Category: mystery

My Writing List

~ patyjag ~ 8 Comments

Every writer has their mantra, motto, or theme for their writing. I have a list of items I try to hit with each book I write.

The list is:

  • Character endures longer than plot.
  • Action intrigues the reader more than passive language.
  • Scenes excite the reader more than narration.
  • Dialogue interests the reader more than exposition.
  • Nouns & Verbs trump adjectives and adverbs.

I’m not sure where I found this years ago, but the saying has hung either from my monitor or as now, on my whiteboard plotting calendar by my desk. These five things are what I strive for in each book or short story I write.

I want the readers to love my characters whether they are the main characters or the secondary characters. Because if I don’t care or like them why would a reader want to read about them? From the reactions of my readers when I ended the Shandra Higheagle Mystery series, I believe they fell in love with my characters. Which makes me happy and I try to do the same with all my other series characters.

As for action, I like stories that aren’t bogged down with descriptions. I want to know what the characters are doing and have their actions and reactions move the story forward. I like books that carry me along on the ride without distracting me with mundane things.  

Sometimes I wonder if I put too many breaks in some chapters, but they are usually ones where the characters are jumping from scene to scene as they move forward to question someone or look for a clue. All the scenes whether they are long or short keep the story moving.

I prefer to write dialogue that informs the reader either about the past, present, or to show the character’s character. I try not to use too much narrative to inform the reader. It can end up feeling like an info dump. As much as I can, I try to keep information in the dialog and not do any dumps.

There have been times after I’ve written and published a book, I think, “Man, I should have described this or that better.” Then I get a review with how well I showed or revealed an area or place and I think, “I guess I did okay.” I am not a wordy person in real life. I don’t care for small talk and I like to get to the point of things. I’ve found I’m the same way with my writing. I use words sparingly and make sure the words I do use inform without having to add three words for the one. I do use some adjectives but only if they are necessary to show what I want to show, not to flower up the pages. When I read a book with lots of description, I’ll jump over those paragraphs to get to the action.

The books I like to read are ones with strong likeable characters and action that moves the story forward. That shouldn’t come as a surprise after reading this post. If a character grabs me in the first chapter, I will finish the book unless the story is slogging. I came across a book recently that the premise intrigued me but I couldn’t finish the book because I didn’t like the main character and some of the things the character did seemed dumb. I put a book like this down and start another one. I have lots of books on my TBR pile and limited time to read.

So when I read for pleasure, I want the book to make me think about it even when I’m not reading. That is a good book.

What is a good book you’ve read lately?

I’d be remiss if I didn’t tell you about my newest release.

Down and Dirty

Book 6 in the Spotted Pony Casino Mysteries

The Spotted Pony Casino’s head of security, Dela Alvaro, receives a late-night call that takes her to a deserted walkway along the river. After confronting a woman babbling about love and bodies being buried, Dela stumbles over a corpse and discovers her knife covered in the victim’s blood.

Dela and Tribal Detective Heath Seaver find themselves working with FBI Special Agent Quinn Pierce when the murder seems to be connected to a drug cartel. Dela nearly becomes the victim of a hit-and-run while someone is trying to frame her for the murder.

Proving her innocence has Dela interviewing past acquaintances and members of a drug cartel, all while trying to decide if the woman she met the night of the murder is truly crazy … or the killer.

Universal buy link: https://books2read.com/u/bagQ66

Muse vs. Editor: Writing a First Draft

~ Margaret Lucke ~ 2 Comments

By Margaret Lucke

“Whee! Look at these! So pretty. So wise.”

My Muse is flinging words and ideas at what a moment ago was a blank page, while I scramble to get them down. She’s as happy as a toddler in a mud puddle, and about as disciplined. I can’t wait to see what she’s going to come up with. I’m starting a new story, and I know my best course of action is to let myself simply follow her lead.

“Hey, you two. What’s going on here?” Uh-oh. My Editor has arrived and is peering over my shoulder at the screen. “You want to say that? Really? Are you sure?”

I reread the freshly written paragraph. A moment ago it seemed just right, but suddenly I’m having second thoughts. “I don’t know. It sounds pretty good to me.”

The Editor harrumphs and shakes her head, as if pitying me for having such faulty discernment.

“Go away,” the Muse demands. “You don’t belong here. I’m in charge of the first draft.” She splashes the Editor with muddy water. Drops land on the pristine page, making it look smeared and dirty. I frown. Maybe what I put down isn’t so wonderful after all.

