Thursday's Opening from The Micro-Manager Murder by Janet Lane Walters

Since this is my latest release, I thought I'd jump a bit from the fantasy trilogy.

The Micro-Manager Murder


Chapter 1

A Bridal Bouquet Planned



During the second week of June, Lars arrived in the Hudson River village where I live and where he had a home. The houses in Santa Fe had sold quicker than he expected but he’d kept the ski lodge for his family and mine to use.

The time had come for our plans to marry to reach fruition. Though I suggested we elope, Lars wanted a wedding. I gave in to his desire. We set the date for a Wednesday in mid-August. While discussing where to live, a house I’d admired located just two blocks from my “Painted Lady” came on the market. Lars and I purchased the house jointly using my attorney for the deal. That’s when the problems began.

Lars called me on a warm June morning. “Katherine, are you free tomorrow?”

“I’ve nothing planned.”

He released a long breath. “Call Richard and have him meet us at Barnes and Jones.

“Why?”

“George is upset. He thinks we need some kind of prenuptial agreement.”

I sighed. While I’m no romantic, the thoughts of legal squabbling made me uneasy. “Must we?”

Lars laughed. “Wouldn’t want George to appear in the middle of the ceremony and protest.”

“I’ll call Richard. What time?”

“One o’clock.”



* * * * *

By two thirty on Wednesday, a scream rumbled through me, one I couldn’t let loose. Lars’ attorney droned on in a voice void of expression. Why had I agreed to this meeting? I looked across the wide, highly polished table at the man who would be my husband six weeks from today. Tall, tanned with a craggy face and hair now more gray than blond. His blue eyes twinkled and he pressed his lips together to hide a smile.

I clenched my teeth. I wouldn’t scream. This meeting was my punishment for marrying a man of wealth. Oh, I’m comfortable enough but my fortune runs to hundreds of thousands, not millions.

Just give me the papers and I’ll sign. Those words hovered close to my lips. My foot tapped against the thick carpet in an impatient rhythm.

Then the attorney mentioned the house. A sprawling ranch with a magnificent view of the Hudson River Lars and I had jointly purchased. I’d admired this house for years but never thought to own the place where I could sit in the living room, dining room or master bedroom and watch the river’s changing moods.

“Why wasn’t I informed about this purchase,” George Jones asked. “Lars, you must protect your assets.”

My patience evaporated like dew beneath the summer sun. “Excuse me. Lars and I are adults and able to make decisions. I don’t see why our joint ownership is a bad idea. We contributed equal amounts for the purchase.”

The pompous man huffed. “You must think of your heirs.”

“Why?” The question erupted like a shot from a gun. “Neither Lars or I will be around to worry about them when that time comes. Let them fight over the dregs.”

Lars burst into the laughter he’d contained earlier. “She’s right. Just split the house down the middle. Half to her heirs and half to mine.”

For a moment George sputtered. He ran his hand over his balding head. “But what if one of you outlives the other?”

“The same rule will apply.” I leaned across the table and snagged the large pile of papers.

Beside me Richard Broadhurst, attorney and fiancé of my first floor tenant, nodded. “Mrs. Miller is right. Let them sign and we’ll be done.”

The next half-hour was filled with signatures, witnesses and the thud of the notary seal. I signed the last paper and turned to Lars. “Next time I’ll marry a pauper.”

He walked around the table and kissed my cheek. “We should have eloped.”

“I wanted to years ago but we didn’t. We still could. Blame our families for the delay.” I smiled.

He shook his head. “We’ve waited too long for this.” A moment of sadness slid through his blue eyes. I clasped his hand to show I understood. He’d thought about his only daughter’s betrayal and death. Though Bonnie’s tantrums had prevented our marriage fifteen years ago, he had loved her. “Let’s go.”

Lars nodded to George. “Golf next week.”

“What about Saturday?”

“Have a date.” Lars clasped my hand.

Richard gathered his papers and followed us outside. “Call you later.”

A warm breeze carried the scent of roses and raised my spirits. I walked with Lars to the parking lot where our cars were parked.

