Featured Author: Kate Hilton

I'm happy to have Kate Hilton here today with CLP Blog Tours to talk about her contemporary women's fiction novel The Hole in the Middle, published by HarperCollins Canada.

About the book:

Sophie Whelan is the epitome of the modern superwoman. When she operates at peak performance, she can cajole balky employees, soothe her cranky children, troubleshoot career disasters, throw a dinner party for ten and draft an upbeat Christmas letter — all in the same day.

But as Sophie’s fortieth birthday looms, her seamless life reveals disturbing web-like fractures. Conflict with her boss, blossoming jealousy of her husband’s femme fatale business partner and her feelings of hopeless inadequacy as a mother and daughter are cracking the edifice of her life.

Rescue may be at hand when Lillian Parker, a wealthy widow who befriended Sophie during her university days, makes Sophie an irresistible offer. Why, then, does Sophie hesitate? The answer is the reappearance of Lillian’s nephew, Will Shannon, the great unresolved love of Sophie’s life. As she remembers the vivid drama of their college romance, Sophie confronts the choices she has made in life and in love and looks for the one answer that has always eluded her: what does she really want?

The Hole in the Middle is a heartbreaking love story, a laugh-out loud portrayal of the twin demands of work and family and a fresh take on the hot debate about having it all.

Interview with Kate Hilton

How long have you been writing, and how did you start?

I’ve always had jobs that required me to write. But I didn’t start writing creatively until three years ago, when I realized that I was heading towards my 40th birthday and I needed to get moving if I wanted to write that novel!

How would you describe The Hole in the Middle in a tweet? (140 characters or less.)

Modern superwoman has midlife crisis. Contemplates road not taken. Seriously funny, and just the right amount of sad.

Perfect! Do you outline, write by the seat of your pants, or let your characters tell you what to write?

I always write with an outline. I’m a lawyer by training, so I’m a fan of structure.

Which character did you most enjoy writing?

Lillian Parker. I absolutely love her. People often ask me if she’s based on a real person in my life. I wish she were. She’s who I’d like to be when I grow up.

Who are your favorite authors?

I have so many, for so many different reasons. To name just a few: L.M. Montgomery, Lionel Shriver, Jane Austen, Jonathan Franzen, A.S. Byatt, Nora Ephron, Nick Hornby, Kate Atkinson, Helen Fielding and Allison Pearson.

Where and when do you prefer to do your writing?

My husband and I bought an old house that had been broken up into apartments and I took over one of the many kitchens for my office. I ripped out all of the cabinets and appliances and painted it white except for two walls, which are hot pink. It’s a funky, feminine space that is my refuge in a house full of boys. I prefer to write in the morning, which is when I think I do my best work, but I’ll take any quiet block of time I can find. 

What’s one of your favorite quotes?

"Courage is not the towering oak that sees storms come and go; it is the fragile blossom that opens in the snow." Alice Mackenzie Swaim

I love that! If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?

I think I’d live where I live now, which is in Toronto. It’s an amazing, multicultural city with fantastic food and a rich cultural scene. Plus all of my friends and family are here. But I’d have a second house in Italy. And maybe a third in Turks and Caicos to get away from the Canadian winters.

Excerpt from The Hole in the Middle

I show up at Sara’s house around eight, and book club is in full swing. I’ve come straight from the office, and my prescription is still in my purse. I’d say that I haven’t had time to fill it, but even I know that for once, lack of time isn’t the issue.

I ring the bell. Zoe answers and steps out onto the porch with me for a moment. “I was hoping it was you,” she says. “I’m not ready to tell anyone else about what’s going on with Richard, OK?” She gestures toward the house, where the rest of the book club is waiting.

“Of course,” I say. And in any event, I feel a little fuzzy on the details of Zoe’s marital crisis. Lunch feels as though it happened a week and not six hours ago.

“How are you feeling?” I ask.

She shrugs. “It helped to see you at lunch,” she says. “But I think this is one of those situations where it’s going to keep feeling worse until something big changes. I’m just not ready to think about what the something big is.” I give her a hug, and we go in. “Look everyone,” she calls. “It’s a special guest appearance by Sophie!” She drags me into the living room, where the rest of the book club bursts into enthusiastic applause.

“I haven’t read the book,” I say.

“Don’t be silly,” says Laura. “No one ever reads the book.”

“I do,” says Sara pointedly. “And it would be great if we could make a tiny effort to talk about it once in a while, even for five minutes. Hi, Soph.” She pauses. “What did you do to your arm?”

“I sprained my wrist,” I say. “It’s nothing.”

“What was the book again?” asks Laura.

Sara raises an eyebrow. “Are you really interested, or are you just trying to humor me?”

Laura laughs. “Was it good?”

“Not especially,” says Sara. “We can stop talking about it now. What’s Megan going on about?”

Like Sara, Megan is one of my old friends from the student newspaper, and I’ve caught her in mid-rant. Nora is leaning back slightly to avoid Megan’s violent gesticulations, which are, as usual, aimed at hapless, absent Bob: “And then he looks into the stroller and says, ‘I’m starting to get to the point where I remember that he’s around. Do you know what I mean?’ And I think, ‘What kind of fucking question is that? It’s kind of hard for me to forget that our baby is around when he’s hanging off my tit 24/7, but I guess you don’t have that problem, do you Bob?’ Honestly! I just looked at him and said ‘I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.’”

Megan takes a breath, looks around, and realizes that she is the main attraction. “Hi, Sophie,” she says. “Good to see you.”

I wave. “Still married?”

Megan snorts. “Barely,” she says, but she smiles a little before turning back to Nora to continue itemizing Bob’s shortcomings as a husband and father.

“What can I get you to drink?” asks Zoe. “Prosecco?” I nod, and she disappears into the kitchen. I sit down next to Sara.

“How have you been?” she asks.

“Bad day to ask,” I say. “I’d say I’ve been stressed to the point of hysteria, while at the same time struggling to find enough meaning in my work to justify my level of anxiety. I mean, shouldn’t you have to care about a job to get this worked up about it?”

“Of course not!” Zoe reappears with my glass and plops down on the sofa with us. “Do you remember the I Love Lucy episode where Lucy and Ethel are working on an assembly line at a chocolate factory? No? You know the scene in Pretty Woman where Richard Gere takes Julia Roberts up to the penthouse for the first time, and they have a fight, and then they make up, and then they stay up late watching TV?”

“Oh, yeah,” says Sara. “Right before she gives him the blow job.”

“Exactly. That moment where you think, am I really supposed to be rooting for these two to get together in the end?”

“Totally.” Megan and Nora have finished with Bob and rejoin the group. “But they aren’t watching the chocolate factory episode,” Megan says. “They’re watching the wine-making one, where Lucy runs around in a giant barrel and throws grapes at everyone.”

Zoe rolls her eyes. “The point I’m making,” she says, with the deliberate enunciation of a woman who has had too much Prosecco, “is that the chocolate factory is a perfect example of a job that is both stressful and meaningless. The chocolate starts coming faster and faster and they can’t wrap it quickly enough, and by the end they are stuffing the chocolates down their shirts and in their mouths and looking completely panic-stricken, but to no real end.”

“And this relates to Sophie’s job how?” asks Laura.

Zoe waves her hand vaguely. “Email, voicemail, staff meetings – the whole tedious routine is a modern-day, white-collar version of the conveyor belt.”

“Well, that’s a pretty bleak assessment,” I say.

“Only if you plan to be stuck beside the conveyor belt for the rest of your life,” says Zoe. “But since you don’t actually work in a chocolate factory, you have a few options. And if you would admit that you are having a midlife crisis, you could start looking at ways to change it up.”

“I’m not having a midlife crisis,” I say.

Laura laughs. “Everyone’s having a midlife crisis, Sophie,” she says. “You might as well join the club.”

About the author:

Kate Hilton has worked in law, higher education, public relations, fundraising and publishing.  She has an English degree from McGill University and a law degree from the University of Toronto.  She holds down a day job, volunteers for community organizations, raises two boys, cooks, collects art, reads voraciously and likes her husband.  In her free time, she writes. On good days, she thinks she might have it all.  On bad days, she wants a nap.

The Hole in the Middle is Kate’s first book.  Kate is represented by Beverley Slopen of the Beverley Slopen Literary Agency in Toronto.

