New Novel: Desired to Death

Posted on May 9, 2013 by Coming East

A year and a half ago I took on the National Novel Writing Contest, or NaNoWriMo as it is commonly known.  The goal was to write 50,000 words in 30 days.  At the end of the month, I had indeed met the challenge.  Thank goodness, the challenge did not specify that we had to write 50,000 good words because I wrote 50,000 words of pure schlock. What that experience taught me was how darn hard it is to actually write a novel good enough to publish. Besides the obvious talent needed, it requires discipline and the willingness to write every day, even when the muse is not cooperating. That is why I am in awe of any of my fellow bloggers who have that kind of talent and dedication to become published.

imageToday I’d like to focus on one such blogger, Julia Munroe Martin, who has written a terrific murder mystery, Desired to Death. I had the privilege of reading it just before it was published, and I couldn’t put it down. I love the character of Maggie, a mama to the core, but also a woman of other talents, as she is discovering in this first novel of what will become a series. I sent Julia, who writes under the pen name J.M. Maison, a series of questions, and here are her answers:

Q: What inspired you to write Desired to Death?

A: I have always wanted to write a mystery (I’ve always loved reading them), and I’d played around with different amateur sleuth ideas. I liked the idea of a woman who was “used up” in life, someone who felt like she had nothing else going for her, and when I myself had days of feeling that way—after my kids left for college—I decided I could really relate to that woman’s feelings and could see what would inspire her to solve mysteries large and small.

Q: How are you like Maggie, your main character, and how are you different?

A: Warning, this answer may contain minor spoilers! Maggie and I are similar in our interest in mysteries (I’ve followed many a car, let me tell you!) and trusting our intuition and also in our tendency to sarcasm. We also both have two children (a boy and a girl) and wonderful husbands in a long-term committed relationship. I think Maggie is much more outgoing than I am, cares more about her standing and connections in the community, and she’s also a lot braver. I would never invite a stranger to stay in my home (like Maggie does). I would never speak to a loan shark or go and meet with someone I thought was a killer. Also, I’ve never been to a fortune teller (I never would go).

Q: While writing Desired to Death, did you ever worry that you were being too autobiographical, that you were imbuing Maggie with too many of your emotions rather than letting her develop her own persona?

A: First and foremost, Maggie is a fictional character, so I guess I didn’t worry too much about being too autobiographical. Yes, we have similarities, most of them around our empty nest experiences, but Maggie and I are very different in many ways as well. I’ve never known a murderer (okay, that’s not true, I once met someone at Home Depot that I found out later was later in prison for murdering someone). I’ve never owned a chocolate lab. I’ve never been married to someone who was a pilot (well, that also is not quite true, my husband is a private plane pilot). I don’t have kids named Hank and Jessica (although when we first got married, that’s what we planned to name our kids). So, never mind, apparently I’m the fictional character and Maggie is really Julia Munroe Martin, or should I say J.M. Maison!

Q: This novel begins Maggie’s career as an amateur sleuth. How do you see her changing as the series progresses?

A: I think Maggie will become even more bold in her mystery solving, but I need to be careful to balance that because part of the premise of this series is that Maggie really is a newbie, not sure what she’s doing, and is also doing it because she has nothing else that fulfills her. If I fulfill her too much with the mystery solving, then her personality will begin to change… does that make sense? I also see Maggie solving some mysteries outside of Halfway Bay, Maine.

Q: What did you learn from writing Desired to Death?

A: How many steps there are to finish, really finish, writing a book, especially one that will be self-published. The book went through at least two extensive outlines, more than eight drafts, beta readers, an editor, a proofreader, and countless read-alouds to my incredibly patient and supportive husband (who never complained even once, although he did fall asleep a few times when I was reading something for the zillionth time!).

Q: What did you find the most challenging when writing this book?

A: Keeping the characters straight in my mind, making sure that the continuity and consistency flowed from scene to scene. This is the most difficult part of writing a mystery, in my mind.

Q: Describe your schedule for a typical day of writing. Or do you even have typical days?

