Living the Dream

Welcome back! Christmas is a little more than two weeks away! Are you ready? I’m getting there. This week the Tuesday Tales authors are writing to the word prompt SNOWY. I’m continuing with my Evie Chambers cozy mystery, The Case of the Missing Prince.

Petrov leaned forward in his seat, his gaze meeting mine, the sorrow and sincerity in his eyes at odds with my first impression of the man. It seemed he cared deeply for the prince.

“Stan is my best friend, Evie—if I may call you that.” He had a British accent. Most likely the young aristocrat had been educated at Cambridge or Oxford. “We are more like brothers than cousins. I was supposed to join him at the beginning of his Canadian trek, but my mother’s illness prevented it. I’d just arrived in Calgary to meet up with them in Banff when the accident happened. I spent a few weeks there, helping with recovery efforts and interviewing the people who survived the incident. One of the men claims that Stan went off on his own about five minutes before the landslide occurred. If someone or something lured him away, I want to know who or what it was.”

I narrowed my eyes. Was it possible that the prince had vanished of his own accord? It was something that I hadn’t considered until now. Of course, if he had, then he might be harder to find, especially if he were still in the area. Snowy conditions in the mountains might have forced him to move on, or they might add to his cover. But I was fantasizing.

“Maybe he just needed to relieve himself,” I speculated, well aware that my comment might sound simplistic. “It does happen.”

Vikto peeled himself away from the door and came over to the sitting area. He dropped down next to Petrov, all the starch seeming to leave his body.

“If that was the case, where did he go? Why wasn’t he looking for survivors like the rest of us?”

My ears perked up. Us? Had Viktor been there? If he had, then he knew damn well that every effort had been made to find all of those injured or killed. The cadaver dogs hadn’t found any trace of a human body in the rubble.

“Since I was with them from the onset of this trip, I can help you retrace our steps.”

“Whoa! All your steps?” I wasn’t backing down and giving in, but he’d piqued my curiosity. “And why would we need to retrace all of your steps?”

“Because I’m convinced that whatever happened to Stan didn’t happen out of nowhere. I failed in my duty to protect him.”

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Welcome to December, the last month of 2025. Each year seems to slip by faster than ever. This year was no exception and while it was a year filled with ups and downs, both physical and emotional, on the whole, it was a great one. Here is this month’s question.

December 3 question – As a writer, what was one of the coolest/best gifts you ever received?

The best gifts I have ever received as a writer have been intangible ones, such as compliments on my work and encouragement to continue, book reviews on Amazon that make me feel as if all my sweat and tears are worth it, emails from readers commenting on how a particular book touched them. Among those accolades are invitations to join other writers because it was a validation of my worth in their eyes. Praise from fellow authors is high praise indeed.

It began years ago when I was invited to join a small group of writers who post a snippet of their work in progress every Tuesday. I didn’t know any of them, but the offer intrigued me. From them, I’ve learned more about the craft than I knew before. Tuesday Tales has become a critical part of my writing process. I will be forever grateful to Jean for inviting me to be part of their group.

My second authot invitation came via my fellow writer and cover artist Melinda De Ross. She introduced me to Mimi Barbour and the Authors Billboard. While the ABB is no longer active, our two publishers, Dragonfly Publishing and Dangerous Desires continue to publish books, both new and previously published in affordable box sets. Most recently, Dani who runs DD has had our sets translated into Spanish. What an incredible opportunity that is for me to reach new readers! It has been an absolute pleasure to work with those fine independent authors and publishers, and once again, I have learned a great deal from them.

As for coolest gifts, that honor goes to Melinda De Ross who has sent me some small gifts from Romania where she resides. I have received handmade Christmas ornaments taht grace my tree each year, magnets, a Vlad Dracul pen and case for my glasses, and a tiny notebook into which I can write great thoughts.

And finally, what has to be the most unique gift I’ve ever gotten as a writer is being reconnected with one of my good friends from university when her husband saw my website online. Lee and I had not seen one another in almost fifty years. She sent me a message and we started corresponding. I had the pleasure of seeing her a few weeks ago. Do we look different? Yes, but 50 years vanished in a matter of minutes and it was as if those years had never separated us.

So, the best and coolest gifts I’ve received as an author are the connections, I’ve made.

Wishing you all a Happy Holiday Season. God willing, I’ll be back with all of you in 2026.

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Welcome to the first Tuesday Tales post in December. Has the Holiday Bug bit you yet? It bit me this weekend, and I hope to have the house decorated by the end of the week. This week, the Tuesday Tales authors are writing to the word prompt ANGRY. I’m continuing with my cozy mystery, The Case of the Missing Prince. Enjoy!

“I am Emile Novak, Foreign Minister of Zobora and Duke Leopold the fifth’s representative in Canada. On my right is Mr. Jacob Horvath, the Canadian CEO for Zobora Copper and Fine Metals. Across from him is Baron Petrov Bukowski, and the man by the door is Viktor Opole, one of our security guards. The Duke has requested that Viktor and Petrov be part of your team as you search for his son. You will be well compensated for your work and cooperation—let’s say three times your usual fee?”