The Editor leans in closer, jabbing her finger at the screen as she tries to confirm my misgivings. “Look. That word’s misspelled. And you left out a comma.”

“Little stuff,” the Muse sniffs. “Mere tweaks. Come back when we’re finished being brilliant and creative.”

“Just trying to help,” the Editor retorts. “While I’m at it, let me point out that there’s no way Lucy would sneak out of the house on the night of the murder. Totally out of character.”

The Muse claps her hands over my ears. “Don’t listen! Make her go away.”

I pull myself free. “Listen, you two. Play nice. The Muse is right, it’s her turn. The first draft is all about letting her run wild while we get to know the characters and figure out what the story is.”

“Ha! Told you.” The Muse gives the editor a raspberry.

“Not fair.” The Editor slinks into the corner to sulk. “No one gets how important I am. See if I ever come back.”

I sigh. This is like refereeing a fight between kindergartners.

“Of course you’ll come back,” I say in my most placating voice. It’s true that the Editor needs to leave now, but I don’t want to alienate her forever. “When it’s time for the second draft, you and the Muse will collaborate. I’ll need both her art and your craft.”

“Probably won’t be worth my effort,” she grumbles. “What you’ve got so far is garbage.”

The Muse rolls her eyes. “Of course it is. The first draft is supposed to be garbage.”

“You can fix it,” I promise the Editor. “In the second draft, maybe the third one, too. And the final one—that’s all yours. You can change words and fix punctuation to your heart’s content.”

I wonder what the Muse will say to that, but her attention has wandered. She’s capricious and whimsical, and it’s not easy to keep her focused. Right now she’s amusing herself by slapping bits of mud together into a castle.

There’s a long moment of silence as the Editor watches the construction project. Finally she says, “That’s the poorest excuse for a horse I’ve ever seen. I can tell that making sense out of this story is going to be a huge job. You have my number. Call me when you’re ready.”

She leaves my office, but I know she won’t wait for the call. She’ll be back tomorrow. She can’t resist trying to interfere in the first draft.

I turn back to my keyboard. “Okay, Muse, let’s get back to work. Where were we?”

My Muse stands up and wipes her muddy hands on my sleeve. “Oh, I’m done for today. Do we have any ice cream?”

Stay Caffeinated

~ Janet Dawson ~ 9 Comments

A reader once commented that Jeri Howard, the private investigator in my long-running series, drinks a lot of coffee. Indeed she does. More than I do. Her favorite drink, and mine, is a latte. And none of that pumpkin spice stuff for either of us.

From a writer’s standpoint, there are perfectly good reasons for Jeri’s coffee habit. Attribution for one. And adding flavor to the scene for another.

Let’s look at attribution. When one character is having a conversation with another character, you can get lost in a forest of “said.” He said this, she said that. As a reader, I like it when I can tell which character is talking, and I’ve read far too many books where I lose track of who is saying what. Having Jeri talk with a witness over a cup of java helps.

Here’s an example from The Things We Keep. Jeri leads into the conversation:

“What about you? How did you deal with it?”

He took another sip of his cappuccino and set the cup in the saucer. “Funny you should ask…”

As for adding flavor to the narrative, in the early stages of a book, I often write scenes with minimal details and lots of dialog. Then I’ll go back and add details to flesh out the scene and reveal things about the characters.

Another example, this one from Water Signs, where Jeri talks with a security guard who works on a site where there’s been a death.

Dupre got out, wearing his Manville Security uniform. He walked toward me, gesturing toward the door to the Peerless retail outlet. “Can I get a coffee first?”

I saluted him with my own cup. “Far be it from me to get between a man and his caffeine.”

Dupre laughed and went inside, coming out a moment later with the largest available cup. He took a sip and sighed. “Oh, yeah, I needed that.”

Coffee also gives Jeri camouflage in Cold Trail. Here, she’s trailed a potential suspect to a Starbucks, where he meets up with a defense attorney who hasn’t been returning Jeri’s phone calls.

The two men went inside the Starbucks. I followed. They queued up to order drinks, plain coffee for Scott, a cappuccino for Rhine, who paid for the drinks. When they got their coffees, I took my turn and ordered an iced latte. They found a table near the back. I got my latte and sat down at a nearby table, making sure Scott’s back was to me. . . . I got out my cell phone, pretending to take a call. I snapped a couple of photos of the two men, hoping the noise of the coffee shop would mask the sound of the shutter.

