Category Archives: Book description or review

The Story Behind the Story – with Giveaway

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Today’s guest blogger is Donna Schlachter, who also writes as Leeann Betts   Donna writes historical suspense. Double Jeopardy is her latest, due out in January, 2020. She and her alter ego Leeann have published more than thirty novellas and full-length novels.  They are active in American Christian Fiction Writers, Sisters in Crime and other groups.  She lives in Denver with her husband, Patrick. Today, she gives us the story behind the story, plus a chance to receive a free book.

The story behind the story is often told in the form of back cover copy on the book, but I think it goes way beyond that. Sure, that bit on the back tells us a little about the main characters, the overall plot, and perhaps some about the decisions the main characters must make, because always—let me repeat this—always the choices they are faced with conflict with each other. At first glance, it seems they cannot have everything.

So let’s delve a little deeper into the story behind the story.

Rebecca Campbell was born in New York City, the only child of wealthy socialite Matilda Applewhite Campbell and Robert Campbell. Her mother is everything Rebecca—Becky to her friends—wants to be. Beautiful. Poised. Confident. Instead, she seems doomed to inherit all her traits from her father, who she adores. Reckless. Impulsive. A daredevil.

Becky’s father is gone more than he’s home. When a year passes with no word from him, she sets out, on her own, for his last known location—Silver Valley, Colorado. On her arrival, she learns he has been murdered. Determined to make his mine a success—his last letter promised that as soon as he struck it rich, he’d send for her and her mother—and to find his killer, she settles in at the mine.

But somebody doesn’t want her to succeed. And after a series of accidents and near-misses, she admits she’s in over her head. And the only person she can trust is Zeke—or can she?

The hero is Ezekial Graumann. Most everybody calls him Zeke. Zeke and his family own a fairly large piece of land in southwestern Colorado near the town of Silver Valley. Zeke has two married brothers, as well as two unmarried sisters. In good years, with enough rain, their land can support the three families if they are diligent and careful with their stock. However, the last few years have seen droughts and not enough snowfall, and the grazing is poor. Zeke wants to build his own house, maybe get married and have his own family, but the land won’t support another household.

Unless he can buy water rights from a spread upstream. But he doesn’t have the money to do that. So he looks around town for some weekly work to earn enough to buy the water rights and receive his share of the family land.

And along comes Miss Rebecca Campbell. She is feisty, stubborn, and doesn’t know anything about mining. Yet her determination to find her father’s killer and her resolve to make his mine successful gnaws at Zeke’s heart. And soon he finds himself imagining what it would be like to have her at his side as his wife. Except she’s obviously not ranching material, either.

But when accidents happen at the mine that threaten her safety, he must acknowledge that his feelings for her are more than mere curiosity. Now he must choose between saving his ranch or saving this woman who has stolen his heart.

So what keeps them from getting what they want? The villain, of course. Suffice it to say, it is a man. This man is one of the longest-term residents of Silver Valley, a man of impeccable reputation. On the outside, he looks wealthy. Wears nice clothes. Speaks well. Sounds well-traveled and educated.

Except on the inside, he’s dark, greedy, and lazy. Well, lazy only in the sense he wants to get rich quick. He actually spends a lot of energy trying to cheat and steal his way into wealth. If only he’d use his superpowers for good.

 

I will randomly draw a name from all who leave a comment over the next nine days to win a print (US only) copy of Double Jeopardy. Which means, if you stop by every day and leave a comment, you’ll have nine entries.

Double Jeopardy is available at https://shoplpc.com/double-jeopardy/ Amazon.com, and fine booksellers in your area.

www.HiStoryThruTheAges.com Receive a free ebook simply for signing up for our free newsletter!

Facebook: www.Facebook.com/DonnaschlachterAuthor

Books: Amazon: http://amzn.to/2ci5Xqq and Smashwords: http://bit.ly/2gZATjm

We’re All Two Halves of the Same Cookie

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Today, we’re hosting an eclectic artist and author, Carol McClain, who is also secretary of the Author’s Guild of Tennessee.  She’s a transplant from New York, but more on that later.  She has published five books and currently does a little blogging.  Welcome Carol McClain and read a little sage wisdom gained from her time in New York and her time in Tennessee.

 

You’ve seen black and white cookies, those giant confections whose frosting is equally divided between “chocolate” and “vanilla.”

As a child, I loved them. Being female, and a moody one at that, I always claimed the chocolate side when my mother bought them. (We had to share).

As an adult, I one day discovered a display of them. I indulged and bought one.

