My New Cover -- BOOKPLATE SPECIAL

Tricia Miles, owner of Haven’t a Clue mystery bookstore, is still settling into Stoneham, New Hampshire, the kind of town where everybody knows your name—and where everyone’s quick to lend a hand, even when murder is afoot…

The kinder folks of Stonehammight call Pammy Fredericks a free spirit. The less kind, a freeloading thief.Tricia has put up—and put up with—her uninvited college roommate for weeks. Inreturn, Pammy, has stolen $100, among other things. But the day she’s kickedout, Pammy’s found dead in a dumpster, leaving loads of questions unanswered.Like what was she foraging for? Did her killer want it too? To piece the casetogether, Tricia will have to dive in head-first.…

(Isn't it just gorgeous? And don't you just love the way the window glows like a Thomas Kincade painting--and that type at the bottom of the cover that says New York Times Bestselling Author!!! And how long will it take before my "name" is bigger than the title?)

P.S. Starting tomorrow, Saturday, May 30th, I'll be joining the Cozy Chicks blog. Come on over and check it out.

PET PEEVE THURSDAY--COMPUTER BACK UPS

We've all been told time and time again to BACK UP YOUR COMPUTER FILES. I must admit, I am one of those people who means to do it all the time and still seems to forget.
But one thing I am diligent about is baking up my current book. I put in on a flash drive, and I have online storage in case the house blows up. (Well, you never know, right?)
So yesterday I had finished my work for the day and backed it up on the flash drive, intending to go right to the online storage and POOF! My manuscript was gone. GONE! The old version was still on the flash drive, but none of the additions and changes I'd made. A WHOLE DAY'S WORK--GONE!
Can you scream MELTDOWN!!!!!!!!! (Yes, it was upsetting enough to warrant all those exclamation points.) A search of the computer brought up nothing! It couldn't even find an old version of the manuscript.
Hey, I was being good. I WAS faithfully completing my back up and still my manuscript was gone.
When I could think rationally again, I remembered to check "RECENT ITEMS" -- and sure enough, there it was. Now why couldn't Vista tell me the manuscript was squirreled away in that folder? I pulled it onto the desktop, and quickly made copies. And then poured myself a very strong whiskey--light on the soda.
And what have you lost on your computer lately?

New (to me) Reviews

Sometimes it seems like I'm pretty clueless--at least I think so. One of my vigilant readers has forwarded not one but TWO neat reviews of BOOKMARKED FOR DEATH to me from respected print media--a little late, but always welcome. (Thanks, Lois!)

Mystery Scene Magazine, under "Cozy Favorites"

A bookstore owner's worst nightmare--the author found dead in the washroom--starts off Lorna Barrett's charming Bookmarked for Death (Berkley, $6.99). Tricia Miles, the owner of Haven't Got a Clue bookstore in the little town of Stoneham, New Hampshire, better solve this mystery before she takes the fall.

Mystery News (April/May 2009)

The second in the "Booktown Mysteries" series, Bookmarked for Death is a good cozy set in the village of Stoneham, New Hampshire. The entire community is distressed by huge flocks of Canada gees and the mess they make everywhere at a time when they are hoping to host a successful book fair featuring the numerous bookshops that make them a "booktown."

The Haven't Got a Clue mystery bookstore is hosting Zoe Carter, a reclusive author who is the most famous person from Stoneham. After the signing, bookstore owner Tricia Miles discovers the Edgar-winning author murdered in the restroom. Sheriff Wendy Adams closes the store for four days, causing many problems as well as loss of sales for Tricia. Doubt is cast upon Carter's authorship of her bestselling books, and more violence ensues.

The Characters are likable and the puzzle is intriguing. There is more cooking information than book lore. Tricia's sister, Angelica, a forceful personality indeed, owns the cook book shop next door. The ubiquitous recipes are included and a couple of them look good enough to try.

Naturally, I'm very happy to have positive reviews, and plan to boil them down for promo. How about this.

"Charming!"--Mystery Scene Magazine
and
"The puzzle is intriguing." -- Mystery News

Short and sweet, eh?

Authorly accouterments

I love garage sales. Have I mentioned that before? (Oh, only about a hundred times?) They're terrific. This weekend I got some really good stuff. A new popcorn bowl (I broke the perfect one about four months ago and have been experimenting ever since. This one seems to work well), some new-to-me bone china tea mugs . . . and a business card holder.

I use these at signings. I have to admit, not many people take my business cards. But a few times people have taken them with promises to book me for their readers group to to come visit their library. My last one was BORING. Opaque (white) plastic, but you could put cards on both sides. This one has a bit of glamor. Even fake diamonds! Since the heroine in my new mystery series is kind of a girlie-girl, I figured this would be perfect for me (and her).