I swallowed a gasp. Was he serious? Three times my fee would keep the company in the black and allow me to hire a new investigator without adding a financial burden to the company’s bottom line. But the catch? That was a game changer. The Duke was insisting I include a couple of babysitters on my team? Who did he think he was? The fact that my team currently consisted only of me was irrelevant. I didn’t need shadows, least of all, a popinjay and a thick-headed misogynist.

“In that case, I’m afraid I can’t help you.” I was probably cutting off my nose to spite my face, but damn it, I wouldn’t work with two men whose motives I didn’t trust. The company was doing okay, and while we could use that money, I wouldn’t sell my soul or compromise my ethics for it. “My staff is highly trained and licensed to work as private investigators in this country. If I took your men with me and anything were to happen to them, my liability insurance wouldn’t pay out. I know nothing of the baron’s abilities, and while I suspect Viktor has had some training, it may not be on par with what I expect from my operatives.” His attitude toward women certainly wasn’t one I appreciated. “I’m sure you understand. I have no doubt, that given the time, I could discover what has happened to Crown Prince Stanislav, but I won’t violate my own rules. May I suggest that you find another agency that might be willing to accept your conditions? I can suggest a few in the Ottawa area.”

Emile scowled, his anger visible in the narrowing of his eyes. “That won’t be necessary. I applaud your standards, Ms. Chambers, and your faith in your staff, but I can assure you that both Petrov and Viktor are highly trained.”

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Hello and welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. Our word prompt is FAMILY. I’m continuing with my Evie Chambers cozy mystery, The Case of the Missing Prince. Enjoy.

The next man, one who hadn’t featured in the article I’d read, had to be a diplomat of some sort. I recognized that sense of entitlement swagger I’d seen more than once. He might be Novak’s assistant, but I doubted it. Even I could recognize a thousand dollar suit when I saw one. He had that polished air that only money—and lots of it—could buy. Was he a member of the royal family? Could he be next in line if the crown prince were dead? Anything was possible, and in my business of providing security for a number of embassies, I’d learned to avoid people like him if for no other reason than the fact that entitled people almost always gummed up the work. If the guy was in the running for the crown, would he even want me to find the missing prince?

The last man reminded me of your typical, mercenary bodyguard. Broad shoulders, muscles on muscles, black hair with a trace of gray in it, dark brown shifty eyes, and a thick mustache that probably hid a thin upper lip. He didn’t smile, just looked around the room as if he expected a dozen ninjas to jump out at him. He wore a tailor-made dark suit, darker tie, and snow-white shirt with a collar so stiff it had to be starched. My dad had hated starched shirts. If the shirt wasn’t the reason he was so stiff, then he had to have a military background. I didn’t think he was packing, since I didn’t notice the tell-tale bulge, but if he was attached to the embassy, he could have some special permit.

Normally, I would’ve sicked Tony Lathan on these people … he was my missing people expert, but he was away looking into that multimillion dollar arson case, which meant I would have to do this one all by my lonesome.

I stood beside my chair, waited for the men to come over to me and once they were close, I sat.

“Gentleman, please be seated.” I waited a few moments. Novak and Horvath as well as my third man sat, but the security guard remained standing by the door. “I’ve been informed of the basic parameters of the case, and you have my sympathies. What is it that you think E.C. Investigations can do for you?”

“Shouldn’t we wait for your boss?”

My hackles rose. “I am the boss, Evie Chambers. Now what do you need from me?”

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Well, winter may officially still be almost six weeks away, but it flexed its muscles last week where I live. Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. I’m continuing with The Case of the Missing Prince, an Evie Chambers mystery. Our word prompt this week is FUSSY.

Enjoy.

“Good for the bottom line as well.” I bent over to examine the appointment book. “What’s the skinny on Novak and Horvath?” I pointed to the names she’d penciled in at eleven.

“Do you recall that I mentioned that the Drulivic family heir was missing?”

“Drulivic as in Zobora Copper and Fine Metals?”

“The same, only he’s more than an heir. After they called Friday to make an appointment, I did some digging. It seems that Stanislav Drulivic isn’t your ordinary billionaire. He’s the crown prince of Zobora, a Duchy in the Carpathian Mountains that borders on Poland and Slovakia. He came here last June to do some hiking and rock climbing with four others and hasn’t been seen or heard from since. They’ve tried tracking the GPS on his phone, but nothing. There was a rockslide. As far as the authorities have determined, only one person was killed, but a lot were injured. One of the men in his party was in bad shape, but he’s recovering. The others had relatively minor injuries, all things considered, but there’s absolutely no sign of the prince.”

“What do you mean no sign? Either he was there or he wasn’t.”