I nibbled the chocolate side—no need to share as I paid my grown-up money for it. I discerned no chocolate flavor. I chomped into the vanilla side. It tasted like the same—maybe with a slight variation. Both sides of the black and white cookie could’ve been one color.

One day, after several years of debating, my husband and I decided to move from northern New York to the warmer climes of East Tennessee. A writing friend became excited. “Write one of your funny books about the differences between the North and South.”

As I packed for my move, I envisioned the novel. With the animosity between the North and South, with geopolitical and social differences, I’d have an hysterical story.

We moved to Campbell County in the heart of the Cumberland Mountains and discovered, like the black and white cookies, with only slight variations, no differences existed.

There went my book idea.

Still, my friend nagged while I settled in.

Cornbread, a hill dialect, a culture of Christianity as opposed to a culture of agnosticism were about the only variations I found. It confirmed something I believed.

Liberalism mimics conservativism. It, too, excludes things it doesn’t believe in. Blacks/whites, Russians (my heritage)/Anglo Saxons, Baptists/Evangelicals, gay/straight, we all vary outwardly like the icing on the pastry, but as Mandissa sings, “We all bleed the same.”

In the end, I found my book. A New York Yankee on Stinking Creek explores the difference between the North and the South. And nothing’s as it appears, and the extremes of anything err.

We are human. We are sinners. We need redemption. We’re two halves of a black and white cookie.

Carol enjoys running, jazz, stained glass and, of course, writing.  She is the President of ACFW Knoxville.  The world in East Tennessee intrigues her from the friendly neighbors to the beautiful hiking trails and the myriad wildlife.

NOTHING GOOD COMES FROM STINKING CREEK

Alone, again, after the death of her fiancé, abstract artist Kiara Rafferty finds herself on Stinking Creek, Tennessee. She wants out of this hillbilly backwater, where hicks speak an unknown language masquerading as English.  Isolated, if she doesn’t count the snakes and termites infesting her cabin, only a one-way ticket home to Manhattan would solve her problems.

Alone in a demanding crowd, Delia Mae McGuffrey lives for God, her husband, her family, and the congregation of her husband’s church. Stifled by rules, this pastor’s wife walks a fine line of perfection, trying to please them all. Now an atheist Yankee, who moved in across the road, needs her, too.

Two women.Two problems. Each holds the key to the other’s freedom.

A New York Yankee on Stinking Creek, on Amazon in print and digital at  https://tinyurl.com/y2pxjt4a

The Story Behind the Story

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This week’s guest blogger is June Foster, an award-winning author who began her writing career in an RV roaming around the USA with her husband, Joe. She brags about visiting a location before it becomes the setting in her next contemporary romance or romantic suspense. To date, June has 17 novels published.

Dreams Deferred is inspired by the true-to-life story of my great grandfather and great grandmother. I chose to set it in contemporary times. Nevertheless, I borrowed many of the story elements from the true story.

Frances Mathew Halbedl grew up in the European Austrian Empire and followed tradition in which the oldest son became a priest in his family’s Catholic faith. After being ordained in Moravia, he immigrated to the United States in 1866 to serve in a parish in the state of Louisiana.

My aunt and mother always told the story of how one Sunday while saying mass, he spotted a young teen, much younger than my Mary Louise. He waited several years for her to grow up then stepped down from the priesthood to marry her. I wish I knew some of those rich details of their courtship, but since I don’t, I fictionalized their romance.

They later moved to San Antonio, Texas, and had five children, three girls and two boys—Ida, Mamie, Alice, Roy, and Clifton, who was my grandfather. Just for fun in one scene, I imagined that Matt had a dream he was riding in a car with Mary Louise and the three youngest kids. In my story, the dream helped him realize how much he loved Mary Louise.

Mathew taught music both in the public school and privately. Later he became the first principal of a high school in San Antonio. In December of 2005, my husband and I visited San Antonio and looked up Matthew and Mary Louise’s house. The large, two-story home is still there on Roseborough Drive. We weren’t able to go in because it’s a private residence. But I had so much fun envisioning Matt and ML’s lives as they lived there with their children.

We also visited Clifton Halbedl’s home, which I remember from childhood. I also had the address for Mamie’s home, and we were able to go inside. A gracious lady who spoke no English invited us in. I have tons of pictures and hope to share them on my blog.

In the story, Matt gets a job at Jefferson High School. This is patterned after Thomas Jefferson High School where my mother went to school. Her name was Mary Louise, as well, named for her grandmother.

If I’ve learned anything from writing this book, I wish I’d probed for more information when my mother and aunt were still alive, but I’m grateful for what I do know.

