Octoberguest! Winners

Thank you so much to everyone who commented during Octoberguest!

Here are the winners:

CarMar--Any book from Allison Brennan's backlist

Carolyn Burns Bass--Amanda Stevens's novel, The Devil's Footprints

Becky LeJeune--Petiquette by Amy Shojai, or Chicken Soup for the Dog Lover's Soul (or Cat)

Chester Campbell--Bill Cameron's Chasing Smoke

The Walking Man--Jennie Bentley's debut novel, Fatal Fixer-Upper

Ed Lamb--Jody Reale's brand new Headlice Handbook

R.J. Mangahas--Karen Dionne's debut novel, Freezing Point

VersusAnthology--Signed ARC from Mario Acevedo, plus a Devil Duck

Norby--Treasure of Eden by Sharon Linnea

and

The $100 Harry & David Giftbasket goes to Leanne Amann

The $100 Godiva Giftbasket goes to Vivian Zabel

Congratulations to all the winners. (We drew for the giftbaskets first--everyone was eligible!) I'll be in touch soon, or you can drop me an email at laura@laurabenedict.com right away!

Octoberguest! El Pollo Diablo

Happy Halloween!

I find myself a little stunned to realize that it's Halloween already and we've come to the end of Octoberguest!. I've had so much fun this month and am very grateful to all of the wonderful writers who so generously contributed their work to the Handbasket. And I'd also like to thank everyone who took the time to comment on the posts--or to simply read them. Without you all, well, it just isn't any fun!

My last guest, El Pollo Diablo, was my toughest to get. He resides on the "other side," and communication between here and there is complicated. He's been on a hiatus of sorts since I last corresponded with him on Myspace, where he's greatly missed. I'm hoping he'll drop in to comment today on any questions you might have, but his internet connection is sketchy and I can't make any promises...

I'm so excited to have you here, EPD. Welcome!

The Dead Love Halloween by El Pollo Diablo

Being a member of the silent majority, I has a special fondnesses for Halloween. And by silent majority, I means those of us that is dead. And there is a lot of us. Fortunately, spirits does not take up much spaces, so real estate issues is basically non-existent for us. Which is a good thing in this market of bearishness. But I digresses.

I loves Halloween. Halloween is superior to all other holidays. Fouth of Julyings and the Russian May Day paradings is mere child’s play compared to the raw pagan rambunctiousness that is All Hallows’ Eve. No fireworks or orderly rows of ICBMs rolling down Red Square holds candles to joyful children beating the hell out of a skeleton piñata, or tricking old people out of the sweets that they has spent their hard-earned Social Security benefits on.


And Halloween gives you great anecdotes that no other celebratory day can.

I recalls the Halloween of 1819 when Thomas Jefferson went to John Adam’s house dressed as King George III in a straight jacket. Upon Jefferson’s demand of a treat, Adams promptly punched him in the nose, crying “Sic semper evello mortem Tyrannis!”

Admiring Adams’ pluck, Jefferson good-naturedly kicked him in the knee then proceeded to present him with several head-buts to the nose.

What a pal.

Now those was the days when Halloween was fun, and politics was civilized.

Indeed the times has changed.

One of the greatest political figures to advocates Halloween was President Dwight Eisenhower. Even back in his early Army days, he was known to be quite the scamp when October 31 would come rollings around. As General George Mosely’s executive officer in the early 1930’s, Eisenhower would often apply shoe polish to eyepieces of binoculars when he was denied his requested treats.

“Take THAT MacArthur!” he was heard to proclaims, as he rode out of sight. “Happy All Hallows Eve, and to all a good night!”

And in his farewell address on January 17, 1961 he spake to all Americans:

“So – in this my last good night to you as your President – I thank you for the many opportunities you have given me for public service in war and peace. I trust that in that service you find some things worthy; as for the rest of it, I know you will find ways to improve performance in the future, as long as you keep Halloween in your heart and cherish it always.”

Even amongst the dead, it is hard to find a greater advocate for Halloween than Dwight David Eisenhower.

Excepting maybe for Martin Luther. Now, HE loved Halloween so much that he called the Catholic Church out on it.

Thesis 96: Halloween rocks! Dig it.

During his appearance at the Diet of Worms, Luther protested that there must also be a Diet of Brains, and a Diet of Slimy Eyeballs, which was directly responsible for the abundance of cold spaghetti and peeled grapes in modern day recreational haunted housings.

Thanks Marty.

As for us dead peoples, ghosts like me owes Laura Benedict much gratitudes for allowing our love of Halloween to be made known on this most auspicious of days.

Thank you Laura.

I love Halloween.

I miss you, EPD! Thanks so much for coming by--stay safe. I know things are pretty raucous over there today!

[Everyone has today and tomorrow to comment to win books, books, books, and those Godiva and Harry and David giftbaskets! I'll announce the winners on Monday.]

Tomorrow: It's November! After all the excitement of Octoberguest! and Halloween, I expect I'll need a nap...But on Sunday, Kyle Minor will be here. See you then!

Octoberguest! Dorothy Francis

As I looked over the list of Octoberguests, I realized that today's guest Dorothy Francis may have written more books than all of this month's guests combined: seventy-four books for both children and adults. I am in awe!

Eden Palms Murder, Dorothy's latest novel, features songwriter Bailey Green and is just now available from Five Star. In the not too distant future Worldwide Mystery Library will re-issue the three novels in her Kelly Moreno series in mass-market paperback.

