Writing a series with a continuing cast of characters has its drawbacks. Sure, I know everybody, like everybody, even the villains. But there are a few inherent problems. The main one is I have to remember all that has gone before, especially character names and traits. I mean, really? I’ve just finished the 10th book of the Alvarez Family Murder Mysteries and I’m supposed to remember what I wrote in Murder is a Family Business, book 1? Unfortunately, yes.

I can’t change the eye color of a character, for instance. No blue eyes in one book and brown in another. Unless the character is wearing contacts for some reason. Of course, I can justify just about anything on a temporary basis, but the eye color, height, and age of a character, where they were born, their parents, all that basic stuff just can’t be tossed around, willy-nilly. Willy is willing but Nilly doesn’t like it at all.

If I have a character who is a pegleg sea captain in one book and in the next book I have him running a marathon, I’d better come up with a pretty danged good reason as to how that can happen. That’s why I probably should be keeping copious notes on the physical, emotional, and mental goings on with each continuing character. But do I? Well, I did have one somewhere, but like most of my lists, after I write them they seem to take a hike. I am even plotted against by the universe. I had a fabulous running list on the computer once and then my computer crashed. The only thing that couldn’t be restored was that stupid list. I gave up after that. So on the rare occasion I’ve forgotten something, back I go into each book searching for a specific something. A refresher course, if you will.

I just ran into this problem with my WIP, Cleopatra Slept Here, book 11, almost on the first page. I couldn’t remember Gurn’s mother’s first name. Or his father’s first name, either. I went into a panic. I usually remember things like that (probably another reason why I am sloppy about my lists) but this shocked me. So I went back into The CEO Came DOA when his parents first showed up, and discovered I never gave them first names. Lee and Gurn’s wedding turned out to be a free-for-all where anything that can go wrong did and the weather was the number one culprit/character. If I was going to give a name to anything, it would have been the wind, and as we all know from the song, I call the wind Mariah. So did the lyricist.

On the plus side, when I go back to previous books, I sometimes discover a sentence that could be written better. So I do just that and upload it. Now and then I discover certain phrases I tend to use over again (stop that, stop that, stop that!). I rewrite those, too. Because as we all know, writing is rewriting. And if you don’t want it to be finished, it doesn’t have to be.

So, on those frankly-not-too-common occasions when I have no idea what I wrote before, I try to use the experience for the better. Lemonade, doncha know. Which reminds, me I should remember to buy lemons. Where’s that list?

Launching a new book is exciting, scary, and uncheap. Uncheap is not supposed to be a word but I hesitate to write that launching a new book is expensive. So I invented the word uncheap. Same amount of $ outlay but settles better in my mind. I like to feel positive about every aspect of my work.

I used to do everything needed to launch a new book in the days when I was young, energetic, and poor. I’m not rich now but above all else, I’m not young anymore. And energy? Let’s just move on. But I will say no matter what, I always had a professional editor for each of my books even when I did the covers, formatting, and uploading myself. As I am a shameless but determined amateur, I still do covers for some of my books, but not the Alvarez Family Murder Mysteries. I handed that over to professionals long ago. And they have proven it was the right thing to do.

To the left is the probable cover for my latest book of the Alvarez Family Murder Mysteries, Bewitched Bothered, and Beheaded. Book 9 and counting. It needs some tweaking here and there, but essentially, this is it. Up until this book, I continued to do the formatting and uploading for the series. This time, I’ve decided to let them do everything. Ka-ching, Ka-ching. But I am anxious to start the 10th book of the series, Cleopatra Slept Here, currently but a dream. If I hand everything off, I think I can get to it sooner. The months I spend on getting a book launched takes away from any creative time I have for a new book. This may not be true for everyone, but it is for me. So I am experimenting with the less is more school of thought.

Speaking of experimenting, last May when I launched the 4th book of the Persephone Cole Vintage Mysteries, Hotshot Shamus, I decided to take some of the money I saved by doing everything myself and spend it on advertising. The Big Push. The Percy Cole series has never been the seller the Alvarez Family has been and I often wondered if it was because I never spent enough moola on it. I got my answer. NO. I couldn’t capture a large enough readership no matter how much I spent. The reviews I got from readers amounted to they loved this no s–t lady who conquered a man’s world at a time when women simply didn’t. Okay, so people who read the books seemed to like them. But I still couldn’t get enough readers to justify the investment spent on mounting each book.