Connect with the author:
Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads |

Buy the book:
Amazon  



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Featured Author: Cara Alwill Leyba

CLP Blog Tours brings Cara Alwill Leyba here today to talk about her self-help book, The Champaign Diet: Eat, Drink, and Celebrate Your Way to a Healthy Mind and Body! I don't know about you, but that title caught my attention, and I was eager to talk to Cara. Sadly, I have no champagne samples, but wait! Cara gives us a sample of the book! So eat, drink, celebrate, and read on...

About the book:

This book is for the woman who wants to feel good about herself and her body, and learn how to start incorporating healthy habits into her life. It's for the woman who doesn't want to trade in her champagne for skinny jeans. It's for the woman who is done with dieting, and ready to start paying attention to her health before that number on the scale. It's for the woman who is ready to stop letting her weight define her, and is ready to understand why it always did. This is not a diet book. This is a lifestyle guide. This book will change the way you view your weight and yourself forever. You will walk away feeling empowered, inspired, and downright sexy (and probably craving a glass of bubbly). You will learn how to celebrate yourself and your body. You will learn to make your health a priority, always. And most importantly – you will learn to love yourself, exactly as you are. So get ready to embark on a complete dieting and lifestyle overhaul, sister. You are now on The Champagne Diet!

What reviewers are saying:

"The Champagne Diet will resonate with every woman with it’s realistic and simple approach to dieting. Alwill delivers a personal, relatable, and funny guide to shedding pounds without deprivation." - Kim Barnouin Co-Author, Skinny Bitch

Interview with Cara Alwill Leyba

Cara, this is your second book. How long have you been writing, and how did you start?

I've been writing for as long as I can remember. I started writing short stories in grade school and wrote my first book as a project in the 4th grade. I got a 100+ :)

But of course! What inspired you to write The Champagne Diet?

I've always struggled with my weight. I have tried every diet known to man, and it wasn't until I learned to eat for my health as opposed to the number on the scale when it clicked. As soon as I started eating whole, real foods, and truly loving my body, I was able to maintain a normal weight and get off the crazy diet train. Is my body perfect? Absolutely not. But that's okay. I'd much rather enjoy a bowl of pasta and a glass or two of wine than be a size 2. I wrote this book because as women, we put so much pressure on ourselves to be skinny that we forget to live our lives. We also forget that we'll never reach a healthy weight until we get our minds right. I wanted this book to be a love letter to all the girls out there who have forgotten how to be kind to themselves and their bodies and remind them what life is all about. I wanted to teach them the importance of eating nutritious foods as opposed to chemical-laden frozen meals. And I wanted to teach them that deprivation does nothing but fuel the cycle of misery and disappointment. There is an easier (and much more enjoyable) way!

The book sounds amazing. How long did it take you to write it?

About three months, but I started it five years ago.

What do you hope readers will get from The Champagne Diet?

I hope that readers will see that their lives are so much more important than their weight. That there's more to life than toning their abs. That they are beautiful no matter what size jeans they wear. And that life is meant to be enjoyed.

How did you come up with the title of your book?

A few years ago, when I finally had my "healthy eating/healthy life" epiphany, I remember asking one of my close friends if I could still enjoy a cocktail while being healthy. She told me that I should start drinking champagne because it has the least amount of calories out of all drinks (about 100 calories per glass). Plus, she added, when you drink a glass of champagne, you immediately feel glamorous and sexy. I was sold. I started exclusively drinking champagne whenever I went out and it became my signature drink. I joked and called my new lifestyle "The Champagne Diet" and it just sort of stuck. That title became the name of my blog and my entire brand, and ultimately this book.

Well, you sold me! Do you have another job outside of writing?

Yes, I am a Digital Advertising Director at MTV Networks.

How would you describe your book in a tweet? (140 characters or less.)
 
The Champagne Diet is about learning to eat for your health, love your body, and always leave room for champagne!

I love your cover art. How did you come up with it?

I wanted something simple and elegant, so I worked with my designer to help convey that concept. I was inspired by a photograph my friend/photographer Angelica Glass took at my friend's wedding. The bride had just taken a sip of her champagne, and it left the most perfect lipstick mark on the glass, and I just fell in love.

Tell us about your favorite chapter in the book.

I love Chapter 5 titled "Ditch the Dead Weight: Why Stress Will Make You Fat and Miserable." I really feel like this chapter is the foundation of the whole book. If you are feeding your soul with crap, you will likely eat crap. This chapter is a great way to assess your current life and figure out what needs to change so that you can achieve optimal health and feel amazing.

Who are your favorite authors?

Jennifer Lancaster and Wayne Dyer.

What book are you currently reading and in what format (e-book/paperback/hardcover)?

I'm currently reading Wishes Fulfilled by Wayne Dyer and Think Like a Stripper by Erika Lyremark (a brilliant business book).


Do you have a routine for writing? Do you work better at night, in the afternoon, or in the morning?

I write best in the morning after a good night's sleep and some strong coffee!

Where and when do you prefer to write?

I prefer to write in my living room at the dining room table while listening to 80's music.

What’s one of your favorite quotes?

"To bring anything into your life, imagine that it's already there." ~ Richard Bach

What do you like to do when you’re not writing?

I love to travel and try new restaurants with my husband.

Okay...think fast, and answer quick! 

Name one thing you couldn’t live without. (It can’t be your phone!)

My dog!

If you could only keep one book, what would it be?

The Secret.

Your last meal would be...

Eggplant Parm.

Would you rather work in a library or a bookstore?

Bookstore.

You won the lottery. What’s the first thing you would buy?

A one-way ticket to London.

You’re given the day off, and you can do anything but write. What would you do?

Shop.

Where would your dream office be?

I'd probably pick two: one in Soho (New York) and one in Chelsea, London.

Where’s home for you?

New York City.

Good job! And finally, what are you working on now?

I'm currently putting together two self-help workshops that I'm launching in January (one is virtual and one is located in New York). If you'd like more info feel free to email me at Info@TheChampagneDiet.com!

Excerpt from The Champagne Diet

Comparison Will Kill You

Can we just address this right now before we go any further? The fastest way to be miserable is to compare yourself – especially your body – to anyone else’s. I can’t even begin to tell you how many times I’ve stared obsessively for hours at photos of other women, trying to identify with someone who looked most like me, and then convince myself that she wasn’t really “that fat.” What a serious waste of time.

I’ve seen countless women do this to themselves and guess what? It makes you even fatter. Yes, seriously. The more you stress and obsess, the more you self-sabotage and overeat. If you are that down on yourself, you’re so much less likely to eat a super healthy dinner or go for a run on a Saturday morning. Instead, you’ll be wasting that energy wishing you had your sister-in-law’s ass. And that is a one-way track to Loserville.

Remember this: nobody in this world will have the exact same story as you, or the exact same body as you. Nobody in this world will lose weight at the exact same pace you do, or see results from working out the exact same way you do. You know that cute little Dr. Seuss quote, “There is no one alive who is Youer than You.” We brainwash kids with that message because it’s f&%#ing true. So why can’t you believe it? The sooner you realize that your body is a unique gem that is like no other, the quicker you’ll be on your way to health and happiness. And the quicker you set goals that make sense for you and only you, the quicker you’ll reach them. There is no “one size fits all” for weight, body type, or beauty. We don’t all need to be a size two. Define your “happy place” when it comes to weight and health and do whatever it takes to get and stay there.

**********************************************************

What Are You Waiting For?

A major theme of The Champagne Diet is “living your most effervescent life.” Not ten pounds from now. Not next year when you’re finally wearing a size eight. Right now. If I think back to all of the times in my life where I waited to do something until I lost weight, I get really sad. I missed out on so much: so many dips in the pool, trips to the beach, parties that I skipped out on because I didn’t want to wear a sleeveless dress in the summer, dates I declined, and events that I didn’t host because I felt like I wasn’t thin enough yet. It really sickens me to think that I could have had so much more fun if I had just learned to let go a little and stop waiting to get skinny.

As women, we seem to have this idea that life will be perfect when we lose weight. We’ll finally start that business, have the confidence to wear a bikini, or go on that vacation. We’ll start dating when we’re thin, and we’ll be ballsy enough to ask for that promotion. It’s completely ridiculous to assume that any of those things will be made possible by a shift of the scale. Guess what? It’s the exact opposite. Once we start actually doing those things, the weight will come off. I promise you that. When you’re fulfilled in your life, it is so much easier to eat healthier and eat less because you have so many exciting things going on. Think about that one for a moment.

