Historical mysteries are travel literature with a kick. You get to visit a different locale, exploring a distant place AND era. New vistas, new sensations: you want to experience it all and, to paraphrase Humphrey Bogart in The Maltese Falcon, you don’t mind a reasonable amount of trouble.
I’m the kind of writer who needs to immerse myself in a setting. The third book in my noir series takes place in Saigon, circa 1957, and builds off my favorite Graham Greene novel: Banished from the set of The Quiet American, actress Cara Walden stumbles onto a communist insurgency—and discovers her brother’s young Vietnamese lover right in the thick of it. How could I get myself to Asia?
Lecturing on the ship.
It turns out that luxury cruise lines are always looking for guest lecturers. I put together a a film and lecture series for Silversea entitled “Asia Through Hollywood’s Eyes,” a romp through classic movies featuring Asian characters and stories. From Fu Manchu and Charlie Chan through Cato in the Pink Panther series, pre-Code gems like Shanghai Express starring Marlene Dietrich (“It took more than one man to change my name to Shanghai Lily”) and the ever-fascinating Anna May Wong, beloved epics including The Good Earth and Bridge on the River Kwai, musicals including The King and I along with the best-forgotten Road to Singapore not to mention masterpieces based on Somerset Maugham stories and featuring the best leading ladies out there: The Painted Veil (Garbo), Rain (Joan Crawford), The Letter (Bette Davis).
Tai Chi with William
Okay, it took me the better part of a summer to research and write the lectures. I had to watch all the films (poor me . . .) and learn how to rip DVDs to make clips to embed in my presentations. I had to upgrade my wardrobe and get my bridge game back up to snuff. But October 17, 2015 found me at the five-star InterContinental Hotel in Hong Kong, doing Tai Chi by the pool with William to get the kinks out of my body after the nineteen-hour flight. Then I boarded the ship for the eleven-day all-expenses-paid cruise to Ho Chi Minh City, Bangkok, Singapore and ports in-between. The highlights of my trip included tagging along as a chaperone on a tour of Hue, retracing Graham Greene’s footsteps through Saigon, and visiting the palace and temple grounds of the King of Siam, followed by a very expensive mojito in Somerset Maugham’s favorite watering hole, Bangkok’s Mandarin Oriental.
What an adventure!
The Glass Forest
A Cara Welden Mystery
Saigon, 1957: Banished from the set of The Quiet American, actress Cara Walden stumbles onto a communist insurgency-and discovers her brother’s young Vietnamese lover right in the thick of it. A bittersweet story of love and betrayal set in the early years of American involvement in the country, Lisa Lieberman’s tribute to Graham Greene shows us a Vietnam already simmering with discontent.
Lisa Lieberman writes the Cara Walden series of historical mysteries based on old movies and featuring blacklisted Hollywood people on the lam in dangerous international locales. Her books hit the sweet spot between Casablanca and John le Carré. Trained as a modern European cultural and intellectual historian, Lieberman abandoned a perfectly respectable academic career for the life of a vicarious adventurer through perilous times. She has written extensively on postwar Europe and lectures locally on efforts to come to terms with the trauma of the Holocaust in film and literature. She is Vice President of the New England chapter of Sisters in Crime and a member of Mystery Writers of America.
I own a collection of beautifully illustrated children’s books, some from childhood and others I’ve collected throughout the years. I seem to be especially drawn to those about the holidays that occur this time of year.
What I love about these books is that the stories are charming, the endings typically happy, and it’s hard to not feel good after reading one of them on my own or to a curious and delighted child. Plus, they are often colorfully and beautifully illustrated. I send books to my nieces and nephews and to friends’ children. Books are lasting, and what better way to share the joy of this season than by giving a book that represents the timelessness of the holiday.
I also like to browse in bookstores during this time of year, sometimes buying; sometimes not, but the sheer numbers of books that are available for people of all ages create excitement and a sense of wonder. I’ve gotten immersed in various versions of The Nutcracker, The Night Before Christmas, The Polar Express, an exquisitely illustrated version of Robert Frost’s Stopping by the Woods on a SnowyEvening, and several that tell the story of a miracle that happened more than two thousand years ago that caused a light to burn for eight days instead of one and created the Jewish holiday of Chanukah. Then there are the picture books and photography books that show gardens and parks in their splendor, books from arboretums and conservatories and nature preserves. If you want a sense of how beautiful the season is, take a look at one of those.