Maybe it’s because the series takes place during WWII, not a glamorous time. Maybe it’s because when people read historical books they either want non-fiction or more romance and glamour in their historical fiction. Maybe it’s because I’m not well-known. Maybe it’s because the cat sleeps in the sun. But these are all conjectures. For the moment, it’s time to pull back on the Percy Cole series and concentrate on what works. And as I love the other series just as much, I will concentrate on writing the Alvarez Family.

And launching their books. So here’s to Lee Alvarez and her wonderfully eccentric family. And to all who read about them. Much appreciated.

I have to admit it. Even though I write cozies, and mostly humorous cozies at that, I am sometimes at a loss as to whether or not to have some of my characters talk the way they would in real life. Putting aside I am half-Italian and a quarter-Irish, for the most part, I’m considered a pretty mellow soul, and try to err on the lady-like side in my daily life. However, I have been known to let a few colorful words rip when I bang my toe or lose the tip of a freshly manicured fingernail. And do NOT wake me up with a spam call at six am asking me to buy your storm windows. It will not go well for you.

But, but, but, that is my private life. Professionally, I receive emails and comments about the fact that I write a pretty clean novel. I do. No body parts are fleshed out or described in a way that could be called salacious. I do not salache. If you want salacious, please visit Joan Collins. Who, by the way, sells about a gazillion more books than me. That should tell me something right there, but I’m not listening.

While I do write a peppery word upon occasion in my books, I don’t think it can be described as vulgar or offensive. I have Lee Alvarez describe her buttocks as her derriere. The upper, front portion I don’t talk about much. The word bosom comes to mind and if I’m feeling peppery, boobs. But I try to keep that kind of jargon or slang to a minimum. Possibly someone, somewhere might be offended. I once said “hello” and was challenged as to what I meant by that.

But what I really try to keep to a minimum is having that sway my writing or make me back off on what I’m trying to say. Because you can’t please everybody all the time. And if you play it wrong, you’re going to please nobody at any time. So, I try to please myself. I write what I am comfortable writing. I say what I want to say. But I am always aware of my contract with the reader. This is especially true for the Alvarez Family Murder Mysteries and Persephone Cole Vintage Mysteries. There are expectations and I respect that. When writing these two series, I sometimes have to rethink the selection of a word or phrase and not use the first one that came to me. It doesn’t happen often but when it does, I pick and choose with care. I never dilute or sell out, but try to be clever.

The reality is it’s easy to throw the “f” word into every other sentence. It’s easy to shock people, titillate them, and make them remember your writing for its sensationalism. That’s not me. I focus on things I consider to be important in life: honor, respect, truth, positivity, family, standing up for yourself, being good to people and animals, and making a difference, even in a small way. Oh, yes! Then I throw in a dead body. Maybe two. But I try to do it with a clean sense of fun, a lot of humor, and from a point of view that’s a little off the beaten path.

Because we’re all different. We all go our own way. And we’re all wonderful.

Happy New Year, my friends.

I don’t always write funny. In fact, some of my books aren’t funny at all. Oh, there might be something humorous said by a character now and then. But for the most part, it’s a straight mystery. However, my most popular series, The Alvarez Family Murder Mysteries, is definitely on the humorous side. My readers tell me they like the uniqueness of the family, a nice way of saying kookiness.

What they seem to also like is that Lee Alvarez, the protagonist, gets in over her head and is often involved in some funny situations. Of course, it doesn’t always have to be her. Sometimes it’s the characters surrounding her who have their lighter moments. However, the mystery itself, the whodunit part of the read, has to be there, regardless. In my humble opinion, the story cannot and should not be sacrificed for a laugh.

When I wrote comedy acts for performers that’s exactly what I did, though, write for laughs, laughs, laughs. But a mystery is a different animal and any humor added should be character-driven or situational. But I often walk a tightrope. How much humor is enough? How much is too much?

