ardennes.

Sigefroi, son of the Duke of Lorraine, suspects Melusine is not what she appears, but her beauty, her rich dowry, and her sharp political skills serve his ambitions. He never expected her to soften his stone-cold warrior heart.

So close to the Imperial court, dangers and intrigue threaten Melusine. War looms on the horizon, a Mermaid was sighted around Luxembourg, and Sigefroi’s bishop brother questions her ancestry. If anyone ever suspects Melusine’s true nature, she will burn at the stake...

FIND ALL THE BOOKS IN THE SERIES SO FAR:

Book One - PRINCESS OF BRETAGNE: http://amzn.com/B007K1EGAM

Book Two - PAGAN QUEEN: http://amzn.com/B007Z8F7IA

Book Three - SEDUCING SIGEFROI: http://amzn.com/B008LW18EG

LADY OF LUXEMBOURG (Book 4): is scheduled for release later this year.

Grab it, like it, give it some love with "likes" and tags.

Hope you enjoy the read.

Vijaya Schartz

Blasters, Swords, Romance with a Kick

http://www.vijayaschartz.com

Ten Handy "Recycled" Tips

Hi, Ginger here, and I liked this post so much on my own blog, I decided to share it here.  Hey...tis the season of TV reruns...why not blogs?  :)

For someone who has been seriously writing for the past dozen years, I've absorbed a thing or two..  The very first thing I learned is the vast difference between telling a story and being a novelist.  You must engage the reader and make them want to become part of your story, and here are a few things you can do to insure that:

1.  Hook the reader from the beginning.   It's a proven fact that if people are bored with the opening of your story, chances are they aren't going to even finish the first chapter.  Your story must be engaging...yang the reader in and hold them fast with a desire to find out more.  Make them want to put on the character's shoes and walk in them.  Don't make them guess whose POV they're reading from, make it clear, and if you change to another, make that even clearer.

2.  In order to accomplish number one, there are few more fundanmentals you need to apply.  Don't TELL the story, SHOW the reader what's going on.  The difference:  If you've amply displayed emotions, the reader is going to feel them.  Don't just TELL the reader  the heroine is crying, SHOW them the pain shooting through her heart, the emptiness in the pit of her stomach...give them someone with which they can identify.  Make them remember what it felt like to lose their first love...in other words, let them experience the pain.

3. Avoid redundancy.  The reader doesn't need to be told on every page what color the characters eyes are or that the courch is on the far wall.  As an author, I know it's easy to duplicate information you've already shared, so reading your story aloud helps you discover places where you've echoed words or information.

4.  Speaking of words echoes...this is one of my pet peeves.  I detest reading the same word over and over in the same paragraph.  I realize there are instances where the word is duplicated for a definite purpose, but most of the time all word echoes do is indicate to the reader that you're a lazy writer who doesn't want to take the time to find another word with the same meaning. 

5.  My newest "learn" is to avoid unnecessary verbiage.  For example, if you are firmly in someone's POV, it is not necessary to tell the reader who is doing the feeling, hearing, seeing, etc.  As in using word echoes for emphasis, sometimes, you will need to stress the obvious, but in most cases, using "he heard, he felt, he saw, he watched" can be eliminated. See the difference:
She watched him unfasten his belt and saw him drop his pants to the floor.
He unfastened his belt and dropped his pants to the floor.
If you are in her POV, then we already know who is watching and seeing, so why expose the obvious?

6.  Watch your apostrophe's.  It's and its aren't exactly used the same way as other possessive words.  Your and you're also take on entirely different meanings.  Their and they're are another great example of two meanings, and then if you add in "there" then you have a triple threat.  These mistakes are hard to catch even if you proofread till the cows come home.  As an author, our mind reads what we think should be there, so another important tool in writing a great novel is having an aswesome critique group or beta readers.

7.  Using "that" in sentences where you don't need it, is common place. This simple mistake was the main reason "that" a very good story was rejected.  If you read the sentence again, you'll notice "that" "that" is not even required.  The rule of thumb...re-read the sentence without "that" and if it makes perfect sense, then delete "that."

8.  Avoid "ly" words when possible.  Sometimes they are a necessity for emphasis, but usually, if you try, you can find a stronger verb to use.  Example:  She stepped loudly across the floor, can be She stomped across the floor.  Or how about, he spoke softly can be he whispered.  Get the idea?

