¡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

Happy New Year! I hope everyone had a lovely holiday season and the new year finds you busy writing, plotting, or selling books!

As I took my tree down a couple of weeks ago, I was reminded of a conversation I had when I attended a party hosted by one of my friend’s aunts. The aunt had a large, beautiful tree decorated in black and white. The decorations included black bows, a couple of very large white owls, and smaller blackbirds. Black and white ornaments were scattered amongst the branches and complimented by white icicles and white bells.

When I asked if she always has a black and white tree, she replied, “Oh, heavens no. I have decorations to do an all-teal tree, but my favorite tree is decorated in purple.”

My hostess was drawn into a conversation with another guest. I stood in front of the black-and-white tree, wondering if I could ever embrace this type of décor for my tree.

Decorating my tree is my favorite part of Christmas. When I open boxes of ornaments, I feel like I’m greeting old friends. Each decoration has a story, and I love remembering the ornament’s origins. I like grouping my Nutcracker ornaments together and keeping the handmade gifts from my kids and grandkids in the same area of the tree. I also like distributing my collection of Santa ornaments throughout the branches.

My nine-foot tree tells the colorful story of my life. Ornaments handed down from family members no longer here bring a smile to my lips as I remember past holidays. Each time I place my glass avocado next to the small plastic tequila bottle, I find myself longing for the beaches of México. And though my grandkids don’t visit at Christmas, I still hide the dill pickle ornament they gave me just in case they make a surprise appearance.

Recently, one of my readers asked me why I decided to write a series featuring repeating characters in the same setting. The question echoed in my mind this year when I returned my ornaments to their storage containers, and it occurred to me that my fondness for the characters in my novels is like the adoration I feel for the baubles that brighten my tree each year.

Luckily for me, I write two series. My suspense/thriller series, México Mayhem, has some repeating characters, but each book has a new heroine, hero, and villain. The locales change, too, since I move one or two minor characters from the previous book forward into a new story.

I can’t imagine never creating my very first heroine, Clara Marsh. When I wrote “Peril in Paradise” long ago, in 2008, I had no idea that I would suffer losing a child as Clara does. It stunned me the first time I reread the passages in the book after Clara’s daughter was murdered. How did I know her grief so well before I’d experienced it myself? And though Clara is a figment of my imagination, to me, she is real and a kindred spirit in my life.

My first hero took me by surprise, too. I’m a very independent woman, so when Jackson Brady wanted to protect Clara and rescue her from Damian, I found it hard to let her be rescued or trust Brady. Growing up, I never bought into the whole white knight coming to the damsel’s distress. But being part of Clara’s journey into Brady’s arms was a fabulous experience.

The only writing kudos I ever received when receiving countless rejection letters was: “You do write an excellent villain.”

Creating my villains is one of my favorite parts of crafting a story. I find it easy to heap on evil traits, but I also try to craft a backstory explaining their bad behavior. In “Peril in Paradise,” the reader eventually learns that Damian Garza thinks his stepmother killed his biological mother. Damian’s hatred for his stepmother causes him to mistreat women, but his ego eventually leads to his undoing.

In my mystery/suspense series, Stoneybrook Mysteries, I created a fictional town full of fabulous characters that starts the reader’s journey in “Redneck Ranch.” Every time I open a WIP for a Stoneybrook novel, I feel like I’m home. The chatter of patrons at the Babbling Brook Café fills my mind, and I can smell the bacon and eggs. When my heroine, Harley Harper, trudges to the barn to feed her animals, I’m reminded of my childhood on the family dairy. And though I’m lucky to have numerous friends, I never really bought into the “best friend” label. But I thoroughly enjoy writing about Busy and Harley’s “bestie” moments.

Sheriff Wyatt Stone is a culmination of all the incredible male role models in my life. Wyatt is diligent in his quest to protect the residents of Stoneybrook from harm. I don’t consider myself a romantic, but I enjoy the developing relationship between Wyatt and Harley. He exhibits quiet strength and endless patience, especially when interacting with his autistic cousin, Deputy Derrick Stone.

When I get to write a scene with Derrick, it takes me back in time, just like the ornaments on my tree. I love remembering our lunch dates after shopping at the local Goodwill. Derrick would always find some treasure he had to have, some of which I kept after his passing. Creating a fictional character to honor my son has been a soothing elixir.

The only rotating character in this series is the villain. And once again, what I lack in romantic tendencies, I make up for in crafting dark and twisty bad guys.

My Christmas tree ornaments have been stowed away for another year. The hustle and bustle of the holiday season has settled down, and the usual demands of everyday life await me each morning. I feel blessed to have these characters, recurring and newbies waiting in the wings, to greet me when I lift the lid of my laptop and place my fingers on the keys.