When it comes to food, well, lots of opportunities to flesh out characters. My sleuthing Zephyrette Jill McLeod rides the rails on the old California Zephyr, where her favorite dining car breakfast is French toast with crisp bacon, and coffee, of course. In the first book in the series, Death Rides the Zephyr, Jill has already had breakfast when she encounters two passengers heading into the dining car—Mrs. Tidsdale and Emily, the little girl she’s chaperoning on the trip to Denver.

Mrs. Tidsdale looked as though she wasn’t quite awake. . . . “God, I need coffee, and plenty of it,” she said, in response to Jill’s greeting.

We have really good French toast,” Jill told Emily. “You should try it.”

Mrs. Tidsdale blanched. “Can I get a Bloody Mary instead?”

“You’d have to go to the lounge for that.”

“Don’t worry, I will. As soon as we get some breakfast. Come to think of it, I could make the acquaintance of some ham and eggs.” Mrs. Tidsdale looked down at Emily. “Does that sound good, sweetie?”

Emily looked dubious. “I like French toast. With bacon.”

“Then French toast and bacon for you, ham and eggs for me,” Mrs. Tidsdale said.

Of course, there could be a downside to consuming all that coffee. One of my books features someone whose cup of java has been spiked with a deadly poison. No, I won’t tell you which book.

Good food and good coffee, great ways for this writer to flavor my fiction.

Guest Blogger ~ Margaret Mizushima

~ patyjag ~ 4 Comments

Moving and Moving On

This is my first guest post for Paty’s Ladies of Mystery, and I’m so happy to be here. I write the Timber Creek K-9 Mysteries, a series comprised of eight published books and a new episode titled GATHERING MIST that launches on October 8th. I’m excited for this book to be released, because it’s set in an entirely different place than the rest of the series, resulting from a move that my husband and I made in 2022.

Our move across country from northern Colorado to the state of Washington began two years prior to the actual event. My husband Charlie is a veterinarian who established his practice of forty-two years on our property outside the city limits of a small town north of Fort Collins, CO. We also raised a herd of Angus cattle, quarter horses, and a multitude of pets there. It was our beloved home, and we planned to stay there forever.

But then…the school district bought the plot of ground next to ours and began to build a three-school campus, complete with football, baseball, and soccer fields. Oh my! The construction noise rocked our home. The atmosphere of our peaceful country life was destroyed. We looked at each other and said, “We’ve gotta move.”

Fortunately, it was time for my husband to retire. It took two years to disperse our cattle herd, sell our farm equipment, close the vet practice and get ready to go. We decided to head to Washington to be closer to one of our daughters. Because of the boom in the real estate market, cash buyers reigned. Since no one would entertain an offer from someone with a contingency, we were unable to buy a place to move to until after our property sold.

The last month before we left was intense. We pared down our belongings and loaded what was left into one stock trailer and a container strapped to our hay trailer, which we stored on our friends’ property. We loaded our two German shorthaired pointers into the car and headed west to Washington State. What a trip! Both dogs and humans were shell-shocked when we arrived.

Our daughter had found a place for us to rent near her home in a beautiful river valley. It was on a rural property surrounded by giant Douglas fir that smelled amazing at night. Our landlady let us bring our dogs and they had a large meadow they could run in each morning. We’ll always be grateful for her gracious hospitality.

Four months later, we found our new home and made the final move. We settled in and I discovered a wonderful setting for the ninth book in my series, a fictional spot on Washington’s Olympic peninsula.

In GATHERING MIST, Deputy Mattie Wray and her K-9 partner Robo leave their home a week before Mattie’s wedding to join a search and rescue mission for a celebrity’s missing son. They face unfamiliar territory and unfriendly locals on the misty, rain-soaked Olympic peninsula, and they uncover secrets that have lain buried in the dense forest. When it becomes apparent that there is something more sinister than a lost child in play, the searchers grow desperate as they strive to find the missing boy before he is lost forever.

We’ve not only found a new home here in Washington, but I found a new setting that I loved using in this book. I invite you to read Mattie and Robo’s adventures that are set in both Colorado and Washington, starting with book one, KILLING TRAIL. Or, if you prefer, start anywhere in the series, because the mystery in each episode stands alone. I hope you enjoy the books!

GATHERING MIST

Secrets hide within the fog deep in the mossy forests of the Pacific Northwest, in this ninth thrilling installment in award-winning author Margaret Mizushima’s Timber Creek K-9 Mystery series.