Curious about how cultures unlike my own celebrate the holidays, I’ve read books about Kwanzaa, the festival that recognizes the African diaspora and pays homage to African unity, heritage and culture in the United States and other countries; and Diwali, the Indian festival of lights, to name two. What strikes me is that all the holidays, however diverse, share one major theme: the lighting of candles and the emphasis on light. Our lives certainly are made brighter during these short, dark days.
Some years we decorate a little more, sometimes less, depending on our schedule and our inclination. Without fail, each year around this time I put the coffee table books away and retrieve those we’ve lovingly collected over many years that represent the holidays. They’re pretty, yes, but it’s also a pleasure to reread and revisit them each year to help get into the spirit of the season.
I’m attracted to the books because they make me feel good. The messages of hope and redemption, the miracles we don’t think about much at other times, the beautiful and colorful illustrations and sometimes, even, the music and recipes that accompany them. There’s something in each that inspires me and causes me to reflect upon what this time of year really represents.
I’ve been an oft-willing guinea pig for different adventures, events, experiences, and foods. I’ve sampled shark (gross!), swallowed two uncooked eggs for the Dare portion of the game (thank you, seltzer and Pepto for averting an unwanted revisit to keep from answering a question truthfully!), been arrested and jailed on self-defense protecting my unborn child (that jail stay I gave Casper his first lockup experience in JERSEYDOGS); lived two years in Gettysburg–yes, it’s one of the most active paranormal activity places in the U.S.–and enjoyed many adventures I’ll share over time. The journey I’m semi-proud to say: before I indie-published in 2018, it visited a house previously accepting smut. As it’d opened its doors to other genres, I was that guinea-pig-experiment-gone-spectacularly-wrong. I took my MS back, but not without a hell of a fight.
I can laugh about that episode five years hence come mid-2020. But during and the unreal months after, t’weren’t at all pretty. I almost tossed being a full-time writer, thinking I’d been a colossal flop in this business. How could I not’ve thought that: 60 rejections before said house. Some form. Some ghost. One, a polite “Gee, thanks for thinking of us, Missye, but your novel’s dialogue is a tad overwhelming.” (#WaitWhat? 🤔🤨) I mean, a Pyrrhic victory‘s not all that it’s cracked up to be, that’s for sure. I found the house in the black. And broadening its reach past the typical Girls! Girls! Girls! fare, enter naive, giddy me. Gave JERSEY‘s partial (first 13 chapters) according to the Submittable directions, and I moved on.
Three days later, an email arrives they loved the offering, and could I send the full. Sure I do. And I again forgot about it.
A week in, I’m speaking with Ms. Publisher herself as I walk home from work. After the 90 minute conversation, in which I asked every question I could think of, remembered to ask, and asked on the fly, I make the long-awaited announcement to my family: I HAVE A BOOK CONTRACT!!!!!
Finally!
I’ve arrived! Better than a journalism byline! Better than a hot scoop!
I. Am. IN!!!!
And to make that moment sweeter, another small house saw JERSEY‘s potential, loved it, but I let this publisher know I’d had another offer arrive at the same time.
Talk about adrenaline-fueled elation, wow. It was summer vacation, a fantastic kiss from my crush, Christmas morning, sleepaway camp, flying a hang-glider, the birth of my kids, and going on my first-ever crazy rollercoaster ride at the same time. To quote my son, I was like our cattle dog when everyone was home. Yeah, well, in my birthday month, too? Hell YEAH I was!
Instinct, although happy for me, began its objectionable tin cup banging against my conscience. That’s a sound you can’t ignore long.
I’m assigned the first of three editors, joined the then Yahoo list group, only to learn within two weeks of getting to work, a family member died in a car accident. We didn’t know it at the time it’d happened that it’d happened, as my husband had lost his phone. When we received word, I needed to be his support. The house gave me as much time I needed, which was sweet of them. During this, I’d filled out my cover art form details, and what did I want my web page on their site to read for my e-book purchase portal.
The first editor, clearly used to shaping XXX-rated MSs, didn’t know shorts of longer works–album song titles, book chapters, news and magazine articles, etc.–used quotation marks like dialogue. She incorrectly put every song in JERSEY in italics, which is strictly for longer works (books, albums, periodicals, etc.), and the van Gogh pantings references in quotes. Not only did I re-do her work, she declared she hated the McGuinness/Pedregon crew. After a quasi-heated exchange–I’m proud I kept my side civil, but can I help it if my pointing out the obvious and my editorial prowess excelled hers by time and experience?–she complained about me to the managing editor.
The cover art form submission? Returned to me, according to my notes and what they’d “put” together. “Cobbled” or “scrounged” would be more accurate to describe that effort I hated on sight.
Sigh. The honeymoon was clearly over.