Brief Blurb on Dreams Deferred –

Father Matt Hall wants to serve the Lord. School teacher Mary Louise Graham needs freedom from her unforgivable past. They never expect to fall in love.

You can find June at:  junefoster.com.

You can find Dreams Deferred at:  https://tinyurl.com/y3g555tz

She just kept stabbing.

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Today I’m sending you one brief scene from Political Dirty Trick, A Crystal Moore Suspense, Book #3.

Crystal jerked her hand to the door and tried to yank it shut but not before the knife found her arm, cutting a long gash nearly to her elbow. The woman stepped closer and raised the knife for another slash. Crystal grabbed the door handle and jerked the door closed. It caught the intruder’s arm, smashing it against the frame of the car. The woman let out a scream, but the knife stayed firmly in her hand. Crystal could see hate and determination in the woman’s eyes. The woman pulled on her arm, trying to get it out from between the door and the car body.

Crystal eased the pressure and the woman yanked her arm out. But before Crystal could get the door closed, the woman reached in for another strike. Crystal was ready and managed to get her arm out of the way. Again she slammed the door against the attacker’s arm. The woman screamed in pain.

Crystal’s right hand grabbed the steering wheel to steady herself, landing on the horn, sending a loud blast into the quiet woods. She released the pressure on the door slightly, then tried to yank it closed again.

Now the woman had her leg inside the door. She would not let her arm get smashed again. Crystal pulled. The door dug into the woman’s leg. But Crystal could not close the door.

The woman let out a stream of curses. There wasn’t enough room to get a good swing with the knife. Crystal tried to keep the door from opening wider, but blood now covered her hand and she could barely hold the door. Slowly the attacker pushed her weight against the door, opening it wider. She was getting enough room for a more deadly attack.

Crystal desperately tried to scramble across the seat, away from her attacker, but the center console held her in easy reach. Managing to take her eyes off the knife, she looked for anything to deflect the knife or otherwise stop the attack.

She found nothing.

The woman was muttering, deep in her throat, almost a growl, as she forced the door open, her knife raised over Crystal’s leg.

The roar of a shotgun blast stopped the woman.

Eula stood outside her back door, shotgun leveled on the scene. But, the car was between her and her target. She had fired a warning high over the car. Eula edged to her right angling for a better shot at the woman trying to kill her granddaughter.

The woman looked at the shotgun and instantly turned and ran in among the trees.

In just a few seconds, Eula was around the car, but the woman had vanished into the woods. Eula pointed the ancient shotgun in the direction the attacker had run and fired another round.

“Probably didn’t hit her, but it ought to keep her running.” She walked over to the driver’s side and looked at her granddaughter. “What’s going on?” Then she spotted the blood. “Oh my God. What happened?”

Crystal had straightened herself up and was inserting the key, ready to start the car.

“What are you doing?” Eula yelled.

“She’s got to have a car down the drive someplace. I’m going after her.”

“No you’re not. You’ve got blood all over yourself and more blood pouring out.”

“She’ll get away.”

“Let her go. She’s still got a knife and you don’t. Let’s go take care of your arm and call the Sheriff.” Eula reached in and pulled the keys out of the ignition. “Come on.”

Crystal eased out of the car. Blood covered her left arm, and splotches of red decorated the left side of her blouse and part of her pants. “That crazy woman tried to stab me.”

“Didn’t just try. Let’s get you in the house and see the damage.”

By the time they got inside, Crystal’s adrenaline had slowed, and she began to shake as tears filled her eyes.  Eula wrapped her arms around her granddaughter.

“I couldn’t move. She just kept stabbing, stabbing.”

Eula drew her closer. “It’s alright now. Sorry I didn’t get off a better shot.”

 

Well, Crystal has escaped again – with a little help from her 78-year-old grandmother – and a shotgun. If this didn’t ring true, leave me a comment and tell me what went wrong. This is from Political Dirty Trick, A Crystal Moore Suspense, Book #3.  It’s on Amazon in digital, paperback and audio. Click this link: https://amzn.to/2pIHMqs The hardcover version is at Ingram.

Lovely Night to Die

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Lovely Night to Die is a new thriller novella from Caleb Pirtle III.  If you know his work, you know that Caleb is a terrific storyteller.  And he can pull you into a scene and your heart will be racing.  Here’s a brief … Continue reading →

Why and How

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A couple of weeks ago, I sent a scene that was cut from A Silver Medallion to several friends.  The response was gratifying to say the least. They not only liked it, but questioned why it had been left out.  They felt it was a powerful scene.  It’s a little long for a blog, but I wanted to share it with you.  And I’d love to hear your reaction to it. Rosa has been found in a shed at Eula’s house.

