Happy Summer, Ladies ~ I wanted to start by thanking all of you who reached out during my sister Lori’s illness, and to let you know she passed away on June 2^nd.

My sister, fourteen months younger than me, always challenged me to be a good big sister.

Lori loved tossing her baby bottle from her crib and squealing until someone would retrieve it. Our single mom, Rita, would be busy cooking, cleaning, or getting ready for one of her three jobs, so I would toddle over and hand my baby sister her bottle. Lori would enjoy it until she wanted attention again and then toss it overboard again.

Lori challenged me to be my sister’s keeper when we were little girls. My job was to hold her hand, ensuring she stayed out of trouble when Mom took us shopping or to visit our grandparents’ small mom-and-pop store. On one exciting trip to Sears to shop for new summer sandals, I let go of Lori’s hand, and she wandered off.

“Where’s your sister?” Mom asked, frantically looking around the store. I shrugged and looked around, too.

My mother shrieked and raced toward a display of bathroom toilets, where my little sister sat perched on an avocado green throne.

“I go big girl potty, Mommy.” Lori beamed despite Mom snatching her from the toilet. She pulled up my sister’s panties and smoothed her sundress. Before leading her away from the display, my mother made the mistake of looking in the bowl where Lori had left a tiny brown deposit.

Needless to say, we didn’t go back to Sears for a few years.

As teenagers, Lori challenged me to be a less stuffy older sister. I was prone to wearing turtlenecks and loose-fitting Levi’s, while Lori preferred a hipper wardrobe of scoop-neck T-shirts and tight bellbottoms. One day, she and I went to the Medford Center to do a little shopping. Even though enough time had passed and we could have shopped at Sears, we decided on JC Penny’s. Lori stuck me in a dressing room and brought me clothes to try on.

I wore one of my new outfits to school the next day: a yellow blouse with cap sleeves and dark blue denim bellbottoms. I finally got my first compliment from a boy I liked when he said, “Nice jeans.”

As adults, Lori became an unwavering source of support when my son, Derrick, was diagnosed with autism, and I found myself a divorced mother of two. She watched my boys. She encouraged me to date. She taught me how to dance.

Despite her helpfulness, my relationship with my sister was also difficult. Sometimes I wanted to walk away from her instead of trying to mend whatever bridge she’d burned. So, as I said at the beginning, my sister Lori was challenging, and I share this story because I believe our relationship taught me how to shape characters for my books.

Whether I’m writing a Hero, a Heroine, or a Villain, I know I infuse my characters with some of Lori’s personality traits.

Clara in “Peril in Paradise” has Lori’s indomitable determination to find revenge for her daughter. In “Redneck Ranch,” Harley and Busy’s best friend relationship is a take-off of mine and Lori’s sisterhood. In “Vanished in Vallarta,” Jade is on a mission to find her missing little sister.

My female or male villains reflect some of her flaws, too, such as her unreasonable jealousy or sense of entitlement. Though Lori wasn’t necessarily evil, she did have a mean streak that, at times, she directed at me.

Over the last seven months, Lori challenged me to be a better writer. A better storyteller. A better editor.

She wanted to help me edit my current novel, “Chaos in Cabo.” I set her up with chapters, blue and red pens, and the nine things I look for in each chapter. The senses: Sight, Smell, Sound, Taste, Touch. And the nuances, I think, bring realism to my story: Accessories, Clothing, Eyes, Hair.

Lori valiantly tried to read each chapter and mark these items off the list, but she had a hard time focusing on the story. However, she did ask good questions, so the end result for me was that I was able to explain my editing process to another writer who asked if I would edit her novel.

My sister Lori was a challenge to the end. She died on June 2^nd, my son Derrick’s birthday.

We had a lovely family day on June 1st, her son’s birthday. We played games, ate pizza, and enjoyed an ice cream cake. I spent the night at her house, and we stayed up late talking and laughing.