9.  Spell checker won't help in instances where you've used a correctly spelled word.  Like the apostrophe dilemma above, hear/here, there/their, to/too, then/than, and a thousand other examples.  The English language is one of the most difficult to learn, and even if you know it, it's still a challenge.

10. Don't go crazy with punctuation.  I've discovered that house rules are what dictate commas, semi colons, and exclamation points.  I was surprised upon re-releasing oneof my novels to find the editor for the current house put back in every comma the previous house had removed.  Even though I was advised semi-colons are not appropriate for fiction, you'll find them in my current version.  House rules rule, and that's not being redundant.  :)

Just for your information...some of us dislike internal thoughts, especially in third person, unless they are done extremely well.  For me, because of the sudden tense change, they pull me right out of the story and make me wonder why the author didn't just paraphrase.  See what you think:

Jasmine craned her head to the side, allowing Damon's lips to trail his lips along her throat.  Boy, does that feel good.  I hope his kisses are this good.

Jasmine craned her head to the side, allowing Damon's mouth to trail along her throat.  Her body tingled in anticipation, warmness gathering in her very core. Would she be as impressed once their lips met?

Oh, and one last tip...Avoid unnecessary tags.  If there are only two people in the room, the reader can usually figure out who is speaking.  Mary said, John said, Mary said, John whined, become boring after a while.  If you feel you must use a tag, use one showing action.  Have the character do something to identify them before or after the dialogue.  Mary crossed to the sofa...John lit his cigar...Mary moved to the window, admiring the bounty of color in the garden.  Instead of boring tags, you can add visual scenes that enhance the story.

Okay...I could probably list ten more, but I'll save those for another day.  Happy writing.

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Working on the cover of SEDUCING SIGEFROI

After PRINCESS OF BRETAGNE and PAGAN QUEEN, comes the third book in the Curse of the Lost Isle series, SEDUCING SIGEFROI.

You wouldn't believe all the work Michelle  and Judith went through, researching the perfect characters for the cover. In this case, Sigefroi of Luxembourg, the hero, is a real character, the founder of a dynasty that became very influential later in history. As such, there are representations of Sigefroi on stained glass windows, and written descriptions of him in history books.

Sigefroi had red hair and light hazel eyes, which was a common thing for a germanic knight of the period. Finding a red-haired cover model to fit the bill, however is an impossible task.

I've given my opinion on several pictures and sent pictures I found that might work, in order to help, but I realize how difficult it is.

As for the heroine, Melusine the Fae, she is even more difficult to pinpoint. She is an ondine. She is a woman most of the time, but one day each month she becomes a mermaid, a serpent from the waist down. She sometimes dresses in chainmail, rides a white horse, and wields a magic sword. Here is the best representation I could find of her transformation at sunset.

 Oh, and here is a picture of the Bock of Luxembourg, a castle (now in ruins) at the top of a cliff. Can you see the Roman bridge at the very bottom? That's where Sigefroi and Melusine meet for the first time.

I can't wait to see what the very talented Michelle Lee who designs the book covers for Books We Love will come up with. But judging by what she did with the previous covers, I know it will be great.

Vijaya Schartz

Swords, Blasters, Romance with a Kick

http://www.vijayaschartz.com/

Find her books on Amazon HERE



Of course, little is known of this first Sigefroi of 963 AD, since the written records of the period are few. Still, there is a generalogy, and a few land deeds, and then there is the legend.

Sizzling Summer Spectacular Weekly eBook Winner

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How Amateur Astronomy Connects to My Writing

Several years ago when I struck up an interest in amateur astronomy, my passion for that soon became mirrored in some of my books.  In the beginning, I took a basic “backyard astronomy” class at a local community college and used my dad’s old binoculars, which weren’t too bad, in terms of their clarity.  (I even identified a few of the closer galaxies in them—a thrill for a beginner!)  Soon my basic education wasn’t enough to satisfy me, and I joined the Rose City Astronomers here in Portland, Oregon.  I purchased“giant” binoculars, specifically intended for stargazing—the kind sold in catalogs for telescopes.  And I chose the binoculars instead of a telescope because I loved the flexibility in being able to sweep the skies, as opposed to staying “stuck” in one part of it.  (The binoculars were very heavy, and eventually I purchased a tripod-type mount for them.) 