“That’s done.” He chuckled. “Never realized how boring George was. You’re the first person to force him into agreeing to stop pushing. I’m sure he had more points to negotiate. Where are you going?”

“Home to cook. Drink a gallon of iced mint tea.”

“I thought we could go for coffee. We have other decisions to make like where to honeymoon.”

My stomach churned. “Not today. I’m going home. Come to dinner. We’ll talk then.”

He shook his head. “Can’t. My oldest boys and their wives are joining Don and me to choose which pieces of furniture and knickknacks they want from the house. Come and select any of the furnishings you want.”

Though I knew he wanted my company, his house held his memories, not mine. I clasped his hands. “No need. We made a list, remember? I chose the things from my apartment and you choose from yours.”

“What if I select something you hate?”

“Why would I? This is a partnership.” I opened the car door. “Spend time with your family tonight.” I kissed his lightly. “Come tomorrow. I’ll make beef Wellington and there’s part of a chocolate cake in the freezer.”

“Could you make one for the groom’s cake?”

“I can do that. Until tomorrow.”

“I’ll be there.” He pulled me close for a warm kiss. “Until tomorrow. I’ll come around five.”

“I’ll have drinks waiting.”

By the time I reached the house, the desire for a mug of mint tea possessed me. I parked in the driveway and strode up the steps to the porch.

My tenant, Jenna, curled on the white wicker swing with a book. She waved. “Afternoon.”

I continued past. “Talk to you later. I need a drink.”

“Mint tea, of course.” She waved a cell phone. “Richard called. Said the session dragged on forever.”

"How right he is.” I fished my mail from the box and headed upstairs.

The moment I entered the apartment, Robespierre, my Maine Coon cat, butted my ankle. “Hello to you.” I bent and rubbed his head before opening the refrigerator. The level of tea in the glass container showed enough for a quick fix.

After draining the glass and pouring the remainder over the ice, I spilled some dried food in the cat’s dish. Moments later, a kettle sat on the fire and I filled a ball with one of my favorite blends taken from a jar on the pantry shelf. I blend my own teas and grow my own mints. I’d already planted several varieties in the garden at the new house.

By the time a fresh container sat in the fridge, the phone had rung twice. My daughter-in-law wanted to schedule a shopping day for wedding clothes. Ruth laughed. “Andrea wants you to wear a white gown.”

“No way.” Andrea is my granddaughter. She’s into ballet and thinks of every event as a show.

Next, Sarah called to set a date for the shower I didn’t want or need. She rattled on until I stopped her. “I’ll agree if we make the gifts items for the local food pantry.”

“Great.”

“I knew you would approve.” Sarah has a large social conscience and is mother to three and foster mother to two children.

I filled a tall mug with more ice and poured in the fresh brew. The ice crackled. The phone rang for a third time.

Maria, my next-door-neighbor, spoke. “Mrs. Katherine, I would show you the rings I have make for you and Mr. Lars.”

“I’ll come tomorrow. I’m bushed.”

She laughed. “What kind are you?”

Maria’s from Spain and often has confusion with idioms. “No bush, I’m tired.”

“Come for tea in the morning. I will ask Mrs. Sarah.”

I pressed the cool glass to my forehead. Too many cooks wanting to stir the broth of my life. What I needed was an escape, just for a day or two. An idea tickled my thoughts but the fourth call in twenty minutes firmed my resolve. Escape was on the menu. Edward, pastor of St. Stephens; called to finalize the ceremony and the use of Fellowship Hall for the reception, the first of two.

“Katherine, you know how delighted I am to perform this ceremony. Simply delighted. So delighted I have an idea.”

A smile teased. Delighted must be his word of the day. “And that is?”

“St. Stephens’ needs another Elder. I would be delighted to name Lars to help guard our affairs.”

“You’ll have to ask him.”

“I will. We’d be delighted to have the two of you for bridge Friday evening.”

“I’m not sure what we have planned.” Jolted by the desperate need to run away from these many managers of my time I sighed. “I’ll let you know.”

“Delighted. We can discuss the wedding arrangements while we play.”