A: I always write first thing in the morning. By 8:30, at the latest, I’m sitting in front of the computer writing. I usually write from 8:30 to noon and when I’m on a roll (which is most of the time, these days) I write all afternoon, too. If I’m working on the business side of self-publishing, I do that in the afternoon in place of writing. Little known fact…I have a certain song I listen to that will immediately get me into “the writing zone,” and if I listen to that, I can write at any time of day.

Q: What are you working on now?

A: I’m in the second draft of a historical time travel novel.

Q: What question have you always wanted to be asked in an interview? How would you answer it?

A: This is only my fourth interview ever (well, about writing), so this was a tough (but good!) question. I really liked your question about how Maggie and I are similar and different. But, today I think I’ll say: “What was the weirdest job you ever had (other than writing)?” Answer: Squid cleaner.

I’m looking forward to reading the next book in this series. I’d also love to know what song got Julia writing every day and kept her writing. I could use that song!

Julia Monroe Martin posing for a picture of her alter ego, J.M. Maison

Julia Munroe Martin posing for her pen name alter ego, J.M. Maison

You can purchase a copy of Julia’s book by clicking on this link to Amazon.
Julia is also offering one free copy to someone whose name will be randomly drawn from the comments I receive on this post through Monday.
You can also catch Julia at the following sites:
https://www.facebook.com/juliamunroemartinauthor
http://theemptynestcanbemurder.com/
https://mobile.twitter.com/wordsxo
https://www.facebook.com/juliamunroemartinauthor

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My Sister-in-Law, the Writer

Posted on May 8, 2013 by Coming East

My sister-in-law is one of my biggest blog supporters,  always telling me how much she loves my writing. Last week we were talking  baseball because I had just seen the movie 42 about Jackie Robinson. She told me of her father’s love of baseball, and I said she should write it down and I could make her a guest blogger.  A few days ago I received an email with an attachment. She asked me to look at it and tell her what I thought. “It may not be what you want for your blog,” she said meekly. “You don’t have to use it.  You can just read it for me.”  When I opened the attachment and read it, it took my breath away. Sister-in-law, I bow to you. You are an incredible writer! Here is my sister-in-law’s piece about her father.

My Dad and Baseball’s Early Days
by Kathy Boyd Rich

My dad never had a bucket list. But if he had, at the top would have been visiting the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, New York. I was thrilled to take him there when he visited me in Clinton, New York, where I lived in 1994. Dad was a sprightly 88, a little the worse for wear, but I thought he’d like to see the Boston Red Sox exhibit, a team he had a lifelong love/hate relationship with when I was growing up. I can still remember taking the Providence to Boston train with him and going to Fenway Park several times when I was very little. I longed for him to tell me the story about what was going on in the game, but Dad during my growing up years had adopted a cheerful stoicism, and he was content to watch the game quietly while we munched on our hot dogs.

Ted Williams and Dad 001I don’t remember him being very impressed and, although he followed the season, he always seemed to be disappointed. Consequently, I was left with unanswered questions and never developed much of an interest in baseball. I was pleasantly surprised, however, when we entered the baseball museum and we came face to face with the wax figure of Ted Williams, someone even I remembered from Fenway as a hero on and off the field. We took a picture of Dad and Ted; Ted was the one swinging the bat.

Dad was pleased but it wasn’t until we entered the room dedicated to the very early days of baseball that he really came alive. All I saw were plaques on the wall and pictures of boys dressed in strange gear, but dad must’ve seen something else. Without hesitation he began to tell me the story of a young man who was so in love with the game of baseball, he followed the teams around New England every weekend. He rattled off names and stats and pointed out to me the players that he admired most. He told me these were the real heroes and how hard their lives were, working for low wages and giving their all for little recognition. He knew personal details of their lives. (Dad had absolutely no regard for the players of the 90’s whom he derisively called “millionaires” because of their constant striking for higher pay.) I had tears in my eyes listening to my dad. Wouldn’t I have loved to have known that cheerful young man he used to be before he became encumbered by raising children and providing for his family? I was mesmerized because I was hearing the story, the one I missed hearing when I was a little girl.

