Yesterday was my first author event of the year. I sold half the books I did at the same event last year, and while I wished I’d had a bigger “payday,” I feel blessed that I was paid in other ways. And remember, you can’t tell my husband, but I’m not driven by money. However, I love hearing from a reader: I loved your book!

I’ve written before about feeling blessed by tips and tidbits from other authors. I also enjoy meeting people, whether they buy my books or not, and brainstorming with someone interested in becoming an author.

This event brought yet another opportunity to see how I continue to be paid in different ways.

When I started my Stoneybrook Mystery Series, which I write to honor my son, Derrick, I had already chosen the name of my fictional Oregon town. To my surprise and joy, I found myself sharing the story behind the name with two couples.

First, the story …

Randy and I attend the Oregon Jamboree in Sweet Home, Oregon, every August. It’s an annual country music festival that has brought such stars to Oregon as Toby Keith and Reba McIntire to the stage. I like to tell people who ask about the festival that we were lucky enough to see Kenny Chesney “before” he became four-time “Entertainer of the Year” winner, Kenny Chesney.

We also love Sweet Home’s small-town charm, even when 45,000 people flood the town during the three-day concert. Since we’ve attended the event over the last twenty years, we’ve secured a premium campsite across the street from the venue entrance.

I’m a people person and am still friends with people I met in the first few years of this fabulous weekend. Three young women were among those friends. The trio adopted us as their Jamboree Parents and spent time at our campsite.

One Saturday night after the concert ended, I was enjoying a nightcap with some of my friends in my RV. There was a knock on the door. It was one of the trio who said she’d been separated from the other two. I invited her in, and she joined us as we had snacks and drinks. Her phone rang, and this was her end of the conversation:

“You guys left me while I was in the port-a-potty.”
“No. I’m not going to walk there by myself; you all need to come here.”
“At the Stoneybrook’s.”

She ended the call, then offered an impish grin when we all stared at her.

“Stoneybrook’s?” I said.
“Well, that’s what we call you guys cause you’re old.” She laughed. “Stoneybrook is the name of the old folks’ home by our house in Corvallis.”
We all had a good laugh, and though my friends and I were far from “old” all those years ago, the moniker stuck!

At my event yesterday, an older couple stopped at my table and asked about “Redneck Ranch,” Book One in the Stoneybrook Mystery Series. I launched into my well-rehearsed spiel, and when I said, “When Harley arrives in Stoneybrook, Oregon—” the man cut in with, “Do you mean the Stoneybrook Senior Living Center in Corvallis?”

I responded with, “Funny, you should ask?” Then, I launched into my story.

About an hour later, a young couple came by and asked about “Redneck Ranch,” and I began my pitch again. This time, the wife told me she works as a Stoneybrook Senior Living Center nurse. We laughed when I told them of my previous visitors, explaining how they’d suggested I ask the center about doing an Author Event for the residents. The wife gave me her phone number and asked me to contact her this coming week because she thought an Author Event was a fabulous idea.

No books were sold to these two couples, but I feel like Derrick sent them my way. Not only did I get to share how Derrick inspired the character of an autistic deputy sheriff who always solves the crimes in my Stoneybrook Mystery Series, but I might now have an opportunity to tell this wonderful story to a room full of Stoneybrook’s.

As amazing as meeting these two couples was, Derrick wasn’t done sending people to my table.

An event like this author fair is designed to attract all types of readers who can peruse various genres. Guests can wander throughout a large room that this year housed 42 authors. We all have the same goal: to attract readers to our tables in hopes that they will buy our books. But now and then, you encounter a reader with whom you share more than an interest in reading.

When Tom and Judy stopped to look at my Mexico Mayhem series, I waited a beat before engaging them in conversation since Judy was reading the back cover blurb for “Peril in Paradise.”

Judy looked at me, tears in her eyes, and said, “How could you write a book about someone losing a child if you’ve never had that experience?”

Tom placed an arm around Judy’s shoulder and drew her close.

“I-I—” a lump clogged my throat, “have lost a child.”

Judy reached out a hand and touched my arm. “We lost our son, Matthew, five years ago.”
“I lost my son, Derrick, eight years ago.”
“Oh,” Judy nodded, “so you do know.”
“Yes.” I squeezed her hand. “How did you lose Matthew?”
“He needed a heart transplant that never happened.” Judy swiped a tear from her cheek. “He left us just after his forty-fourth birthday.”
“Derrick had a sudden heart attack at thirty-six,” I told her.

We talked for a few minutes about our sons, and then I asked Judy if she would mind if I sent her and Tom a pair of White Wings. I explained that I’d been gifting the wings and a poem about grieving parents to people like us.

“That would be so kind of you.” Judy smiled. “And I’d like to buy this book since Clara is a mom like us who also belongs to this sad club.”

I sold Judy “Peril in Paradise,” and she gave me her mailing address. I may never see Tom and Judy again, but I’m comforted that they will have a pair of White Wings to honor their son … and maybe even remind them of me.

My first event wasn’t as lucrative as I’d hoped, but I value the “payments in kind” from the fabulous people who brought me opportunities for the future … and a moment to share my grief with another mother.

If you participate in Author Events this year, I hope you will be richer in more than one way.