Welcome, Dorothy--and congratulations!


Tell us about Bailey Green, the protagonist of Eden Palms Murder. She's a songwriter, correct? How does music figure into your own life?

Yes, Bailey Green is a songwriter who is trying to 'make it big' in the music field. Music has played a big part in my life. I began taking piano lessons when I was 9 andmostly hated them. But later I learned to play the trumpet and played in the high school band and then in the University of Kansas band. I graduated with a degree in music and went on the road playing trumpet in an all-girl swing band. We traveled in a 9-passenger Chrysler, doing one-night stands across the nothhern tier of states because Ruth Colellman, the leader, hated the heat of the southern states.. Later, I taught music in Orange, California before I married a wonderful musician, and began raising a family.


You describe Eden Palms Murder as a "Cozy Mystery." What defines the cozy genre for you? When does a novel cross the line out of the cozy world and into more general mysteries?

I define a cozy mystery as one in which all the really bad stuff takes place off scene. The reader is spared seeing spilled blood, hearing 4-letter words, and following the heroine in and out of various beds--if that should be the plot requirement.




What motivates you to get out of bed in the morning?

I have little trouble getting out of bed in the morning. Many times a contract for a book motivates me to get up and face a deadline. Those are the good times. Bad times are when there is no contract and no deadline. Woe. Woe.


Do you have a particular reader in mind when you sit down to write?

I have no special person in mind as a reader when I write. When I first began writing, I imagined I was writing for my University English teacher. All through high school I got A's on my English themes, but in college this 'person' in charge frequently handed me C's. It was only at the end of the semester that she penned in very small writing, 'you have just a smidgen of talent.' Later, I was proud to give her a copy of my first book I mentioned to her that she had a smidgen of talent as a teacher, too.


Describe your perfect writing environment.

My perfect writing environment requires early morning quiet, a computer, a desk in a small office, either in Iowa or the Florida Keys where my husband and I spend our winters. What more could any writer want???


A question from my eight year-old, Bengal: Have you ever been a spy?

Please tell your Bengal I was never a spy! Well, hardly ever.


Thanks so much, Dorothy!

[Remember--Everyone who comments is entered to win $100 Godiva Chocolatier and Harry & David giftbaskets, plus books from several Octoberguest! authors! Drawing held November 2nd.]

Tomorrow: My Official Stalker Joe P. Frick. (Legal note: I have an email in which Joe gives me specific permission to designate him as my Official Stalker. I have printed it out and had it notarized. So, Joe, no legal complaints, or changing your mind!)

Octoberguest! Jody Reale

In late 2006 I decided to take the plunge into the wacky world of social networking and joined Myspace. It was a revelation to me--a whole new way to explore the universe outside of my very small world of writing and parenting.

I'm so glad that Jody Reale turned out to be a part of that universe. Her writing is so often snort out loud funny, but can also be poignant beyond words. Blog is such an odd word--one that covers so many writing styles (or lack thereof). What I enjoy so much about Jody's blogs at Kill Your Lunch Hour is that they are always the most personal of essays. So I'll just be quiet now and let Jody talk....

Welcome, dear Jody!

The Secret Life of Lice

My whole life I’ve wanted to belong to a secret society. Any kind would have been OK by me, although my delusions of grandeur always forced me to lean toward the kind that determines the course of world events, fixes the Olympics. The kind that orders the weather, that sort of thing. But after decades of waiting patiently for some envelope containing only an address and password to find its way under my door, or for a black sedan to swerve into my driveway while I was taking out the garbage, I figured that this might be just one more job I was going to have to do myself.

Minutes after deciding to form a secret society of women bent on world domination, I enlisted my friend Dawn as my co-founding member. We decided to call ourselves The Bush Administration. I think the minutes of our first and last meeting, which we never wrote down, included drinking most of Dawn’s good whiskey and reserving our domain name, which now seems kind of inappropriate, given the supposedly secret nature of our work. After I said, “Wait a minute. Maybe we’re already in a secret society, we just don’t know it,” and Dawn said, “Yeah, I’ve got to feed the horses,” we dismissed ourselves, never to reconvene again under the banner of sacred sisterhood.

Over the years my husband Alex and I, together with our daughter Sophie and dog Lou have formed a nice little club of our own, and we hold meetings during which we argue over who’s going to clean the fishbowl, and whether it will be ski school or ballet lessons this winter. That sort of thing. For fun, we tease telemarketers who call during dinner by pretending to be senile, or that we only speak Spanish. (The secret there is that the only Spanish we speak is the phrase, “For service in Spanish, please press 2.”)

And then, a few weeks ago, just like that, I was tapped for membership in the nation’s oldest secret society. Sophie came home from preschool with head lice.

“We’re so sorry,” her teachers whispered, “some parents would rather their kids had Ebolla than lice.” And I have to admit, I may have been one of those parents. The flu goes away by itself most of the time; you can take a kid to the doctor if it doesn’t. But with lice, my initiation to the club was a lonely undertaking that began one Tuesday morning without warning. And because I’m a first time parent with a complete lack of lousy experiences of my own, I was totally unprepared. “I don’t even know what head lice are,” I said to my mom, who was infuriated over the whole thing. “What kind of filthy people took their kid to school with lice?” She said. I said, “I don’t know, but I’d like to kill them,” I said, taking every thread of clothing we owned to the laundry room. Then I gasped, mid-sentence. Once word got out, people were going to start saying the same thing about us. We were already that family, with the daughter who had, as one parent pointed out in the nicest way possible, “A very strong and unique sense of style.”