Crystal began again the painstaking task of discovering what had brought this beautiful young Mexican woman to Eula’s home in the piney woods of East Texas. Gradually, in a mix of Spanish and English, her story emerged.

She was twenty-three years old and until a year ago, she and her husband, Miguel, had been living in Santiago, Mexico. They were anxious to start a family, “to make niños,” she said. But neither could find a decent job. They had no training and when they did get work, often they earned no more than fifty pesos a day.

Crystal whistled. “Fifty pesos! That’s about five dollars. A day. Can you believe that, Nana?”

Rosa smiled self-consciously and continued. She and Miguel lived with her parents, and had only a two by three-meter room to call their own.

One day, Federico, a man they had seen around Santiago but did not know, offered to buy them a beer—a luxury they rarely had. They accepted. Inside the dark cantina, the three talked about the town, the weather, and work. When Miguel complained that good jobs were impossible to find, Federico replied that much money was to be made in the United States. He spoke of making ten, fifteen, even twenty times as much as they could make in Mexico.

“Federico say he has friend who make thirty times more than Miguel make in Santiago.”

Rosa looked from Crystal to Eula, as if asking them to understand. After a moment, Rosa continued her story.

For several days, she and Miguel could think of nothing else. At night, huddled together on their tiny bed, they would whisper about going to the United States, making lots of money, then lots of babies. Maybe someday they would buy a car, maybe have a house all their own. They laughed, thinking of the possibilities. Then morning would arrive, and as they ate breakfast of tortillas and beans in the kitchen with her parents and her two brothers and three sisters, reality would set in.

Miguel would go out and try to find work. Most days he got nothing. On lucky days, he might make sixty pesos. When Rosa could not find work, she would help her mother wash clothes in the river, pat out tortillas, or tend their small garden.

Then at night, wrapped in each other’s arms, Rosa and Miguel would grin as they talked about making twenty or thirty U.S. dollars for just one day. If they both worked, maybe even fifty dollars. That would be more than 500 pesos in a single day! They would giggle and hug each other tighter. Such a large amount was not possible, but it excited them just to imagine such things.

Rosa grew quiet and gazed out toward the lake. A cool breeze carried a single, golden leaf to the edge of the veranda. After a minute, she started again.

Rosa and Miguel wanted to talk to Federico again, to ask him more about work in the United States, but they would need to return his generosity. They spread all their money on the bed. They had enough pesos for two beers. They should not spend it on that, but searching each other’s eyes, they nodded and left the house to look for Federico.

They found him near the cantina and Miguel offered to buy him a beer. Inside, Rosa declared she was not in the mood for beer; she really wanted some cool water. As Federico drank, they asked him how his friend got to the United States. Federico said to get there and find a job was very expensive.

Rosa squeezed her eyes closed to hold back the tears. They had no money. They would never have enough.

Miguel took a sip of beer, then raised his eyebrows and looked at Federico. “Your friend. Was he rich before he went?”

“No. He was as poor as you, my friend. A man paid his expenses.”

Miguel stared at Federico. “I wish I knew such a man.”

 

A week later, Federico stopped them on the street.

“Señor Jose de Allende knows a man in Texas who needs a maid.”

Rosa and Miguel looked at each other, grins spreading across their faces.

Federico smiled and continued, “Señor Jose will pay all the expenses to get Rosa to Texas.”

Rosa wanted to jump up and down, scream for joy, and give Federico a hug. But that was not done in Santiago. She tried to sound calm and simply asked, “When would I go?”

“You would leave in four days.”

“Can I go with her?” asked Miguel. “I can look for work after we get to Texas?”

“No. You will stay and work for Señor Jose until Rosa saves enough money to repay Señor Jose. And both of you must save money to pay for Miguel’s trip to Texas.”

“What is the cost? And how much will Rosa make?” Miguel asked.

“Señor Jose has that information. You can ask him before you leave.”

For days, their waking hours were filled with dreams of Rosa working in Texas, and calculating how much she might save. She would buy no clothes, no shoes. She would eat little and spend less. She would save everything possible. She would save money faster than anybody ever had. Miguel would come to Texas soon.

For just a moment in the fading light on Eula’s veranda, a sparkle flitted in Rosa’s dark eyes. “We are much happy. We talk of nothing but go to Texas. We see pictures of Texas on TV in cantina. All people has car, house. I say I keep all my pay, spend nada. Soon mi esposo come to Texas.” As quickly as the shine had come to her eyes, it vanished, replaced by a vacant stare.

