New digs.

Hold on to your seats, Peeps, I did something wonderful this week.

I got myself an office. In the house.

For years, I have roamed like a nomad through our home. Mostly, I wrote in the family room, laptop on my lap and Turner Classic Movies on, for background noise. Sometimes I would move into the living room. When I was absolutely determined to finish a manuscript, I took it to the dining room or the kitchen, sat at the table, and pounded out 20,000 words in less than a week. 

At one point, I thought perhaps the dining room would make an okay office - we only use the table during the holidays, when we have friends over.

Our house has four bedrooms. One is our master suite. Although he lives in an apartment in Long Beach, Marcus still has a toehold in his old bedroom. I kind of like it when he comes over. The third bedroom is the guest room. I like guests, so I don't want to force them out of anything.

That leaves the fourth bedroom. When we first moved in, we made this our Computer Room. We had two desks with two computers. Marcus had his little Mac (remember those little, cube-ish numbers?), Dale had his computer, and we put my old daybed in there in case we had an overflow of guests. It worked.

Over the years, the computers became obsolete, more computers moved in (they also became obsolete), and the room became known (at least to me) as the Computer Graveyard. Old users manuals and the packaging of video games and learning DVDs stuffed the shelves. Towers were lined up under the desk, and old scanners and printers were atop it. At one point, I gathered up all the cables and hard drives and other kinds of unnamed hardware and put them into Rubbermaid tubs, which I stuffed into the corner.

When I mentioned that I'd like an office and maybe I could turn Marcus' room into one, Dale scowled and said, "Why can't you use the computer room?" (He swears he never said this, but it's what I heard.) Thinking about using the computer room sent me into convulsions. How could I possibly THINK in a room that looks like this?

To be fair, this was the room at its worst.

After cleaning, but I still can't take a picture of the desks - too much stuff!

One afternoon, I was in the garage, sweating my guts out in the summer heat, digging through cardboard boxes on shelves in the corner. I was looking for more copies of THE HOT MESS, and cursing that I had to drag everything out of the way just to get to my book stuff. 

That's when it hit me.

The book stuff, the things I'm always trying to find, are out in the garage and difficult to pull out. The computer room was filled with stuff nobody was ever looking for. 

Why not switch the two?

All clean, except for the FAX machine. Sometime we need to FAX things, oddly enough.

After two days of packing, schlepping, more schlepping, unpacking, more packing, and a wee bit of decorating, I have an office. It's organized, it's quiet, I love it. And it has paid me back in two meaningful ways, in the mere three days that I've had it.

Done! That's my folded laptop on the desk. All of it was Dino approved.

1) I'm more productive. Away from the family room and its distractions, I can put on a little music and write. I've written over 5000 words in two days. I feel more driven to work out a story problem than stop and "take a little break."

2) I'm more organized with my days. I used to have a problem getting any reading done. Writers need to read, in general, and I have friends with books - I'd like to honor them by reading their words. When I was in the family room, I felt like the words I wrote were dribbling from my fingers at a snail's pace. I had no time to read. Now, I can write like a fiend until 7 pm or so, then retire to the family room and open up my Kindle (or a physical book).

So, if you need me, I'll be at my desk. Don't worry - Dino will keep me company.

Anybody need boxes?

Because it's Friday

Here's a little excerpt from A MORE DEADLY UNION, just because it's Friday:

* * * * * * *

Oh no oh no oh no. Benny’s mind raced about like a cyclone, a whirl of thoughts and ideas, swirling too fast for him to capture one and focus on it. The bright sun outside the hospital had reflected too harshly on everything. The people milling around inside the emergency room had been too loud and too colorful and too busy. It was all too much.

Thankfully, he was home. Home, where he could see all his things and relax. Now that structure was restored to the front of the house, he had been able to move back in. He went into his kitchen and poured himself a glass of milk. Milk was soothing. It was white, a blank slate to calm his brain.

Skip was shot. Skip. Shot. The words kept rolling around. Skip could be scary. Actually, all policemen were scary. He didn’t see Skip, or any of the police, often. Still, there was a leaden feeling to his insides, all the way to his toes. Skip was hurt, and some of the policemen were dead.

Dead, like my mom. I miss her so much. I miss watching TV with her and the smell of her cooking. I wish she was here to tell me what to do.

Willem had told him to give blood, but that was out of the question. Doctors and needles made him want to pass out. Of course, so did talking to police most of the time. Benny waddled from one room to the next, his dress loafers making soft clicks on the wood floor.

I should give blood but I can’t give blood. His brain buzzed in agitation again, and he started talking to himself as a way to focus.

“Skip needs help. How can I help him?”

Benny ambled up the stairs to his room, and looked at the Matt Helm posters on the walls surrounding his round bed, an original from the movie set. Every night, he went to sleep dreaming he could be like the man on the poster. Matt was sure of himself, just like Dean Martin. He knew how to do practically everything. He could drink and gamble and play golf. Sometimes he even played golf for charities.