As we later sat in the movie room on the fake bleachers and watched the tribute to baseball, I pondered this glimpse into a man I had loved all my life, yet didn’t really know. I was 8 years old again as I held my dad’s hand and sang “Take me out to the ballgame…” Dad lived almost two more years, and that picture of him and Ted remained in a prominent spot in his apartment, telling me how much that trip meant to him.

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Christmas in May

Posted on May 6, 2013 by Coming East

I just returned from visiting my sister-in-law, and my brother may not let me come back. My brother and sister-in-law are both retired and do everything together, including shopping. However, their shopping consists mainly of going to the hardware store. My brother can spend an hour looking at tools and paint, but ask him to go to the mall and browse in a department store, and he would go running in the other direction. Consequently, my sister-in-law doesn’t get to poke around in stores just for fun. As for me, my husband is still working, and since I don’t like to shop alone, I don’t get to look around in stores either.

We were sitting at the breakfast table one morning last week, and my sister-in-law asked me if I would like to go to the Christmas Tree Shop in Richmond. Before I could scream, “Heck, yes!” my brother was already telling her how I wouldn’t enjoy that at all. I almost heard him except for the noise of my pounding heart. Ignoring my brother’s protestations, my sister-in-law and I were in the car and out the driveway before my brother knew what was happening.

imageThe Christmas Tree Shop is not a Christmas store, contrary to its name. But it does make you feel like you’re in Santa’s workshop when you enter its doors. It is full of …of….well, of “stuff.” Stuff I didn’t even know I wanted until I entered. Before we had even made it down one isle, our cart was half full. I actually remember this coming out of our mouths: “Kathy, what is this? What could I use it for?” “I don’t know what it is, but it sure is cute. Throw it in the cart. I’ve got to have it.” By the time we left the store, we could barely fit all our goodies in the trunk of the car. Our hubbies might have been a little alarmed at all we bought, but they got off easy. They have no idea about the things we almost bought. I know my honey would have loved that giant pink and orange owl with the glow-in-the-dark eyes. It was the perfect bit of whimsy for the garden. My husband just loves whimsy. Don’t you darling?

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This Is No Joke

Posted on April 30, 2013 by Coming East

You know those lightbulb jokes that ask how many people of a certain group are needed to change a lightbulb? The punchline always targets a certain group and is usually derogatory. Well I have a slightly different version for you: How many grandparents, aunties and uncles with Master’s Degrees does it take to care for a small infant for an afternoon? The answer is no laughing matter…or maybe it is rather comical, if you were an outsider looking on.

I’m visiting my brother and sister-in-law this week, and they take care of their two-month-old grandson while their daughter, an ESOL teacher, is at work. As a bonus, their son, my nephew who is a Montessori teacher, is visiting from California. All of us have Master’s degrees and consider ourselves fairly intelligent. Then why is it that the four of us were scratching our heads trying to figure out how to get the baby into one of those carriers that you strap onto your front? And why do seemingly intelligent people with excellent vocabularies start talking baby talk with high-pitched voices? For my nephew’s part, I have to say I have yet to hear him coo to the baby in nonsense syllables with a voice that sounds like Micky Mouse. He’s more the strong, silent type who bonds with the baby non-verbally or in a regular timbre.

imageYesterday we went to a shopping center and had lunch at a nice restaurant. When people came by admiring our baby, we all beamed as if we had birthed the little guy ourselves. He was the perfect angel and slept through nearly our entire lunch. When he did awake, he looked around with his beautiful huge eyes and cooed and smiled, turning us to mush. It was after we finished eating that that ugly incident with the baby carrier happened. My brother attempted to strap the harness onto my nephew so we could walk around and shop. After some struggling, he and my sister-in-law did manage to figure the thing out, but I have to admit it was quite comical. If you were an onlooker, that is. I didn’t even try to help them because I would have had the baby upside down and sliding out. A couple of college degrees clearly isn’t enough. I should have gone for the Ph.D.

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Sorry, I Think You Have the Wrong Number

Posted on April 26, 2013 by Coming East

Many years ago, about 1980, my husband was issued a mobile phone for his work as Director of Security and Chief of Police for a university in Texas.  It was a huge thing,  the size of a brick and about as heavy.  He wore both his gun and his phone in separate holsters, but it was never a concern that he would reach for the wrong one because, as long as he wasn’t standing too far from a bad guy, he could bean him with the phone and drop him flat in no time.