Isn't it pretty?

What did you last buy at a yard/garage/tag sale?

DUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I love ducks. They're so cute. I love that the town where I live is concerned for the ducks' welfare. They hang signs near the retention ponds where the ducks hang around to do duck things. Like swim, and eat and BREED.
What I don't like about ducks is the calling cards they leave behind. (I touched on this in BOOKMARKED FOR DEATH--only then it was geese. Believe me. The geese can be really bad about it.)
But thankfully, geese don't visit me. Ducks, however, do. And you really don't want to encourage them. That's why we're really good about pumping the top of the money pit, er, pool as soon as the ice melts. Unfortunately, we still get rain, so keeping it pumped off becomes a continuing job until the pool is finally opened in June.
That means, I'm on constant duck alert. The problem is, the ducks are used to people. You have to go out there and make an absolute fool of yourself jumping up and down and waving your arms and clapping and yelling to get them to move.
I sure hope my neighbors don't have a video camera trained on our backyard.

PET PEEVE THURSDAY--What have they done to Uhura?

Have you seen the new Star Trek Movie yet? I have. So what do you think about the changes they've made to the crew? One in particular stands out for guest blogger Rhonda Lane.
I saw the new Star Trek movie on opening night. Believe it or not, despite what this post ends up saying, I mostly enjoyed the movie. It was only afterward, once I was back home, that I started thinking . . . .

If you haven’t seen the new Star Trek movie, you might want to stop reading right here. But . . . If you’re a woman, maybe you want to know before you go in. Especially if you’re a Boomer woman. Really especially if you were a pioneer yourself leading women into new professional territory.

Really, if you want to watch the movie and be surprised — stop reading now.

I mean it. Last chance … because …

Uhura is sleeping with her boss. Not Kirk. Spock. Who is cute, I admit. But a smart cookie like Uhura would be too professional to play where she works. Especially in a military unit. Despite what Battlestar Gallactica portrayed.

Thank goodness Uhura’s still smart as far as her job is concerned. She’s still the ears of the Universe picking up odd noises and interpreting them like a crackerjack submarine sonar officer. I’m okay with the fact that she’s a babe, but I do wish she’d been given more to do.

And I wonder what Nichelle Nichols, the original Uhura, thinks.

Y’all know the famous story. Nichelle was bored out of her skull with her role as a TV space ship switchboard operator. She was about to quit. Then Martin Luther King Jr. himself stepped up and asked her to please stay, that she was showing a black woman in an important job on a TV show. Even if not many people then were watching her. But Dr. King knew a potential pop culture icon when he saw one.

In those days on the cusp of the woman’s movement, Uhura was a bridge officer on the flagship of the fleet. Smart, good at her job and good in a fight. Every once in a while, she had to act like the flinching pre-ERA woman and say, “Oh, captain, I’m so afraid.”

I think I remember reading where Nichelle had to protest a few of those wimpy throwback moments and remind the producers and directors that Uhura was a soldier.

Apparently, the creator of Alias’s tough Sydney Bristow and Fringe’s capable Olivia Dunham forgot that Uhura is a soldier, too. But now she’s a space babe in lacy lingerie. Perhaps on a career track to become “The Captain’s Woman???” It all makes me wonder about what we leading women have wrought.

We embraced the freedom to reproduce when we wanted, not when biology happened. The control that The Pill gave us allowed us to wonder what else we could do now that we weren’t shackled by biology?
Then, we wanted to learn more about our own biology for health reasons. And we took the shame out of acts of love. We didn’t want our daughters and nieces to feel the same taboo that we used to feel, either.

In the ’90s, fashion designer Donna Karan added sex to the power suit, which had morphed from Joan Crawford’s shoulders to a bow-tied-almost-Mormon-nun thing to attorney Ally McBeal wearing a mini skirt in court. Hey, Uhura wears a mini on the bridge of the Enterprise. Both Uhuras.

A positive aspect of the new character is that today’s Uhura takes the lead in the relationship. Which makes Spock whipped, even though he’s in a position of authority. I’m not sure that’s a good image for him, either.

One character trait about the original Captain Kirk, who is probably about 15 years older than the new Kirk of the movie, is that he was always a professional with his subordinates. The military has strict rules against romance in a unit between superiors and subordinates. Kirk’s behavior on the Enterprise showed that he lived by that code. He knew that, when he was aboard his ship, he would spend his nights/afternoons/spare moments alone. His female yeoman’s blonde beauty weighed heavily on his mind. His hormones must have tormented him greatly.

