Opera, gyms, and shredded carrots – some of my unfavorite things by donalee Moulton

  Opera, gyms, and shredded carrots

I was recently interviewed about being a writer – and being a whole bunch of other things. Quick answers to fun questions. I’d like to share them with you. 

 

Things you never want to run out of: Chocolate, sweat pants, downward dogs 

Things you wish you’d never bought: White chocolate, stilettos, a gym membership 

 

Hardest thing about being a writer: Writing  
Easiest thing about being a writer: Talking about writing with other writers 
 

Favorite foods: Miso chicken, mashed potatoes with gravy, baked gnocchi with Italian sausage  

Things that make you want to gag: Snails (even if you call it “escargot”), lima beans, coconut  

 

Favorite music or song: I like music I can move to or with lyrics that move me 

Music that drives you crazy: Opera (sadly) 

 

Last best thing you ate: Cider doughnuts  
Last thing you regret eating: Some waxy wrap thing with shredded carrots 

 

The last thing you ordered online: A catio for Wiley Bob so he can safely go out in the sunshine  

The last thing you regret buying: A wool winter coat that’s itchy to look at and itchy to wear 

 

Things you always put in your books: Humor  
Things you never put in your books: Blood, guts, gore (at least so far) 

 

Favorite places you’ve been: Sable Island, Thailand, Sweden  
Places you never want to go to again: Retreats with yurts 

 

Favorite books (or genre): Charlotte’s Web, Where the Crawdad’s Sing, The Marriages Between Zones Three, Four, and Five 

Books you wouldn’t buy: Horror 

 

Best thing you’ve ever done: Written books and stories and poems and articles  
Biggest mistake: Going to the opera ties with joining a gym 

 

The nicest thing a reader said to you: One reader posted a picture of themselves lounging in the sun reading Hung Out to Die. They captioned it “Perfect afternoon.” 

The craziest thing a reader said to you: Some readers see sexual tension between two characters in Hung Out to Die. I just don’t see it. 

 

Some real-life story that made it to one of your books: I can get up off the floor without using my hands. So can one of my characters. 

Something in your story that readers think is about you, but it’s not: Love of coffee. I don’t drink caffeine.  

 https://donaleemoulton.com/

How to Compete, When You're Not Competitive by Julie Christen

 

Click here to order your copy today!

I was born without a competitive bone in my body. It might be some genetic defect, but I've learned to live with it. I first noticed it, probably, in grade school. You know, when we had to run relays and whatnot for gym? Mind you, I had some wheels on me in those youthful days. Must have been from racing my dog into the woods. Or perhaps my speed developed from playing kick-the-can with the neighborhood kids, and being terrified of getting caught. I wonder if all the swimming in the lake contributed, too. Regardless, I was in decent shape.

But whenever it came to any sort of track event, typically, I was found in the way back. I always started out strong, somewhere in the mix of leaders. Then, I would check my six for stragglers and feign exhaustion. I would slide back gradually, until I matched strides with the last person. I just couldn't stand how defeated they looked, trying as hard as they could, huffing and puffing, on the verge of giving up. Alone. I would not have it. Not on my watch. Sometimes they didn't want me there, but most often, having someone run next to them seemed to help them cross the finish line with a smile and a high five.  

That was my win. 

Back then, we didn't get "Participation" ribbons or "Showed Up" trophies, so my bedroom walls were not adorned with glossy blue and red ribbons or shiny plastic trophies with my name engraved on a plate. And I never once, in all my childhood memories, felt bad or bitter or regretful for it. Rick Springfield and The Greatest American Hero, among other posters from TEEN and Bop! magazines were decoration enough. Cheering others on comes naturally to me. 

My defunct competitive gene didn't really bother me.

It does, however, make peddling my wares and "selling myself" (ugh) as an author, rather, well, difficult. Not that I don't love my books and sharing my stories. Gosh, I could talk about my stories all my live-long days with anyone willing to listen. And for Frank and the Nokotas? I will speak on their behalf and be their cheerleader until they shut the lights off. 

So to be competitive without being competitive, I focus on these three things with great hope that they will carry me as far as I can go. 

1. Write a really good story. That's where my heart lies.

2. Work my tail off and be a little brave when promoting online and in person.

3. Finally, be a cheerleader for others. If I can help them feel good about their successes, that's still my win.

#forevercheerleader

Click HERE to check out my website.

Go to https://www.bookswelove.com/shop to find my books and more great reads from 

BWL Publishing.

Hydrants, DNA and best day ever by donalee Moulton

 

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My first Lotus Detective Agency mystery is also my first book to include a dog with a recurring role. Madoff, aptly named by his auditor owner, is a Westie. Not surprisingly, there is a West Highland Terrier Day. In honor of Madoff and all Westies, I thought I’d celebrate by sharing a few excerpts from Bind where Madoff takes centerstage.  

***

 Madoff, enters stage left

 It’s 5:30. Madoff is not pleased with being disturbed before the sun is up but graciously agrees to go for a quick walk and a pee. Well, several pees and a lot of sniffing. Madoff is surprised how many of his kinfolk are up and about this time of day. Charlene is less surprised, and more indifferent. She still has her pajama bottoms on. If anybody says anything, she’ll pull a Woo Woo and tell them they are tulip pants. Whatever the hell they are.

Madoff takes a little extra time at the last hydrant, perhaps sensing something is up and it may be a while before he is anywhere near a tree. Charlene has both worked herself up and calmed herself down. She gives Madoff a hug. (A little too tight he thinks.)

***

Madoff is frustrated. It’s 9:45 pm. He should be in bed. Charlene should be in bed with him. She would be reading. He would be snoring. Instead, they are here in front of the computer reading emails. Again.

The emails are unsettling. Madoff knows that. He also knows it has something to do with DNA. He saw the letters on the screen. He’s heard Mama C. talking to Dora about this. He’s seen her face when those letters are spoken.

Madoff doesn’t like DNA.

***

Madoff is confused. Suddenly the women are pushing back their chairs and clearing the table. There is a flurry of activity. Madoff was enjoying an after-gelato nap. He follows everyone into the kitchen. Perhaps the guests are leaving. Perhaps he will get to bed on time tonight.

Nope. The kettle is back on, the plate of pastries refreshed, and another plate and cup taken out of the cupboard. In the melee to clear the clutter, Lexie scrapes some leftovers onto a plate. Absently she puts the plate on the floor. Madoff nonchalantly walks toward the plate. Best day ever.

 Madoff exits stage right