As the years progressed, the phones got gradually smaller.  However, we as a family did not own any mobile phones of our own.  They were expensive and we were of the mind that we would rather not be so easily accessible.  People, including some family members, laughed at us for being old-fashioned and admonished us that we shouldn’t be so hard to reach.  After all, they said, you never know when an emergency would arrive.  Finally heeding their advice, I purchased my very first mobile phone nearly fifteen years ago.

Every two years, like clockwork, I would get a call from our mobile phone service provider, reminding me that I was eligible for a new phone and offering me many great updates.  Time after time I told them my phone worked fine and I didn’t need any of those other things they were offering.  “You mean, all you want your phone for is to make and receive calls?” they asked, incredulous.  I did get a little updated a couple of years ago when my granddaughter turned 13 and got her first phone.  I got a new phone with a slide-out keyboard and added a texting package.

Lately, though, I’ve been toying with the idea of getting a smart phone.  My husband has one because of his job, and it looks like it might be fun.  No, I don’t really need one.  I’m home so much, or I’m out with my husband who has one, but I think I just want one.  Which one to buy, if I go through with it, is the dilemma.  My daughter has one of those big Galaxy phones.  It has all the bells and whistles, and I love the screen size, but at my age, the learning curve makes me think that I won’t be able to master it without a great deal of one-on-one tutoring from my daughter who lives too far away.  So I was thinking about getting an iPhone because I’ve been a Mac user for years, and the interface won’t be confusing.  With this thought in mind, I was eager to see how my friend Linda who just left yesterday after a five-day visit, liked her new iPhone, the first smart phone she has ever owned.   We both have iPads which look just like the home page of the iPhone, so you would think it would be a breeze to figure out.

In the car, on the way home from picking her up from the airport, we heard music.  This went on for a little while before I asked what the music was.  “Don’t you have the radio on?” Linda asked.  When I assured her I didn’t, I suggested she might want to check her phone.  Sure enough, someone had been calling her.  Throughout the other five days of our visit, she would look around dazed at strange sounds, checking her phone constantly, trying to turn off buzzers and reminders and alarms, figuring out how to reply to messages or answer calls.  I was exhausted just watching her.  I’m starting to rethink this smart phone thing.  I believe the smart thing to do would be to stay away from one.

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Let Me Tell You About Barbara

Posted on April 23, 2013 by Coming East

imageWe met Barbara at a very needy time in our lives.  We were a young family, newly transplanted from Philadephia to a faraway place we had never been to before, San Antonio. We knew nobody. We had left all our friends and family back in Connecticut and Philadelphia. While my husband was busy with the new job he had been hired for, developing and setting up a police department for Trinity University, I was left at home with a baby not yet two, a five-year-old and a seven-year-old. Though I was excited about our new adventure, I was also terribly homesick.

Then one day, my husband introduced the children and me to Barbara, whom he had met at the Trinity library. She was the assistant to the director. We fell in love with her immediately, and the love was mutual. She had one son who lived halfway across the country and no grandchildren. So she adopted us. That was thirty-three years ago.

Barbara was one of the smartest women I ever knew. She knew so much about so many subjects, especially the arts. She had fabulous parties with fascinating people from the community, artists and journalists, and patrons of the arts, and she always included us. Our children were usually the only children at these events, but she made them fit right in. I know being around Barbara and her friends shaped so much of our children’s attitudes and gave them knowledge and wisdom beyond their years.

Barbara and our youngest son, Ben, on date night.

Barbara and our youngest son, Ben, on date night.

image

At my graduation in1989

From the time our youngest was about four, she began taking each of them on “dates,” one at a time. They would dress up and she would dress up, and she would take them to a fancy restaurant or a show. Each of them felt so special getting Barbara’s individual attention. Barbara was with us for every birthday and holiday, school concert, and even my graduation from Incarnate Word University when I earned my Master’s degree. It was unthinkable to have a celebration without Barbara.