Benny stared up at Martin, smiling, surrounded by beautiful women. What would Dino do?

An idea sprouted, a tiny idea. Benny wanted to grow it bigger, but he didn’t know how. He knew who could grow it, though.

Picking up the phone, he dialed his friends, the Nickels. 


* * * * * * *

How is Dino going to help Benny out? Want more? Your copy is waiting for you, in either Kindle or Paperback.

Feeling the love.

On Friday, I released my book, A MORE DEADLY UNION. It was fun, but on Monday, I had the release party. For two hours, we took over Craftsman Wood Fired Pizza (http://craftsmanpizza.com/), thanks to owner Joe Rasic. 

How did it turn out? I think these photos tell the story. 

Rick Ochocki was the first to arrive. And yes, I wore the tiara (and I thought of Tameri Etherton, who couldn't attend).

I get by with a little help from my friends. Dot Caffrey held the mic so I could read.

Dino came to the party. Everyone wanted a photo op with him - even PJ Colando and Garrett Miller.
Garrett, BTW, took most of these shots.

Pina Bell needed an autograph - of course I obliged!

As usual, I was moving around too fast to get a steady photo.

My lovely and talented assistant, Cristina, took over the book sales - she was phenomenal!

MOST of the folks who came - I was so overjoyed! Thanks, Garrett, for this shot!

Me and The Boy.

My only regret is that no one captured Marcus and his smokin' hot combo du jour on video - they were so damned good, everyone was throwing money and compliments at them.

Right to left: Donghee Kim, Mark the Bassist, Marcus the Sonny-boy. They were AMAZING.

And now that the book is out in the world, onward to bookstore signings, library events, and more!

Let me have my fantasy, please.

People are ruining my Christmas music and I want them to stop. One of the songs I like to hear during this season is "Baby It's Cold Outside." In particular, I love to hear Dean Martin croon it. So seductive.



Or is that just me? (P.S. I grew up watching his variety show, so every time I hear this, I picture him by the piano, surrounded by the Golddiggers.)

This year, I'm hearing yammering. Yammering about how this song is about drugging a girl ("Say, what's in this drink?") and forcing her to do things against her wishes ("The answer is no").

I am a firm believer that no means no. I may even be one of those radical folks who think that it doesn't matter what a woman is wearing or not wearing, she does not "deserve" it. The analogy I like to use is that if you wandered around in a crowd with a $100-bill hanging out of your pocket, it is still robbery if someone grabs it away from you. Argue all you want about whether it's wise to let that money hang out there, but it's still a crime.

Still, I don't think Dino is slipping anything into that girl's drink and coercing her to do anything. I think he is wooing.

Why? Well, first off, this is how the song first appeared, in an Esther Williams movie called Neptune's Daughter:



Aren't Red Skelton and Betty Garrett just adorable? It's cute. It's playful. She has not slipped anything into his drink. By-the-by, this movie was made in 1949, a time in which people believed that alcohol was quite strong enough and nothing more needed to be added to loosen one's inhibitions.

Second, the song was actually written by a husband and wife in 1944 and was performed at their parties until the hubster sold the rights to MGM. (Boy, was his wife mad. She considered it "her" song.) In the 40s, it was still customary for a woman to resist a gentleman's charms in order to be regarded as a "good" girl.

Seriously and sadly, have we changed that much? Even with the sexual liberation movement of the 60-70s, a woman who wants to have sex often and with whomever pleases her at the moment is still slut-shamed. A man is not. Do we even have a word for a man that is as humiliating as "slut"?

"Baby It's Cold Outside" is a song about two people who want to spend the night together. The man is doing his best to flirt and woo and convince the woman that she is desirable. The woman is obeying the social norm by resisting in a coy manner, all the while finding an excuse to stay for "half a drink more."

So, please-oh-please, folks. Consider the period the piece was written in, think of these two singers as the husband and wife that sang it at parties, and let me have my moment with Dino. He's so dreamy, I would stay for more than half of that drink.

Let's get this over with

I was going to save this one until later in the month, but you know me. I'm Instant Gratification Girl.



I can listen to this song all year. The video is possibly the weirdest thing I've ever seen. I mean, what is that polar bear doing in there? But it has those lovely photos of both Dean Martin and Martina McBride. Dean is soooo seductive in this song. I know I couldn't say no. And Martina, well, she's drop-dead gorgee-ous. (Yes I KNOW he didn't really sing this with her and they remixed her voice with his. He's still magical and she's still enchanting.)

Here are my favorite two photos of Dino:

In his tux, he lives up to being the King of Cool. Suave. In control. No ruffling his feathers.

Here is what looks like the real deal. Working at his craft. Confident. Self-assured.

Oh, all right. Here's Martina.