“So, this Jose guy arranged it?” asked Eula.

Rosa nodded.

“How did you get here?” Crystal asked.

“It is horrible. We drive two days, five of us in back of car. We only stop for petrol, get tortillas and beans. They make us do bad things. Next night, they put us in boat to cross river. Say make no sound or Americans shoot us. I am so afraid. We are too many for boat but they put all in. I think it go down in water. I no can swim. I want to run, go back to Miguel. But I think of money I make in Texas. Think when my Miguel come to me. I bite my lip, make no sound.”

Crystal bit her lip, trying to hold back the tears. The fear tasted bitter, fear of being packed in a vehicle headed for an unknown destination in a country you had never seen, then forced into an overcrowded boat at night, unable to swim. All manner of sinister situations popped into Crystal’s mind. How desperate Rosa had to have been to risk all on such an uncertain venture.

Rosa told how they were pulled out of the boat, then put them in the back of a truck. She could hear them snap a lock shut. The truck lurched off, throwing those in the back first to one side and then the other.

“We have no light. I can see nada. Smell is asqueroso. After many hours, truck stop and I hear man open lock. When door open, light is so bright we no can look. Sun is very hot. We are in little park with baño. They give us cold hamburger, put us back in truck. They lock door and drive more hours. The heat–I think I pass out. We have no water.”

The Mexican woman closed her eyes and continued in a whisper, “Felipe start to shake. His skin is muy hot, but he say he is cold. We yell, hit wall with fists, but truck no stop.”

Eula shook her head and sighed. “My God.”

Eyes still closed, Rosa’s voice grew even softer and Crystal had to lean close to hear. “When we stop, we carry Felipe out. We are at small stream. We try give him water. But he is no breathing.” She made a small sound, as if she were trying to catch her breath. “Man say he is dead. Put us back in truck. I no know what they do with Felipe.”

Rosa stared down at her hands, clutched together in her lap.

Crystal shivered in horror-struck silence. Felipe died of heat stroke and the smugglers just dumped his body.

“Damn murderers,” Eula muttered.

For a long time, the three sat in silence. Was that the end of the story? Crystal was almost afraid to ask, but she had to know. “What happened next?”

For awhile, Rosa remained silent. Then, without looking up, she continued in a voice now devoid of feeling, “We stop. Door open and we get out. We are in building. They make us take off clothes. All clothes. Antonio say he no do it. Señor Blackwood hit him on head with piece of metal, drag him off. I no see Antonio again. I think he is dead. They take . . .” Her eyes closed.

Crystal and her grandmother exchanged glances, but neither uttered a word.

Rosa continued. “Things. Man give us new clothes. We dress. Others go back in truck. I stay there.”

The sun had slipped below the horizon and darkness sifted down through the trees to envelop the landscape. Light from the living room cast a soft glow on the veranda. Crickets began their nightly serenade, while frogs added the bass notes. Night birds called to one another.

Under normal circumstances, Crystal would sit back and enjoy the night sounds of The Park. Tonight, she tuned them out, waiting for Rosa to finish her story, wanting to hear it—and afraid to.

When she could stand the silence no longer, Crystal asked, “Where was that? Where did you stay?”

“At house of Señor Blackwood. I stay there, until ayer.”

Crystal shuddered. Being forced to undress in front of strangers … to suddenly have no control over your life.

What work did Rosa do? How long did she stay? Did Blackwood demand sexual favors? How did she get away and how did she get to The Park? A thousand questions swirled around in Crystal’s mind, all demanding answers.

The young woman seemed so distraught, so on edge, the wrong question might destroy any chance of hearing the rest of the story, perhaps cause her to run away from The Park. That would be easiest on Crystal¾and Nana. But, the Mexican woman had suffered so much already. She needed their help. Besides, Crystal was so far into this mystery she had to find some answers.

“How long, quanto tiempo, did you work for Mr. Blackwood?” Crystal asked.

“Eleven meses,” Rosa said.

“Eleven months!”

“Why’d you stay so long?” Eula did not share Crystal’s fear of frightening the woman into silence, or flight. “I’d have said, ‘So long Blackheart. I’m out of here.’”

“Were you free to leave?” asked Crystal.

Rosa furrowed her brows and said nothing.

Crystal tried again. “Would Mr. Blackwood allow you to leave?”

Rosa shook her head. “No. He say, I leave, or talk to people, Miguel have accident.”