The dial tone sounded before I reminded him I hadn’t accepted. I called Lars to warn him. This done I continued. “I’m leaving on Friday to visit Joyce.”

“Wish I could join you.”

“Why not?”

“Golf weekend with the boys.”

“Enjoy. Edward will call you.”

“I’ll make our excuses. See you tomorrow evening.”

Wednesday's Writer's Tips - Words Glorious Words

A bit of a take off on a sonb but words are the food of the writer. I'm re-reading Techniques of The Selling Writer by Dwight V. Swain and he devotes an entire chapter on words, choosing the right words, making the words vivid. This is something as a writer you should pay attention to. Without words there can be no story. Whether printed on paper, uploaded into an ereader, or spoken by a story teller, words are what creates the world and what the reader experiences. The words invite the reader to share the world.

How are these words used? To create characters, to show the setting and to advance the plot. Sometimes finding the right word is hard. When first starting a story, the words seem to flow rapidly or slowly depending in the writer's habits of writing. Often the first words put on the paper aren't the right words. They're almost right. My take on this is not to fret over every word but to get the ideas on paper. Finding the right word, the vivid word, the invitation word is better left to the revision phase.

Once I have the rough draft down and know where the story is going, I begin to look at particular areas. Dialogue. By now I know my characters since I have lived with them for a time. Dialogue is often written over three or four times. In the description areas of the story, choosing the words can bring the setting, the character to life. Becoming specific instead of generic is a good ited. What's the difference in the reader's mind between he drove a battered crate of undetermined origin or he drove the sleek silver power car destined to show his importance. Makes the hero a different person in each case.

Too many words can bog the reader down. I've read descriptions of a setting that detail every nook and cranny of a room. What I'm not sure of is what the writer wants me to notice. A few details allows the readerto fill in the blanks. This gives the reader a chance to engage their imaginations and enter the story as a silent participant.

So choose your words with care. Revise to find the exact right one. Revise to find the vivid one. Revise to bring the reader into the story.

Books We Love Blurbathon featuring Rita Karnopp

Wednesday, March 13, 2013BWL Blurbathon Presents Rita Karnopp








PARTISAN HEART - Book 2 – Tango of Death Series - Poland 1943-During WW II resistance movements occurred in every occupied country by a variety of means, ranging from propaganda to outright warfare and the recapturing of towns, as well as hiding crashed pilots.





Partisan Heart tells the story of a Gypsy girl who follows her beloved into the forests of Poland and the Ukraine. Their partisan group is willing to risk their lives blowing up train trestles, attacking SS killer squads, and to infiltrate Nazis intelligence to destroy Nazi Germany. Resistance does exist. If nothing else, to die with dignity is a form of resistance. hhttp://bookswelove.net or http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00AZ6VTFE/





Excerpt:

“I am a Jew fighting for his people and I’m fighting for your people, too. I don’t need you fighting me.” He opened his arms to her.

Vanya moved into his embrace. After a long silence she lifted her face up to him and took his hard kiss. She responded with urgency and passion. He fueled the fire within her and she didn’t want to stop.

He kissed her cheek, then moved to nibble on her ear lobe.

“I love how you kiss me,” she said somewhat breathless.

He answered with a trail of kisses down her neck . . . lower and lower. She allowed him to pop open the first few buttons on her blouse. He pinned her back against a tree and buried his face into her cleavage. The sensation shook her to the core. She should tell him to stop, but she truly didn’t want him to.

How or when he slipped the remaining buttons free, she couldn’t say.









Find GYPSY SPIRIT Book 1 Tango of Death Series http://www.amazon.com/dp/B009KDY5D6 or http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/241274





Watch for JEWISH SOUL, book 3 of the Tango of Death Series . . . coming soon - Mayla decides it’s up to her to do whatever it takes to find her twin, Vanya, and baby sister, Zilka ~ before the Gestapo sends them to a concentration camp or the SS kills them.