The next morning, Lori seemed a little tired but otherwise fine. She commented about not being able to get into heaven if you weren’t always a good person. I told her that if she wanted forgiveness, all she had to do was ask God. She got quiet for a few minutes and closed her eyes. Then she said, “I feel bad that I get to see Derrick before you.”

My phone pinged because someone liked my Facebook birthday post for Derrick, and I showed Lori his picture.

She grabbed my hand, and my sister, who never asked me to pray with her before, said, “Can we say a prayer for Derrick’s birthday?”

I nodded and said, “Happy Birthday, Derrick. We hope you’re having a great day in heaven. Aunt Lori and I are laughing about Grandma Rita and Grandma Betty arguing over who gets to bake you a cake. I love and miss you, big guy! Aunt Lori wants to say something.”

Eyes closed, she squeezed my hand and said, “Happy birthday, Derrick. I miss you so much. And I want you to know I’m coming to see you soon.”

Lori drifted off to sleep and seemed fine throughout the morning. Then, just after noon, her breathing became labored, and she appeared to be in a coma. Her husband called the Hospice nurse, who was running late, and she said she would be there as soon as possible.

Keith and I took turns holding Lori’s hand and making her comfortable. Neither of us was in denial that her time was near, but neither of us was ready for her to go.

My challenging little sister went to heaven at 1:50 pm on Monday, June 2, 2025.

Several people said to me after Lori passed away that they were sorry she died on Derrick’s birthday, to which I replied:

“I’m not because I believe my loving son reached his strong hand down from the heavens and said, ‘Come on, Aunt Lori … it’s time.’”

Over the rainbow and from heaven, my little sister challenged me to lean into my faith and share her peaceful passing with others.

Hug your family members, Sisters!

Hello, Ladies ~ Sorry this post is late. I’ve been at our cabin for the long weekend, which doesn’t have internet. I tried to upload my blog a couple of times while in Lincoln City, but the internet at most places is spotty at best.

When my husband, Randy, and I bought our house in Donald, I was thrilled we had a willow tree in our backyard. The lovely eight-year-old tree helped to block the city’s big blue water tower.

Since our lot sat at an angle and backed up to a farmer’s field, we couldn’t see our neighbors on either side of us. I loved the illusion that we lived in the country surrounded by beautiful crops.

Of course, as time ticked by, my beloved willow tree grew taller and broader as we grew grayer and rounder, the unstoppable march of time making all of us older.

Every fall, Randy and I would struggle to keep up with the never-ending shower of colorful leaves blanketing our patio, creating a slick carpet of decaying debris. Spring would bring the dropping of the budding leaves’ cuticles, which looked like a sea of bumble bees inhabiting the patio.

Our now-massive willow tree also had branches that extended over flower beds, causing plants to die or grow in weird directions to capture some sunlight. Randy’s biggest fear was that the now forty-foot tall and thirty-five-foot-wide tree would fail, and the branch looming over our roof would do some serious damage.

We finally had to make the gut-wrenching decision to cut down our majestic Weeping Willow. I cried as the arborist and his crew dismantled the tree in sections. But the hardest part for me was when he shot poison into the lonely stump. He’d just killed something I’d enjoyed for years.

During this time, I was working on the first draft of my novel, “Chaos in Cabo.” I’m close to typing The End and working on tying up all my story threads. I’ve been struggling with how to end my villain’s story. As the arborist and his crew cut down my willow, it occurred to me that I grew attached to things … including my characters.

Even though I know she needs to be punished for her crimes, the idea of sending her to prison pains me. My alternative idea, having the man she loves kill her, seems so harsh.

Why is it so hard for me to let go? I mean, my villain is a fictional character. It’s not like I meet her for Happy Hour every month. And I usually fashion my villains after people I’ve met who wronged me somehow. This female villain was named after a woman who stole the guy I was dating after pretending to be my friend. So essentially, I’d be virtually settling a score with her. Right?

