Who’s the biggest Scaredy-Chick in our murder-mystery-writing flock? That would probably be me, Lisa. But lately, inspired by the launch of Cynthia’s latest title The Spirit in Question, we’ve had a few interesting debates about the existence of ghosts. I happened to casually mention somewhere that I’d once had a close encounter with a poltergeist, and Mariella made me promise I’d give the dirt. So I will tell you the story, if you promise not to think I’m crazy. But no one wants to believe ghosts aren’t real more than me. Trust me on that, at least.
I can pinpoint exactly when my interest in crime solving began: May 1969. That was the year I turned nine. It was also the year when a 10-year-old girl named Mary Mount disappeared.
I made a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad mistake this summer. I took on a part-time, online writing job. And it involves…CLOCKS. Lots and lots of clocks. I should have known better, but I did it anyway, in a misguided effort to earn some extra coffee money.
About two months ago, I got The Call. And no, it wasn’t my agent, or my publisher, or Ed McMahon from beyond the grave to inform me I’d won an unfathomable amount of cash from Publishers Clearinghouse. It was a Facebook message from my dear friend, Coffeehouse Mysteries author Cleo Coyle, with an invitation to guest on her multi-author, culinary mystery blog. I accepted on the spot, of course.
I’m looking for the perfect town. It can’t be too hot or too cold, too rich or too poor, too big or too small, and preferably there will be an adorable cat or dog and a plate of cookies at every house and shop. Oh, and this town must have at least one charming bookstore, multiple gourmet restaurants, a sleepy police department, and very few troublesome children. I’d like to visit the area in person, you see, but even the combined power of Google Maps, Siri and Waze can’t seem to locate it. Can you tell me how to get to Cozy Street?
So it’s officially Monday and I’m at the keyboard, ready to plunge back into my manuscript-in-progress. Maybe “progress” isn’t quite the right word, but I’ve been thinking about it. And “plunge” might not be exactly the correct description, either. But I’m here, prepping to work, and that counts, right? Cue a few background bars of that inspiring oldie “Back in the Saddle Again.” On the other hand, please don’t.
As you read this, I am (hopefully) chugging along on the Acela Express from Boston to New York City, where my daughter is getting married on Friday. Please forgive me that I am re-sharing a post from a while back because, well…I’m a wee bit stressed and running behind schedule. But really, the cautionary tale of poor old Charlie, who rides the train forever through the streets of Boston, bears repeating…