Yes, most of us would give an arm and a pancreas to look like this, but I'd like to think any of us could be divas with the right amount of time and money.

Got any versions of this song you like? Share them with me.

Get ready. Get set... It's coming.

On Monday, two things will happen:

1. The Hot Mess will be available as an e-book.

2. Five other bloggers will be joining me in a contest for one lucky person to win a free copy, and by copy I mean an e-book or paperback.

The contest will be kind of a scavenger hunt. You visit five blogs and read excerpt from the book in each one. Then come back here. I will have five questions for you. Each answer is contained in one of the five other blogs. Answer the questions correctly in the comments and you win!

The five blogs are:

The mostly adorable Andrew Kaufman, http://www.andrewekaufman.blogspot.com/

 

The lovely and talented Jenny Hilborne, http://jfhilborne.wordpress.com/

 

The fierce but friendly Michele Scott, http://adventuresnwriting.blogspot.com/

 

A sweet cozy writer Teresa Trent, http://teresatrent.wordpress.com/

 

Mr. All-Things-Dean-Martin, http://ilovedinomartin.blogspot.com/

 

If this goes as planned it should be fun. Hopefully, we'll drive some traffic around to the other sites, as well as whetting everyone's appetite for The Hot Mess. If it goes badly, you'll be able to hear me weeping, weeping bitter tears.

In the meantime, here's the trailer for The Hot Mess.




See you on Monday!

Nineteen days and two hurdles to jump

The third mystery is done.

In some respects, it was hard to write, and in others, it was easy. I had made Hit or Missus such a tangled web, I wanted this book to be more straightforward. Crime, clues, criminal, caught.

Yeah, nice dream.

What I ended up with was simpler than Hit or Missus but still not a straight line from A to B. I was able to outline the plot and stay within the boundaries of the story I wanted to tell.

The hard part was staying focused on this book while my mind leapt ahead to two other books I wanted to write. One of them is a brand-new mystery, perhaps a series, set in the world of AQHA horse shows. Ah, the bodies that could pile up. The other book is my horse's memoir, a book so unlike anything I've ever written that I barely knew where to start, yet couldn't wait to get going.

But I finally pushed and shoved and got this third Peri mystery written. And you know what? I like it. I really like it a lot.

It will be released in ebook form on November 26, and in paperback on December 10. All I have to do is the advanced publicity, which is a lot of blogging and guest blogging and Facebooking and Twitter and setting up of a launch party or two.

But I have a couple of hurdles. First, there's my surgery to consider. Next Wednesday, I'm having a cataract removed and a fancy-schmancy lens put in so I can see. On the one hand, it's considered very low-risk, simple surgery with a very small recovery time. On the other hand, I can't lift anything or bend over or rub my eye or get dust in it or wear makeup for at least a week. No horseback riding for at least two.

Most of this is okay, except for hurdle two - the part where I can't bend over or lift anything or get dust in my eye and we are supposed to be hosting Thanksgiving this year. So... how do I clean the house or cook the meal? Dale offered to help, darling generous man that he is. I think, however, I am going to throw myself on the mercy of our guests (it's just one other family) and ask them to host this year and promise to give them a huge shindig in 2013.

If I keep my eyes on the release date, I'm hoping these two hurdles, of surgery and Thanksgiving, seem more like anthills than moguls, and The Hot Mess gets the fanfare it deserves.

Give it a chance. If you like mysteries, you'll enjoy this one.

 

"It’s a hot time in P-Town.

No one in the small town of Placentia, California is surprised when Benny Needles’s house catches fire. The outside hasn’t seen a paint brush in years. The inside is stuffed with Dean Martin memorabilia. It would be a simple case of homeowner negligence, except for the body found inside.

Under suspicion of both murder and arson, Benny turns to the one person who has always helped him, private investigator Peri Minneopa. Fire investigation isn’t on her menu of services, but Peri’s weak spot for Benny overrules her reluctance, and she agrees to look into things. Her investigation takes a dangerous turn as she uncovers family secrets, going back several decades.

There are skeletons in everyone’s closet, and even Benny’s bones are rattling."

A blog challenge: Lucky 7

Sometimes my friends like to play games with their Facebook statuses or blog posts. I do like to join in when I can, although I'm too busy to join them all the time. This of course makes me feel guilty. ("Oh, no, they won't love me anymore if I don't play with them. I'll fall off their A-list!")

But when Jenny Hilborne, author extraordinaire, named me as one of her seven writer buds to partake in the Lucky 7 Challenge, I had to try to respond. I don't think of myself as a lucky person, but the challenge appealed to me because being lucky reminds me of Las Vegas and Las Vegas reminds me of this guy:

Ah... Dino...