Then one day she told us she was moving to Florida. Her son and daughter-in-law had moved to Gulf Breeze, near Pensacola, and she was going to take her elderly mother and join them there. Her brother lived a few hours away on the east coast of Florida. We were devastated. How different our lives were going to be without her. Of course, by that time we had lived in Texas for quite a few years and had made many good friends, so we weren’t alone like we were when we had first moved there. But that didn’t matter. We had many friends, but we wouldn’t have our Barbara. We missed her so much that first year, when summer vacation came, we loaded the kids into the station wagon and headed to Pensacola, a twelve-hour drive. We stayed with her in her condo and had a fabulous time being together again. We hated to leave and vowed to come back. We did just that—for ten years in a row. Even after the kids grew up and were in college, George and I kept going for a few years more.

The visits stopped after awhile as our vacation time was taken up with visiting children who had left home, and our only contact with Barbara was through letters and phone calls. Her life was so much different after she moved to Florida. She had lost her circle of friends and never made the connections in Gulf Breeze. She lived a much quieter life, but I hope she was content. She was devoted to her son, and it was important for her to spend her later years with him. The last time we saw her was four and a half years ago when we were moving here to Virginia and we stopped in to see her along the way.

imageI have so many memories of Barbara, I can’t begin to recount all of them, but one of my favorites was her at her piano. She had a ton of old sheet music from the forties, and she would play it beautifully while we all stood around the piano and sang. I have a binder full of those old songs she let me copy, and every time I play them, I think of her and those parties.  The best memory I have of Barbara, though, is how much we loved her and how much she loved us.   Barbara died yesterday at noon. She was eighty-four.

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Learning History the Best Way

Posted on April 22, 2013 by Coming East

My girlfriend, Linda, is visiting this week.  Since we’ve been friends for over fifty years, we know each other pretty darn well.  Before she arrived, my husband made plans for her first few days with us as he would get to enjoy her companionship this past weekend.  “Linda will love the Mariner’s Museum,” he said confidently.  I told him as kindly as I could, that though I thought the Mariner’s Museum in Newport News was a fabulous place, I wasn’t so sure that Linda wanted to spend an entire day inside looking at nautical history.  “No, really, she’ll love it!” he kept telling me.

Let me tell you something about my husband, George. He absolutely loves history. He loves biographies. He loves autobiographies. He only reads nonfiction. I remember one time when he ordered several books on Amazon and was so thrilled when they arrived. One book was on the Inquisition, one was entitled, “Disease and History,” and the last one was about the Franco-Prussian War. I fell asleep just reading the titles.

I know my husband, and I know my friend. It was George who really wanted to go to the Marriner’s Museum, a place we have been to twice already. Linda, on the other hand, loves to be outdoors. Yes, she enjoys history, but walking around a nautical museum to experience it doesn’t do it for her. Now, put her in an art museum, and that’s a different story.

After repeatedly telling my husband that we should think of an alternative to the Marriner’s Museum, he said if the weather was beautiful, he might be able to reconsider. He hurriedly looked up the weather report for Sunday and was delighted to see that it was going to be breezy and chilly. Perfect weather to be indoors, as far as he was concerned. The day before Linda left to come here, she called me and said, “Susan, I don’t know how to break it to George, but I really don’t want to go to the Marriner’s Museum. I want to be outdoors. Even if it’s cold, we can bundle up. Could you break it to George for me?” Coward.

An active dig at the Jamestown Fort site.

An active dig at the Jamestown Fort site.

Sad for only a second, George came up with another idea. “We can take Linda to Jamestown. It’s outside and it’s historical.” Brilliant! So yesterday we spent several ours at Jamestown, the first permanent settlement. It was the birthplace of our country. We took a guided tour of the grounds and heard the fascinating story of the discovery of the very fort that was built in 1607. Our park ranger that led the tour was funny and informative. Though he talked for an hour and a half, we were captivated by his talk. The weather was a little chilly, but we stood outside in the sunshine by the banks of the beautiful James River. Both Linda and George got what they wanted.

After Jamestown, we went to Williamsburg, just down the road.

After Jamestown, we went to Williamsburg, just down the road.