Make a list of 3 things you’re waiting to do until you lose weight:
1.     __________________________________________
2.     __________________________________________
3.     __________________________________________

I want you to examine that list and come up with a valid reason for each one explaining why you need to be thin to do any of them. Remember, I said valid. Write the reasons below:
1.     ___________________________________________
2.     ___________________________________________
3.     ___________________________________________

If you actually filled anything out above, cross it out right now. It’s bullshit and I don’t buy it. There is nothing in this world that you should be waiting to do until you lose weight. Nothing! If that’s your excuse, you’re missing out on more than you can imagine. By the end of this book, I want you to promise me that you will have an action plan in place to do at least two of the things on that list. You don’t have to have completed them, but you’ve got to at the very least be planning for them. Got it?

About the author:

Cara Alwill Leyba is a best selling author and life coach from New York City who encourages women to live their most effervescent lives and celebrate themselves. She runs an international private coaching practice where she works with women who are ready to make their happiness a priority. Through loving guidance, support and an expert perspective, Cara empowers women to be the change agent in their lives.

Her blog, TheChampagneDiet.com has been featured in Glamour, Shape, Marie Claire UK, Cosmopolitan South Africa, and a host of other publications worldwide. Cara's writing has been featured in The Huffington Post, Marie Claire, xoJane, Mind Body Green, and many other sites.

Cara is the author of two books: Sparkle: The Girl's Guide to Living a Deliciously Dazzling, Wildly Effervescent, Kick-Ass Life, which was a #1 Amazon best seller in the Happiness and Self-Esteem categories, and The Champagne Diet: Eat, Drink, and Celebrate Your Way to a Healthy Mind and Body, which was a #2 Amazon best seller in Self-Esteem.

When she’s not popping bubbly and blogging, Cara spends her days leading a digital advertising team at MTV Networks. She lives in Brooklyn, New York with her husband and dog.

Connect with Cara:

Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Publisher 

Buy the book:
Amazon

Featured Author: Sarah Mallery

In October, Sarah Mallery was here to talk about her book Unexpected Gifts, and she gave us a hint at her then soon-to-be-published book, Sewing Can Be Dangerous and Other Small Threads, published December 16 by Mockingbird Lane Press. Now that it's out, Sarah is back with an excerpt from the book, and she also braved my Dirty Dozen, earning the coveted Daredevil Award.

About the book:

The eleven long short stories in Sewing Can Be Dangerous and Other Small Threads combine history, mystery, action and/or romance, and range from drug trafficking using Guatemalan hand-woven wallets, to an Antebellum U.S. slave using codes in her quilts as a message system to freedom; from an ex-journalist and her Hopi Indian maid solving a cold case together involving Katchina spirits, to a couple hiding Christian passports in a comforter in Nazi Germany; from a wedding quilt curse dating back to the Salem Witchcraft trials, to a mystery involving a young seamstress in the infamous Triangle Shirt Factory fire; from a 1980's Romeo and Juliet romance between a rising Wall Street financial 'star' and an eclectic fiber artist, to a Haight-Asbury love affair between a professor and a beautiful macramé artist gone horribly askew, just to name a few.

Reviewers are saying:

"Moving, engaging and powerful - the core of this collection is superb and so is its prose. These stories are sure to stay with you long after you finished them. This is great historical story telling." --Christoph Fischer Luck of the Weissensteiners, The Black Eagle Inn, and Sebastian.

“S. R. Mallery’s Sewing Can Be Dangerous and Other Small Threads is a box of bon-bons, every story an eye-opening surprise.  Eat one and you’ll want to devour the whole box. A sparkling, irresistibly readable follow-up to her accomplished debut novel, Unexpected Gift." --Grady Miller, Lighten Up, A Very Grady Christmas

Excerpt from Sewing Can Be Dangerous and Other Small Threads

A Drunkard’s Path

...“It started so long ago. I don’t even know how it all came about, but—there’s—there’s been a curse placed on you and David—that quilt that I was so excited about—Martha Stinson in my quilt group kept silent until after I had given it to you, and—and I didn’t want to say anything in case it wasn’t true...”

“Are you kidding me?” Deborah exploded. “My life is falling apart! C’mon, curses don’t really happen, do they? I mean, what can I do? You tell me now!” She segued into a screech.

“Come over to my place tomorrow and I’ll try to relate it all to you, I promise...”

...“Do you know anything about the Salem Witchcraft trials?” The older woman leaned in toward her niece, as if casting a spell herself.

“No, not much, why?”

“You remember Martha Stinson from my quilt group? Well after the wedding, she showed me a journal written by a relative of hers and frankly, I am very concerned about you. It seems one of the accused witches from the original Salem trials might have actually had a connection with a real witch, an ancestor of Martha’s...”

* * * *

Inside the packed meetinghouse, dust particles from mud-caked boots floated throughout the air, rendering it dense, murky. That year, April had been an unkind month to Salem Village. Rain-drenched meadows produced a sludge that clung to the edges of women’s dresses, creating odors so foul that in such tight quarters, it became difficult to breathe. But people weren’t concerned with such matters on this day. They had gathered for a higher purpose: the Devil was in Salem, and they wished him thwarted at all costs. Even the constant threat of Indian attacks and surviving harsh winters paled in comparison to what was happening now, in that room, swelling with apprehension.

Crammed into high-walled pews, dark wooden benches, or simply shoved up against walls, spectators filled every conceivable space in the meetinghouse. Donning black hats, cloaks, and breeches, the men angled forward, their eyes boring holes into the five men sitting up front, yet it was the women who carried the greatest burden that day; their hooded coats and muffs covering their recently unkempt hair and unwashed fingernails, couldn’t disguise the uncertainty they felt about their community’s loyalty to them and how it would all end.

Sitting at the head of the counsel table, amongst other magistrates in the newly appointed Court of Oyer and Terminer, John Hathorne and Jonathan Corwin quietly conferred with each other before beginning their first round of questioning. Arrogant, self-important, the black-robed magistrates assumed their positions on the political totem pole, and having been brought to Salem for such a specific purpose, they dared not disappoint. They were on a mission to deliver souls. Hathorne, displaying the greatest exhibition of self-aggrandizement, seemed the most severe. With no real legal experience, and having only glanced at Sir Mathew Hale’s Trial of Witches, and Joseph Granvill’s Collection of Sundry Trials in England, Ireland the week before, he nonetheless believed he was more than competent to interrogate the accused.

At the front of the room facing the magistrates, sat all the accusers, the “afflicted” girls: Abigail Williams, her cousin Betty Parris, Ann Putnam, Sarah Bibber, Sarah Churchill, Elizabeth Booth, Mercy Lewis, Susanna Sheldon, Jemima Rea, Mary Warren, Mary Walcott and Elizabeth Hubbard. With downcast eyes and folded hands, they appeared demure; inwardly they were experiencing emotions quite different from anything they had ever known. Childhoods stocked with adult repression and fear now served as a springboard to the frenzy of accusations they had created, because on this day, along with their catharsis and even exhilaration, came the most important emotion of all: a sense of empowerment. At last, they were getting adults to listen to them, and it was intoxicating.
John Hathorne commenced with the proceedings. “Bring in the accused, Bridget Bishop...”

Book Trailer

Sarah answers the Dirty Dozen

1.  Name one thing you couldn’t live without.

Well, besides my family, of course, I would have to say––and believe me there are several in this category––my thesaurus, either on my computer, or the old, tattered paperback one, whose cover is half-eaten by a rambunctious cat;  the one that I seem to cling to, despite disparaging remarks about its condition from my students and husband.

2.  If you could only keep one book, what would it be?

Probably my large, one-volume encyclopedia, published by Random House. At least that way, I could still learn new things...

3.  Your last meal would be...

Okay, I know this is politically incorrect, but it would be a beautiful steak –– marinated and grilled to perfection, and a luscious, vegetable-filled salad. For dessert, some kind of Breyer’s ice cream. I like them all, but am particularly partial to English Toffee Crunch...or the caramel crunch, or...Oh, I’ll take any one of them!! Hey, if it's your last meal, I think you should have them all!