So here are the rules:

1. Go to page 7 or 77 in your current manuscript (fiction or non-fiction)
2. Go to line 7
3. Post on your blog the next 7 lines, or sentences, as they are – no cheating
4. Tag 7 other authors to do the same

So here are 7 lines from page 77 of my current manuscript (be gentle, it's in its first draft state):

At each statement, Skip watched Matt McHale's face turn a deeper shade of red as his shoulders slumped forward. Claudia wept harder with each fact.

"No," McHale said. "It's not true—"

His wife cut him off. "Stop lying, Matthew. It's true. All of it." She cried a little more, then spoke again. "Of course, my husband thinks Alex was a typical teenager. He was always at the office, while I was the one trying to get Alex to school, trying to get him to do homework, wondering where he was and when he'd be home."

Now then, my 7 authors to tag... hmm... stop hiding behind your coffee mugs. I see you.

1. Tameri Etherton

2. Rick Ochocki

3. Janelle Lee

4. Ali Trotta

5. Sheri Fink

6. Indy Quillen

7. Ara (The Writer) Grigorian

Tag, you're all it!

And now for a little light caroling

It's a rainy day in southern California, which is as close to looking like Christmas as we're going to get, if you don't count all the fake snow at the theme parks. I had planned a lot of things to do that involved going outside, not because I hadn't seen the forecast, but because I was in denial that it would come true. So now I'm going to spend the day mostly inside. I may force Duffy to go out for a walk later.

He is, of course, excited about this opportunity to be cold and wet.

I thought this would be a great time to listen to a little holiday music, starting with Dean Martin. The only thing I don't like about this video is that it doesn't show Dino - how crazy is that?



Honest to Pete, I don't know what it is about his voice and this song, but it all sounds so flirty and masculine I just want to giggle like a schoolgirl.

I also found this video of Dean singing a song I don't think I've ever heard but it's totally cool. What's totally uncool is that embedding has been disabled, so all I can do is point to this link.
Here's a version of "The Christmas Song" I stumbled upon while cruising for Dino tunes. Makes me feel all nostalgic.



Finally, it wouldn't be Christmas without these kids.



Confess: how many times have you watched this show? For extra points, how many times have you watched it NOT at Christmastime, just because it's so delightful?

Cleanup on Aisle Five

Geepers, I'm a mess today.

Here it is, Halloween at last, and I should be giving you all a blog about how scary and fun it all is. I was all set to dress up my life-sized, cardboard Dean Martin in my feathery, sequined Mardi Gras mask and pose in my very own costume (a T-shirt that says "Drop Dead" and a witches hat), and give you a visual you'd never forget.

But then last night, Dale ran over one of the cables that feed the TV from the satellite. Sorry, did I mention he ran over it with the lawnmower? Yeah, sliced that puppy in two, instantly cutting off the signal and my regularly scheduled programming. He got it mostly working with the remaining cable, but he needs to purchase a new cable in order for us to DVR one channel and watch another. I predict much fighting over the remote until he gets this done.

To distract myself from Dale's attempts to fix the cable, I went to the store to buy our pumpkin to carve. We always decorate the house and carve a pumpkin. Unfortunately, all of the Albertson's pumpkins were warty. I mean look at these things. Our jack-o-lanterns are going to look like they've got acne.

But he's my baby!

Also, last night Marcus went to a Halloween party. I don't know any of the particulars, except that he came home to get his Renaissance costume to wear. Marcus is a 19-year old college student living in the dorms at CSU Long Beach; he could be going to a party every night of the week, drinking heavily and trying every drug on the planet. I have no idea what he does. I only know that when I know he's at a party, I have a rather fitful night's sleep and look around the next morning for some reassurance that he's okay.

Today I saw a post from him on Facebook, so I can relax. He at least made it back to his computer.

To top everything off, I can't find my Mardi Gras mask. I honestly can't remember where I put it, but two months from now, I'll be walking through the house and the image of where it is will hit my brain like a locomotive. It's how things work with me.

So today, I'm not going to give you my planned post about Halloween at the Carline house and how it has changed over the years and ask if you decorate your house and dress up and ask you to reminisce about your kids and the night the dog ate the pumpkin, etc. Instead, I'm going to ask a question that's been bugging me all night:

Why aren't there horror films about big, dangerous animals?

We have horror films about mutant small animals, like ants and lizards and octopi and even rabbits.



We have horror films about possibly dangerous, yet smallish creatures that attack in numbers, like bees and pirranha and spiders and rats. But how about lions and tigers? And bears? They're pretty nasty when they're just starved for a couple of days and then turned loose. What if they were starved and mutant? Why doesn't anyone ever make a horror movie about that?