In my past novels, I’ve redeemed a few villains, punished a few, and, of course, a few have died. In “Malice in Mazatlan,” I faced the same dilemma as I’m experiencing with “Chaos in Cabo.” I loved my villain, Sarita Garcia, so much that I decided I couldn’t end her story, and she appeared in “Vanished in Vallarta.”

As Randy and I approach retirement, I’ve been faced with “letting go” of things. Downsizing is painful, but I find joy in donating items or handing off family treasures to the younger generation.

I recently gave pieces of décor to a niece. She was so thrilled she sent me a thank you note with pictures of the repurposed decorations in her small house. It made me think about what my readers might expect as they read one of my novels. Maybe they’ve decided in their minds as they read “Chaos in Cabo” that this villain seriously deserves her just desserts and isn’t worthy of being “repurposed” or “redeemed.”

One of my readers said they loved that I infuse my villains with qualities that make them human to balance their evilness. She said, “I find myself rooting for your villains despite their crimes.”

But can I justify allowing the villain in “Chaos in Cabo” to live since she threatens the lives of people from her lover’s past? He would be devastated if she killed his loved ones and would never be able to forgive her, which would create a prison of a different kind.

While I’m sad at the loss of my beautiful tree, the plants in the flower garden that once were shrouded in shade are thriving. I like the idea that letting go of something opens up possibilities for brighter occurrences… and, hopefully, rewarding stories for your readers.

Happy Memorial Day, Ladies! I hope you had a fabulous day with family, friends and … your characters!

¡Buenos días desde Cabo San Lucas!

How blessed am I to be able to write this blog while poolside at the Pueblo Bonito Rose Resort? I meant to post this last night, but at eleven-ish, I noticed I hadn’t quite finished my train of thought and decided this morning would be a better time to edit before too many cocktails.

Randy and I have had a relaxing vacation so far. Though I’ll be sad to fly back to Oregon on Saturday, I’m thrilled that I’ve been able to write and hopefully finish “Chaos in Cabo” while in Cabo!

I’d hoped to have this book done before now, but that thing called life threw me more curve balls than a major league baseball game over the last six months, so I’ve worked on the manuscript here and there.

But once we were at our resort, drink in hand, sunshine turning my skin a lovely reddish pink; I felt the creative juices flowing. The first thing I did was reacquaint myself with the story and characters. And oh, how I’d missed them. I hadn’t realized I’d left Coco and Amado in a fight over whether they loved each other enough to sacrifice their separate lives to be together. And how could I set up my villainess to have a major secret revealed and then not write the scene?

Those weren’t the only threads that needed attention. When I walked along the beach basking in the waves from Medano Bay, it occurred to me that in my book, I call the bay the Sea of Cortés. And worse yet, I’d written that Amado and Coco used to surf off of “Lover’s Beach.” An impossibility since the beach sits within the bay.

Like I said, I am so blessed to be able to be here where the story occurs and realize my mistakes!

After a few days of editing and rewriting, I could continue with the novel. And I wasn’t the only one ready! These characters don’t care that I’m on vacation and should be sleeping late before relaxing by the pool. They’ve been waking me up at five-thirty, demanding I set my fingers to the keys of my laptop or pen to paper as I stand in the pool … and get busy.

As you may remember, I write my novels from the POV of the three main characters, rotating chapters with their POV. I love this style because it always allows me to flesh out my characters more and contemplate what happens to them next and how their story moves the whole story forward.

But that hasn’t been enough for these characters. Coco decided before it was her turn to regain control of her life and put the two men vying for her heart in their places. Amado believes he’s lost his quest to sail off into the sunset with Coco and live happily ever after, and he makes a huge mistake. Alida feels she’s made an error in judgment by falling in love with the office manager for her scam-calling crew and fears he may be her undoing.