Deputy Mattie Wray, formerly Mattie Cobb, is summoned to Washington’s Olympic peninsula for an urgent search and rescue mission to find a celebrity’s missing child. With only a week left before her wedding, Mattie is hesitant to leave Timber Creek, but her K-9 partner Robo’s tracking skills are needed.

Dense forest, chilling rain, and unfriendly locals hamper their efforts, and soon Mattie suspects something more sinister than a lost child is at play.  When one of the SAR dogs becomes ill, her fiancé Cole Walker suspects poison. Fearing for Mattie’s and Robo’s safety, Cole joins the search and rescue team as veterinary support.

Secrets that have lain hidden within the rugged terrain come to light and when it is uncovered that the missing child was kidnapped, the search becomes a full-blown crime scene investigation, forcing Mattie, Robo, and Cole into a desperate search to find the missing child before it’s too late.  

Here is a buy link:https://www.amazon.com/Gathering-Mist-Timber-Creek-Mystery/dp/1639108947

Buy Link in Tiny URL:  https://tinyurl.com/5n9xx8un

Margaret Mizushima writes the internationally published Timber Creek K-9 Mysteries. She serves as past president of the Rocky Mountain Chapter of Mystery Writers of America and was elected Writer of the Year by Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers. She is the recipient of a Colorado Authors League Award, a Benjamin Franklin Book Award, a CIBA CLUE Award, and two Willa Literary Awards by Women Writing the West. Her books have been finalists for a SPUR Award by Western Writers of America, a Killer Nashville Silver Falchion Award, and the Colorado Book Award. She and her husband recently moved from Colorado, where they raised two daughters and a multitude of animals, to a home in the Pacific Northwest. Find her on Facebook/AuthorMargaretMizushima, X @margmizu, Instagram @margmizu, and her website www.margaretmizushima.com.

I Write For Me By Heather Haven

~ Heather Haven ~ 6 Comments

I don’t think any one of us can deny the pure pleasure of writing. And when others read our work, it’s an added joy. Sometimes I forget that despite being a professional writer – in that readers spend money and time on my books – I really don’t write for them. True, I make a contract with the reader in the beginning of the story, usually within the first few paragraphs, that I am going to deliver a mystery of a certain style that will have an overall happy ending. I don’t tie up everything with a pert little bow, but satisfaction of a sort is guaranteed. That’s because I would like nothing better than to tie Life up with a pert little bow. In my writing world I can. Most of the time. Certainly, in my cozies.

My standalone, Murder under the Big Top, is not a cozy, but I’m still trying to figure out what it is. It’s definitely darker than my other novels. Everyone comes on scene with a secret, a secret that has brought on unhappiness. Through the years I have called it a mystery, a noir, a docu-drama, a docu-noir, and I’m still coming up with a term to fit. As this book made its debut in 2014, categorizing it doesn’t look good.

Murder under the Big Top (originally called Death of a Clown) is loosely based on my mother’s short time in Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus of the early 40s. The story and plot are totally made up. But the day-to-day existence of life during the golden age of the “Greatest Show on Earth” was much documented and is the spot-on truth. It was a world unto itself, unique and colorful. If I haven’t mentioned it, my mother began her circus career as a First of May (a novice performer or worker in their first season), and my father was an elephant handler. They met in the circus and married. My mother worked her way up to specialty acts and my father became an elephant trainer. I was actually born during the yearly hiatus of the circus. So, I really felt obligated to give the story – fiction though it may be – full justice.

The novel took me six years to write and was a success of sorts. Despite winning a silver IPPY, it was never a big seller. Some readers think it’s my best work. Others couldn’t even get through it. It was a departure from my other books, and those used to my cozies weren’t happy about that. Maybe I should have called myself H. L. Haven on the cover instead of my usual moniker, as a warning. Maybe I should have turned it into a circus series, as a few fellow writers suggested. But here’s the truth: I couldn’t face writing another book feeling that level of obligation, even though no one put me there but me.

The other standalone, Christmas Trifle, started out as a romance novel. I was dancing around Hallmark, and it was suggested I write a romance novel for them. Come to discover, I don’t give good romance. I found that out at Chapter 8 when I would have preferred to clean out the dryer’s filter or even the county’s prison lavatories than sit down and write. Writing became a drudgery.