Granted, this crew is young, their hormones coursing. But they’re still in the military. And, supposedly, Spock’s hormones only activate every seven years. So, has the new Star Fleet abolished the military code of conduct?

And I wonder, what would Dr. King say now?

P.S. – Actress Zoe Saldana deserves better.

And what's BUGGING you today?
-------------------------------------

Rhonda Lane is a former newspaper reporter, photojournalist and television graphics technician. She is working on a mystery novel about an exiled journalist solving a murder in a small southern town. She is also the creator of The Horsey Set Net, an online magazine blog about horses in culture. She admits that her “I’m Legit” author site needs updating once she figures out how. If you Twitter, you can follow her brief comments on life, writing and horses at @RhondaLane

THE BREEZE INN . . .

Like many of author Mary Kay Andrews's readers, I've been following the creation of her very own Breeze Inn on her blog.

For those of you who don't know, Mary Kay Andrews (pen name of author Kathy Hogan Trocheck) writes women's fiction. She's written three that feature the same characters, Savannah Blues, Savannah Breeze, and Blue Christmas. In Savannah Breeze, BeBe Loudermilk has lost all her worldly possessions thanks to a bad investment counselor--except for a dumpy motel called the Breeze Inn. For a good chunk of the book, Bebe and her friend Weezie renovate the inn, with a nod to HGTV's Design on a Dime, and stuff from Weezie's second hand shop.
I loved the books, and I was intrigued when Mary Kay bought her "beach house" on Tybee Island. For the past few months she's been chronicling the change from ugly cement block house to her own personal breeze inn, with pink and turquoise paint, wicker furniture, and lots of neat odds and ends.

She put a lot of effort into that renovation, telling readers about the rooms she'd prepared for her son (also known as "Boomerang Boy) and daughter and her husband. About choosing the paint colors, junking all along the East Coast (from Brimfield, MA to Florida) finding just the right items to furnish her home-away-from-home.

And finally, a few weeks ago, she declared her own personal Breeze Inn finished. I imagined her family using the place on weekends, the house being filled with friends, great food, great drinks, great memories.

WRONG! The Breeze Inn is now open for BUSINESS! And you can rent it for chump change -- that is if you happen to be Donald Trump. A week's stay at the Breeze Inn will put you back a mere $2,133!!! (Add $100 a week if you want to bring your pooch. $200 if you bring two pooches.) Of course, part of that cost includes a $30 admin fee (for the people who handle the rentals), $125 housekeeping fee, and a 13% motel/hotel tax.

Odd as it sounds, I felt betrayed. Mary Kay never told her blog readers that the Breeze Inn would be a money-making venture. We came along for the ride thinking that this would be her great escape, where she go to get away from life and work on her novels. (Her latest, The Fixer Upper, comes out on June 23rd.)

I started thinking about Mary Kay and her books and made a stunning realization. Usually authors live vicariously through their characters. Mine own their own bookstores in a quaint New England village and wouldn't I like to do the same? Mary Kay has taken this vicarious living to another level. She not only has a character who owns a motel on Tybee Island, now...so does she, sort of.

So instead of feeling betrayed, I think now I'm just jealous!

ON MY TRAVELS . . .

We took the camera along while driving around the area this weekend. It’s apple blossom time, and the trees are just starting to wind down. (But did I take a picture of the trees? Nooooo! It just didn’t occur to me.) But I did take a picture of the beehives.

As you know, there’s a problem with bees. Colony Collapse Syndrome, where the bees die. Is it a virus or some kind of mites killing them? That’s two of the theories. So we were pleased to see so many buzzing hives. And since the fruit crops depend on bees (they grow apples, cherries, and peaches around here), they’re an important (vital) part of the fruit-growing industry.

We stopped at the local nursery to pick up a couple of hollyhock plants. As you can see by the pictures, there’s a lot of gorgeous annuals just waiting to be planted. The problem: in this climate, it’s really not safe to plant anything but pansies until Memorial Day.
The nursery has many greenhouses filled with flowers. We noticed a hummingbird darting back and forth, but not settling on any one of the millions of flowers. He reminded us of an alcoholic in a liquor store-- not sure where to start first.

Not everything is beautiful around the county, as evidenced by this trailer we came across. There's a lot of poverty out there, and for some reason there's a breed of people that just collects junk--and lets it rot in their yards. Dogpatch is alive and well in rural New York.

And now the hollyhocks are planted. And of course, the nursery doesn’t tell you what color they’re going to be. (Probably because they don’t know.) And since it’s a biannual, they may not flower this year. Well, I guess I always did like to be surprised.