Rita Karnopp

Author ~ Romancing the West

ritakarnopp@bresnan.net

http://bookswelove.net

http://mizging.blogspot.com

http://ritakarnopp.com





Stop back by March 15 for a blurb by Roseanne Dowell

Tuesday's Inspiration ala Morris L. West

I find it interesting ro read these old essays by many writers I've read in the past. Often what they say relates to where we are as writers today. Sometimes reading them brings me to think of my own writing or about advide to those who are just beginning their careers. This quote is from an essay by Morris L. West and I remember reading most of his books many years ago. I may glean several quotes from this essay. Here's the first.

"Writing is like making love. You have to practice to be good at it." What a wonderful quote. Few people sell the first book they've ever written. Most of us have this stuffed in a drawer never to be seen by anyone. I was fortunate to sell my first novel, but not the first versionof it. The manuscript was returned and revised many times. And I learned from this. I also took time out from my writing career to return to nursing to help put 4 children through college. When I returned to writing, though I remembered many of the things I'd learned earlier I began slowly at first and did much re-writing. What I was doing was practicing so I could be good at putting the words on paper.

What about you? Did you write and re-write many times? Did you expect the first story from your computer to sell and make a million dollars or did you practice your craft, mastering each element until suddenly, you became good at what you wanted to do? Not perfect though. I look bacl on stories I wrote years ago and I can see where they need work. But they were the best I could do at the time. Sometimes they were purchased. Sometimes they were read, garnered nice reviews and sometimes were nominated for awards. They would never have reached this statis if I hadn't practiced and practiced over and over.

Meandering on Monday with Janet Lane Walters and New Release

For all who have followed Katherine Miller, retired nurse, retired church organist who doesn't want her third career, the 5th book in the series The Micro-Manager Murder has just been released by DiskUs Publishing. Katherine's wedding day brings surprises and another investigation. This book really excites me since Katherine being Katherine and what she feels about her friends and family leads her to actions that upset some of the members of my critique group. They were new to her world. The ones who have followed her career, all said "Figures she would do that." I'm glad to see this book out there since it was fun and convoluted to write. I know there will be one more in the series and maybe that will be the end since Katherine is approaching 70 and needs to slow down.

Now for a meander. I've been having people visit my blog on Friday and Saturday for a long time now. What I've found is the ones who have promoted the site bring people to visit the blog and sometimes they stay and continue to follow. The ones who don't promote see fewer visits. I know when I'm a guest on a blog, I get out there and let , maybe not the world, but the loops where I'm a member hear about my visit. How about you? Do you let others know and do you go on to see if there are comments and respond?

Meander two. I'll be spending my afternoon with Create Space trying to get four more books up there in print. Then there are 3 more to go, plus an idea I have to discuss with one of my publishers. Will see what happens there.

Saturday I'll be speaking at NJRW and have my talk done. Hope it's long enough 45 minutes to an hour is a long time to be on stage. At least I can sit down to do this.

Am almost finished with a draft of To Heal Shattered Dreams. Then there will be only three more to go. This one has been involved with plugging all the holes in the plot. They're down to inches from miles so that's a good thing.

Books We Love Blurbathon - A Winter Sabbatical by Cheryl Wright

A Winter Sabbatical by Cheryl Wright




Marissa Temple, unable to come to terms with the death of her fiancé,

needs time alone.



Close friend Daniel offers the use of his quaint country cottage while

he is overseas on a long term assignment. But Daniel forgot to mention

his best mate, Travis Johnston.



Marissa finds herself strangely attracted to Travis, but is torn

between two loves; the one in the here and now, and the one in the

hereafter.



….



Buy A Winter Sabbatical at:



http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008AY8KHI



And do check back to learn all about Rita Karnopp’s books on March 13!

3 Blog Visit Sunday discovered by Janet Lane Walters

http://accrispin.blogspot.com/2013/02/second-class-contracts-deal-terms-at.html

http://babettejames.com/2013/03/06/chat-on-twitter-the-what-and-how-of-author-chats-on-twitter-by-beth-barany/

http://theintrovertedauthor.blogspot.com/2013/03/ten-tips-for-building-your-author-blog.html

Saturday's Chapter Mistress of Molecules by Gerald M. Weinberg

[What follows is Chapter 1 of Mistress of Molecules (a romantic thriller of the far future, from the Women of Power series by Gerald M. Weinberg.]


http://www.geraldmweinberg.com/Site/Mistress.html

Chapter 1. Libra

Before the instant I launched my crocus-laden balloon plane, I had never doubted that I was my father's daughter. Now, parked in Clifton Plaza waiting for its return, my body, and my confidence, shook with fear. Nicolas Valois never feared anything. He had been solid as one of the Star Chamber's marble pillars, even as he'd stood before the Pope to receive his death sentence.

