What are your favorite and least favorite questions people ask you about your writing?
Let's start with my least favorite question- are your mystery books written for young teens or tweens?
Let's start with the answer first. No, my books are written for adults. They may not have sex scenes, but they do deal with adult topics and contain adult language.
And it took me awhile, but I get it. The covers give the wrong impression. So they'll get redone in the next few months, and switched to a more 'mature' design. Hopefully, the change will put an end to that question.
And my favorite question? When someone wants to talk about one of my characters. Usually it's Harmony Duprie, the main character in my mysteries. And I understand why - she's not the poster child for common sense. I've 'lived' with her for four years and almost four books, and she still surprises me. That's why readers fall in love with her. And why I'd like to sit on her steps and drink ice tea and spend an afternoon with her in real life.
But sharing her adventures with anyone who cares to read my stories is the next best thing. That's why people asking questions about her is one of my favorite things.
For those of you dropping by from the hop who aren't familiar with my books, here's an excerpt from The Marquesa's Necklace, the first book in the mystery series.
The folded, bright orange paper that must have been stuck between the screen door and the main door caught my eye. I almost dropped my laptop bag when I snatched it from the clutches of a sudden gust of cold wind threatening to send the sheet sailing. But I managed to hang onto it with my free hand, using my hip to push open the heavy wooden door.
Curious, I set down my laptop and purse and unfolded the paper without even kicking off my shoes first. Totally not like me. I sank down on my old brown couch.
A crudely drawn skull and crossbones adorned the top half of the page. On the bottom half, scrawled in red ink, were the words “You got lucky this time.” I took a deep breath, picked up the landline phone, and hit memory five—Detective Thomason’s direct line.
I was sitting at the bottom of the stairway, patting Piper, and practicing breathing exercises to calm my nerves when he arrived in a squad car, sirens wailing. To my shock, Piper didn’t even growl. The uniformed cop with him dashed up the stairs, his hand on the butt of his gun. The detective sat beside me and pulled the evidence out of my still-shaking hand. He flipped open the sheet, glanced at it, and folded it in half. His lips tightened into a thin line as he stared at the crack in the concrete beneath his feet. We sat there, not looking at each other, until the policeman came stomping down the stairs.
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It didn't work. I've tried four or five times to start the story, but never got past about 500 words. I tried different starting points, I tried a different opening scene, nothing worked.
Some nights, I worry about the health of family members. I'm not worried about mine because I'm in pretty good shape for my age. Not all of my family is so lucky. At least they are getting the proper medical care and that helps.