INTERNET WITHDRAWAL

I haven’t had a stable Internet signal since Friday morning. I had it for about half an hour on Saturday morning, ten minutes on Sunday morning, and then NOTHING.

Of course, our Internet access is tied in with our Cable TV. Guess what? We do have cable, but it’s unwatchable. And so we called on Sunday to report it, and were told they might be able to reset it from the office. Guess what? They couldn’t. We were told there was no signal getting through. But, they’d put us on the list for repair on Monday. We were to expect repair some time after 8 a.m.
Well, that’s kind of open ended, isn’t it?

Also, they said they would call us before they’d send a repair guy. Eight o’clock went by, then nine. Then ten. Finally, at 10:15 the guy shows up. (It must be miserable to have to visit all these cranky people--but it seems cable is more important to most people than Internet access.)

Meanwhile, I’m used to doing my Internet business from about 6:30 to 9. (In between I get breakfast for us and the cats.) Today, still no Internet. So I decided to do some vacuuming. Then laundry. Then tidying. I sorted tons of digital pictures, putting them in files (and even did some cropping.) I wanted to go plant my new hollyhocks by the mailbox, but we wouldn’t leave the house because we had to wait for them to call.

Did I miss anything vital during my Internet inaccessibility? Yes. But I’d just be boring you tell all. Suffice to say, I’m glad I’m back. And BAH! to windstorms that take out access.

Night of the Puking Cats

Four cats produce a LOT of hairballs.

Perhaps I should restate that: TWO of our four cats produce a LOT of hairballs. And since this is shedding season, there are more hairballs than usual, despite almost daily brushing of the worst offenders.

When we returned from our trip to the Malice Domestic conference, we noted the lack of hairballs on the rug. We’re good, we told ourselves, and swept up the litter in the laundry room.
But it was not to last.

Why is it that cats pick the most inconvenient times and/or places to eject their hairballs? We took off for our cottage on Friday, taking the sisters (Betsy and Bonnie) with us. Going to the cottage gives them a break from our exuberant boys. We drove for about an hour, and just as we were pulling up, Bonnie started retching. Yuck! All over the towel in her carrier, and all over one of her legs. Ick! Good thing I have a box of tissues in the car.

We get inside, unpack, and sit down to relax for a few minutes. Rukka, rukka, rukka! Next up, it’s Betsy, and wouldn’t you know—she had just filled up on the dry cat food that we put out for the girls.
I don’t know how your cats react, but ours always puke at least three times. The main event, and then parts two and three (not as dramatic, but just as aggravating).

Okay, we figured. We’re good. They’ve both had hairballs. We should be safe for the weekend.
Nope.

There I was, sleeping in heavenly peace, when—Rukka, rukka, rukka! Good heavens! Who’s puking now? Since both cats had been in bed with us when we turned out the light, I didn’t know which one to go after. It was Betsy again! And not only that—she had puked on the pillow between us!

Wow—dodged a bullet. Off came the pillowcase! But Betsy wasn’t finished. Onto the floor. Into the hallway. Next up, the kitchen. She finished with one last volley on the living room rug.

I think I used half a roll of paper towel with that one, but figured she’d gotten it out of her system, and she’d be good to go for the night. And I was right! But I had not reckoned with her sister. Two hours later, I was awakened with a familiar sound: Rukka, rukka, rukka!

“Get off the bed!” I hollered, and Bonnie obeyed. She only puked three times. On the bedroom rug, the hall floor (which, thankfully is laminate), and the kitchen floor. More paper towel, more cursing and swearing.

It’s time like thesethat I have to remind myself: I love cats…I love cats…I love cats.

PICTURES OF MALICE DOMESTIC & THE FESTIVAL OF MYSTERY

As most of you know, last week I attended the Malice Domestic conference in Arlilngton, Virgina, and on Monday, the Festival of Mystery (hosted by Mystery Lovers Bookshop) in Oakmont, PA.
This year's malice was my favorite for a number of reasons. First, I got to meet my editor. We've been corresponding via e-mail and the occasional phone call for three years now. I'm happy to say I like him a lot and we had some very interesting conversations. (We're both HUGE Star Trek fans, but see the series in different ways. We decided it's best left as a topic not discussed in future meetings.)