Although I was not yet born at the moment my father's molecules were disassembled and scattered, I know my father quite well. The vid of his show trial is part of the school curriculum. I have watched it hundreds of times.

Father was smarter than anybody in the Church. He must have known the Church would distribute the vid as moral lessons for the unfortunate inhabitants of our poisonous planet. So he used the trial, the vid, to communicate his own moral lessons, not to everyone, but only to me, his unborn daughter.

The Ministers caught Father with a kilo of crocus—less than my balloon plane now carried. They kept him out of public view for twenty-one days, no doubt torturing him until they placed him on public trial before our Pope. His Holiness served as judge, jury, and prosecutor. Sitting in full regalia—gold-trimmed purple chasuble over ivory alb and stole, a tall gold mitre decorated with seven purple crosses—he asked Father whether he had stolen the crocus.

Father stood tall and proud, though bruised, chained hand and foot, and dressed in baggy, wrinkled, orange prison clothing. "No, sir, I did not steal it."

After I had watched the vid a dozen times, I noticed the Pope flinching slightly when Father refused to address him as "Your Holiness," as was required of everyone in the court. I had seen a bailiff begin to move toward Father, probably to chastise him for this breach, but a wave of the Pope's finger motioned him away.

"Then you bought it?" asked the Pope.

"No, sir, I did not buy it."

"Then you smuggled it, perhaps from Earth?" The Pope looked down to check his console. "The record shows that you recently visited Earth."

"Yes, sir, I did. I was sent by my employer, the Telenergy Corporation."

"And upon returning from that trip, you smuggled the crocus from Earth?"

"No, sir, I did not. As far as I know, there is no crocus on Earth. Their air is not poisonous like ours, so Earthers have no need for it."

That statement, I knew, was a key part of his message to me.

The Pope continued. "So you know where all the crocus is in the galaxy?" He smiled knowingly for the audience, having put this arrogant criminal in his place.

"Everyone knows, sir, that crocus exists in only two places: here on Precursor, and on the Zgaarid home world, wherever that may be. I have never been there, nor has any other human, to my knowledge."

"And just how do you possess this vast knowledge of galactic affairs?"

"By logical deduction, sir. If the Zgaarid did not have a monopoly on crocus, and if the Church and the corporations could not use crocus to control our people, then we would not be held in docile slavery. But since we are no more than miserable slaves, the monopoly must exist. Why else would your church make it a crime to distribute a life-saving substance?"

"Hah." You could hear the smirk in the Pope's voice. "There, young man, you display even more ignorance. Even little children know that slavery is forbidden by the Church. That the Holy Church is your father protector, dedicated to your welfare and the welfare of your immortal soul."

"You would have to be a little child, sir, to believe that falsehood." Another message to me, I'm sure.

The Pope waved his hand dismissively. "Enough of your nonsense. If you did not steal the crocus, and you did not buy it, and you did not smuggle it, ... " He rolled his eyes heavenward. " ... then how did you obtain it?"

Father followed the Pope's gaze toward the ceiling. "God gave it to me, sir."

The Pope turned red and angrily banged his gavel on the bench. "That will be enough. Bailiff, gag the prisoner. And Clerk, you will now add blasphemy to the list of charges."

Before the bailiff could insert the gag, Father shrugged his shoulders and said, softly, "Fortunately, you can only murder me once."

Those were Father's last words before his body was disassembled into its component molecules. I know they were a message to me. They could only kill him once, but others would carry on his work. Others like me.