If I made a horror movie, I'd make it about bears. Mutant teddy bears that all turn into large, slobbering, real grizzlies and eat all the parents, and no one would know how to stop them because we don't hunt bears in New York City, for Pete's sake. The mayor would have to call in some old, lonely, misogynistic guy from northern Alaska who hates the city and would just as soon see all these miscreants eaten by the rampaging teddy-grizzlies, but they give him enough money for booze  and a plane ticket home, and he hunts the bears down. All except the last one, who is a very smart she-bear, and she is shot by the plucky female sheriff's deputy, who has been dogging Grizzly Man's steps from the beginning. And then, they'd have an awkward moment, where Grizzly Man would like to like Plucky Female, except it's against his religion so he mumbles some kind of "Gee if you're ever in the Arctic Circle, come by and I'll defrost your mukluks," invitation. And as he gets on the plane, you see a little teddy bear has somehow made its way into his duffle bag, and it has the weirdest little grin.

And this would be its theme song.



Happy Halloween!

Me and Benny are at Dino's today

I know you're all out there, consumed with trying to help me with a title for my next humor book, but if you want to take a break, stroll over to Dino Martin Peters' blog and read about Benny Needles' eternal love for Dean Martin.

I've been writing journals for my characters for quite awhile. As a matter of fact, I've published a couple of journal entries that were "written" by my characters. It's a great exercise (thank you, Michele Scott) for developing each character's voice.

For Mr. Peters' blog, I wanted to capture Benny's voice to try to explain his deep devotion to Dean Martin. It turned out to be difficult. I tried many times in many ways to write an entry in Benny's diary, but I failed miserably each time. Finally it dawned on me: Benny doesn't keep a diary.

Benny is not a writer. He feels no need to analyze his day, or his life. He probably doesn't even remember his dreams. So, what to do?

I decided the only writing Benny would do is school-mandated. When Marcus was in third grade, I remember his teacher talking about the challenge she was facing with one of the boys in his class.

"He's so into Pokemon, every paper he writes is about Pokemon," she said. "I have to be really creative to get him to write about something else."

That's when I knew: every paper Benny wrote had to about his hero, Dean Martin. After I finished his essay, not only did I know Benny even better, I felt even more sympathy for my annoying little man.

Go on over to the I Love Dino Martin blog and read what he had to say.

Having a lovefest

If you don't know Jenny Hilborne, author extraordinaire, get your tush over to her website and check out her books. I read and loved her first one, Murder and Madness, and I just downloaded No Alibi onto my Kindle, which I will read as soon as I finish John Locke's How I Sold A Million eBooks Neener Neener (or something like that).

Jenny read Hit or Missus and left THE LOVELIEST review on Amazon and Goodreads. She wrote:

"This is the second book in the Peri Minneopa mystery series and the first one I've read. I loved it. Peri is not your typical wise-cracking PI, which adds a refreshing touch to the story. I enjoyed all the characters, especially Dino fan, Benny. The author brings them to life and creates wonderful relationships between them all. Her villains mingle dangerously close to her protag to where you experience the tension first hand. Clever plot and subplots. I'm off to check out Freezer Burn, the first in the Peri series. Excellent job, Gayle."

Thank you, Jen!

I thought I'd share a little Benny (and Dino) love by posting an excerpt from Hit or Missus. Enjoy.

* * * * *

When they got to the easement, she saw a large metal box, one that might house controls for power or phone lines, locked into the narrow area by a large gate. She studied the lock, and considered the climbable nature of the wrought iron. It was unfortunately not as ornate as the homes' fencing, being about six feet in height and mostly straight up, with few crossbars. The vertical bars were punctuated by arrows pointing skyward.

Peri considered the possible outcomes of trying to climb over. At five-feet-nine, she could probably heft her body over the fence, but not without a struggle, which would attract attention. Plus, she really didn't want to snag her clothes, or her skin, on those points. The view she needed was on the other end of this narrow aisle, if she could only find a way in.

She turned to Benny. "Dean Martin ever pick locks?"

"Of course. Matt Helm picked 'em all the time."

"I don't suppose those Matt Helm movies taught you how to pick them."

He laughed. "Don't be silly, Miss Peri." He reached into his pocket and took out a Swiss Army knife. "I learned how to do that in jail."

Peri stepped aside and used the back of her hand to lift her chin and close her gaping mouth, while her new employee proceeded to poke about the inside of the lock with one of the knife's many attachments. He closed his eyes and hummed a little tune as he adjusted the pin and tugged. Finally, she heard the click of victory and Benny handed her the open lock.

"I gotta say, Ben, I'm impressed."

His smile reminded her of when he was a boy and his mother would brag about him while Peri cleaned her house.

"Okay, you stay by the gate," she told him, and handed him her cell phone. "Act like you're busy, fiddling with the phone, texting or checking email or something. If someone comes, whistle."

"I can't whistle, Miss Peri."

"Well, then, cough, or sneeze."

"Which one?"

"I don't care. Sneeze. Loud, though. So I can hear you." She slipped in, past the power box, and crept to the gate at the opposite end.