4.  Would you rather work in a library or a bookstore?

Looking at this question, my first reaction was bookstore. All those brand new books spread out so enticingly, so artistically. But then I thought about it further. If I worked in a library, I would not only have access to new books and classics, I’d be able to browse the old magazine stacks and peruse the one-of-a-kind books, those gems, that to the bright shiny world of marketing are long-forgotten. So library, it is!

5.  You won the lottery. What’s the first thing you would buy?

Although I love my house, I would probably buy a house in an area with a lot more greenery around it than where my current house is. I’m an east coast kind of gal, who spent summers in rural Connecticut.

6.  Would you rather be stranded on a deserted island or the North Pole?

Geesh! What a question! On the one hand, I like the cold, polar bear cubs, and penguins.  On the other hand, I think the deserted island would offer me more food opportunities.  But then again, unless there is an idyllic waterfall somewhere on the island, like what you see in movies, where would I get fresh-desalinated water? Besides, I could always chow down on whale blubber at the North Pole with an ample supply of melted iceberg water. The North Pole, I guess...

7.  You’re given the day off, and you can do anything but write. What would you do?

First off, comes the early a.m. feeding of our hunger-howling, leg-rubbing, insistent cats. I’ve learned the hard way that their needs come before mine. Next, is a cup-a-java and some breakfast, nestled on the couch, watching something on the TV: the news, old movies, new movies, whatever tickles my fancy. Next would be a little clean up and stationary bicycling and treadmilling to a Netflix DVD, then a shower. Since I can’t write, I would most probably be doing social media stuff on the computer and reading, either research for my current projects as well as simply reading another author’s work.  Later might be some gardening, some errands if they’re absolutely necessary, the more exercise if I’m so inclined, some food prep later in the day, time with my husband and daughter, then maybe more emailing, social media stuff, and bed with my Kindle.

8.  You’re driven to a private plane and told it will take you anywhere you want to go.  Where would it be?

I’d love to go to Ireland –– both the cities and the lovely countryside. I’ve never been there, but I do love their rhythmic singsong accent, their music, their dancing, their proverb-filled history.

9.  You can be any fictional character for one day. Who would you be?

When I was a teenager, I DEVOURED the book, I Capture The Castle by Dodie Smith. Written in the first person narrative, it was a coming of age story, told from the point of view of Cassandra Mortmain, a highly literate teenager. Her observations included her sister, her eccentric writer-blocked father, his young second wife, and their two neighbors, both of whom were eligible bachelors. I loved her sensibilities, the castle she lived in with all the little hidden turrets, her moat, her walks in the English countryside, even her angst of misguided love. I wouldn’t mind being her for a day...

10.  Where would your dream office be?

It would be a cozy, book-filled, quilts-on-the-wall, wood-floored kind of room, overlooking a lush, verdant scene, or perhaps a Northern California Carmel type of coast.  My two cats would be there, one of them on the table next to my computer, purring loudly and batting at my pencil, the other at my feet nestled against my shoes (or in summer, bare feet). I would be able to go out my door and be surrounded by my loved ones...

11.  If you could do only one, would you rather read or write?

Wow! This is by far the hardest, cruelest question of all! I love reading; it sustains me. But if I couldn’t write at all? That would eventually eat at my soul, so...I suppose the writing is the thing with me.

12.  One of the main characters has to die. Which one would you kill off?

If I were working on a murder mystery, it would probably be the bad guy; too depressing otherwise! If it were a drama, it would be someone important, someone sympatico, but still...In my book, Unexpected Gifts, someone pretty important dies (no spoilers here, though!).  Can’t say any more about it.

Can I get my Dirty Dozen Daredevil award now?

Absolutely! Bravo!

About the author:

S. R. Mallery has worn various hats in her life. Starting out as a classical/pop singer/composer, she worked in clubs and churches while composing for educational filmstrips. From there, she moved on to having her own calligraphy company, a twenty-year quilting and craft business, and teaching English as a Second Language/Reading. Finally, she tried her hand at fiction writing and it was like an all-consuming drug. She's been happily writing ever since.

She has had eleven short fiction pieces published in "descant 2008," "Snowy Egret," "Transcendent Visions," "The Storyteller," and "Down In The Dirt." Several of her stories have appeared in different anthologies through Scars Publications. Before that, she had articles published in "Traditional Quiltworks" by Chitra Publications, and "Quilt World" by House of White Birches when she was a professional quilt artist/quilt teacher.

Connect with Sarah:
Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads 

Buy the book:
Amazon

Featured Author: Rathan Krueger

Lie is a surreal dramedy by Rathan Krueger, and he's here today to tell us about it and give us a taste of it with an excerpt.

About the book:

Four women who go on vacation to help one of their own through a life-changing decision. It's also an attempt at having the social-consciousness of the 1970s, without the heavy-handedness of the 1990s. It's also a revenge against generic female characters in modern fiction, something I'm very proud of my characters for not being.



Here are the stars of the show:


Quinevere Ainsworth is the one with the problem. Under normal circumstances, she's quiet but with the right accident, this white-haired comic book geek can be quite the companion.



Fantine Karoly is quiet under pretty much all circumstances. In her defense, she's a rather shy teen. She'd much prefer to watch films or let her mind drift to faerie folk. Her aunt, however, wants her out of her shell and feels that this getaway will do her a world of great.



Veronique Karoly is a middle-aged woman with no regrets. Save for how her niece acts sometimes. She's done it all in life, and sometimes twice. The only thing she loves more than Fantine is being a woman.



Idette Rudelle has known Quinevere for most of her almost-30 years being alive. Although she's younger, she's the protector of the two. A bit like those tiny dogs that are cuddly with the ones they like, and insanely... chompy around everyone else. Except she's obviously not a dog and I've never seen a ginger pooch.

Interview with Rathan Krueger

What’s the story behind the title of your book?

It probably has a more esoteric story than most titles. I wanted to come up with something that looked unassuming and would "comfort" the reader when they get to the point where the novel becomes something that completely betrays what preceded it. "Hey, the author lied! Oh. Well, he did warn me. Jerk." There's even a hint in the design of the title, although a detail wasn't updated as I wrote because I made it before I started writing. All of this probably sounds very confusing, but ask me again after you've read it and I'll be able to give a much clearer answer. Promise.

How did you create the plot for this book?

Well... I wouldn't call what's inside Lie a plot, and I mean that in the most pleasant way. I've been inspired by films that don't have an A-B-C plot structure. Instead, they begin and things happen and they end. A lot like life. Lie starts, some things happen, Lie stops. But the story came from me wanting to throw a few female characters in a house and watch them interact with each other. And I wanted the female characters to be like the women I've known throughout my life and not the wallpaper that people are sadly used to in modern fiction. I also wanted to combine two genres in a way that no one's used to.

What’s your favorite line from a book?

"All shall love me and despair." --J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

How do you get to know your characters?

From Lie and backward, I found out about them as I wrote, but I constantly edited as I wrote so they'd seem like the same character at both ends of the story. With my current novel and onward, I create a few details about a character and fill out a personality survey as that character. You find out A LOT about the character, and it's fun. But you shouldn't feel beholden to the survey. It's just a way to figure the character out. There are some things in the survey for the second of two main characters in my current novel that were fun to write, but wouldn't translate to how she is in the novel.

Which character did you most enjoy writing?

Neither, but there were bits that were more enjoyable than others. Whenever Idette picked on Fantine. And whenever Veronique got a chance to show her pride in a particular part of her past. All of the writing was fun, but those bits stand out.

One of your characters has just found out you’re about to kill him off. She decides to beat you to the punch. How would he kill you?

Since Idette has red hair and I have a case of ginger ail, she wouldn't have to do much. Smiling at me while pushing me down some stairs would do it.

Tell us about your favorite scene in the book.

There are two. One is when Quinevere and Fantine are pretending to be wrestlers. Or rather, Quinevere is pretending to be a wrestler and is trying to get Fantine to play along. The other is more of a moment than a scene. Something happens in the last few pages of the second-third of Lie that makes Idette figuratively and literally see her best friend Quinevere in a new light. Idette's look at Quinevere is something I can imagine SO vividly... I'm gonna rip myself off in a film someday and copy that moment because I wanna see it onscreen SO badly.

You can be any fictional character for one day. Who would you be?

I have a crippling Doctor Who addiction (in the Summer of '12, I watched every episode since 1963 as I made my first film [which ended up being my first short film due to schedule, location, and camera conflicts and NOT me watching all of Doctor Who) so my knee-jerk answer would be the Doctor. I would've said Batman, but I wouldn't have the entire day to be Batman unless it was a polar night. And I wouldn't wanna be Batman in Alaska. So yeah, I'd be the Doctor. That begs the question "Which Doctor?"... but there's not enough room here to give a proper answer.