I also bought astronomy manuals, star charts, and the red-lighted flashlights for reading the charts.  (White light interferes with one’s night vision.)  After about a year, I earned the Messier Binocular Deep Sky award for having identified 100 deep sky objects.  What a challenge and what a thrill!  For several years, every summer, my husband and I attended their annual Star Party in the high desert of Central Oregon, many miles away from the closest town.  The night skies there, the darkest I’d ever seen, were spectacular, especially the Milky Way with its myriad of glittering star clusters in all sorts of fascinating shapes and forms.  The event, attended by several hundred other astronomy enthusiasts, also gave me the opportunity to schmooze with others who shared my passion. 

Well, I could go on and on, but the point is:  I wanted to share my love for astronomy in my books as well, hopefully give my readers a taste of its glories.  And so in Her Sister’s Keeper, my most recent book with Books We Love, I’ve created a romantic scene that portrays a summer meteor shower.  Herein my heroine Logan R.N. and the sexy pediatrician, Dr. Zack whom she works with, are camped out together on a mountain hillside while they watch this breathtaking show of celestial fireworks.  There, far away from city lights—plus the other campers--they ooh and aah at the trails of light streaking through the dark skies.  They also share kisses every bit as breathtaking.

After Her Sister’s Keeper, I published additional books with astronomy scenes, plus a handful of articles with astronomy-related themes in national magazines.  And I will continue to portray the splendor of the night skies in my writing—a celestial treasure trove, really—whenever the project seems right for that. 

So, if you’re planning on a writing venture in the near future, take stock of your passions and “write what you know”—even better, write what you love.  Your readers will be glad you did—and so will you!

Her Sister’s Keeper:  http://www.amazon.com/Her-Sisters-Keeper-ebook/dp/B007ULHBXQ/ref=la_B001JRZ0DU_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1340391749&sr=1-1

  

Logan Corbett, registered nurse, suddenly becomes the guardian of her 10-year-old sister, Kim. A former prizewinning gymnast, the girl was seriously injured in the same plane accident that killed their parents. Logan admits she's overly protective of Kim, but only wants what she thinks is best for her. Dr. Zachary Dellinger, a pediatrician at the hospital where Logan works, suggests that Kim should attend a summer camp for children with special needs. Logan agrees, but on one condition--that she will volunteer to be the camp nurse so she can keep a close eye on Kim. Under starlit skies and breezy summer days, Logan struggles with her growing attraction to the handsome pediatrician--all the while, battling the urge to hold on too tightly to Kim. Will Logan ever be able to let go enough to allow love into both their lives?

"Her Sister's Keeper is a wonderful story of sisterly love and devotion. Delightfully written characters are a key part of this believable and enticing tale...a highly recommended read for contemporary romance readers..."
-Penny, Fallen Angel Reviews

A wonderful tale of the ability not only of the adult, but definitely for the children to survive life's foibles. You will gain a better understand of overcoming adversities whether you are young or old.
--Rendezvous Magazine

Logan Corbett, registered nurse, suddenly becomes the guardian of her 10-year-old sister, Kim. A former prizewinning gymnast, the girl was seriously injured in the same plane accident that killed their parents. Logan admits she's overly protective of Kim, but only wants what she thinks is best for her. Dr. Zachary Dellinger, a pediatrician at the hospital where Logan works, suggests that Kim should attend a summer camp for children with special needs. Logan agrees, but on one condition--that she will volunteer to be the camp nurse so she can keep a close eye on Kim. Under starlit skies and breezy summer days, Logan struggles with her growing attraction to the handsome pediatrician--all the while, battling the urge to hold on too tightly to Kim. Will Logan ever be able to let go enough to allow love into both their lives?

"Her Sister's Keeper is a wonderful story of sisterly love and devotion. Delightfully written characters are a key part of this believable and enticing tale...a highly recommended read for contemporary romance readers..."
-Penny, Fallen Angel Reviews

A wonderful tale of the ability not only of the adult, but definitely for the children to survive life's foibles. You will gain a better understand of overcoming adversities whether you are young or old.
--Rendezvous Magazine

Joan Hall Hovey - Art Lessons Granny Taught Me

Art Lessons Granny Taught Me

By Joan Hall Hovey

This essay, in large part was my first published story.  It was published more than 30 years ago in Home Life Magazine.  This updated version was published in Mystery Readers Journal.  I hope you enjoy it. 

The illustration is by Padgett.

***

                She was 71 and lived alone in the cluttered attic of an old, two-story frame building with her easel, her paints, her brushes and sometimes, me. Her name was Lillian May (Watts) Hall.
               