There were a few well-placed shrubs, which weren't quite tall enough to hide her, but could offer some camouflage for her gray sweats and oatmeal cap. She knelt down, took out her camera and looked through the telephoto lens at the grounds. The grove of trees where Nikki and Tyler hooked up yesterday was easily visible from here. It was a perfect place to rendezvous; too far from the trail to be noticed, with the trees close enough together to hide anyone behind them, unless you were looking for them. Peri leaned back against the fence and waited.

Ten minutes later, she saw a small blonde walk along the cart path, then take a detour, up to the grove. A tall, tan form approached from the opposite direction soon afterward. Peri raised her camera and focused her telephoto lens. It was Nikki and her boy-toy. Peri kept her finger on the trigger and clicked a freeze-frame report of the meeting.

Tyler reached out to hug Nikki, who responded at first, then pushed him away. She appeared cross. Tyler questioned; Nikki whined; Tyler apologized; Nikki pouted; Tyler appealed; Nikki softened; Tyler caressed; Nikki embraced. They kissed, made up, and made out, all to Peri's adoring lens.

"Ah-Choo!"

Peri whipped around to see Benny in a rigid stance. She heard footsteps on the sidewalk, so she scooted around to the side by the power box and crawled behind it, just as a man's voice spoke.

"Good morning."

"G-g-g-ood morning, Mister Officer." Benny's voice was about three octaves above normal.

Shit, a police officer, she thought. If Benny doesn't go into Dino mode, he's gonna have a freaking heart attack.

"Someone called and said you'd been out here for awhile. I guess they were worried that you were lost or something."

Benny giggled like six-year old girl. "No, no. I-I-I was out for a walk, see? And, I started messing with my new phone, and I wasn't - um - sure of some of the buttons and then I got it stuck in some kind of mode and I forgot about walking and just kinda stood here playing with it."

Peri was surprised. It was a halfway decent explanation. She heard the officer laugh.

"Yeah, I've done that too."

"Hey, at least I wasn't driving." Benny's voice had returned to normal, and Peri detected some Dino-swagger to it.

"Good point. Well, I was just making sure you were okay. You have a nice day, sir."

"You, too, Officer. Thanks for checking up on me."

Peri listened for the footsteps to diminish. The sound of an engine meant the officer had returned to his patrol car. She watched the black and white sedan pass Benny, then turn around in a driveway and leave, before she exited, making certain to lock the gate behind her.

"Let's go," she said.

* * * * *

Now then, go buy the dang book. LOL!

I had a moment and I liked it



I can take credit card payments!



April 30th - May 1st: Where were you on the weekend in question?

I was at the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books, held on the USC campus for the first time ever. The bad news is, I didn't see any of the festival. The good news is, it's because I was in a booth, selling my books.

I've been to the festival once, two years ago, when Karen Syed of Echelon Press called and said, "I've got 20 copies of your book handy. Want to come and sell them?" (See that post here.)


Last year's festival came and went without much fanfare in my household, mostly because I didn't have a new book out yet, and partly because I was buried in obligations to two booster clubs at my son's school, plus that whole, pesky, He's Graduating business.

Imagine this with one more author!

When Pam Ripling emailed me this year and asked, "How about a bunch of us renting a booth at the festival," I answered in a heartbeat: "I'm in."


There were supposed to be six of us: Pam (aka Anne Carter), Jen Hilborne, Tee Burrell, Joel Fox, Jeff Sherratt, and me. At the very last minute, Jeff had to cancel due to illness (we all hope you're on the mend, Jeff), which left five. This was probably a good thing, although I love Jeff's company and of course don't want him to be sick, but five authors in a booth is a little tight. Jeff's got a lot of books out there, and a big presence.


We might have had to put an author in the tree next to the booth.




L-R: Alyssa Montgomery, Sydney Fox, Pam Ripling

 When you're selling your books, you are constantly talking to everyone who comes by the booth. "Hi, how are you today? Do you like mysteries? What kind of books do you read? Weather's a little warm isn't it? Let me tell you about my books…"


Yadda yadda yadda blah blah.


You also learn to profile people. You somehow instantly recognize That Person Who Likes Mysteries, as well as That Person Who Wants You to Shut Up. And, sooner or later, you learn to recognize people who are just "different."


In my youth I thought of these people as "crazy", "clueless", "avoid-at-all-costs" folks. Now that I've been around the block a few times (mostly because I can't follow directions), and thanks to the world of behavioral analysis, I see these people as just being different than me, in terms of how they process and respond to the world around them.


A man wandered toward our booth. I hadn't paid much attention to his stops along the way, but he was coming toward me, so I greeted him. He was a pudgy man, dressed too warmly for the day, and although he was not odiferous, he had that look about him that said his hygiene was casual, at best. He wore thick glasses over slightly-crossed eyes, and had bad teeth. And when I say "bad teeth", I'm talking spectacularly, intriguingly, bad. Not only were they brown, every other tooth appeared to be missing (at least in the front), and they were skewed in his mouth, as if they were half-a-tooth off from where they should be located.