What would your dream office look like?

Like a room in Orthanc, with Steampunk bits.

Why did you decide to self-publish?

I wrote a script a few years ago that I took to agents. I eventually got one, but it was taking a long time to find someone to be interested in it. I didn't wanna go through that process with Lie because I really wanted it out in the world as soon as possible. Plus, Lie is too original for a publisher to take a chance on it. I'd rather put the footwork into selling copies than hope for a publisher to take a chance on it.

What’s your favorite candy bar? And don’t tell me you don’t have one!

Charleston Chew. And Heath.

What do you like to do when you’re not writing?

I'm a simple kind of man, so I'm either watching films, reading about films, or listening to music. I should be making music and drawing. Next year.

What are you working on now?

I'm writing my second novel. It's an attack on nostalgia, and I'll be looking to get it traditionally published because of that. Lie is something that can take its time finding an audience. It's not a novel you wanna push onto someone. You want them to glance at it or hear about it from a friend, then take a chance on it. With my second novel, it needs to be the Sentinels invading Zion. The culture of nostalgia in this country has gotten out of control and someone needs to say something about it. Someone's going to say something about it, it's an eventuality at this point. I'd rather that person be me, so I'm writing.

Excerpt from Lie

“Are you ready?”

A woman is chatting away on her rotary dial. Her voice is airy and she looks something like a Samantha Morton. Perpetually wearing red eyeshadow.

“’Almost’ isn’t quite the answer I was looking for, Idette. How much longer do you need?”
Veronique Karoly walks around the living room of her vintage-tinged townhouse as Idette mentions something about an hour or so. She runs her fingers through her salt-&-pepper pixie raven hair, heavy on the pepper.

“That gives me enough time to pick up my niece, then.” She rubs the ivory locket dangling from a silver necklace. She bought it shortly after her niece was born and hasn’t taken it off since. “Yes, she’s coming, too.”

She slides on black flats and smooths her black kapris.

“Oh, don’t be like that. She’s of age. A little sheltered, but you’re used to those types. Speaking of, have you heard from your mate yet? It’s her cottage we’re going to.” She takes a drag of her rolled cigarette. The black rotary phone has scorched memories of her occasionally clumsy grip of those slender things.

“It would be a little difficult getting in without… What’s her name?”

The disembodied, slightly treble voice mumbles a name.

Veronique walks to her CD rack— “Shit.” —almost tripping over the phone’s cord.

The voice muffles something caring and that she has to go for some last-minute tricks.
“You’ll be at your flat in an hour, then?”

She scans her collection… “Splendid.” ...and picks up Gipsy Kings’ “Allegria”.

“I will give a honk.” Hanging up the phone and putting it on a nearby table, Veronique looks for her favorite coat. No such luck, not in this vintage-tinged mess. She looks around the room and accidentally ashes on her zebra-striped halter top. “Shit.”

Wiping herself off with the CD case, she puts the cigarette out in the almost-finished cup of coffee near the phone. Next, she runs to the closet and grabs the first thing that falls down.

A long, gray knit cardigan is Newton’s slave. She sniffs it before putting it on.
She then wraps herself in an absurdly long and striped scarf, checking herself out in a wall-length mirror.

Finally, she grabs a small suitcase as she goes to the front door. Giving the place a quick once-over, she leaves into an overcast, Autumn morning in the sleepy English village of Edithshire.

Veronique walks to her well-kept black 1963 Austin Mini Cooper S. Someone down the street greets her as she dumps the suitcase in the back. She’s not sure who they are, but better to be confused than rude, and waves as she gets into her car then takes off to St. Colére’s.

Waiting in the lobby of the relatively modern hospital, amid medical smells and everyone’s favorite muzak cover of “Smooth Operator”, Fantine Karoly sits with a book.

“What’re you reading there?”

The skittish reader jumps and her copy of R.L. Stine’s “Switched” hits the linoleum. “OH! Oh… Aunt...Aunt Vernie. I was reading—”

The older female picks up the paperback and checks its title. “I see, I see.” They kiss each other’s cheek. “How is it?”

Fantine’s eyes are the Karoly blue, the rest of her resembles a Jodelle Ferland. With a short and shaggy bob of black.

And a generally sexless, coal wardrobe.

“It’s good. One of the characters is… is at a… wall. Yeah.”

The youthful Karoly eyes rarely look anywhere except down. Throughout this tale, she will cry twelve times.

Smiling, Veronique gently lifts her niece’s chin and says, “Let me see those eyes as you say that again and we’ll get ice cream.” Fantine manages to look up and say with her soft voice, “It’s good. One of the characters is at a wall.” Veronique kisses her niece’s tiny-butterfly-clipped hair, then grabs her duffel bag. “How’s my Marietta?”

“Mum’s ok. They’re taking her appendix out in a few hours.” The two Karolys make their way to the car.

“Can… can we have vanilla?”

A Mini Cooper S with flamenco guitar strums the entire street can here pulls up to a corner store. A head sticks out of the window of the apartment above Rumpled Bags. The car’s horn eventually stops blaring, but the flamenco carries on.

A few minutes later, a 20-something woman walks out of the store with a well-loved knapsack over her shoulder. The wind picks up slightly and Idette Rudelle pushes her red, Grecian mess away from her Olivia Thirlby face. In a black sweater vest over a white button-up, with a black tie decorated with white lace and bows flopped over the vest, with black slacks and boots.

She takes a quick photo of the car with a disposable camera. She then clicks to the trunk and tosses her sack inside.

As she moves to the passenger door, she sees a girl of age finishing her two-scoop. “Cheers, you must be famished,” Idette says in a puckish voice. She offers her black-on-red French-tipped hand as she corrects herself, “I mean, Fantine.”

“And she called ‘shotgun’, didn’t you?” Fantine worriedly looks up. “Wh… what?”

“Your niece is gonna be fun. Move the seat up, madam.” The younger Karoly fumbles with the chair until it jerks forward. The elder Karoly stops Idette just as sole touches rug, “Could you throw away her cup?”

“She’s almost—” Idette grunts as she takes the cup away.

Veronique asks, “Which way is Quinevere’s?” The backseat driver’s eyes grow wide. “Oh, she’s not back yet.”

“Shit.”

“Don’t worry, don’t worry. Roll a fag or something. She’s coming back from, blargh, Melissa’s and—” She almost hits the ceiling as she rushes for her phone and calls Quinevere. “You’re not driving. We’re picking you up.” A confused voice asks, “We?”
“Don’t worry, it’s that Veronique lady I told you about. The one I met at one of me dance classes. She’s surprising us with her niece but she seems mellow. You two will have a lot to stare about.”

Fantine fidgets as the voice over the phone says something. “She’s legal, relax. You said that we were going to Dragonspire to get away, right? Getaways are more fun with a party." The voice is about to say something but the ginger cuts her off.

From the author:

I'm an all-around artist who's taking his first step into the world with being a novelist. I love films and they're my biggest inspiration when it comes to writing. Not so much about referencing films, although there's some of that in Lie. Someone once told me that my writing style is like reading a film, which made me all sorts of proud.



I try to create stories that are real with bouts of surrealism. I'll get better with age, and I hope you stick around to watch me gray.

Connect with Rathan:
Blog | Goodreads | Twitter

Buy the book:
Amazon | Barnes & Noble 

Featured Author: Maria Grazia Swan

I'm happy to tell you about Italian Summer, book #3 from Maria Grazia Swan's psychological romantic suspense series, Mina’s Adventures. Book #1 is Love Thy Sister, and book #2 is Bosom Bodies. Check them out, as well as Gemini Moon, Maria's first book in a new series, published by Gemma Halliday Publishing. Hot tip: the Kindle version of Gemini Moon is currently on sale for .99! You're welcome! But first, read my interview with Maria and an excerpt from Italian Summer...