Between looking up “head lice” on the Internet, and making frantic phone calls to the doctor, the pharmacy, the Army National Guard, I had decided that situations like these were like grenades: You either had to get away fast, or throw yourself on them for the good of your unit. I called Alex. “Let’s shave our heads and sell the house,” I urged him.

“You said that the last time we had a clogged drain in the shower,” he said.

I spent the next several hours buying every product stocked on a retail shelf within a ten-mile radius that promised to dispatch the insects crawling on Sophie with extreme prejudice. And in the tradition of Fight Club, the motto around the house was not to talk about lice. The next day, I found a live one right on top of her head, practically tipping his hat to me, saying, “Top of the morning to you!” And that was it. I’d had enough of the whole mess.

I abandoned any plans I had for the rest of the week, and spent it figuring out what it would take to genuinely end The Days of Our Lice. As it turns out, the news was relatively good. Distilled down to the simplest terms, I came up with a plan that required a vacuum, a metric ton of laundry detergent, and a nit comb, which I think I’d bought ten of the day before. And also, with millions of cases in the U.S., I discovered that we’re not the only family to have ever been infested, which means that head lice and Spice Girls albums have a lot in common: pretty much everyone has had at least one, but would never admit it. I guess that’s the difference between a secret society and a dirty little secret.

And the news was relatively bad, too. If ever there was a time I could have unapologetically used the “we can put a man on the moon…” expression, it was the day I learned that the best, most reliable treatment possible is the old-timey kind, cavemen-tested, and orangutan-approved. Now that pests have adapted and grown resistant to our high-tech, chemically-enhanced ways, the most effective treatment possible is to manually remove every last critter, egg, and nit from the head using a tiny little metal comb. This was sure to be interpreted as cruel and unusual punishment to the child who would sooner sell her kidney on the black market than volunteer for even a normal hair combing. If there are no coincidences, what did it mean that the girl with the big, curly mop of hair with a dreadlock in it that could put George Clinton and the entire Parliament Funkadelic to shame was going to have to endure a literal nitpicking of every strand of her hair? What did this whole thing mean about us? Since I didn’t know, I assumed the worst.



But you know what happens when you “assume,” don’t you? I combed Sophie’s hair for a combined total of about six hours, and she was as understanding and tolerant as any adult. Her little mop cost me three days of preschool, countless episodes of children’s television, and two giant boxes of popsicles. After the hardest labor was done, which included vacuuming every imaginable surface of the house and washing every thread of clothing we owned in hot water, Sophie and I spent the weekend lounging around with our hair up, watching too much TV and wearing pajamas. We cuddled on the couch, discussing the existential perils of being four, and who at school is allergic to cheese. A week earlier, Sophie had gone to a relative’s farm with my parents, and my mom braved whatever threat may or may not have existed, to deliver the apples Sophie had picked with her own little hands, and then she decided to stay and bake us a pie.

It was lovely, and yet, there was the nagging threat of being discovered, found out. What if all my efforts weren’t enough, and Sophie went out into the world to infest others who then wanted to kill us and wondered what kind of filthy people we were? As it was, I was going to have to tell my cousin that we wouldn’t make it to her bridal shower. Should I tell her the truth, or tell her we had flesh-eating bacteria? Once I was on the phone with her, I couldn’t lie. It was freeing, parting with that tiny little secret, which made the rounds to the rest of the family, as secrets do. “I hope you don’t mind, but Michele told me about your little problem,” my cousin Gina emailed, “call my sister. She heard about some remedy using mayonnaise.”

And when we returned to school, I let it be known that I was to be addressed as the Nit Nazi, or The Louse Whisperer. Even if parents didn’t want anyone else to know they were talking about “the big L,” no one really minded. In fact, panicked parents called me to ask if they should cancel all their play dates; others called to express their sympathy. “Aw, poor Sophie,” one mother said, “was she miserable?”

“Not really,” I said, “I was the one who suffered, and the only thing wrong with my hair is that I’m in desperate need of highlights and a deep conditioner.” I must say, I do feel just the tiniest bit more invincible than I did before. I haven’t determined the course of world events, but we all kept our hair and the house. And just like that, after all those years of pining, I excused myself from the one secret society that wanted me. I guess the burden of secrecy just isn’t for me. Sometimes it takes a little six-legged creature the size of a sesame seed to reveal some huge, invisible truths. I have changed, however, and in changing myself, the world has seemed to change around me.

Yesterday, for example, I saw this guy at the grocery store with an afro so huge it deserved its own embassy. I thought to myself, can you imagine how many boxes of popsicles it would take to comb the lice out of that thing? And the last time I walked down the Pearl Street Mall, I stopped in front of the hat kiosk, the one where every tourist in town stops to try on the same outlandish hats and then put them back on the rack for some other stranger to try on. It took all my restraint to not stage several interventions right there on the spot. I’ve also tried contacting several fashion designers to implore them to find a way to bring the shower cap into vogue.

Finally, I considered inventing a drinking game in which I read this out loud to a group of people. Anyone who scratches his head has to chug a beer. And then leave my house. But what I’ve settled on is the maxim that when life hands you lemons, you don’t just make lemonade, you make a lemonade recipe book.