 When neighbors spoke of my grandmother, they said, “A nice woman.” Then frowning and in whispers, the added, “but kinda funny.”  And in the early fifties, to the people who lived in our small, unsophisticated town, there was indeed something ‘kinda funny’ about an old lady who sat alone in her attic room and painted pictures.  At first glance, she was not unlike a million other grandmothers of her time - the same iron-gray hair drawn back in a bun, wire-rimmed glasses, a dark, high-buttoned dress with long sleeves and detachable lace collar, and a cameo brooch clasped modestly at her throat -  but there the similarity ended.  Granny, a tall, angular-boned parcel of nervous energy, was not the average storybook grandmother.

                Every day Granny would lose a prized possession.  It might be a valued brush, a particular tube of paint or a piece of canvas.  And while I stood on the sidelines, she would tear through her private disaster area, sending papers, books, talcum-coated hairpins, an unmated stocking, and her pink garters helter-skelter – all the while looking remarkably like an enraged bird.

                Almost always she would find what she was looking for, but occasionally I would be the one to spy the object of her frenzied search.  “Here it is, Granny,” I’d say, proud of my Sherlock Holmes tendencies.  She would smile sheepishly, relief flooding her face. 

                “Now, wasn’t that foolish of me to get so upset,” she would apologize.  “I’m just a silly old woman, dear.  Don’t pay me any mind.”  Then, calm and serene once more, she would begin the gentle strokes of her brush on the canvas.

                I often stood at the small, rickety table beside her, a piece of Bristol board and a brush in front of me.  I was even permitted to use the valued paints (which she could barely afford for her own work) so that I could play artist.

                After hours of painstaking work, Granny would set her brush to rest, stand back with a critical eye, and appraise the completed painting.  When it had dried sufficiently, and she was satisfied that it was of some worth, she would don her coat and hat and with the painting under one arm, off the two of us would go, door to door, in an effort to sell it.

                She walked with a brisk, sure step, and many times I found myself breaking into a run to keep up with her.  But we never had to walk far before making a sale.  Although neighbors found her way of life strange, they liked and bought what she painted.  It was hard times, and the return for her efforts was meager, yet sufficient to pay the rent on the attic, buy a few groceries at the corner store, and keep the coal bucket filled during the long winter months.

                I had a friend whose grandmother spun for her many fascinating tales of her girlhood.  But even there, Granny fell short.  In fact our roles were quite reversed.  It was I who spun the tales for her.  One story still causes me to cringe when I remember it.  It was during summer vacation and I had just returned from a day at the beach. 

                “Granny! Granny!” I shouted excitedly as I flung open the door.  “A man fell off the diving board at the lake today and I jumped into save him.  He almost pulled me under with him, but I punched him on  the jaw and knocked him out, and then I swam back to shore with him under one arm.  Everybody on the beach cheered,” I finished breathlessly.

                “Oh, my dear child,” Granny said with concern.  “You certainly did have a busy day, didn’t you?”  Then abruptly the concerned expression changed to amusement and she broke into a gale of laughter.  Rocking back and forth in her wicker chair, she laughed and laughed, absolutely delighted, but not for a moment fooled.  Every few seconds she would remove her glasses and wipe the tears from her eyes. By this time I was writhing inwardly and trying in vain to twist my story into something more plausible, but it was no use.  I was caught in the web of my lie. (Lesson 1. If you want your reader to suspend disbelief, you must make sense.)  I suspected she knew even then that I had the makings of a storyteller.  And I’m absolutely certain she knows now.

                Granny has not been with me for a good many years, and indeed I am a grandma now myself.  In fact, a great-grandma.  The year I turned fifteen, I was working as a housemaid when the telephone call came telling me that Granny had been rushed to the hospital in an ambulance.

                The hallway was in flames, making escape impossible.  Granny had climbed out of the dormer window and crouched on the ledge below it.  A passerby heard her cries for help and called up to her to stay there until he returned with a ladder.  Then the man fled to put in a call to the fire department.  Whether the heat from the flames became unbearable or whether Granny simply panicked, I’ll never know.  But she didn’t wait for the man to return with the ladder.  Instead, she jumped from the ledge  and fell in a crumpled heap to the ground below.  Her back was broken.  In two months she was gone.  I stumbled around, lost, for a long time.  I felt betrayed by God.  And then I grew up.  After a fashion.  But the child in us never goes far.