What reviewers are saying about Italian Summer:

This is the third book in the series, and our girl is growing up. Once again Italian-born, California import Mina Calvi manages to get herself in more trouble than a virgin at a frat party. This time around she has lots of company, some new faces along with some familiar faces. Looking to find out where she belongs once and for all, Mina travels to Vicenza, Italy and the town of her birth. On arrival, she finds much the same, but also much changed. As usual, there's a mystery at hand which plays out among the gravestones of a sometimes charming, sometimes creepy local cemetery. There’s a chance love will rekindle and a chance it will be snuffed out. The author shows us this lovely area from the authentic viewpoint of someone who knows it and loves it. Swan pits her charming, unpredictable heroine against a manipulative, conscienceless antagonist. Her characters are eccentric and colorful, richly portrayed in clean, succinct prose. The plot is built as lean and taut as a Pilates addict, with many surprises throughout. While third in the series, Italian Summer stands on its own. A quick, entertaining and satisfying read.

_______________________________________________________________________________

Maria Grazia Swan takes her readers on another great adventure, this time to Northern Italy. This latest novel keeps your interest from the time you pick it up until you finish the read (for me in one sitting). The characters are so believeable that you feel you are on this adventure with them. Her references to Verona, Venice and Vicenza allow you to invision the wonders of the cities. If you have ever visited any of these cities - you are there again - shopping in Piazza Erbe, attending the Opera in the Verona Arena, and visiting the Juliet's balcony. Intrigue follows where ever Mina goes. Where will we find Mina next? I can't wait!

About the book

When they say, “you can’t go home again,” they’re talking about Mina Calvi, twenty-something Italian transplant to California. Still nursing a broken heart, desperate to discover her place in the world, Mina arrives in the town of her birth in Veneto, Italy. In the decade she’s been gone, the village nestled at the foot of the Dolomites has changed much, yet remained oddly the same. Friends have moved on, family members passed away. Mina feels even more alone in her motherland than in America, and there seem to be too many bizarre deaths for such a tiny, serene village. Then a fresh chance at true love and a welcome bonding with a dear new friend give her hope. But the deadly secrets moldering in the centuries-old cemetery could rip it all from her and leave Mina emptier than before. Will she find herself or lose her heart again? Will Mina survive her Italian Summer?

Interview with Maria Swan

Maria, you have several published books, not to mention short stories and articles. How long have you been writing, and how did you start?

Writing has always been my favorite form of escapism. Growing up in a small Italian town without television, phones, and only one theater controlled by the Catholic church, reading books I found in boxes in my grandparents’ attic was pure heaven. By the time I started elementary school, I discovered that kids loved to hear stories. Often I would trade stories for chocolate. I was hooked. Won my first literary award at fourteen. 

Good for you! What’s the story behind the title Italian Summer?

Honestly, Italian Summer was supposed to be the title for my WIP. I’m a writer, I write fiction, and certainly I could come up with something a little more original. Then I went to Italy, my hometown, and I visited the places I write about and looked at the familiar corners and streets with clean eyes and took lots of pictures to bring back with me as to not forget what it felt like to rediscover the place of my youth. This was this past summer, and then I knew no other title would do. I’m getting misty revisiting the experience so dear to my heart. 

Understandable! What’s your favorite line from a book?

“You show me your things, and I show you mine.” This is from Bosom Bodies, and it’s a very misleading line. I often use it on twitter. It has nothing to do with sexual innuendos, but like I said, the reader is not the only one getting confused.

How do you get to know your characters? 

With the exception of my main character who is always female, Italian-born and living in the Unites States, the rest of my characters are based or inspired (take your pick) by a real person. I’m not saying they are a mirror image of such person; it’s more the case of how I perceive the real deal and how I translate such perception of the person into my fictional character.

Which character did you most enjoy writing?

Mina Calvi, without hesitation. It started with Love Thy Sister; it was first published in 2001 by a traditional publisher. When the business sold, I asked and received the rights back, sat on it for years, then self-pubbed in 2012. The real Mina is a well known Italian pop star, she was at the height of her career when I was in my 20s, and her voice was the background sound to some of my most memorable...encounters. I wrote Love Thy Sister while going through my divorce, thinking about Mina soothed my soul.

What would your main character say about you?

Stop writing and start living the fantasy.

What song would you pick to go with Italian Summer?

This is sort of funny; I have lines from "Hotel California" opening various chapters through out the whole book.

You get to decide who would read your audiobook. Who would you choose?

Sopia Vergara, because of the accent. The Mina’s series is told by Mina and Gemini Moon is first person, also with an accent...

What book are you currently reading and in what format (e-book/paperback/hardcover)?

I just started reading Shame, Alan Russell. It’s an e-book, but I own some of his older hardcovers. We go way back, met through Sisters in Crime when I was living in Southern California, and I like his writing a lot.

I don’t claim to be an expert on writing, but there are some writing techniques (or mistakes) that stand out to me when I read (e.g. when an author switches POV mid-scene). What’s one pet peeve you have when you read?

People using foreign languages or countries they know nothing about, but what really gets me is a book written in first person, we are in the character’s head the whole book and then in the last scene we are told something totally outside the story. For example, I read a book about a family decimated by hired killers, it’s told in first person by the survivor. In the last chapter she is discussing the deaths with a man she feels may be responsible for the killings and she casually drops they had been lovers in the past...helloo? Selective amnesia to trick the reader? No. Poor writing, the author needed some way out of the situation and improvised.

Where’s home for you?

I was born in Italy, lived in five countries. Now I live in Phoenix, Arizona because that’s where my kids are.

Why did you decide to self-publish?

This is a little tricky. My first two books were published by traditional publishers. I already explained about Love Thy Sister. My second traditionally published book was a non-fiction, had an agent, and he sold the book and it was published in 2008. By 2008, people were already discovering Amazon.com and Kindle. Well I wasn’t one of them. By 2011, I decided to do something with Love Thy Sister and gave it to BookBaby because I had no idea what e-pub was and all that jazz. When the publisher with my non-fiction closed the doors, I discovered that both my non-fiction and the paperback version of Love Thy sister were sold in many places, except I wasn’t getting a penny. I’m not going to bore you with details, I was finally able to stop the nonsense and get all rights reversed, and I self-published Love Thy Sister as a Kindle, with the help of many good friends. Since then I self-published Bosom Bodies and the book got terrific reviews, so I wrote Italian Summer.

But wait, there is more. My second series, Gemini Moon, was sitting on the desk of my new agent for 8 months, I heard about Gemma Halliday starting her own publishing company. I go way back with Gemma, we had the same agent and same publisher back in 2008. I asked the agent to let me out of my contract, sent the manuscript to Gemma, and she released the book December 1st. It’s too soon for me to tell you about sales, but the reviews coming in are good...

What steps to publication did you personally do, and what did you hire someone to do? Is there anyone you’d recommend for a particular service?

I use an editor I trust and a person/company for my covers and formatting. Regardless of how great of a writer you are, you need an editor, believe me. I feel lucky I found the editor who edits without changing my voice. Not easy when you write with an accent. Here are the links: http://www.editingcrew.com  and http://www.arenapublishing.org.

What do you like to do when you’re not writing?

Volunteer. I volunteer in a strange way. I have a background in dress designing. You know, give me a piece of fabric, and a sewing machine, I’ll make you an outfit. Yes, I can! Well, now I make cage covers for a rescue group that works with feral cats, and I also work with a group that makes pillows for foster kids. I wish I could do more; kids and pets are so dependent on us.

What are you working on now?

On my computer is Venetian Moon, the sequel to Gemini Moon, and twirling in my head are Ashes of Autumn, book #4 of Mina’s adventures.

I can't wait to hear more about them all!

Excerpt from Italian Summer

Chapter 1

Veneto-Italy. Summer 1992

The stench of death permeated the air.

Morning rain didn’t wash it away. Afternoon sun didn’t singe it away. It hovered, unaffected by the chirping of birds, the scurrying of spooked lizards or the skittering of pebbles under Mina’s shoes. She stopped by the open grave and watched the burly man digging inside. Sweat put a shine on his bald head. When he saw Mina, he rested the shovel against the dirt wall, waved away the flies buzzing around his furrowed forehead and squinted. “Giorno.” He wiped his face with the back of his gloved hand, exposing the large wet spots under his sturdy arms.

“Buongiono.”

Ten years had brought little change to the way they buried their dead in her small hometown.

Disappointing.

“How come it smells so bad?” she asked.

“We are exhuming bodies before their time. It used to be twenty-five years, now is eighteen or even fifteen, depending on the needs. This one here just wasn’t ready to come out yet. I have to make room for the next burial. We are out of space.” He shrugged, shield his face from the sun while looking up to talk to her. “Visiting someone?” His eyes settled on the potted plant of white cyclamens Mina held in her hands.