And when life hands you lice, write a how-to book entitled Let’s Shave Our Heads and Sell the House: A Step-by-Step Guide for Parents Panicked Over Lice. And in a throwback to my old days as a secret society wannabe, I’ve reserved a domain name. Can you believe HeadLiceHandBook.com was available? Sometimes even I can’t believe my good fortune.


Thank you so much, Jody!

I found this piece absolutely terrifying, in the most delightful way. (Oh, and I want to note to everyone that the photos are neither of Jody's daughter--nor are they of Jody's actual headlice.) And how cool is it that she created a handbook to save us all? Though I confess I hope I never, ever need it!

[Remember--Everyone who comments is entered to win $100 Godiva Chocolatier and Harry & David giftbaskets, plus books from several Octoberguest! authors! Drawing held November 2nd.]

Tomorrow: The Fabulous Alexandra Sokoloff

Octoberguest! Amanda Stevens

If you chance to meet Amanda Stevens, don't be fooled by her sweet, southern smile. She's one scary thriller writer-chick. After you read her very timely post here at the Handbasket, you'll want to check out her novels: the ultra-creepy The Dollmaker (where's the film? that's what I want to know!), The Devil's Footprints and her March 09 release, The Whispering Room. You'll want to read her blog, too. I cruise by regularly and not just because she sometimes has Clive Owen Wednesdays....

Plus, Amanda may be the only other person here who knows who Echo and the Bunnymen are!

Welcome, Amanda!



By Amanda Stevens
The protagonist in my WIP is a taphophile, a person who loves cemeteries and funerals (not to be confused with a necrophiliac, which would be a whole nuther story). I wouldn’t say I’m a full-blown taphophile, but I do share my character’s fascination for old cemeteries, gravestone symbolism and burial rituals.

My character is also a corpse cosmetician (a dying art form), which gives her an insider’s view of the trappings of death. So without further ado, here is Lucy November’s List of Top Ten Taphophile Tidbits:

• In Germany, a cemetery plot is ‘leased’ for only a certain amount of time--ten, fifteen, twenty years. If you don’t renew your lot fee, they dig you up and remove the headstone.

• Corpses are no longer decaying in many German cemeteries. Instead, the deceased become waxen, an uncanny process that has disturbed the natural cycle of decay.


• The bone cathedrals in Rome use human remains for decorations, including bones fashioned into chandeliers.

• In New Orleans, family members can share the same vault as long as the previously deceased family member has been dead for at least two years. If a family member dies within that two-year restriction, local cemeteries are equipped with temporary ‘holding’ vaults.

• Washington Square served as a potter's field where the indigent of New York City were buried for several decades. A lawsuit was recently filed to halt any changes to the square, claiming that it would be disrespectful to the 20,000 or so dead souls that lie beneath. The argument was justifiably overruled, seeing as how the city turned the graveyard into a public park in 1827 and ran Fifth Avenue straight through it.


• Graveyard tourism is a growing phenomenon around the world.

• After scratch marks were found inside several dug up coffins, the ‘bell’ custom was instituted in England. A string tied around the corpse’s wrist was also attached to a bell on the surface to eliminate the possibility of being buried alive. Graveyards sometimes hired workers to sit all night listening for these bells (the graveyard shift).

• Hollywood Forever Cemetery (once known as Hollywood Memorial Park) offers biographies of the deceased in video kiosks, GPS disks to easily locate gravesites, and Cinespia, a summer film series where classic films are projected onto the side of a mausoleum for Saturday night audiences.

• Traditional visitation is still prevalent in the South, mostly at funeral homes, but in the olden days, these viewings took place in the family home where the men folk would sit up all night with the body. (Personal note: My grandfather’s wake was held at our home when I was a kid. The house was later redesigned so that the living room where the casket had been placed became my bedroom.)

• Old cemeteries are what some theologians have called “thin” places, where the veil separating our world and the next is translucent.

Lucy and I have visited some beautiful cemeteries throughout the South, but our aspiration is to one day tour Highgate Cemetery in London. We would be in good company because authors Tracy Chevalier (Girl with a Pearl Earring) and Audrey Niffenegger (The Time Traveler's Wife) have been known to volunteer as guides there. Not to mention that Highgate is where George Eliot, Karl Marx and Douglas Adams (The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy) enjoy their perpetual slumber. But as the London Times puts it, the biggest attraction is the all-pervading gothic gloom.

Isolation, desolation and eerie atmosphere--what more could a thriller writer--or a taphophile--ask for?


Thanks so much, Amanda! I used to be so afraid of exploring cemeteries--not because I thought they were haunted, but because I thought I'd get in trouble. I think we should revive that quaint Victorian habit of picnicking in cemeteries.

[Remember--Everyone who comments is entered to win $100 Godiva Chocolatier and Harry & David giftbaskets, plus books from several Octoberguest! authors! Drawing held November 2nd.]

Tomorrow: Blogger and essayist Jody Reale

Octoberguest! Jean Henry Mead

I was so pleased when Jean Henry Mead agreed to be a guest at the Handbasket this month. Some time ago there was an interesting online discussion about why so many mystery and thriller protagonists were thirty years old--or perhaps thirty-one or thirty-two. (Was it at Sarah Weinman's blog? Does anyone else recall this?) Thirty is an accessible age. Youth and beauty and energy abound. Alas, no one actually remains thirty for more than a year.