~*~

                In my third suspense novel (I have written five, the last The Abduction of Mary Rose) Chill Waters, my heroine deals with loss and betrayal on several levels.  Following the breakup of her marriage, after learning of her husband’s infidelity, Rachael Warren retreats to the old beach house in Jenny’s Cove, where as a young girl she lived with her grandmother.  It is the one place where she had always felt safe and loved.  But she is about to learn that ‘a safe place’ is mostly an illusion.  And that evil can find us no matter where we go.

                Jenny’s Cove is located in St. Clair, a fictional St. Andrews, a small town in New Brunswick, Canada.  St. Andrews lies on the Passamoquoddy Bay, and is close to the American border.  A place of charm and beauty, St. Andrews/St. Clair is a magnet for tourists and artists alike.  The beach house in Jenny’s Cove, however, is isolated.  Waves crashing against the rocks, and the sudden summer storms that visit Jenny’s Cove add to that sense of isolation. As a child, Rachael had found the violence of the storms and the sound of the sea comforting.  As a woman stalked and terrorized, that will change.

                I like the blending of light and dark in a novel.  Using shadowing to enhance dramatic effect, as in a painting.
 

               I also enjoy writing about women who struggle against great odds and triumph, as did my grandmother.  But, as in life, it’s never easy.  In books, it must be even harder, damn near impossible.  And in the suspense novel, there are always unseen dangers.

                My own life provides fodder for my imagination.  But it is my grandmother who taught me the art of concentration.  When she was painting, the house could have fallen down around her and she would have paid it little attention.  You knew not to talk to her then.  Only the brushes, canvas and the work at hand held any reality for her.  All else faded into the background.  Her focus was that of a child’s in the midst of intense ‘play.’  (If you have ever watched a child at play, and we all have, you know there is no one quite so serious.)  and she never stopped learning.  It was not about fame or fortune for her, as it is not for her granddaughter – but about the work, and the pursuit of excellence.  In her seventies, she was still taking art lessons when she could afford the few coins, from a Mrs. Holt on Elliott Row, a respected art teacher in Saint John, New Brunswick.   Sometimes she took me with her and I’d wait in the foyer.  There were always books to read.

                As Mrs. Holt’s lessons were important to my grandmother, my grandmother’s were crucial to me. 

                To quote author Willa Cather, “Most of the basic material a writer works with is acquired before the age of fifteen.”               

                I believe that’s true.  

---------------------

Chill Waters

Bloody Dagger Award Winner

WHAT IF EVIL VISITED THE ONE PLACE WHERE YOU FEEL THE MOST SAFE?

Following the breakup of her marriage, Rachael retreats to the old beachhouse in Jenny's Cove, where she once lived with her grandmother. It is the one place where she had always felt safe and loved. Devasted and lost, Rachael longs for the simplicity of her childhood. 

But Jenny’s Cove has changed. From the moment of Rachael’s arrival, a man watches. He has already killed, and mercilessly will do so again. Soon Rachael becomes a target for a vicious predator whose own dark and twisted past forms a deadly bond between them.

And sets her on a collision course with a crazed killer.

". . .you will find yourself with cold fearful chills running up and down your spine as you race to get to the ending."  ~ Kathy Thomason, Murder & Mayhem

"Chill Waters is a sure bet for those who like suspense thrillers with a hint of romance. It is easy and fun to read. Ms. Hovey creates a warm, cozy setting that seems to keep danger at bay. But just as you get comfortable, terror finds its way in. She weaves the tale tighter and tighter until you are neck deep in Chill Waters." ~ S. Loper-Herzog, MysteryRadio.net  

~ Find all of Joan's titles at Amazon

Thanks Michelle for the gorgeous new covers for my Kelly McWinter PI series.  Looking at Jimmy on these covers definitely helps keep me inspired to get Deadly Consequences, book three, coming in August/September finished. 

Writing a series can be inspiring and fun, but there are some pitfalls.  It's so easy to fall into forget that your reader doesn't necessarily know all about that fantastic new nightclub you described so vividly in book one. Oh yes, and the reader doesn't know that your heroine absolutely cannot stand pink, or that your hero is allergic to shellfish.  Oh yes, lots and lots of easy little traps to fall into. 

Of course, as with all writing, there is always the temptation to go do something else -- like me -- over here visiting on the Blog instead of writing.  Sigh!  Nice to chat with all of you, but if we're ever going to see Book 3, I guess I'd better put my nose back to the grindstone.  Enjoy Kelly McWinter - a/k/a Jimmy Thomas.