Toldja so, Instincts chimed in.
Oh, shut up, I snapped back.
Editor #2, Ms. Managing Editor assigned me to–a single mom to a young teen, a FT double-major, working FT, and shaping five other books with mine. Tactfully, I queried how could she manage my MS with all on her plate, but she insisted she had it covered. Fortunately, I didn’t hold my breath.
That one fizzled over ellipses. Can you imagine? I listed what the Chicago Manual of Style said to do on this punctuation mark. She noted Ms. Publisher doesn’t want my brand of ellipses (dot-space-dot-space-dot) over hers. (dot-dot-dot). CMoS is my brand of ellipses now? Guess first thing Monday I’d better bug the University of Chicago’s Press for royalties I’m long due for. **smirk**
Managing Editor tells me, four months after signing, I’d be edited by Ms. Publisher–the Great and Powerful Oz–herself. By now, my instincts were ponding its tin cup on my emotional walls so hard they shot off sparks, so I wasn’t scared. Pissed, more like, but that comes later.
Ms. Great/Powerful asked why did I argue with Editor #1, so I told her. What was wrong with Editor #2, she wondered. Nothing, I explained–I just felt it unfair to me, my book, and her being a single mom, to be part of her obviously impossible workload. Ellipses issue aside, I had to bow out in good conscience.
This wouldn’t last, either. This issue was pettier: semi-colons. You know, these things? —->;<—-. That. Ms. Publisher called them ancient, the trend at the time were em-dashes. I’ve two questions, I said: what’s wrong with the semi-colon?
We need to follow the trend, she answered.
I thought we authors shouldn’t chase trends. Conferences, workshops, writing references preached that until they’re blue in the face, I countered. What’s different now?
No reply.
Then she declared Mitchell’s use of them in Gone With the Wind old-fashioned when I cited the Pulitzer Prize winning book–which sold copies in pace of The Holy Bible at one point, but that holds no bearing on this story :)–was loaded with them. Correctly used, too. Its Oscar-winning movie was eight decades old before James Cameron’s Titanic broke the record. Isn’t that saying something, I asked.
Ancient, was her curt, single reply.
After more tussling over word choices, fonts, and transit specifics of the NYC setting where the book is, that conversation in late January 2016 wasn’t as pleasant as the call six months prior. I felt out of sorts and emotionally and creatively handcuffed, albeit proud I defended myself and my work. Yet I was contracted, and scared green I’d lose creative control on a book I slaved to shape for a decade-plus. What could I do?
Sleep. That was in my control. Maybe what Einstein theorized about problems seemingly without a solution when awake would be solved in a sleep-dream state.
That theory better come through.
5:30am, Groundhog Day Eve, I’m bolted awake, but my instincts are sound asleep. This wasn’t working out, so I found an out without needing to hire an attorney I couldn’t afford to break my agreement: Argue my way out.
I got to work. Ms. Publisher insisted e-book platforms all used a universal format (true), so all chapters in mine would be centered. With it out now in indie pubbed status–and using Reedsy for drafting, Vellum for formatting and uploading–I asked could it be formatted in right-side heading justified. No, Ms. Publisher said. But other books in print and e-books did this; I sent three samples across three genres as proof. Why couldn’t this house do the same?
No answer. I went to sleep that night feeling tingly, like I’d done something heinously wrong.
Groundhog Day, 2016, 2pm, EST, this email awaited me–
“Dear Legal Name At the Time, Regretfully, your contract has been rescinded. I find your argumentative nature and stances unconducive for my establishment. Attached please find 3c and 7a of the contract breechedby you, which is basis for our relationship to end. I wish you the very best in your future publishing endeavors. Sincerely, Ms. Publisher, Acme Publishing.”
That Pyrrhic victory delivered a punch I won’t soon forget.
I might’ve been free, but not long after, I felt SO lost. Was fighting for my first book’s life worth that much a hit?
Was she right–do I argue too much?
Isn’t it worth being a little imprisoned for the name-on-spine glory so many authors are after, that so many have achieved?
To be fair, I didn’t read and re-read the agreement’s fine print–I was too giddy for the acceptance to see or care what I was in for. So for that, I take responsibility. Even so . . . many questions ran through my mind if I did the right thing, but one bulldozed through-did I argue too much to make it in this business?–I still wrestle with today.
I drifted. I mourned. I cried. I just said the hell with it all, the world didn’t need my voice among the billions clamoring for the few eyes to find their stuff, love their stuff. I hated myself, hated writing, hated everything on which this industry stands for, is built on, hated nobody stood up for me then–and sometimes now. Even an author in my corner while shaping my first book, within the month of the contract dissolution, succumbed to complications relating to a car accident several years back. Already on the emotional and creative precipice before receiving this news, I fell in the abyss. My uncle gone in 2007 who encouraged me in my teens to keep writing. Losing the deal. Then her passing weeks later.