I’ve mentioned before that sometimes my secondary characters decide they need a better story, too, and do things I hadn’t originally planned. That’s the case with Antonio, Alida’s soft-spoken office manager. Oh, the story he tells about his previous life … even I was enthralled. And when did Nacho decide to disappear with his wife and son?

I swear this novel seems to be writing itself. Is it because I’m here in my México, in the land of sun, sea, and margaritas? Is my creativeness heightened because I can see my characters living in this tropical paradise? Should I get a job as a waitress, learn to speak better Spanish, and stay until all the novels in my Mexico Mayhem series are written?

I doubt my husband would support me staying, so I hope my characters pack up and come home with me when I pack my bags to return to Oregon. I believe I will retain some of the beauty and wonder of Cabo once I’m home, but writing “Chaos in Cabo” while in Cabo has been one of the highlights of my writing career.

So, for now, I bid you adiós as I go in search of my first mimosa of the day. ¡Salud!

Feliz escritura, señoras ~

I started off 2025 with a plan to manage my day in power blocks. I’ve done this in past years with success so why should this bright and shiny new year be any different?

Well, you know what they say, “Tell God you have a plan, and listen to him laugh.”

My world is spinning on an axis of chaos and no matter how hard I try; I can’t seem to reign in the crazy. No matter how hard I tried to create a plan and stick to it, nothing worked. I have a laundry list of reasons why the crazy seems one step ahead of me.

The holidays were daunting with lots of travel and Christmas packages being routed to Anchorage instead of Puyallup, Washington. And for the life of me I couldn’t seem to get my house back to its pre-holiday state. I mean my artificial Christmas tree was up until February 5^th. March brought more travel and hernia surgery for my husband.

I did manage to squeeze in the Author Fair in Lebanon and have taken on hosting an Author Fair this coming April. Oh, and remember, my story about the Stoneybrook Assisted Living Center in last month’s blog? They called and they do want me to do an Author Talk. I also landed an Author Talk at a retirement center in Central Point.

And despite the craziness surrounding me, I managed to publish the latest novella in my Stoneybrook Mystery Series, “Rattlesnake Ravine,” which will be available April 1^st. When I finish a book in one of my series, I like to add the first six chapters of the next book to the end to tease readers with what’s to come. It was a struggle, but I pounded out the beginning of my next Stoneybrook novel, “Fatal Falls.”

So, amid the chaos, new opportunities and accomplishments bring much needed joy.

The past few weeks as I slogged through my day job tasks, cleaned the house and made another trip to and from Central Point to see my sister, a nagging question kept popping up in my mind. Do my characters suffer enough crazy chaos?

Of course, my hero’s and heroine’s have suffered broken hearts and challenging relationships. There’s always a villain lying in wait to wreak havoc. And then there was the cougar in “Willow’s Woods.”

But do my main characters ever suffer from the chaos that comes from having your universe spin out of control. Or do I write them like those power blocks I mentioned earlier, compartmentalizing their stories?

Since I’m in the early chapters of “Fatal Falls,” I decided to see what might happen if Harley and Busy’s best friend relationship is tested. And how might Harley deal with Wyatt being overwhelmed with two crimes to solve that take all of his time. What if things beyond Harley’s control cause her to question the two most important relationships in her life?

Will she find herself awake from two am until four am, rehashing the curves and roadblocks life keeps placing in her path. Like me, will stress drive her to lose her appetite one day only to binge on chips, salsa and margaritas the next?

This last week I’ve been praying for “Peace, Patience, Understanding and Strength.” I know from past experience if I keep trying to stick to my plan, life will continue to test me.

I think the Big Guy above heard me, because for the first time in months, I had a successful power block day, which resulted in my being able to reach ten chapters and 10,930 words in “Fatal Falls.” I may have struggled the first three months of the year, and my plans may have gone awry. But one thing that keeps me sane amidst the crazy is writing. And if my personal plans continue to fall apart, I can always put pen to paper and plan some chaos for my characters.

Happy Writing, Ladies ~

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