Rather than throw-up, I decided to throw in a murder. Wow! The story had a few heartbeats and then came to life. I added a few more deceased members of the human race and was off and away. It all came together. I was happy. Apparently, there’s nothing like a corpse to make my day. Forget romance. Forget writing what I know. Toss in a few dead bodies. That’s the ticket.

The Persephone Cole Vintage Mysteries came about due to a challenge from an editor. Could I create an atypical female protagonist? It couldn’t have come at a better time because I had done tons of research for Murder under the Big Top,  very specifically the year 1942, and wanted to use that knowledge. Time to write a private dick of the 40s. Listening to my editor, I came up with Persephone ‘Percy’ Cole, a five-foot eleven-inch, overweight single mother, thirty-five-years old, with a wicked sense of humor and a right hook akin to that of a heavyweight boxer. A female counterpart to every male shamus of the era, but with an eight-year-old son who gives her life meaning.  

I was with a small publishing house and wrote two of the novels during that time, The Dagger Before Me and Iced Diamonds. I left, became independent, and wrote two more novels, The Chocolate Kiss-Off and Hotshot Shamus. The series was never a big seller, but just mad fun to write. Percy Cole makes her way in a man’s world of seventy-plus years ago during WWII and does it without apology. Who doesn’t like a no s–t lady?

The Alvarez Family Murder Mysteries hit a stride soon after I began writing the series. It is by far my most popular and sells well. That’s “well” by my standards. I don’t think I could ever buy a yacht from the proceeds should the impulse strike me. Maybe a sailboat. Hmmm. No, not a sailboat. Those are pretty pricey. All that canvas, donchaknow. A rowboat. Probably a rowboat. With a hole in it. But I’m not whining, even though I live in wine country (bada-boom).

The truth is, as an adult I don’t do one-on-one with the ocean. Having been born and raised on the coastline of southern Florida, I know only too well what lives in and under all that sparkling salt water. As a kid, I’ve stepped on enough horseshoe crabs, who are not horseshoes nor crabs. Burrowing just under the sand, their spiny exoskeleton has ruined many a lovely day and naked foot. I’ve been stung by enough snarky jellyfish who loved the backseat of my bathing suit. And don’t get me started on sea urchins who seemed to have it out for me. As a youth, I remember splashing about in the Atlantic Ocean, minding my own business, only to be hauled out by lifeguards as a shiver of sharks swam by. They may have been well-fed from their stopover in Ft. Lauderdale, but it was hard to know their hunger deficit by the time they got to Miami, so out of the water we got and waved them on to the Bahamas.

But I digress. I love to write about Lee Alvarez’s escapades and her colorful family. Readers seem smitten with the series, as well, so this is the perfect combo. But keep this under your hat: Lee is not my favorite protagonist. That would be Corliss, from a short story of the same name, from Corliss and Other Award-Winning Stories, my one and only anthology. I love Corliss. I’m not even sure why. She’s my youngest protag, vulnerable and easily pushed around. But she has resilience, and learns life lessons fast and well. When I think of all of the characters I write about, she’s the one who makes the greatest changes in her life yet still remains who she is at her core. Wait a minute. I may have solved why I like her best. But she is done. Completely done. And there’s no reason to go back and write more about a character I am totally satisfied with.

Another of my favorite protagonists is a dog. I wrote Jemma and the Shoe, another short story included in Corliss and Other Award-Winning Stories, as a gift for my dearest heart-sister who lost her beloved Bulldog to old age. I have to say it was more than a labor of love. It became a testament as to why I like to bring people and animals alive again through writing. In this way, my beliefs are similar to that of the ancient Egyptians who carved names of pharaohs and others on the walls of temples, tombs, and pyramids. Say the name, think of the individual, love them, revere them, and they are alive again, if only for that moment. I did this with my own cats, Tugger and then Baba, now characters in the Alvarez Family. This passion is not unique to me, for sure, but I try to practice this ritual every day. The older I get, the more loved ones I have to remember, revere, and miss.

Oh, jeesh. Now I’ve not only digressed, I’ve become maudlin. But we’re back to the truth of things for me. I love to write, whether it’s short stories, articles, posts, plays, ad copy, newspaper columns, or novels. I’m grateful to the readers who enjoy my work, because that is the wondrous byproduct of what I do.

But I write for me. It gets me through the day. It makes me feel alive. It keeps me sane. Okay, saner. And for a time, a fleeting moment, I sometimes feel the touch of a hand or paw from those no longer with me but always in my heart.