What. Was. The. Point?
I stayed at the chasm’s bottom and waited to creatively die.
An email for book covers came to my inbox, and curiosity drove me to the site despite my deep funk. Covers I perused were just silly. Laughable. Ghastly. ColorForms-Ain’t-Fun pictures suited for first-grader billboards than books. Hilarious in a bad way. Macabre. Ridiculous. Hideous. Head-scratchers. Psychotic. Boring. Or just plain dumb.
Then one appeared that made my heart jump and pump harder. Not to make a comparison, but it fits: it felt like when Elizabeth, while bearing John the Baptist when she heard Mary’s voice, Elizabeth’s child leapt in her womb knowing his cousin Jesus was there with him. That’s how special this cover was–and still is.
The one showed a loner who seemed to know how I felt. How Logan, Casper, and Jay Vincent felt at some point in their series’ lives. Unsure. Scared. Alone. Vulnerable. Misunderstood. Mislabeled. Humbled. Proud. Scrappy. Untamed. Strong. A warrior.
Eventually, should I get a house to make this story a 2nd edition, the cover I have in mind will be very different. It’ll be, I hope, one I love as much as I do this one.
I snapped it up . . . and slowly got back to work.
Had I stayed with the house, I’d be six months out from either renegotiating terms or leaving altogether. In hindsight, I’m glad I ended the relationship, but I could’ve been more thoughtful and professional in my exit.
Just because a house expands from erotica doesn’t mean your MS(s) will fit, may fit, should fit, or the publisher will treat you with professionalism or fairly. Going through this experience showed I’m stronger than I thought, that if I don’t defend my work, who else will, and I need more refining before being traditionally published, if ever I am. It’s a good lesson. Finding my place for my baby is very much like dating–I need to grow and evolve, and kiss a few bushelfuls of toads before that prince(ess) comes along for the potential HEA. I’m still argumentative in general–my husband Pete and I had a spirited debate recently, now since resolved–but I’m more discerning which hills I’ll die on for my work or any topic. The house-to-be need to love my offerings as I do, see what I do, but be open to guide me and let me have my lead as I’m open-minded for theirs.
While the patience kills me softly in waiting, I’ll stay busy crafting shorts, haikus, flash, and of course, my two series’ books. A hefty imagination’s a great cure-all for all peeves IRT (that’s shorthand for “in real time” for those of you in #RioLinda! 🙂 ) . . . so it’s time to get back to work.
Happy Holidays, Everyone! If you are American, I hope you enjoyed a happy Thanksgiving. Whether it was with, family, friends, or time to yourself. And now we are approaching another holiday. I’m not sure how many cultures have a holiday in December, but for my family it is Christmas.
I enjoy learning about other cultures. If you are celebrating something besides Christmas, I’d love to know a bit about it. Please comment below.
If I had the money and the time, I would love to be a world traveler. In High School I loved World Geography. Our teacher had been to a lot of places so he could give us information that you don’t get from text books. He made learning about other people and cultures exciting. I think that, and my infatuation with the Nez Perce band that lived in the county where I grew up, is why I like to have Native American characters in my mystery books. I can show people a past they may not know about and a culture they have only seen stereotyped.
I’m excited about the book I’m writing now and the one that I will be writing after this one. They are both set in the places I visited this year. I’ll get to add in the cultures I experienced and have my characters see similarities with their lives.
Right now, I’m pleased to say that the 4th Gabriel Hawke book has released. It is available in ebook and print.
Chattering Blue Jay
Killer on the loose.
Tracking Rivalry.
Revenge could get them killed.
Fish and Wildlife Oregon State Trooper Gabriel Hawke is set to teach a class at a Search and Rescue conference in Idaho when a dangerous inmate breaks out of prison. It is believed the man is headed to Hells Canyon.
Hawke is enlisted to find the escapee. He’s paired with a boastful tracker who doesn’t follow directions, making them both targets.
Before the dust settles, the other tracker is dead and Hawke is twisting in the wind for letting the possible killer get away.
The first book in this series, Murder of Ravens, is also available in audiobook.
Book 1 of Gabriel Hawke series
The ancient Indian art of tracking is his greatest strength…
And his biggest weakness.
Fish and Wildlife State Trooper Gabriel Hawke believes he’s chasing poachers.