Jean Henry Mead identifies herself as a "Senior Sleuth." Her mystery novel, A Village Shattered, will be released in early November, though she has already published twelve books, seven of which were nonfiction. She moderates the senior sleuth forum on Yahoo, contributes to several blogs, including Murderous Musings as well as Write On! and A Western Historical Happening. I love her bold, honest perspective on the business.

Welcome, Jean!

The Graying Book Market by Jean Henry Mead


I write senior sleuth novels because there’s a growing market for retirees who like to read in their own age bracket. I was intrigued years ago by Miss Marple and Hercule Periot, who were wise and perceptive, but never seemed to have any fun.

That’s not true of today’s seniors who are less inclined to retire to their rocking chairs than previous generations.

Pat Browning, who wrote Full Circle, said: “A St. Martin's editor gave me a piece of advice I have never forgotten: ‘Be careful not to turn your characters into cartoons.’ I try to picture older characters as they are -- the same people they always were, only older. This is especially true when it comes to romance and sex. For all the jokes about senior sex, it is a very real part of senior life, and it's no joke to those lucky enough to have a romantic partner late in life.”

I agree. Not unlike Janet Evanovich’s character, Grandma Mazur, who is eccentric enough for a cartoon character, most seniors have the same interests they’ve always had, with the possible exception of roller blading and downhill skiing. On second thought, I once interviewed Buffalo Bill’s grandson Billy Cody, who learned to ski at 65 to keep up with his much younger wife.

Mike Befeler writes what he calls “Geezer-lit.” His first novel, Retirement Homes are Murder, features his octogenarian protagonist, “who is short on memory but has a sense of humor and love of life. He accepts his ‘geezerhood,’ solves a mystery and enjoys romance along the way.”

My latest senior sleuth mystery, A Village Shattered, takes place in a California retirement village. The plot is generously sprinkled with humor but none of the seniors resemble cartoon characters, although a couple come close, a redneck Casanova and love starved widow.

Another senior writer, Beth Solheim, spent years working in a nursing home and says she loves the elderly and their “humorous, quirky insight to life, love and longevity.” Her protagonists are 64-year-old twins in her humorous, paranormal cozy series, The Fifi Witt Mysteries.

Chester Campbell, an octogenarian, writes the Greg McKenzie Mysteries. He said, “My friends in this [age] bracket are out going places and doing things. Some, like me, continue to work at jobs they enjoy. I chose to use a senior couple in my books who are long married, get along fine, and do a competent job as private investigators. Greg, who narrates the books, is aware of his limitations from age and makes up for physical shortcomings by outsmarting his adversaries. My hope is to dispel some of the absurdity of the stereotypes about seniors that are all too familiar. Like the old song says, "Anything you can do I can do better."

Like so many other novelists, I write what I enjoy reading. My readers are mainly retirees and baby boomers who number over 78 million. Some 8,000 boomers are moving into the senior column every day and are the fastest growing potential book buying market on record. We’re experiencing the graying of America. What better subgenre to write for?

Thanks, Jean!

[Remember--Everyone who comments is entered to win $100 Godiva Chocolatier and Harry & David giftbaskets, plus books from several Octoberguest! authors! Drawing held November 2nd.]

Tomorrow: Southern Suspense writer Amanda Stevens

Octoberguest! J.T. Ellison

J.T. Ellison pulls no punches. I love her direct way of talking about her work and the business of writing. (She's a regular contributor to the Anthony-nominated crime-writing blog Murderati.) And J.T. is definitely serious about the business: Her first novel, the acclaimed thriller All The Pretty Girls came out just last November, the second book in her Taylor Jackson series, 14, is available now, and book three, Judas Kiss, will be out this coming January!

A few years back, J.T. gave up her job as a White House staffer in order to take on the mean streets of Nashville, where she lives and does her research for her novels. Recently she was named “Best Mystery/Thriller Writer of 2008” by the Nashville Scene.

Today I'm delighted to annouce that on January ninth we'll be appearing together at Murder by the Book in Houston!

Welcome, J.T.!



I’ve never been much of a feminist.
Open my door, pay for my dinner, support me in the manner to which I’ve become accustomed – no worries on my end. I’ve always had a love affair with the male species, and a much more difficult time relating to women who thought I should be out there striving for gains for our sex.

This used to be especially true when it came to reading. I read men. It wasn’t a conscious decision, just a natural gravitation toward the sex I understood better. I was the ultimate tomboy. God forbid you try to get me in a dress. I had two older brothers who treated me like a boy – playing football, roughhousing, teaching me how to play poker. My dad worked for a huge aerospace company with lots of military men who treated me like an equal, not a child. I guess all that testosterone rubbed off. Plus, at an early age, it became readily apparent that I wasn’t going to be a sweet, petite little thing, but an Amazon, with broad shoulders and height that exceeded my father. It’s hard to feel girly when you top your classmates by a foot. Top it with my mother, who was the height of femininity yet never used her stunning good looks to get ahead, and I was hardwired to run with the wolves.

So how in the world did I end up with a female protagonist?

One of the beautiful things about launching a book is the questions posed by interviewers. For me, this forced introspection, the public delving into psyche, the attempts to understand the internal motivations behind my writing has led me to some interesting realizations about who I am as a woman, as well as a writer. In preparation for the questions, I asked some of myself. Most importantly, why did I choose to write from the female POV when all my favorite leads were male?