Happy Writing, Ladies ~ Kimila

In less than a month I will be flying to Denver for Left Coast Crime. I’m so excited! I’ve been invited to speak on a panel called Why We Write Thrillers. What a great topic. I had to spend some time thinking about this. I knew I enjoyed reading them, but why write them?

Well, for one thing, I love to read a good thriller. I’ve heard that you should write what you love to read. But why do I love them? Why are they so popular? I think it’s because they grab you and won’t let go until the final twist. And that is what I want my books to do. I love it when readers say they stayed up all night reading my books because they couldn’t put them down.

Reading a thriller is like hurling yourself towards a runaway train. You know it’s coming, you can see it coming, and you want to be like Superman and get in front of it and put your hand out to stop it. To do that, you need to know who started the train barreling down the track, why they started it, and a twisty way of stopping it. Because, unlike Superman, holding out your hand towards it isn’t going to get the job done.

It’s the excitement that’s addictive. That feeling in your gut that the main character just might not pull this off, but she does, and in a way you never expected.

Thrillers allow you to explore dark themes in a way that is safe. I want to know why people join a cult. (Her Sister’s Keeper) Why someone would kill a young homeless girl and leave her body frozen in the snow. (Through Frozen Eyes) And why a serial killer kills women and leaves them as a gift offering for the sheriff. (Her Last Breath, which will be out this spring.)

I’ve heard that people read and write thrillers to bring justice to an unjust world. I love it when the story ends with the killer being caught and sent to prison, or being killed by the main character just before he or she kills said main character or someone they love. And sometimes I love it when at the end of the book the killer is caught, but there may be another killer out there who will continue their killing spree. Suspense is what makes us come back for more.

I’m about three fourths of the way finished writing my fourth book. This will be the third in my Hood River Valley Series. It’s about a killer who is playing cat and mouse with the sheriff. I thought I knew why he was killing women, but while writing this post I realized there is more to his past and his psychological makeup than I knew. It’s the, why did the killer do what they did that makes the story more exciting. What’s in his or her background that would cause them to do something so heinous?

Plot is the structure of the story and characters are the meat. They give the story substance. This is especially true in a thriller. I feel a need to know my characters, to try and feel what they feel. Why are they in this particular place and time? What can they contribute to the story to make it come alive?

And then there’s the twist at the end. It isn’t just about shock; it has to make sense in hindsight. It’s the perfect blend of surprise and credibility. These are the things that make writing thrillers such a joy for me. Or should I say, such a thrill?

I’m about to see my third mystery book hit shelves and inboxes. I thought this month I’d share an excerpt from Hung Out to Die, my first mystery book. In this scene, the main character, Riel Brava, finds a dead body — and finds himself a suspect.

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FROM HUNG OUT TO DIE

I’m reaching for the hallway switch when I notice a light three doors down. That’s Norm Bedwell’s office. And that’s unusual. Our comptroller is typically among the last to arrive. Only a fresh honey cruller from Tim Hortons has ever changed his timeline.

I’m running to Norm’s office now, tirade at the ready. The only thing that can prevent the outside security system from working, aside from someone hacking into our server, is if the door doesn’t latch firmly behind the entering employee. A loud audible click lets you know the system is armed, and then you can move forward. Employees are trained to wait for the click; if they don’t, an alarm will sound for two minutes, albeit relatively soft as alarms go. But at this time of day, no one is around to hear it.

It must be Norm’s fault, which may mean the system has only been down for minutes if he just arrived. It’s a question I’m tossing at our comptroller even before I’ve stepped inside his office.

Norm doesn’t answer.

He can’t because he’s swinging from a rope tossed over an open beam (the designer’s brilliant idea), a noose tight around his neck. He’s blue, but not as blue as I believe a dead man should look. This poses a dilemma. I need a few moments to assess my options and identify the safest and most effective course of action. However, I am aware I don’t have the luxury of time. I’ve seen enough Law and Order episodes to know if you don’t call the cops immediately, the delay in time will get noticed, and you’re more likely to find yourself on the suspect list.

Dammit. I’m a suspect.

This realization hits at the same time I’m dialing 911. The perky young woman on the other end asks how she can help.

“I’m in the administrative office of the Canadian Cannabis Corp., and my comptroller appears to have hanged himself. He is dangling from a noose and turning blue.”

“Sir, I have radioed for police; they are on their way,” she says, inhaling to continue with her script.

I cut her off. “Look, I know I shouldn’t disturb anything, but Norm may be alive. I’m going to grab his legs, so the noose doesn’t cut into his windpipe.”

Great, now she knows I understand how hanging kills someone.

Itdoesn’t matter. I’m going to reduce the pressure around Norm’s neck. His feet are tucked into the crease in my left arm, his testicles on par with my bottom lip. I’m not a small man, 6’2”, and I work out regularly, so I can maintain this, albeit a distasteful posture, for quite some time.

I hear sirens, and it hits me. The police won’t gain access to the building without destroying expensive technology. I explain this to the 911 operator. She is not that interested in the cost of our tech.

“I’m going to get someone to open the gate for the police,” I tell her. “That means I’ll have to hang up. I’m on the third floor of the admin building, inside the only office with a light on. My name is Riel Brava. I’m the CEO.”