A few seconds passed before the full meaning penetrated Crystal’s understanding. Rosa could not leave without putting her husband in serious danger. Crystal clamped her mouth shut lest her anger erupt in a scream.

Eula leaned toward the Mexican woman. “How much did you save?”

Vertical grooves formed between Rosa’s black eyebrows. “No entiendo.”

Unlike her usual delivery, Eula now spoke slowly, pronouncing each word carefully. “In eleven months, how much money did you save?”

Eula raised her bushy, gray eyebrows at Crystal.

Crystal took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, and turned to Rosa. “Why did you save nothing? How much did Mr. Blackwood pay you?”

“He say he pay me minimal wage.”

“I’d bet on that,” muttered Eula.

“Was it ‘minimum’ wage?” Crystal asked.

“Si. Minimum wage. But when I asked him for my money, he say he take money for food I eat, room I sleep in.”

Crystal and Eula exchanged looks, but said nothing. Even at minimum wage, she should have made over ten thousand dollars.

“I tell him I eat less. Other time, he say he take money for clothes.” Her shoulders, her mouth, her very spirit, sagged. “Sometime I get five dollars. One time I get ten dollars.”

Crystal frowned. “Five dollars? For a whole day?”

Rosa shook her head. “No day. Un mes.”

“Five bucks for a month. What’d you do for this Blackwood guy?” Eula snapped.

Crystal had wanted to ask the same question, but hesitated. She held her breath, afraid of the answer, angry before it came.

“I do all things. I cook. I clean house. I wash clothes. Plancha.”

“Iron,” Crystal translated for Eula.

“I fix yard, grass. I wash car. I do all things.”

Crystal leaned toward Rosa. “You did all these things and you never got more than ten dollars for a whole month?”

Rosa nodded.

Eula swore under her breath. “Damn crook. He ought to be hung up by his—“

“Nana!”

“She won’t know what I’m saying. And anyways, he ought to be.” Eula softened her tone and leaned toward her guest. “Why’d you leave yesterday?”

Rosa turned away and this time, silent tears started to run down her cheeks. Crystal’s eyes misted over and she wanted to take the young woman in her arms and rock her. Instead, she looked toward the tranquil lake, hoping it might uncoil her stomach, shield her from the anguish permeating the veranda like a dense fog.

Darkness had descended, and off to the left, a slender crescent moon had emerged from behind the pine trees. A thin cloud sliced across the upper part of the silver moon. It appeared like a dagger. A dagger aimed at Rosa.

“Three days back, woman come to work at house. She come from Mexico. We talk. She hear of Miguel, mi esposo. She tell me . . .” Her voice broke and moments passed before she could continue. “. . . he is dead.” The tears started again.

“Dead?” Crystal felt like someone had hit her in the chest. “What happened?”

Rosa wiped her eyes and opened her mouth, but the crush of emotion prevented words from forming. A minute passed, and then another before she could answer. “Lucita tell me he get hurt working at hacienda. Jose no let him go to doctor. Two weeks, he die. She tell me they bury him . . . el mes pasado.”

“Last month!” It exploded almost as a scream. Crystal could feel the vein in her neck throbbing.

She slid over and put her arms around Rosa. The young woman, ramrod straight and somewhat distant until now, melted against Crystal as sobs shook her small body.

Crystal rocked the swing slowly, gently patting Rosa. The woman’s sobs gradually subsided, but an occasional low moan verified her continued grieving.

Crystal held Rosa tightly, both to give the young Mexican woman comfort and to ward off the sudden chill seeping into her. Crystal was not married yet. But she had lost both parents when she was seven and her pain had seemed hopeless for such a long time. No one could comfort her. No one could comfort Rosa.

And then, the chill was gone, replaced by a rising heat. It enveloped Crystal’s stomach first. It moved to her head so that her face felt feverish and she rubbed a hand across her brow, expecting to find beads of sweat. Her breathing accelerated, now rapid and shallow, and her jaw twitched as she clenched her teeth. This Blackwood person had kept Rosa a prisoner, locked in by threats and fear of what would happen to her husband if she left. And when Miguel died, this . . . creature . . . didn’t even tell Rosa.

Bile rose in Crystal’s throat. That Rosa ever found out Miguel was dead was an accident. Jose and Blackwood did business together. Blackwood undoubtedly knew of Miguel’s death long before Rosa found out. But of course he didn’t tell her. That would break the lock on her chains. His slave might escape. 

Crystal’s nails dug into the palm of her hand.

Somehow, Blackwood must be stopped.