Taylor Jackson, my homicide lieutenant, is a lot like me in a number of ways. We have the same background, have the same physical attributes, the same no nonsense attitude toward life. But Taylor is an idealized version of me. She was born out of my own hero complex. Have you ever happened upon a horrible accident, a few minutes past the actual event, where people have already begun attending to the injured? Do you ever wonder what you would have done if you were a party to the accident? If you’d seen the car careen out of control, roll over, smash against a concrete divider, burst into flames – would you stop? Would you race to the car, risk your own life to rescue the occupants? If they were injured or bleeding, their heart and breath gone, would you lay them down, administer CPR, save their lives? And when the inevitable media came to the scene, would you stick around, allow yourself to be interviewed, or would you slink off, comfortable in the knowledge that you’d done all you could? Would you be a hero?


Taylor would. She wouldn’t hesitate. She’d risk herself to save someone else. It wouldn’t even be a conscious thought. She’d act. Immediately.
Would I? I’d like to think so. But until faced with the experience, do we really know how we’d react?

Once I realized who Taylor was, I knew she was my character. I knew intuitively that she had to be a cop, had to be a legitimate hero, someone who would undertake the risks we all avoid with enthusiasm. Who wouldn’t think twice about the danger. Because that’s what our law enforcement officers do – male and female. They put themselves second, reach into the abyss to make us safe. That selflessness defines Taylor. She gets to face the worst the world has to offer, isn’t overcome with emotion, doesn’t simper or faint. She’s rough and ready and willing to take it on.

I really didn’t want to fall into the trap of having a female character in a man’s job being harassed. If Taylor was as strong as I planned to portray her, she would have the admiration of the men around her. Like any strong, successful woman, there have been whispers in her past. But no one would dare do that to her face. It allows the story to move forward, the plot and pace to tear away unhindered. I wrote her in what some would call an idealist situation, but since I’ve only faced a few instances of being treated like a girl, it made more sense to me that she be treated with the respect she’s earned after thirteen years on the force.

I love having this character in my life. Where I started to get into trouble was when John Baldwin came along. My natural propensity toward testosterone made him the easiest character I’ve ever written. I was able to tap into his emotions, his realities, so much easier than I ever did with Taylor. It was an interesting dichotomy. Who knew that a woman writing a man would be simpler than a woman writing a woman?

Then I faced an ever greater challenge. My strong woman was in love. Inherently, she became weak, dominated, conquered. I had to fight tooth and nail not to let that happen. I hope the reader feels I’ve succeeded. In my mind, Taylor and Baldwin are equals in every sense of the word.
As I got deeper into my writing, I started seeking out women in the mystery field. What I found excited me. There were plenty of incredibly strong female protagonists, women who are written by women, women fictional and real whom I can admire. Tess Gerritsen, Laura Lippman, Karin Slaughter, Alex Kava, Erica Spindler, Zoe Sharp – all write with the ferocity behind their women that I so respect. Now I read just as many women as I do men, in all genres. When I tick off my favorites, the sexes are equally represented, and I’m comfortable recommending many of the female writers to male readers who would normally shy away because they can’t identify, or don’t think a woman can write an action scene. I’m here to tell you, we can. I write using initials so that the men who don’t know I’m a woman might just take a chance. I think they’ll be surprised.

Just keep opening those doors, boys. Strong women or not, we all want to be treated like a lady.

Amen, J.T.!


[Remember--Everyone who comments is entered to win $100 Godiva Chocolatier and Harry & David giftbaskets, plus books from several Octoberguest! authors! Drawing held November 2nd.]

Octoberguest! Michelle Brooks

I met the delightfully vibrant Michelle this past summer when she was teaching the poetry section at the Tinker Mountain Writer's Workshop. Her work is raw, honest and provocative and it was a privilege to hear her reading it (poetry is best enjoyed live, don't you think? maybe with cocktails afterwards?). She's also at work on a memoir, Second Day Reported, which she's been teasing folks with on her wildly popular Michelle's Spell blog (she always has cocktail suggestions!). The Iowa Review will publish her essay The Ceiling Or The Floor, which she calls "the springboard" for Second Day Reported. Though it's amazing that the poor thing can work at all--She tells me she's still reeling from the end of the Sopranos!

Michelle's Spell is also her love letter to the city of Detroit. She's brought us a poem today, and some photos from Detroit.

Be sure to check out her books on her website.

Welcome, sweet Michelle!


[First published in Permafrost]

Make Yourself Small

God will come in later, of this I feel certain.
Let’s consider the nurse Richard Speck
didn’t kill, the one that he bound who still
managed to hide under a bed, only to find
all the others stabbed in the eyes and breasts.
You wanted details, right? Hide under
whatever you can find, make yourself small.
Everyone finds something horrible in time.
Best to close your eyes. Keep them closed.



This picture is at the Heidelburg Project, an outsider art project done by Tyree Guyton to educate people about the decay and inspire hope in inner-city Detroit.


Love Detroit -- taken in the Old Miami, a fixture of the Cass Corridor -- Vietnam Vet hangout, the name stands for Missing In Action In Michigan


Me at my former place of employ, Macomb Community College


my old bedroom -- not exactly a Detroit historic site, but :)


Thanks for visiting, Michelle!

