https://books2read.com/Rough-Business

We woke up yesterday to what the weather channel called “bitter” cold. To you sir, mission accomplished. The north wind was sliding the icky white stuff under some of the glass entrances in our building. Why on earth would someone exit with -30 temperatures with wind chill.

As I stood looking out the window at the meteorological carnage I thought to myself “bitter is an interesting word.”

It is certain that I am not bitter with the announcer. It’s not his fault that he is disposed for simply reading off the prompter. Wow. I may have to come back to this paragraph and soften the wording. Wait. It seems I no longer want to do that. A little guilt is building. Oh, never mind. I’ll just direct my thoughts back to the word bitter.

Bitter foods have me confused. Brussels sprouts are legendary for their bitter taste. Baffling. I never noticed as I ate them smothered in cranberry sauce. Let’s turn our attention and pallets to one of the great, and apparently bitter, spices. Our friend ginger. Here I’m stopping the literary train. Ginger is our friend. The best cookie. Of course ginger snaps.

Hold this spot for me. I have to run our and buy a bag.

Okay, I’m back. crunch crunch

Now we put this ginger bashing to rest. The greatest meal in the world is obviously crispy ginger beef.  The the texture of the crunchy morsels is magnificent. The blending of the flavour mixture of the fried onions and ginger seasoning blend perfectly.

One wishes there was a beverage that fit the subject and the above mentioned meal.

Ahh. That'll do it.

With A Little Research - Janet Lane Walters #BWLPublishing #Reseaarch #MFRWAuthor #Serial

With a little Research

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How does one write a serial? Actually by chance. What it took was a little research and the memories of how a book report made in third grade combined. The book was Anna Karenina, a book my parents had on their shelves. I’d been reading since I was three or four and the children’s section at the library had been well-explored. In the book report, I speculated on ways she didn’t have to end tragically. The report wasn’t well accepted by my teacher but my father said if I could read and understand no book was out of bounds for me.

Back to the serial story. I have a love of ancient Egypt and have read many books on the history, the archeology, gods and customs. When reading about a time when the kingdom of the Two lands was in turmoil, I came across this passage about the number of men who wanted to become pharaoh. “A battle commander vied for the role. Mermeshu was his name.” This stuck with me for ages. Then I read some books on ESP and there were passages about people who could gain impressions from touching an artifact. Somehow this made me think of Anna Karenina. The ways of a writer’s mind are beyond understanding.

So I started the story with the daughter of an antiques dealer who had this ability to read other lives in the story. I’d only meant to write one novella and received a shock from my imagination. The story didn’t end. Suddenly there were other time periods creeping into my story and I kept finding new times and new places for my hero and heroine as well as other characters to appear in other life times. I also found the modern love story would somehow culminate in a happy ending, sort of like the ones I’d devised for Anna Karenina when I was young.

Now came a little bit of research. Now that isn’t the truth. What is there about research that keeps you looking for one more thing? While working on the segments of the serial, after Egypt, I went to China, Pompeii, early Britain, Switzerland, Japan and Peru. Each of the segments took place at a time of chaos in these lands when something new was occurring or some other event. By the time I finished I had a huge notebook full of facts and I’m sure I could have found more. The Egypt research also helped with another set of books, a trilogy focusing on an alternate Egypt.

So just a little research can go a long, long way.

Madness, Mexico and Motherhood

My Newest Novel, The Joining

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Madness, Mexico and Motherhood

My mother was quite the character. The last thing she said to us, before we lost her on our holidays in Mexico was: Madness, they say, merely depends on which end of the knife blade you’re staring at and who’s holding the gun to your head. 

          Why Mexico? Usually on holidays we'd go camping.

Our family loved camping. We were getting ready for bed when mom sat up in the tent and said, "What is that God-awful smell? Has some wild animal crawled into our tent and died? No! It's these." She picked up my runners, pinching her nose shut, and tossed them outside. "You need to take a shower and these need to be put into the campfire before you attract wild animals from miles around, like bears. They can smell a dead animal carcass from across the valley." The last thing she said before I fell asleep.

          A rustling noise awoke me and I peeked bravely out of the tent, armed with my water pistol, only to watch a weasel devouring my shoe with the same relish he'd give to wolfing down chocolate dessert. Although their idea of chocolate dessert is probably slugs rolled in slimy mud and sprinkled with maggots.

Yes, back to Mexico.  My parents went there for something called the Festival of the Dead.  Everyone would dress up as Zombies and pretend to be one. But I discovered three things about how to tell a real Zombie from a pretend zombie.

For one thing, real zombies can't drink. They shake so bad that by the time they raise the glass to their lips, they'd either crushed the glass or spill it all over themselves.  

Two. Don't waste your best jokes on zombies, the real ones don't get it. They just stand there and look at you stupidly. Humor, I've discovered, is way beyond them.

          Three. But yo-yos are another matter. Keeps them entertained for hours on end. They just stand there watching the yo-yo going up and down, up and down, up and down and believe it or not, up and down. Don't think they get past the string and realize there's someone at the end controlling it.