 

A Silver Medallion, in paperback and digital formats.  http://amzn.to/1WxoEaF   

“A Silver Medallion is a gripping, action-packed adventure from talented author James Callan.” NY Times Bestselling Author Bobbi Smith.                                     “A Silver Medallion reads like a gold-medal thriller.” BookLife Prize in Fiction.  Readers’ Favorite Book Award Winner.

I welcome your comments.  Thanks,  jim

 

A Deadly Dissolution, The Story Behind the Story

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Today’s guest is Leeann Betts.  She writes cozy mysteries and Deadly Dissolution is number eight of her By the Numbers series. She’s also written a devotional for accountants, bookkeepers, and financial folk, Counting the Days, and with her real-life persona, … Continue reading →

Now That was Persistence

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Persistence

Though we have all seen the various successful writers who could paper their wall with rejections, I ran across one that stopped me cold.  I was reading about a massive fire in Sonoma County, CA. It mentioned the damage to the Jack London State Historical Park.  The Park Staff transported thousands of historical relics to Sacramento, safe from the fires.

Over a hundred years ago, Jack and his wife were building Wolf House in this same area. It was a massive twenty-six room mansion with stone exterior and a spectacular interior of redwood, oak and walnut woodwork. Just before they planned to move it, it was destroyed by fire.

But the brief note that halted me was the statement that the House of Happy Walls, a Jack London museum, has a collection of the six hundred (600) rejections he received before selling a single story.

Six hundred.

Before selling his FIRST story.

So, that brings us to our word of the week.

Persistence.

“Victory belongs to the most persevering.”  Napoleon

Benjamin Franklin said, “Energy and persistence conquer all things.”

And  Aisha Tyler suggested, ” Success is not the absence of failure; it’s the persistence through failure.”

So, take heart, writers. Be persistent. The chances of you surpassing Jack London in rejections is small indeed.  And yet, we all know Jack London. And kids still read his stories, even a hundred years after his death.

Let’s hear your comments on rejections.  How many have you received? And did you ever get one like this: “I haven’t the foggiest idea about what the man is trying to say.” That publisher rejected Catch-22 by Joseph Heller, a novel believed to have been given its name because it was the 22nd publisher, Simon and Schuster, who agreed to take it on. To date: 10 million sales.

My newest novel is not funny.  It’s Political Dirty Trick, the third in the Crystal Moore suspense series.  Crystal’s good friend Ron Drake is running for the office of governor of Texas. Some believe a political dirty trick might derail Drake’s fast-moving campaign. But something goes terribly wrong with the trick and a man is killed. And things go downhill from there.

Crystal is determined to find out who is providing fake news to the media. Crystal is persistent. As she finds clues, she becomes a target.  Soon, it’s not a question of whether Drake will win or lose, but whether Crystal will be alive to see the outcome.

The Midwest Book Review had this to say:  “Powerful in its characterization, plot, and narrative interactions, Political Dirty Trick is the item of choice for thriller readers who like their stories steeped in realistic scenarios and possibilities.” Senior Reviewer Diane Donovan

“It reads like a fast-paced James Patterson cliffhanger.”   Author William Doonan

“Political Dirty Trick is relentlessly intriguing and satisfies right up to the memorable climax.”  Author Michael Hartnett

“This group of characters gets stronger with each book in this series.” Amazon Customer Adele Weitz

“Political Dirty Trick” by James R. Callan has it all – mystery, murder, political scandal and suspense with a unique cast of characters. It’s a fantastic addition to the author’s Crystal Moore Suspense series and one you definitely won’t want to miss!”   P. Gligor, Amazon customer

Political Dirty Trick is available in paperback and Kindle editions at:  https://amzn.to/2pIHMqs

And leave a comment on any rejection stories you have – personal or from other famous writers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Circuitous Path to a Cover

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I’ve gotten a lot of good comments on the cover for Political Dirty Trick.  Last week, one reader asked me how I came up with the cover. In all honesty, I had to say I had a cover designer who came up with it.

But as I thought about it, I realized there was much more to it than that. In fact, there were more than a dozen designs that came and went before we settled on this final cove. Most of these were not from Adrijus, who created the final cover.

Before he ever got involved, I worked with some designers and we tried including some of the key items in the plot.  For instance, some special boots, Eight Second Angel, red fringed, short boots are important in the book.  So, we tried incorporating them into the cover.

 

It was a nice cover, but didn’t really capture the tone of the book.