And what was that work? Again, that was clear from his testimony, though everybody else was too blind to see it. If he hadn't bought, stolen, or smuggled the crocus, he must have made it, which is what he meant when he said that God gave it to him. That is, God gave him the power to do chemistry, to make molecules. Molecules like crocus would free our world from both human and Zgaarid slavery.

Perhaps in another age, Father's ability to synthesize crocus would have been obvious to everyone. By now, however, humans had become so intimidated by Zgaarid technology that nobody even attempted to create things. Yes, there were people called chemists—my father was one, after all—but they were all simply technicians trained to operate pre-defined Zgaarid processes.

All, that is, except Father.

And, of course, me. The coward.

Books We Love Blurbathon featuring Vijaya Schartz's Lady of Luxembourg

LADY OF LUXEMBOURG – by Vijaya Schartz






Curse of the Lost Isle Book 4



Finally, the long awaited Lady of Luxembourg, Book 4 in the Curse of the Lost Isle series, is out in kindle!

Find it today at:

http://amzn.com/B00BO0MYX6



978 AD Melusine the Fae, immortal and cursed Lady of Luxembourg, managed to hide her Pagan nature from mortals for many years. She fiercely protects her handsome Count, Sigefroi, but in their princely bliss, neither of them seems to age, and a few suspicious bishops take notice. Then an ondine wreaks havoc during a battle, luring enemy soldiers into the river.



Betrayed, Sigefroi reflects on his many sins from the depths of a rat infested dungeon. Under torture, will he reveal her deadly secret? And when her beloved turns into a devout Christian, can Melusine salvage her happiness? Can love truly redeem her curse, or will she burn at the stake?



This gritty, edgy, realistic medieval romantic series is not for the faint of heart. If you like realism in your medieval novels, this series is for you. Reviewers gave it five stars and called it “bloody and bloodthirsty in places.” So beware!



The books in the Curse of the Lost Isle series can be read separately, but if you are like me you’ll want to read them in the right order. Here they are:





BOOK 1 – PRINCESS OF BRETAGNE http://amzn.com/B007K1EGAM

BOOK 2 – PAGAN QUEEN http://amzn.com/B007Z8F7IA

BOOK 3 – SEDUCING SIGEFROI http://amzn.com/B008LW18EG

BOOK 4 – LADY OF LUXEMBOURG http://amzn.com/B00BO0MYX6



There is also a special edition including the first three books in the Curse of the Lost Isle in one kindle download, for a bargain price at:





Find the entire series as well as my other books on my Amazon page, here: http://amzn.com/B0091HX7EE

http://www.amazon.com/author/vijayaschartz



Vijaya Schartz, Blasters, Swords, Romance with a Kick

http://www.vijayaschartz.com

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/author/vijayaschartz

B&N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/c/vijaya-schartz



Check again on March 11, for author Cheryl Wright.

How He Does It Featuring Jerry Weinberg

When I have those five well in hand, the plot seems to ooze onto the ms. by itself. Sometimes, I have to force it out–which generally leads to a less satisfactory story.






1. How do you create your characters? Do you have a specific process?





I have a mixed process. I always start with some ideas of the character (not consciously modeled after any specific person). I then put that character in specific situations and see how they respond. Their responses show me the deeper parts of their character.







2. Do your characters come before the plot? Do you sketch out your plot or do you let the characters develop the route to the end?





They develop in parallel. As the book nears its end, the characters become more and more specifically shaped. I may then go back and place those details earlier in the ms.







3. Do you know how the story will end before you begin? In a general way or a specific one?



In a general way, but sometimes it changes as the book nears its end.



4. Do you choose settings you know or do you have books of settings and plans of houses sitting around?





Both. I've lived and worked all over the world, so I have lots of settings in my mind, waiting to be accessed. But sometimes I want a setting where I've never been, in which case, I research it. Or just create a house or other building. I've actually designed and built several real buildings, so I know a bit about how things work.





5. Where do you do your research? On line or from books?





I use whatever works. I generally start with my own direct experience, then flesh out some details I haven't experienced





6. Are you a draft writer or do you revise as you go along and why?





Mostly I try to write through from beginning to end, then go back and enrich the ms. with telling details. I've learned to be extremely careful about going back to revisef