“My family’s crypt. Haven’t been around in years.” She turned her head toward the row of vaulted porticos running the length of the cemetery. “Calvi.” The sorrow she’d fought since morning caught in her throat.

“Oh, l’americana.” The gravedigger straightened up and moved closer to the dirt wall marking the tomb’s edge. He looked taller than she first thought. His body odor mixed with the nauseating sweetness of the pile of earth removed from the grave became overwhelming and Mina lifted the cyclamens to her nostrils in an effort to neutralize the smell. She stepped back, away from the empty hole. L’americana? Did he have her confused with Paola? Mina doubted she ever met this man before today and besides she was barely sixteen when she left for the United States and he looked to be in his late forties. Could he have been one of Paola’s schoolmates? A polite wave, then she turned around and headed up the path leading to the arched vaults and her family underground burial chamber. Well, the Calvis weren’t exactly her family. However no one in Italy knew about that and she intended to keep it that way. No need to rewrite her birth story now that everyone involved had died. Neatly marked graves lined row after row all the way to the steps leading to the portico housing the crypts.

So different from American cemeteries where grass covered the grounds and the markers were simple and unassuming creating the illusion of a green, peaceful meadow. Italians had an opposite type of relation with their dead. Graves had borders made of bricks, granite, or wood. Unique and massive headstones told the story of the dear departed with statuaries, lamps and flowers, lots of flowers. It was all meant to let the world know this was one beloved soul. During spring and summer, most flowers were fresh, elaborate creations with messages printed in gold letters on gaudy ribbons woven between ferns, blooms and even balloons. Mina glanced at her modest plant. Cyclamens were her grandmother’s favorite. A token of the Dolomites, the mountains surrounding the valley. Mina wanted to focus on her destination, but she couldn’t shake the disturbing feeling of the gravedigger watching her every move and the persistent smell floating through the cemetery. A few people walked around the place. All women. Changing water in the vases, pulling weeds from the tombs. Only buzzing bees disturbed the silence until Mina’s feet landed on the thick slabs of granite forming the floors of the arched corridors. The coffins were below ground inside neatly organized drawers. In essence, the floor she walked on was the crypt ceiling. Each family owned crypt sat between  two arches so it was architecturally defined. A massive iron ring centered on a square block of granite was the only indication of the spot where a crane would be hooked to lift the cellar-like opening when a new coffin had to be lowered.

Her open toed sandals clicked against the stone and the echo resonated in the domed arcade. As a child Mina dreaded walking on those slabs because they weren’t sealed together, only cut to link into each other like giant pieces of a puzzle. The first time she witnessed the lowering of a coffin, she had nightmares for weeks. After that she refused to visit the cemetery for a long time, afraid the stones would slide off and she would fall below among the rotting bodies. Even now, all grown up and with the place bathed by the midday sun, Mina carried a faint memory of distant fears inside her. None of that mattered when she reached the Calvi’s crypt and her grandmother’s forever-sealed smile welcomed her. The rest of the pictures in the oval ceramic frames were of people she hardly remembered, and that included her step grandfather. A fancy wrought iron lamp cast an amber reflection on a dried up fern placed in the center of the back marble wall where names and pictures were posted. Mina went to remove the dead plant, stopped and ran her fingers over her nonna’s framed smile. It felt cool to the touch, unlike Mina’s tears landing on the back of her wrist.

The ache she’d been carrying in the middle of her chest for so long caught her off guard and her tears turned to sobs. It was okay to cry. It was okay to mourn. Paola’s picture should be next to Nonna, even if her body wasn’t. After a while Mina felt a sense of relief being there alone no longer sorry for herself because of that. She replaced the dead fern with her cyclamens. Her fingers touched her forehead to do the sign of the cross, a built in Catholic ritual she had not been able to shed. Ave Maria, Gratia plena. She concentrated, trying to remember the prayer her grandmother taught her.

A hand touched her shoulder.

About the author
:

Maria Grazia Swan was born in Italy, but this rolling stone has definitely gathered no moss. She lived in Belgium, France, Germany, in beautiful Orange County, California where she raised her family, and is currently at home in Phoenix, Arizona—-but stay tuned for weekly updates of Where in the World is Maria Grazia Swan?

As a young girl, her vivid imagination predestined her to be a writer. She won her first literary award at the age of fourteen while living in Belgium. As a young woman Maria returned to Italy to design for—ooh-la-la—haute couture. Once in the U.S. and after years of concentrating on family, she tackled real estate. These days her time is devoted to her deepest passions: writing and helping people find happiness.

Maria loves travel, opera, good books, hiking, and intelligent movies (if she can find one, that is). When asked about her idea of a perfect evening, she favors stimulating conversation, tasty Italian food and perfectly chilled Prosecco—-but then, who doesn’t?

Maria has written short stories for anthologies, articles for high profile magazines and numerous blogs tackling love and life. She engaged her editorial and non-fiction skills for Mating Dance-Rituals for Singles Who Weren’t Born Yesterday. Her romantic suspense novels Love Thy Sister and Bosom Bodies are available at Amazon.com.


Connect with Maria:
Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads 


Buy the books:
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Featured Author: Kerry Peresta

Author Kerry Peresta is here today with a guest post and a heart-pounding excerpt from her book, The Hunting. After getting not one but two bad reviews this week, I can totally relate to Kerry's guest post about the necessity for writers to develop a thick hide. Thank you, Kerry, for reminding me! By the way, everyone who leaves a comment on the tour page will be entered to win a $20 Amazon gift card! Anyone who purchases their copy of The Hunting before January 6 and sends their receipt to Samantha (at) ChickLitPlus (dot) com, will get five bonus entries.

About the author:

Kerry Peresta's publishing credits include a popular newspaper and e-zine humor column, "The Lighter Side," short stories in the published anthology, That One Left Shoe, and her debut novel, recently released by Pen-L Publishing, The Hunting, contemporary women's fiction.

She spent twenty-five years in advertising as an account manager, creative director, and copywriter before deciding to devote more of her time to writing.

She is currently working on her second novel, participating in writing conferences, and serving on the leadership team of the Maryland Writers' Association.

Kerry was a single mother for many years to four great kids, all grown and successfully carving out their own unique paths. Her debut novel, The Hunting, is available on Amazon.com and her website. She and her husband live in the Baltimore metro area.
Connect with Kerry:
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Guest Post by Kerry Peresta

A Writer Must – Above All Else – Develop Rhinoceros Hide

“I would advise anyone who aspires to a writing career that before developing his talent he would be wise to develop a thick hide.”
—Harper Lee, Writer's Digest

"If you're gonna try to write, the first thing you gotta do is develop rhinoceros hide," Warren (Rip) Ripley, author of the successful Storme Wyatt mystery series, told me ten years ago, dark eyes full of mischief. "Rhinoceros hide," he repeated.

This little nugget of wisdom lodged deep in the back of my mind, root strands snaking around my brain until it presented in my frontal lobe about the same time as my first novel released. Now, I cling to his words like a kid with a kite on a windy day.

My first publishing experience was a fluke: the associate editor of a local newspaper asked me to write a humor column after one of my letters to the editor got a flurry of response. Thrilled, I immediately asked about salary. My glee unpeeled itself from the ceiling and thumped to the floor when the editor said, "Well, no salary, but you get publishing credit, and that's worth quite a lot." Seriously? My first getting-published lesson: no creds, no moolah. Reluctantly, I agreed to write an 800-word column FREE once a week in order to establish a public writing profile.

The responses to my humor articles ranged from raging to rhapsodic. I learned later that simply to get response was a major triumph, but as a writer-virgin, I was unprepared for the negative stuff.

My first hater comment caused a few emotional tailspins until I remembered my friend Rip's admonition. I grasped the edges of an imaginary rhinoceros-hide-cape and plopped it on with virgin-writer zeal.

This seemed to help. Until the same hater commented again and again. In print. Publicly. The rhinoceros-hide-cape slipped from my shoulders. I researched a few brethren humor columnists (not that I was in their league, but hope springs eternal) and stumbled over Dave Barry's legendary columns. I was shocked to find that his hater comments not only bounced off him, he recycled them into new material.