                                                                                                                           
                                          

The antagonist liked to use a knife, particularly when attacking the protagonist, Crystal Moore.  So we tried working a knife into the cover. Here was one of the proposed covers.  But again, it didn’t really capture the tone of the book.  Yes, a knife figures into the book prominently. But, it was an instrument.  It didn’t speak to the theme of the book.

An expensive piece of Mondrian art was involved. So why not try all of the above.  The art is important. The red Eight Second Angel boots are important. And certainly Crystal would think the knife is important. (Actually, she might like to see it “cut” from the book.) 

Let’s get all the elements in.

This produced a colorful cover that certainly had a lot to do with the book.  But it also produced a cluttered cover. At one point, we even had a “VOTE” sign in it. But finally I had to admit a cluttered cover was not the answer. The cover did not have to include every element of the story. I mean, where is the sheriff’s badge?

We decided this is, after all, a plot set during a political election. And in fact, it is an election for the governor’s office in Texas.  Why not incorporate an image of the state capital building? We could even get the knife in as one of the letters in “Trick.”  And while it is not really a dark book, there is murder. So we could make it a dark scene.

Crystal Moore is the antagonist.  It is, after all, a Crystal Moore Suspense.  So, it made sense to get a woman’s image in with the capital.  This produced the following cover.  And we managed to get the knife and the red boots in.  Wow!  If only we could manage to get in …  No. Let’s not get any more stuff in. Adrijus thought it was too dark. And he agreed the boots and knife had to go.  Not out of the plot, certainly.  But off the cover.

And with that, we moved (in stages, of course)  to the final cover.

There were probably six or eight other designs considered – some considered for seconds, some for minutes, and some for days.  I presented the last two pictured here to a number of friends and followers and ask them to vote on the cover they thought best. There was considerable support for each of these, but in the end, the one on the right, the final cover I am presenting, captured the most votes.

So, getting a good cover was not – and perhaps never is – a simple thing. But I am very happy with this one and it has received a number of comments as a great cover.

My thanks to all who participated in this process.

A Slippery Slope

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For some time, I had been thinking about writing a book where the antagonist was initially a good person.  This  good person stepped over “the line.”  Why or how would that happen?

There are many ways. Perhaps by accident. Or maybe he or she got tricked.  Certainly a person could yield to the temptation, cross the line, then regret it.  Of course, someone might talk the person into the action, make it sound not so bad, perhaps even a good thing, or for a good cause. And fifty other reasons.

Then what?

In my newest book, Political Dirty Trick, a thirty-five-year-old woman gets talked into an illegal act by George. Recently divorced, Ginnie is looking for something to occupy her dull and empty life. She joins an election committee as a volunteer.  George,  an experienced volunteer, relates to her in private that their candidate doesn’t have a chance at winning.  But, a good dirty trick on the opponent, Ron Drake, could drag down his support amongst the voters. Ginnie gets enthusiastic about the possibility. The problem is, the opponent is such a straight shooter, they can’t find anything to expose about him.

Ginnie laments there is nothing they can do and they are just backing a certain loser. George says they could manufacture something. He suggests they could steal a valuable painting from Drake and put it in a storage unit rented under his name. When later they let it be found, Drake will get lots of negative publicity.  And if he had already collected the insurance money for the painting, his poll numbers would definitely tank.

Ginnie says stealing is wrong. But George convinces her that they are not really stealing.  They are putting it in a storage unit under Drake’s name, so they aren’t keeping it. They are just moving it from Drake’s house to his storage unit. Ginnie is reluctant, but eventually gives in and says she will “relocate” the painting if George can rent the unit under Drake’s name.

But things don’t go as planned and a man is killed during the robbery. While it was an accident, it occurred during the commission of a felony. That can carry the death penalty. When Ginnie finds she could be tried for capital murder, she decides she will not be caught, whatever that takes.

Ginnie has stepped over the line, and the slope on the other side is slippery. Each thing she does makes the slope steeper and slipperier. Now, she will do whatever it takes to avoid being caught. Anyone she perceives threatens her freedom will pay dearly.

Political Dirty Trick follows Ginnie’s progress on the slippery slope. Crystal Moore, the protagonist, is just trying to help her friend, Ron Drake. But that puts her on a collision path with Ginnie.

Political Dirty Trick, A Crystal Moore Suspense, Book #3, is available on Kindle now at:   https://amzn.to/2pIHMqs. Next week it will be available in paperback, with the hardcover version following a week later.

I’d love to hear your comments on the slippery slope and how a person might get caught on it.  Thanks. And I’ll select one who leaves a comment and send them a copy of Political Dirty Trick.