The second reason is I got to spend a lot of time with two of my blog buddies from Writers Plot, Sheila Connolly and Leann Sweeney. (Leann and I hung out a LOT.) Another member of our group blog was there (Jeanne Munn Bracken), but she moved so fast and rarely stood still, I never even got a picture of her!
Leann and I were on a panel about animals in mysteries. (Leann's new book is called "The Cat, The Quilt, and the Corpse.") Leann and I were on the cat side, while authors Peggy Webb and Judi McCoy were on the dog side. (And the panel was deftly moderated by Sandra Parshall.)

This year I went to the banquet for the first time. I know some people think banquets are tedious, but I actually enjoyed it, probably because I sat between author Mary Jane Maffini and Berkley editor Sandy Harding, both charming women. Also at the table: Shiela, our friends Krista Davis, Janet Bolin, Daryl Wood Gerber, Deb Baker, and my editor. The chicken wasn't rubbery (in fact, it was quite good!), and the dessert was layered chocolate to die for. (And I didn't think to take a picture. Bummer.)

Sunday things were winding down and Leann and I left early, heading for Oakmont. We paused for lunch, and then headed to Breezewood, where we stayed for the night. (Much cheaper.) It also gave us some time to wind down from the conference.

Monday, we were on the road again, heading for Oakmont. Our first stop (after checking into the hotel and having lunch) was a library reception sponsored by the Allegheny County Library Association. Here we pitched our books to librarians and friends of the library. I'm not good in these situations, but my friend Rosemary Harris is. She took me around the room and introduced me to people she'd only just met, and set me up for my pitch. Can you say: ETERNALLY GRATEFUL?

The Festival of Mystery, sponsored by the Mystery Lovers Bookshop, brought together 40 authors from the US and Canada. Several hundred faithful mystery readers attended and, more importantly, bought 1804 books in about four hours. I sat next to Rhys Bowen, who has a LOT of books in print. (I felt like a piker with my three books.) I got to see a bunch of people, but there wasn't much time for talk, as we pitched and sold our books to faithful mystery fans.

Naturally, I didn't take as many pictures as I would've liked. If you'd like to see more of my pictures, they're posted here and here.

It was an exhausting five days. But boy, was it fun!

ON THE ROAD AGAIN

Over the weekend, I went to the Malice Domestic Mystery Conference. I had a blast! Unfortunately, I didn't think to download my camera's software to my laptop, so I don't yet have any pictures to show for it. (Bummer, eh?)

We traveled from western New York to Arlington, VA, on Thursday. The skies were gray (can you say "gloomy?") but for some reason the nine-hour drive seemed a lot shorter than usual. Go figure! We actually got in about 45 minutes earlier than anticipated. I got to my room and immediately called my Writers Plot blog buddy Sheila Connolly. We made plans to meet and, having realized we were missing vital supplies (plastic cups for me, and a jug of ice tea for Sheila), headed off to the Rite Aid in Crystal City.

Next, we met up with our other pal Leann Sweeney, and the gab fest began in earnest. You see, Sheila and Leann had never officially met, although we've been blogging together for over two years. We called (and called, and called, and called) the fourth member of the group in attendance--Jeanne Munn Bracken--but for some reason she wasn't getting the calls, and since she has no small children to program her cell phone, didn't have voice mail set up.

Eventually, hunger got the best of us, so, joining up with our pal Toni Kelner, we headed off for dinner at a lovely Mexican restaurant. My meal was okay--could've been a little hotter (I like my food PIPING HOT--I mean, burn your esophagus hot), so tepid was a bit of a disappointment. After being on the road all day, hubby and I figured we deserved a libation. His Dos XX beer was HUGE (I couldn't lift it) and my martini was good. Until I we got the bill--holy crap! $9.25 for a friggin' martini? Okay, maybe I'm a rube from the sticks--but I sure would've savored it a bit more had I known the cost.

Of course, as we were leaving the restaurant, we finally met up with Jeanne and her friend Margy, who had been searching for us--but hadn't thought to give us a call (or maybe she didn't have the number--I was still fuming over that $9.25 martini to pay attention), but we staged a hug-a-thon there in the tunnels of Crystal City before Sheila, Leann, and I headed back to the hotel's convention floor for early registration.

Registering for Malice is kind of like getting an early Christmas. They give you a badge and a BIG bag of books. So of course we had to retreat to some very comfy club chairs to find out what Santa Malice had bestowed upon us. Lots of hardcovers this year, making for a very heavy bag. I managed to fleece my pals of their complimentary copies of American Girl books (for my niece, who works in a rural school system, to give to her kids), while a steady stream of friends came and went (more hugging) until we were so tired we were ready to drop. Then it was back to the room, where I was too tired to write about the L-O-N-G day. (Too tired to even read!!!)

NEXT UP: The Big First Day of Malice Domestic 2009