I located my protective cape and slid it back on. With fresh eyes, I revisited the comments and laughed myself silly. Of course! Wasn't mocking your enemies a Biblical truth of sorts? The subtly-admonishing, follow-up column was delivered with fear and trembling plus several gallons of sarcasm.

I bit my fingernails waiting forty-eight hours until the article published. Had I made the wrong decision? Would all my comments be hater-comments from now on? I quickly thumbed through the paper on publication day, reading it over a few times, sweat beading my forehead. Then I logged onto the paper's website, where comments had already sprouted. To my surprise, my readers pummeled my detractors, encouraging them to lighten up. My confidence soared. The haters were undeterred, and ramped up the mud-slinging. The newspaper was delighted with all the attention.

Lesson learned: Developing a tough hide not only insulates from detractors, it frees a writer to write from deep places of honesty instead of trying to please everyone, which absolutely kills creativity.

Two years down the road I completed a novel. It was exhausting and glorious at the same time. The query turndowns body-slammed me to the floor. Picking myself up was harder. I joined a critique group. Got involved with the Maryland Writers' Association. Locked in on friends that encouraged me. This helped me get up, stay up, and keep going. I renounced the dratted second-guessing and fear of rejection that plagues most writers and dragged my tattered rhinoceros-hide cape back into place.

Lo and behold, I was picked up by a small publisher and received a couple of stunning reviews on advance copies of my novel, The Hunting. My beta readers loved it as well. I was delighted! In a manic moment born of euphoric hysteria, I signed up for four weeks of fiction writing classes culminating in a group critique of a short story assignment. By this time, I figured my hide was tough as nails, so why not hone my skills?

I pulled out one of the sections I'd lopped off my novel during rewrite and shaped it into a short story. In final critique responses, I received three wild applauses, four ho-hums, and one total washout. The total washout response was from my instructor.

I self-consciously caressed my rhinoceros-hide-cape, lifted my chin, and thanked the group for their remarks. A positive takeaway: the three wild applause responses had been from the target demographic for my novel, women 35-65. I ran home, made adjustments based on the critique, and put it on my website, bouncing back with a vengeance. The adjustments made it better, and I didn't collapse in self-defeat. A huge win!

I've learned I cannot – and don't have to – please everybody.

And neither do you.

Merry Christmas, and a have a crazy, wonderful, inspired, New Year!

About The Hunting:

Isabelle Lewis, top advertising salesperson at the Chatbrook Springs Sentinel newspaper, has a habit of falling in and out of marriage. After her last divorce, she shoved the emotional pain into a compartment in her brain to deal with later. With three teenagers to raise, bills to pay, and sales quotas to meet, introspection was a luxury she couldn't afford. Her mind needed a happy place.

When Isabelle (Izzy) discovered online dating, it immediately became her favorite stress reliever and best friend. Often, she'd steal into the night after her kids were asleep to meet someone new. One fateful evening, the hunt for the perfect guy took a sinister turn when the mystery man she met turned out to be her worst nightmare! Reluctantly pulled into a web of lies, Izzy is forced to confront her demons.

Snarky, suspense-filled, and real, The Hunting is an exquisite entwining of the crippling emotional fallout of divorce with the quest for a healthy, fulfilling relationship. This inspirational story rivets!

Excerpt from The Hunting       

I sit in my car a minute, adjusting to the darkness of the garage. My eyes land on the kids' car tucked in already, and I know they are inside the house, either asleep or going that direction, because I'd talked to them on the way home. I shake off the feeling that something is wrong, get out of the car, start up the stairs to the kitchen, reconsider and click on the overhead light in the garage to sniff around.

Brightness illuminates the area. Rakes, loppers, an air pump, and various gadgetry cling to a pegboard nailed to one wall; an aging lawnmower sits in a far corner with its best friend, the gas trimmer. Metal shelving climbs the back wall, loaded with fairly common family paraphernalia. My eyes scan the cement floor and the kids' car, searching for signs of inappropriate activity. I smell old grass, a little oil that has leaked from one of the cars, gas, paint thinner.

My heels striking the cement garage floor in the middle of the night remind me of old Law and Order episodes, where Eames and Goren discover a body in the garage, draped halfway out of a car, drenched in blood. I should stop watching those shows. Then I see it. Not tonight, my mind screams. Tonight? After this horribly long day? My stomach clenches in fear.

A tightly folded, small, white square mocks me from the windshield of my kids' car. What time is it, anyway, I mutter to myself as I cautiously approach the car, lift the windshield wiper, and hold the small square gingerly between thumb and forefinger. I grab my phone from my purse with my free hand and click the screen on. Almost midnight.

Self-pity, despair, and several other emotions I have no energy to identify zip through me at warp speed. I turn off the garage light and climb the three stairs into the kitchen, firmly locking the door behind me. The note sails through the air and lands on the kitchen table.

I scroll quickly through my contacts to find Detective Faraday. His phone rings several times, a groggy voice answers. “Yeah?” Cough. “What?”

"Detective Faraday?” I whisper.

“You got him. What’s up?” I picture him wiping his eyes and focusing on a clock by his bed. Maybe a lovely wife by his side, sleeping. I feel awful for interrupting him at home.

“I got another note,” my voice is hushed, and has begun to warble. I am whispering because I don’t want to alarm the kids, but the stress has rushed to every extremity and overtaken my vocal cords. I cannot stop shaking. Detective Faraday is instantly alert.

“Okay. This is Izzy, right?”

I shake my head, realize someone on the other end of a phone call cannot see a head shake, and murmur “Yes.”

“All right, I'm going to call and get a patrol car out there immediately. What does the note say? By the way, we have analyzed fingerprints on the note, and it is definitely the man you indicated, so he is not using an alias. That’s good news, because it means he’s not trying to hide, and it’s probably not pre-meditated. Probably just a reaction to a personal crisis. Which, unfortunately, you seem to be triggering.”

“So what should I do?” I whisper.

“Read me the note, Izzy,” he says, calmly.

“It was on my kids' car.” I feel tears forming. One trails slowly down my cheek. I slap it away.

“Oh, man,” Detective Faraday whooshes out a long sigh. “You weren’t home, then? But your kids were?”

“Yeah, and I'm pretty sure the garage was locked. They know they are supposed to shut the garage door when they get home, no matter what.”

“Izzy, is there a window in your garage?” I think a minute. Yes! There is one in the small storage room at the back of the garage, one we never use.

“Well, yes, there is one in a storage room, but – ”

“Is it locked?” he barks. I start to cry.

“I don’t know! Why is this happening?”

“Go check, Izzy, right now. Keep me on the phone while you do it. Take a flashlight or a bat or something with you. I'll wait.”

The implication hits me that he wants me to find a weapon before I check the window. Seriously? I quietly enter my sons' room and pluck up the bat that is leaning against their bookshelf. They stir, but do not wake.

“Okay,” I whisper. “Got a bat. Heading for the garage.”

“I'm with you, Izzy. Be careful.”

His voice is reassuring and I am thinking how grateful I am for our police force. Funny. I am grateful now, but just let me get a speeding ticket. I enter the garage, and tiptoe toward the closed storage room door, my heart beating violently. I hold the bat in my right hand and turn the knob slowly with my left. The darkened room emerges bit by bit as the door creaks open. Light from the garage spills into the room, illuminating old cans of paint, a broken lamp, basketballs, a football, boxes. I push the door open further, and see the window, which is located high on the wall, shards of cobwebs hanging from the edges.

I lift the bat in pre-strike position as I push the door all the way open. I hear Detective Faraday’s breathing on the phone.

“What’s happening, Izzy?” he says, causing me to nearly jump out of my skin.

I locate the string that turns on the lone light bulb in the room, and pull. The forty-watt bulb creates an eerie glow. To my utter and profound relief, the room appears empty.

“I am in the storage room. It’s empty.”

I lean the bat against one of the boxes and look around.

“How often are you in that room, Izzy?”

“Rarely. It’s for stuff we don’t have room for. Kind of forget sometimes, that it’s here.” 

“Okay,” he says, “go to the window and check the lock.”

My nose wrinkles in disgust. “Okay,” I say and move aside two squashed storage boxes. Looking around, I locate something to stand on, and reach up to check the latch. Push up on the window, which holds. Try again, and it reluctantly slides open. “It’s not locked,” I say, miserably.

“Lock it,” Detective Faraday says. “Don’t worry, Izzy, we'll get him."


Buy the book at Amazon.com