Tomorrow: Erotic suspense writer Jennifer Talty!

[Remember--Everyone who comments is entered to win $100 Godiva Chocolatier and Harry & David giftbaskets, plus books from several Octoberguest! authors! Drawing held November 2nd.]

Octoberguest! Mario Acevedo

Scary. Wild. Funny. Definitely over-the-top in the best way! That's the only way to describe Mario Acevedo's work. Mario writes the Felix Gomez vampire-detective series for Eos HarperCollins: The Nymphos of Rocky Flats, X-Rated Blood Suckers, and his latest novel The Undead Kama Sutra. I knew he'd be perfect to get us ready for the Halloween season here at the Handbasket! Stay tuned this March for his next novel Jailbait Zombie.

This is Mario's busy season, so he wants to make sure that the goodies he's brought to the Handbasket--a signed Advance Reader's Copy of one of his novels and a Devil Duck!--get snapped up this week. Anyone who comments on his post between now and end-of-day Saturday is eligible!


Welcome, Mario!



It’s October and since I write vampire stories, I get swamped with requests for articles. It would be easy enough except for one huge reason. My vampire doesn’t cooperate. He hates Halloween.

You would think that being surrounded by fans in vampire costumes is an ego boost. Not true. To my vampire, seeing all those weirdos in cheesy capes and fake fangs would be like Paul Robeson attending an Amos and Andy show with the actors in black face. It’s not camp, it’s insulting.

What about Santa Claus at Christmas? I asked my vampire. There are thousands of Santa imposters and I’ve yet to hear one peep of protest from the North Pole.

Whole different holiday, my vampire answered. Santa doesn’t mind ‘cause he needs the help. It’s his busiest season what with overtime for the elves, inventory snafus, stuff getting held up in Customs, and he’s still supposed to have kids sit on his lap at the mall? If it was me, of course I’d love a regiment of helpers.

But Halloween ain’t that at all. Sure, these costumed freaks make it easier for me to blend in but I get around anyway. What I resent is going out and being mistaken for a pretend bloodsucker. I didn’t lose my soul for nothing.

What’s with the Goth folks? I’d kill to get my tan back and these pasty-faced wanna-be’s actually cultivate a corpse in a tomb complexion.

And then there’s the fake “blood” punch. Plus the “blood” enchiladas. And the “type-A” marinara sauce. Don’t bring up “Bloody” Mary’s. Since when did we vampires stop drinking real booze? What’s the point of being immortal if you can’t get tight now and again?

One thing that really sticks in my craw are zombies. Really, try getting a zombie out of your craw. They’re all gummy and nasty-tasting. Unfortunately, zombies are all the rage now. Why, I don’t know. They smell like Dumpsters and leave pus on the furniture. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been to a cocktail party and guests start to haggle over the difference between zombies and vampires. Sure, we’re both undead but the similarities end there. We vampires are cool. We’re good company. We can control our appetites. I don’t know how many dinners I’ve seen ruined by zombies lunging over the table and snacking on the host’s brains. I mean right there. At the table. How rude.

Plus, we vampires are sexy. Everyone knows that. (Except for one particular barrista who won’t return my calls or texts.)

Have an awesome October.
Happy fanging.

Thanks for coming by, Mario!

Stop by tomorrow to meet poet and uber-blogger Michelle Brooks!

(If you comment on Mario's blog, you'll also be eligible for the end-of-month prizes: $100 Godiva and Harry&David giftbaskets and more books!)

Octoberguest! Interview with Allison Brennan

Allison Brennan inspires me! After working in public policy for many years, she decided that she wanted to have a job that would allow her to spend more time with her kids. So she turned to what she loved--books! She blew onto the romantic suspense scene in 2006 with a trilogy, and followed it up with another trilogy in 2007. Yesterday saw the release of Playing Dead, the third novel in her Prison Break Series, after Tempting Evil and Killing Fear. Her Sacramento FBI trilogy releases in 2009, and the first three books of her supernatural suspense series will release beginning in 2010. (I forgot to ask her if she thinks and dreams in threes!)


Given how indispensable Allison has made herself, it's no surprise that Tempting Evil debuted at #12 and spent four weeks on the New York Times Bestseller List. She's a busy writer-chick, but you can catch her at her website, and the group blog, Murder She Writes. Today, she's hopped into the Handbasket to answer a few questions so Octoberguest! can open with a bang. She's also very sweetly donated one of her backlisted titles to be given away to a lucky commenter!


Welcome, Allison!

You write frequently and powerfully about characters who must work hard to repair their relationships. How does it feel when they work it out? Do you play the peacemaker in real life, too?


Conflict is a part of life, and in marriage or family relationships you have to work hard to keep the relationship on solid ground. Two people who care about each other and love each other, but don't have the formal or blood connection, have to work twice as hard because it's easier to walk away. When they recognize that they are a better human being and happier with the other person in their life, they are willing to fight for the relationship and forgive past transgressions. No one is perfect, and seeing flaws within helps accept flaws in others and focus on the good. When my characters both come to the realization that they are in love, or they have the capacity for love, or they forgive, or they accept the freely given love of another, they feel elated and complete. This is a two way street--none of my characters feel that they need someone to complete them, but they learn that having someone who loves and understands them makes everything else better. Since my characters deal daily with violence and tragedy, having that unconditional love heals wounds they might not have even known they had. When I get to that point in the story, I feel elated myself--that these two people will be together for the rest of their lives--both better and stronger and happier.