However, he comes upon a wildlife biologist standing over a body that is wearing a wolf tracking collar.
He uses master tracker skills taught to him by his Nez Perce grandfather to follow clues on the mountain. Paper trails and the whisper of rumors in the rural community where he works, draws Hawke to a conclusion that he finds bitter.
Arresting his brother-in-law ended his marriage, could solving this murder ruin a friendship?
Mystery novels have always delighted and intrigued me. From
the Bobbsey Twins straight through to Nancy Drew and Agatha Christie, I prided
myself on following the clues, identifying the miscreant, and serving justice
by solving the crime. What a challenge to match wits and triumph over wily
authors who salted their prose with red herrings and misdirection! Cozy
mysteries, police procedurals, private eyes and thrillers—I devoured them all.
When former colleagues at that alphabet government agency asked about future
plans, I had but one answer: I will write mystery novels!
Like many readers, I felt bereft
when literary characters I had grown to love suddenly vanished. After all, I’d
spent a good deal of time with them and established a sense of intimacy. They
were friends. Family even. Thus, I became enamored of mystery series where the
saga continued with each novel. In these books, Spencer and Susan (not to
mention that dishy HAWK) lived on; Lord Peter and Harriet nourished their relationship;
Emerson and Amelia Peabody flourished in an exotic land where adventure and
danger lurked, and Dr. Alex Cross kept the streets of DC reasonably safe.
My first three published novels
were stand alones featuring smart, sassy heroines matched by equally desirable
partners. As each saga ended, I felt a tug of sadness. These lovingly crafted
children of my mind had slipped forever into the abyss never to reappear. I
missed them. Ultimately the urge to write a series was born. The Creature
Comfort series sprang from my experience in the dog show world. While trudging
across the North East with my Belgian Tervuren, I became painfully aware of how
easily thwarted ambition, snubs and extra-curricula hijinks could lead to
murder. Tennyson’s famed observation about “…nature red in tooth and claw…” was
on open display but not from canines. Show dogs are bound by strict behavioral
standards, so my Lord Byron and his comrades repressed their baser instincts.
Their human companions sometimes did not. Bared teeth, growls and nips were
common fare on that menu and became my inspiration for Death by Dog Show, followed closely by Homicide by Horse Show and Murder
at the Falls.
I modeled my protagonist Persephone
Morgan on the master leather-smith and dog breeder who produced Lord Byron.
Smart, snarky and independent, Perri keeps one eye on the bottom line and the
other on the odd assortment of friends and neighbors who surround her. She
loves all animals, is a steadfast friend and an implacable foe with a weakness for
a certain little girl and her toothsome dad. Perri, the kind of friend we all
seek and seldom find, is a sleuth in the proud tradition of Amelia Peabody with
a touch of Harriet Vane. Some purists resist the idea of a cozy character with
emotional and physical needs. I celebrate a flesh and blood woman who can solve
crimes while finding balance in her own life.
HOMICIDE BY HORSE SHOW
Leathersmith Persephone “Perri
Morgan makes the kind of beautiful custom leashes and saddles that make wealthy
dog and horse show lovers swoon – until murder strides onto the course…
When Perri’s BFF Babette hosts a meeting of Fairfax County’s
affluent animal lovers to save a local horse rescue farm, the agenda gets
sidetracked by the discovery of a corpse in the master bedroom. Everyone
present is a suspect, including Perri’s main squeeze, Wing Pruett-Washington,
DC’s sexiest reporter.
While Perri scours local horse and dog shows hoping to
unmask the killer, she uncovers band manners, infidelity, and low-level crime
in her hunt for the killer- but what she can’t find are grounds for murder.
When the killer strikes again and she gets a warning to stop her sleuthing,
Perri has to muster all her training-and all her allies, human and animal
alike-to make it out of the ring alive.
Praise for Arlene Kay’s Boston Uncommons Mysteries
‘Reminiscent of the comedy-mystery movies of the
thirties…An entertaining first entry into the Boston Uncommons Mystery series
New York Journal of
Books on Swann Dive
“Highly entertaining…I can’t wait for the next book”
Jaye Roycraft, author
Rainscape
An artful combination of humor, satire and savagery make Arlene Kay’s tales unique. The published author of nine mystery novels, is a former Treasury executive who traded the trappings of bureaucracy for the delights of murder most foul. She wisely confines her crimes to fiction although like all mystery writers she firmly believes that most deaths are suspicious, and everyone is a suspect. Her Creature Comforts series from Kensington (lyrical), includes Death by Dog Show; Homicide by Horseshow; and Therapy by Murder.
Ladies of Mystery 
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