Just like decorating my tree, I enjoy greeting each character like an old friend or introducing myself to someone new, placing them exactly where they need to be in the book. Oh, what a journey each story promises to take me on… one ornamental word at a time.

I knew I wanted to write a Thanksgiving blog for this week, but I’ve been struggling to express my thankfulness. As you all know, my sister, Lori, has a short time left to spend with her family and friends due to her pulmonary fibrosis lung disease.

She really wants to feel festive and be present for her husband, kids, and grandkids, so we’ve been planning our Thanksgiving celebration at her house this week. A feast of all the favorite family dishes, including the “delicious” (not) Green Bean Casserole, will be served, but I’ve been worried that the sentiment of thankfulness will make an appearance.

When I searched Amazon for paper plates so we wouldn’t have to worry about doing dishes, I found making a selection difficult because most of the choices featured lovely fall scenes captioned with “Thankful and Blessed” or “Give Thanks.” I finally found a set adorned with a simple design of leaves and pumpkins.

I’ve been burning the candle at both ends, rushing from one book event to another. Today, as I made the three-hour drive home from my oldest son’s house, I reminded myself that this holiday season is not about me and that I needed to refocus on what’s important: creating a fun holiday memory for all of us that we will carry in our hearts going forward.

Lori has been battling a cold the last few days, making it hard for her to breathe through her nose. This is concerning since she is on ten liters of oxygen twenty-four hours a day, delivered through a nose cannula.

This morning, she told me she’s struggling to get enough air and feels dizzy throughout the day. We discussed home remedies that might open up her nasal passages and agreed the humidifier her husband, Keith, has bought will hopefully bring her some relief.

When I arrived home, I texted Lori, thinking she’d call to chat if she was awake. When I didn’t hear from her after a few hours, I texted again. Still, I received no response, so I texted Keith and her daughter, Tera, concerned that maybe the cold had compromised her breathing enough that she was back in the hospital.

Lori finally calls and opens with, “I’m sorry I didn’t text you back or call.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “But it would be great if your family would respond so I know you’re not in the hospital.”

“I know,” Lori agreed. “I’ll remind them they need to text you back.” Silence fills the line for a beat, then she continues, “I didn’t have a very good day.”

“Oh, no. What happened?” I asked.

“Well …” Lori’s tone holds a hint of humor. “Keith wanted to go hunting, so I said I would be okay alone for a few hours.” She pauses to catch her breath. “After about an hour, my little dog, Georgie, needed to go potty.” Another couple of deep breaths. “I took him outside and managed to get down the steps to the small pen we put him in to do his business.” She giggles. “He moved to the other side of his pen, so I had to step over a small bin of Christmas decorations that Keith left at the bottom of the stairs to pick him up.” She takes a breath, followed by laughter. “I lost my balance and landed in Georgie’s pen.”

Now we’re both laughing. Belly laughs, which brings tears to my eyes and causes Lori to cough for a few minutes.

“It took me a moment to catch my breath after I fell, and Georgie has moved away because I screamed a few swear words.” Lori pauses for a beat. “I finally managed to get to my hands and knees and noticed little bits of dried dog poop sticking to my clothes.”

“Oh, that’s awful,” I said.

More laughter ensued before she continued, “I crawled out of the dog pen and called for Georgie, but he wouldn’t come to me, so I slowly climbed the stairs to the house. I called him again, but he still wouldn’t come.”

“What did you do?” I asked.

“I shuffled into the house and left the door open.” More deep breaths. “I was struggling to catch my breath and couldn’t worry about him anymore.”

“He didn’t run away, did he?” I tried to control the panic I felt from echoing my tone.

“No,” Lori said. “I went to my room to change clothes, and when I pulled on a clean shirt, he was sitting in the doorway, then jumped onto my bed.”

“Oh, thank God.” My relief that Georgie was safe was quickly replaced by concern for my sister. “Did you get some rest?”

“Yes,” she replied, then said “Okay” to Keith, who I could hear in the background. “My dinner’s ready.”

“Go eat and text me when you’re awake in the morning,” I said, then ended the call.

I’m not thankful that my sister is dying. Or that this will most likely be her last holiday season with us. Or that she has to struggle to do the simplest tasks.

But I am very thankful for her ability to find humor in falling into Georgie’s dog pen. Thankful that, for a few moments, we were just two sisters laughing about a silly mishap. Thankful we’ll all be together for Thanksgiving … sharing our favorite dishes, being in each other’s company, and enjoying a laugh or two.

And I’m thankful for all of you … Happy Thanksgiving, Ladies of Mystery!