          So survival tip #101 when walking through parts of town that are quite dodgy; if attacked by a gang of thug zombies, or anyone resembling characters from Shaun Of The Dead, whip out your yo-yo, give it to the one with spasmodic seizures and run like hell.

          My sister mentioned the time mom helped her out on her wedding night.

          You see my sister was very nervous, a virgin. They were having their wedding night in our parent's basement suite.

          My mom assured her that if she needed help of any kind to just knock on her door and she'd assist her. "Thanks mom, you're a great pal."

          So later that night her new husband begins to take off his shirt. Shocked she sees that he's got a hairy chest.

          "Oh, ah, just give me a moment. A little nervous you might understand."

          She ran upstairs and pounded on mom's door. "Mom! Mom! He's got a hairy chest."

          "It's okay dear. Most men have hairy chests. Just run your fingers through it, he'll like that."

          "Thanks mom, you're a great pal."

          She went back to the room and by this time he was taking off his pants. She gasped at the sight of his hairy legs. "Oh, ah, just give me a moment, be right back. Never seen a man naked."

          She ran upstairs.  "Mom! Mom! He's got hairy legs."

          "It's okay dear, most men have hairy legs. They never shave them."

          "Oh, thanks mom, you're a great pal."

          Back in the room he'd begun to take off his socks. She was startled at the sight of part of his foot cut off from a work related injury. "Oh wow! Just hang on, I'll be right back."

          She ran upstairs again. "Mom! Mom! He's got a foot and a half."

          "Okay dear! You better stay here, this is a job for your mother."

          Yeah, that was mom, always willing to lend us a hand.

          I'll always remember mom either cooking or ironing. She'd have music blaring away, some loud, raucous music, like Def Leppard or Bon Jovi, singing at the top of her voice, 'Someday I'll be Saturday Night.' She was usually wearing her tee shirt, tied in a bow around her mid-section, emblazoned with crazy slogans, like 'The One Playboy Missed'. And she'd never wear a bra. Even after she'd gone from 38DD to 42 long.

         As for dad, he was heart-broken; never remarried. Did my mom ever make Saturday night? I know now that raising kids constricted her and she always felt hemmed in.

          All we knew for sure is that she'd taken up jogging the day before she disappeared and we haven't seen her since.

The Ainsworth Chronicles Book One: The Joining 

The Joining Back Cover BLURB: Undercover at Victoria’s Empress Hotel, police detective Carol Ainsworth has to deal with two American Mafia cartels coming in for a wedding. Easy-peasy, everyone has a lovely cup of tea, says their ‘I Do's’ and goes away happy. Or so it seems until young boys start disappearing, a crazy old psychic woman shows up bearing a crystal skull and one of the mobsters is found hanged in his room by what appears to be a ghost. Carol quickly discovers that Victoria has several satanic cults, more resident ghosts than all of Canada and something is rattling their chains.

Toss in a hunky FBI agent, a hunkier Italian mobster, both of which want to investigate more of Carol than she is willing to reveal and you’ve one threesome that is going to raise some hell. Literally.

Speaking of unwanted hellions being invited to town, and I’m not talking the red-headed whip-wielding dominatrix that shows up, there is one guest that generates more heat than a habanero-infused curry.

Come visit Victoria. No longer the staid, stiff-upper-lip, more-English-than-the-English town of fish and chips. Stick around while the tea is hot, the ghosts are walking and - did I mention? - the scones are pretty darn good as well.

                                                            

Review Snippets

The ghosts of Victoria, BC are restless. The Joining is a riveting read for crime fiction lovers and those fascinated by tales of hauntings. Talaber expertly draws you into a multi-leveled world of local history, crime, and the supernatural , where a blue fairy , comprised of two sorrowful creatures, is more powerful than it knows.  A perfect read for those foggy west coast nights.

Melanie Cossey,

A Peculiar Curiosity

I've read and reread his previous series, Stillwaters Run Deep, several times. Frank's writing is original and compelling. You run into characters and situations totally unexpected. Keeps you on the edge of your seat and your heart.

Greta Olsson

Your book kept my attention riveted from beginning to end.  I liked the way you presented the female character being in control of the outcome and the fact the story was based on local settings.  i.e. Victoria, B.C. Canada   Riveting Work ..... 

Linda Low

 Sincerely

Frank Talaber

twosoulmates@shaw.ca

My webpage

http://twosoulmates.wixsite.com/frankt-author-blog

Frank Talaber’s Writing Style? He usually responds with: Mix Dan Millman (Way of The Peaceful Warrior) with Charles De Lint (Moonheart) and throw in a mad scattering of Tom Robbins (Even Cowgirls Get The Blues).
PS: He’s better looking than Stephen King (Carrie, The Stand, It, The Shining) and his romantic stuff will have you gasping quicker than Robert James Waller (Bridges Of Madison County).

Or as is often said: You don’t have to be mad to be a writer, but it sure helps.

My novels on Amazon are at:  https://www.amazon.com/Frank-Talaber/e/B00UC407R0

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http://bwlpublishing.ca/authors/talaber-frank-suspense-urban-fantasy-canada/

Twitter: @FrankTalaber

Stillwaters Run Deep Book One: Raven's Lament 

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