For me? I hate conflict and as an only child raising five kids, there's daily conflict. I mediate constantly. I want to keep the peace, but it's certainly not easy!


Tell us about the most fun you've ever had writing.

Typing THE END for the very first time. Going to the gun range with the FBI Citizen's Academy. Blowing up stuff in the back lot of my local FBI Headquarters. In every book there's a point where I feel that everything is coming together. Like a switch, I go from nervous and uncertain to completely excited--a total adrenaline rush. And sometimes, when that scene just clicks, when you know that you nailed it the first time around, it's almost better than sex. It only happens one or two times in a book, but what a rush!

What are some songs that might be part of the soundtrack of PLAYING DEAD?

What a GREAT question! And one I have to think about because I listen to music when I write--primarily classic hard rock with some pop and bubble gum rock.

Every Breath You Take by The Police
Wanted Dead or Alive by Bon Jovi
I Want You To Want Me by Cheap Trick
I Don't Wanna Be by Gavin DeGraw
Bad to the Bone by George Thorogood
Living in the Past by Jethro Tull
Love Hurts by Nazareth
Every Picture Tells A Story by Rod Stewart
Behind Blue Eyes by The Who


I love that Stephen King wrote you back when you sent him a fan letter! You said his response was: "If you want to be a writer, write." What further encouragement would you give to younger or emerging writers? Is there any writing advice you've gotten that you wish you had ignored?


Frankly, Stephen King said it all. Why wait? Why not write? Writing takes practice. I didn't understand exactly what he meant when I was thirteen, but now I have a little card on my desk that says WRITERS WRITE. It helps with procrastination. Or, when I'm struggling, I tell myself I'm not really a writer because I'm not writing anything . . .

For young writers, I would say read widely and write as often as possible. Don't let friends, teachers, or parents discourage you if writing brings you joy. For emerging writers--the unpublished seeking publication--write daily. Find ways to minimize or defeat inner fear. Learn to be self-critical without being self-demoralizing. Know that writers must make sacrifices to write, and once you are willing to make those sacrifices, be committed as long as the writing gives you more pleasure than pain. No one on earth cares whether you publish or not, except you. This is your dream. Don't let others minimize or negate your dream. Writing toward publication takes talent, perseverance, and luck; you have control over the first two and by learning and staying in the game, you increase your odds.


In your upcoming series about the Seven Deadly Sins to be released beginning in 2010, you venture into the supernatural. Can you give us a little preview?

My logline is: "Three strangers -- a seminarian haunted by a massacre of priests, an Irish woman once possessed by a demon, and a cynical true-crime writer -- must join forces to stop the Seven Deadly Sins released from Hell by an evil occult, or an entire community will lose their lives and their eternal souls."

The logline sounds simplistic, but it summarizes the concept well. The hero, Rafe Cooper, has the memories of twelve dead priests who were massacred while he was trapped next door. He was the psychologist assigned to helping the mentally disturbed priests who were living in a secluded mission because they'd all faced evil first hand. The heroine, Moira Donnelly, had once been possessed by a demon--her mother had given Moira's soul to the devil when she was born. Moira befriended a monk who helped her break the curse, but not before tragedy struck. And Max Revere doesn't believe in anything supernatural--think Dana Scully with bad habits and personal demons.

The Seven Deadly Sins are released from Hell by an evil occult seeking immortality. They are too powerful for the occult to control, and are now free. In the first book, a teen-ager is found dead in the woods with no known cause of death and her best friend is missing. The Demon Envy draws out each person's envious feelings and thoughts to the deadliest degree.



A question from my eight year-old, Bengal:

If you had 1000 Popsicle sticks, what would you build with them?

250 picture frames. I have no artistic talent.

Thanks so much for visiting, Allison!



[Remember--Everyone who comments is entered to win $100 Godiva Chocolatier and Harry & David giftbaskets, plus books from several Octoberguest! authors! Drawing held November 2nd.]

It's Octoberguest!

Octoberguest! is here! Over the next four weeks or so, I'll be introducing you to thriller, suspense, horror, lit, and mystery writers, poets, uber-bloggers, and reviewers. Also one very dead, brilliant pirate. You'll meet someone new here every weekday and a few Saturdays as well. A few have spankin' new books, some are old friends. But they're all doing me a huge favor--giving me some time to get a few projects cleared off of my desk and my latest novel underway. (Oh, and the Flat Belly Diet Book Review experiment/diet!)

To encourage you to get to know my guests, I'm giving away some really good stuff! Everyone who comments will be entered to win fabulous--yes, fabulous--gift baskets (of course--it's the Handbasket after all!) valued at $100 each from Godiva Chocolatier and Harry and David. Plus, many of my amazing guests are donating copies of their books as well. Stop by often, comment often! Bengal will help me do the drawings on November 2nd.

New York Times Best Selling Writer Allison Brennan kicks it all off tomorrow!

I'll be hanging around, peeking in, maybe sneaking in a comment here and there. Oh, btw, thanks so very much to everyone who contributed to the Galveston Island Humane Society and the American Red Cross to support Hurricane Ike cleanup efforts! Contributions totaled $307. Pinckney and I are thrilled to be able to match those donations. THANK YOU!

See you at Octoberguest!