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My Grandpa Could Sing Like George Beverly Shea

Posted on April 18, 2013 by Coming East

George Beverly Shea died Tuesday at the age of 104.  Many of you have never heard of him, I’m sure, but I grew up listening to him sing gospel hymns in his booming baritone when he accompanied Billy Graham on all his crusades.  I even had the pleasure of hearing him in person when I was a teenager and attended  one of Billy’s crusades in Ohio with my cousin, Cheryl.

With my grandparents and brother at the United Nations, about 1956

With my grandparents and brother at the United Nations, about 1956

My grandfather loved singing hymns, too, and had the most gorgeous deep baritone, just like George Beverly Shea.  When I would tell him I thought he sounded just like Mr. Shea, his idol, my grandfather would laugh and tell me he was flattered, but he would never be able to sing like that. My grandfather was a humble man. Though he never would have bragged about his talent for singing, other people recognized it, and his church often had him sing solos in some of their musical productions. He was in his early eighties when he sang his last solo, “The longer I serve Him, the sweeter He grows.”

My grandfather, whom we called Daddy Bill, struggled nearly all his life, yet I never heard him complain or say a mean word about anyone. When he was a young man with two babies, he contracted tuberculosis and had to move his family from Kentucky to the Southwest to drier air in order to heal. He stayed in San Antonio for about a year before trying New Mexico and, finally, Arizona. It was a struggle to provide for his family, especially when the Depression hit. He tried his hand at opening a little restaurant, my mother told me. It didn’t last very long in the terrible economy, but my mother learned how to make the Coney Island chili sauce for hot dogs that I wish she’d shown me how to make before she died.

Daddy Bill did heal and return to Kentucky, but his health was always fragile because he had nearly lost one of his lungs to the disease. Later in his life he had several strokes which left him limping and using a cane and with a weak side. Again, I never heard him complain. He kept on smiling and kept on singing. He was such an inspiration to me that in sixth grade I wrote an essay about him on the topic of “My Hero” sponsored by the American Legion. I won, and when I showed him the essay, he cried. I still have that essay somewhere.

Though weak in body, my grandfather had a faith that made him strong. This post is not meant to be preachy. Many people find strength to live their lives from many sources. For my grandfather, it was from his Lord, and he loved to sing about Him. He particularly loved it when I would sing with him and we would harmonize. One of his favorite hymns was “It Is Well With My Soul,” which has a wonderful deep bass part in the chorus. The one I loved the most, though, was when he would sing “His Eye Is On the Sparrow.” I can still hear his voice in my head and in my heart.

This song and testimony from George Beverly Shea echoes my grandfather’s own view of his life. Though Daddy Bill never had much materially, he considered himself rich beyond measure.

Hearing about the death of George Beverly Shea made me think about my grandfather’s beautiful voice and his beautiful life.

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Exhaustion

Posted on April 8, 2013 by Coming East
The reason for my exhaustion

The reason for my exhaustion

I am exhausted.  Totally.  Maybe it was staying up to midnight and beyond every night when my usual bedtime is 9:30.  But when you get to spend a week with your daughter, son-in-law and granddaughters having an X-Men marathon, binging on Red Vines, popcorn, ice cream with Hershey’s chocolate syrup, and salt and vinegar chips, eating take-out every night, and shopping ’til you drop, exhaustion seems a small price to pay. Before I returned home yesterday, my husband reminded me that I can’t act like a college kid at home because he’s an old man and needs his sleep. He need not have worried. I’m an old woman and I need my sleep, too. But it sure was fun!

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5-Minute Friday: After

Posted on April 5, 2013 by Coming East

imageI love visiting our children. Living so far away from them, I don’t get to see them often enough, especially since airline tickets are so expensive. Planning the visit, the days or weeks of anticipation of the trip, pulling out the suitcase and packing, are all part of the excitement of the visit. And then the trip comes, we savor each sweet moment with our children, the sometimes intense conversations because they are so few, and before we know it, we are on our way home again. After those visits, there is always a let-down. We study the calendar, trying to find dates that might work for another visit, looking at our finances to see how we might afford another trip to see them again without having to wait so long.

It’s those after moments I need to learn to deal with better. Life needs to be lived in the moment, not the anticipation. Those after moments need to be savored, too.

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