He spoke quickly, in a kind of thick-tongued way, all about his obsession with movies of the 30's in general and Republic Pictures in particular. He attended their 75th anniversary celebration and got to meet some of their stars, including Peggy Stewart. Within the space of ten minutes, he told me all this and more, about the movies he liked and the stars he recognized in other movies that are now doing bit parts in TV shows. I also learned he has a girlfriend who he likes to talk to using Red Ryder quotes and when she "gets out of line" he threatens to marry her.


Yeah, I'd straighten up and fly right, too.


His eyes had a way of focusing upward as he spoke, so that he never made eye contact for more than a wisp of a second. After about ten minutes, he kind of ran out of steam and moved down the booth to the next person, until he'd exhausted himself and all of us, before moving on.


In the old days, I would have labeled him "odd", or possibly even "crazy." Now I saw a man within the autism spectrum, and understood. No, I didn't want to stand for ten minutes and listen to his turbo-talk, especially when there were people coming up to the booth wanting to know about my books. But he's a human being, and he's socializing the only way he knows how, and I'm a Christian who believes in karma. Either that, or I'm a doormat.


Karma blessed me the very next day. I was driving to Palapas in Fullerton to have a drink with my hubby, thinking about my experiences at the festival, and all of a sudden, it dawned on me:


This weekend, I met Benny Needles.


No, I don't picture him physically like this man, but this is the awkwardly social man who is obsessed with something. Benny has actually been able to rein in his desire to tell everyone everything about Dean Martin. Unless something happened to him, something that caused him to retreat into the only thing that matters: Dino-world.


And in my third Peri Minneopa mystery, that's just what's gonna happen.


Life is good. As Will Varner said, "I feel so good, I might just live fo-EVAH."

Please enjoy the music while we try to reach your party.

Okay, peeps, this week I am trying to get the house both decorated AND cleaned, in anticipation of our Sunday GumboFest and Football-a-Palooza. Dale makes great gumbo, and we invite all our friends, whether they like football or not. I'm not the biggest football fan in the universe (probably 1,906,542 in Amazon rankings), so I'll be wandering through the house yakking to people, offering a bit of wine/beer/soda, and generally enjoying the company.

It's all fun but leaves me with NO time to do much else. So while I'm busy, please enjoy these Christmas videos:

1. Dean Martin singing "White Christmas" - yes, I know Bing is the definitive version, and this video clip kind of bugs me because the voice is off-sync with his lips BUT-BUT-BUT if anyone could wish for a White Christmas, it would be an Ohio transplant (Dino) AND there are horses in the video, too. You know I'm a sucker for horses.




2. Alvin and the Chipmunks - At Christmas, they used to play this song constantly at Goldblatt's Plaza, back in Decatur, Illinois, outside the window display of animated critters that were supposed to be chipmunks. Today I would probably think it's cheesy, but when I was a kiddo, I was entranced. This is the original version.




3. Lights! Music! Action! What video-ganza would be complete without a view of some over-lit house choreographed to music?



Enjoy.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Martin!

Born in 1917, Dean Martin would have been um, let's see (attempting subtraction in really tired brain), OLD if he'd lived. He died on Christmas day of 1995 and, though we miss him, we at least have his music, his movies, and even his old TV shows.

One of the recurring characters in my Peri Minneopa mystery series (stop laughing - it'll be a series as soon as the second book comes out) is Benny Needles, a Dean Martin fanatic. Not only is he busy stuffing his house with Dino memorabilia, he tries to emulate Dean in every way, which is a difficult chore for a short, chunky, balding, obsessive-compulsive, un-Dino guy. But, hey, who hasn't danced around in their underwear and pretended to be Madonna? You haven't? Really?

Never mind.

Anyway, as a birthday tribute, here's another Benny-centric snippet of the new book:

(NOTE: the setup is that Skip is working late at a crime scene and Peri is being stalked so he doesn't want to leave her alone.)

* * * * *

"Then there's only one thing to do. Call Benny."

"Oh, Skip-"

"He can hang out with you until I get home."

"But you may work all night."

"So put him up in the spare bedroom."

"Do you know what you're saying? I mean, I like Dean Martin, but this will be a Dino marathon. Movies, TV shows, music, all narrated by Benny. Every piece of trivia will be trotted out for my education." She rubbed the back of her neck. "If I wasn't sick when I found the body, I'll be sick by the time you get home."

"Lock yourself in the bedroom and let him have the family room. He can watch Dino in high def on the flat screen." He took her hand and squeezed it. "Make the call."

Thirty minutes later, Benny's black Caddy rolled into the country club entrance. Peri watched him hesitate at the sight of patrol cars, then make a U-turn and pull alongside the curb at the exit. He got out and waited by the car. As Peri walked toward him, Skip intercepted her.

"I see your limo awaits," he said.

"Wow." She nodded toward Benny. "Complete with a fancy driver."