When I write a humorous scene, I try to give new insight into a character or add something to the story. When that happens I am off and away. One of my favorite examples comes from Casting Call for a Corpse, Book 7 of the series. It’s a scene involving a theatrical mishap, a not-too-well-trained horse, and Lee’s new husband, Gurn. Ordinarily, Gurn is a man in control, but at this juncture, he is undercover as a bit player in a new musical and is out of his comfort zone, which is often the key to humor.

Gurn entered from downstage right dressed in a French foot soldier’s uniform. A seemingly unconscious man, also wearing a French uniform, was slung over Gurn’s left shoulder. According to rehearsal, Gurn was supposed to cross to Gaby at center stage, say his lines, and then exit stage left. However, he halted awkwardly midway between stage right and center. When he tried to walk toward Gaby again, he simply couldn’t. Finally, he stood in one spot, looking more or less stupefied.

It didn’t take the audience long to figure out why he couldn’t move any farther. The wrist of the unconscious soldier had become entangled in one of the many pieces of gelatinous barbed wire jutting out from the fence. Whenever Gurn tried to move forward, the other man’s arm would be pulled as far as possible. It was clear the arm was insnared in the fake barbed wire. Any movement was impossible. I don’t think it was Newton’s law of physics, but something close. It became clear that unless Gurn dropped the man to the stage floor, he had to stay where he was.

Gaby, the star of the show and an old trooper, realized something was wrong. Changing her blocking, she walked over to Gurn who looked as if he would pass out at any moment. She fed him his line couched in a question.

“Tell me, soldier, were you going to ask me to please save your friend?”

Gurn opened his mouth, but no sound came forth. He may have seen many tours in Afghanistan as a soldier, but being onstage in front of eight hundred people was a new form of terror for him.

Gaby braved on. “I know if you could but speak,” she ad-libbed, “You would ask me to save your friend. So why don’t you bring him to the field hospital?”

She gestured to offstage. Gurn’s jaw worked back and forth several times. He looked out into the audience with rapidly blinking eyes. Still, he could utter nothing.

“It’s right over there. Go,” Gaby finally ordered, pointing to a spot offstage.

Gurn tried to walk in the direction indicated but, once again, had to stop when the other man’s arm was pulled to full extension. Also, the wire seemed to become more tightly wrapped around the “unconscious” actor’s wrist with each tug. The actor began to struggle, trying to get off Gurn’s shoulder. Panicked, Gurn reached behind himself and the man. He gave the offending, taut wire a mighty yank as only a former Navy SEAL can do, who is in really good shape. Which was really bad.

What happened next reminded me of the nursery rhyme, This Was the House That Jack Built:

This was the man

who yanked the wire

That jerked the fence

That pulled the scrim

That toppled the backdrop

That crashed to the floor

That spooked the horse

That hauled the wagon

That galloped onstage

Then raced to the exit

But not before pooping

Downwind of upstage

A bemused audience watched the entire set crash down upon itself behind onstage actors who stood frozen in place. Once the dust settled, Gurn realized he was free of the wire holding him and his companion captive onstage. Lines forgotten, Gurn made a sprint for the wings but not before running into one of Bob the Horse’s deposits. I am not well versed on the subject of horse manure, but from what I witnessed, it can be on the slippery side. Consequently, Gurn glided like an ice skater for a pace or two. Then both feet went out from under him.

Up in the air both men went. But what goes up must come down. So down they came landing squarely in another one of Bob’s farewell gifts. Dumbfounded, the two men sat, unmoving. There was the universal moment of sympathetic silence all human beings feel for any poor sap sitting in the middle of a horse patty. The feeling soon passed.

One or two audience members began to titter. Several broke out into loud guffaws. More laughter followed. Soon no one was holding back, including Gaby. She collapsed to the stage floor, wrapped her arms around herself, and rocked back and forth shaking with laughter.

The curtain rang down. The house lights came up.

There’s more, of course. We have characters reacting to what happened and so forth. I try to have one or two of these scenes in each story. But they can’t be there unless they do one of three things: show another facet of a character, move the story forward, or add relief and/or color.

Comedy writing can be very rewarding and a lot of fun. Seriously.