The streetlight washed down on the little man, dapper in a tuxedo. His white shirt glowed against the black suit, and Peri's eyes were drawn to the red slash of a pocket square across his chest.

"Did I drag you away from a party, Ben?" she asked.

He looked perplexed. "Miss Peri, you told me this was the country club dinner. I couldn't show up in casual wear to pick you up."

She smiled. "Good thinking. You look very nice."

"I want you to take her back to my place," Skip told him. "I may not be home for awhile, but you need to stay until either I get home or I send a patrolman. Do you understand?"

Benny's head bobbed up and down in vigorous assent.

"If it gets too late, go ahead and sack out in the spare room."

"Overnight? At your house?" Benny appeared stricken.

"Skip's got a nice TV, Ben. Home theater, surround sound. You can watch your Dean Martin movies all night."

He brightened a little. "Okay."

Skip turned Peri toward him and gave her a kiss. "Take care, Doll. I'll be home as soon as I can."

Benny, true to form, hopped in his Caddy and waited for Peri to get in, a feat made harder by the fact he had parked so close to the edge, she had to totter along the narrow curb in her high heels, pushing ornamental shrubbery out of her way to open the car door.

"Watch the paint job," Benny said. "You're gonna scratch it."

"Don't park in the bushes and I won't."

They drove away, out to Alta Vista and toward Kraemer Boulevard.

Peri removed her earrings and rubbed her earlobes. "How's Mr. Mustard?"

"Who?"

"The cat, Benny. You are still feeding him, right?"

Benny laughed. "Oh, him. Oh, sure, Miss Peri, I feed him every day, twice. But I don't call him Mr. Mustard." He snorted. "What a stupid name."

"What do you call him?"

"Matt Helm, of course."

"Of course." She sighed. "Well, I may have a home for him. I met a couple tonight who are interested in adopting him."

"Adopting? Really?"

"He's a nice cat, but I don't want to keep him. Why, do you want him?"

He was silent.

"I'm sorry, Ben, I thought you didn't want him. Did you change your mind?"

"No. Yes. I don't know. I'm afraid he'll make a big mess out of my house."

"But-"

"But he's kind of interesting. He stares at me all the time, and plays fetch with stuff. Couldn't you keep him so I can visit?"

"Uh-no. Maybe you can visit him at the Nickles' house." She watched the streetlights pass in the darkness, wishing they were already at Skip's. Fatigue washed through her bones and she longed for comfortable clothes and a cup of tea.

Benny finally slid the Cadillac into Skip's driveway and they entered the house, turning off the security system and turning on all the lights. Peri changed into her sweats and then fixed her herbal tea while a constant replay of discovering the body kept looping through her mind. She looked over the counter at Benny, who was fiddling with the surround sound controls to ensure proper modulation of Dino's voice.

"Want anything, Ben?"

"Thanks, Miss Peri, I'll take some tea. Do you have Lipton?"

"I don't know, let me check."

"Cause Lipton's all I drink. And honey, do you have honey?"

Peri rearranged the pantry, searching for the proper ingredients. "Yes, looks like we have both."

She had just poured hot water over the teabag when Benny added, "I need cream, too. Real cream, not milk or half-and-half."

This is why no one invites you to their slumber parties, Peri thought. "No cream, Ben. Two percent or nothing." She set the mug and condiments on the counter. "Help yourself."

A trumpet's blare heralded the opening credits of a movie.

"Turn it down a little," she said. "We do have neighbors."

Benny scowled but obeyed. He moved backward toward his tea, his focus glued to the screen. Peri leaned over the counter to see what engrossed him so fully. Dotted numbers crawled around while an orchestra blasted a song. After a few moments, she saw it was Ocean's Eleven.

"This looks a lot different from the one with George Clooney," she said.

"Pfft, that hacked-up remake? Half the film this one is. Not even worth the name."

She smiled and tested her tea. It felt like a warm blanket, comforting her. "Maybe, but this one certainly seems less action packed."

"People nowadays expect explosions out of the gate. This movie develops. It gives you time to get to know the characters. Shh-here he is."

Dean Martin walked out of an airport gate and began a conversation with what turned out to be an old Army buddy. Peri moved to the couch and slid into the corner, letting the movie wash over her, happy for the distraction from her memory of that smashed-in skull. The tea continued to soothe; she gripped the mug and held it close, even after she had emptied it.

Halfway through the film, her eyelids lowered in a twilight of sleep. The actors moved about casinos, signaling each other and running metal objects around doors. She had missed some of the plot, but she recognized the teamwork. In her dreamlike state, Frank Sinatra became Nikki Keller, and Dean Martin was Kim Patterson. Peri thought about the bonds of friendship, and the recent events.

What wouldn't she do to help Blanche?

* * * * *

Happy Birthday, Mr. Martin. I may cook Italian tonight, just in your honor.