“That’s just it. Apparently, just after they left the starting point, he got separated from the others and then the slide happened. Those with him can’t be positive that he still was when it happened. As sad as that is for the family, there’s a question of succession. Without a body … They want us to find him—dead or alive.”

“Where and when was the rockslide?”

“Near Bow Glacier Falls, near Banff, Alberta. I watched a YouTube video of the landslide. I’ve sent you the CTV link so that you can see for yourself.”

“I heard about that one. It happened just before I went out there last summer.” Just before I had my identity stolen, but then if that hadn’t happened, I would never have met Al. “Well, if he’s dead, there has to be a body someplace. I was under the impression they’d recovered all the bodies.”

“The authorities claim they have, but royalty, especially when it’s next in line for the throne, doesn’t just disappear.”

“Wait a minute. Are you saying that there might be foul play involved?”

I wasn’t fussy about getting into the middle of a political situation, but I couldn’t imagine a family not knowing what had happened to their son.

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Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales and the first installment of a new Evie Chambers mystery, The Case of the Missing Prince. Sound intriguing? I hope you’ll think so. This week, our word prompt is PARADE.

I took a deep breath and unlocked the door to E C Investigators. The office wouldn’t open for another couple of hours, so I expected to have the place to myself. I figured everyone would bombard me with questions soon enough. I was wrong.

Hallie Demarco, my receptionist, computer whiz, and Girl Friday sat with her back to the door, her headphones on as she worked her way through the messages that had come in over the weekend. Knowing I was probably going to scare the crap out of her, I walked over to her desk and tapped her on the shoulder.

As expected, she screamed and went all Kung-Fu panda on me. I tried not to laugh, as she attempted to disentangle herself from her desk chair but I failed.

“Evie? Is that you?” she squeaked. “My God, you scared me half to death.” She cocked her head, her chocolate eyes growing large in he mahogany face. “Wow. Love the do. You look so different—younger, happier, and may I say satisfied?” I nodded. “You did mention you’d gotten your hair cut, but a teal top? The color looks amazing on you. Much better than the grim reaper fashion you’ve been sporting all these years.”

I chuckled. “Glad you approve. I like the purple by the way. Very chic.”

“Thanks. What are you doing here? I thought you said you wouldn’t be in until ten, so I didn’t book any appointments until eleven. So when to we get to meet the mysterious Mr. Alphonse Binette?”

“I’m not sure,” I parried. “He has a lot to do before he moves here, but I expect he’ll come to visit before Christmas.”

Al had asked her to go to visit his parents in the Barbados in January. They’d opted to go there instead of Florida for the winter this year. Since I wasn’t sure I could get away, we’d agreed he would come and see me before the holiday.

“You really shouldn’t have those headphones on, when you’re alone in here, even if the door is locked. Anyone could parade in here and … well, we’ve been robbed once by someone with keys. It could happen again.” She nodded. “Point taken, but we do have all new locks and I have a panic button which thankfully I didn’t push. A couple of carloads of police officers is hardly the welcome back to work you expected.”

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Wow! November already. I keep saying it, but it’s hard to believe that another year is coming to an end. Welcome to the November edition of the IWSG blog. I enjoy reading the comments I receive on my posts each month and try to read theirs and a few others. I’ll try for ten this month, more if I can, and the reason I won’t be able to is the answer to this month’s question Writing is a tough taskmaster.

November 5 question – When you began writing, what did you imagine your life as a writer would be like? Were you right, or has this experience presented you with some surprises along the way?

When I began writing, the idea that someone would want to read my books let alone publish them seemed to be a pipe dream, right up there with being taller and slimmer. I’ve shrunk and I’m not any lighter, but the fact that a publisher wanted my very first book stunned me. It was a dream come true. The first round of edits demoralized me since it seemed they wanted me to change EVERYTHING. It actually had me wondering why they wanted the book in the first place, but I persevered, and the day I held a copy of that book in my hands was the proudest day of my life. It was also the reason why I wrote a second, and then a third, and then a fourth … all the way to fifty-three books and working on the fifth-fourth.

What did I expect my life would be like once I was published? I imagined the publisher would arrange book tours, provide promotional material, and of course an advance. First surprise: none of that happens these days. Advances to new writers may exist, but they didn’t in my world. Royalties were paid twice a year, and those were far less than I’d anticipated. Goodbye visions of fancy vacations in Tahiti and all the other perks I associated with success. Second, if you want to promote your book, you have to do it yourself. I suck at blowing my own horn, so that has been and continues to be difficult for me. Third, books don’t write themselves and if you want to build an audience base, you have to keep writing. I’ve yet to hit on my perfect genre since I enjoy writing different books–romance, comedy, suspense, fantasy, paranormal, but I keep searching for the one that will turn me into a household name. But, I’d been bitten by the writing bee, and I continue, I don’t expect that notoriety any time soon.

So, after publishing my first few books, I thought diversification might be the answer and sent manuscripts to other small publishers who were looking for new authors. Those were accepted, too, but still the riches and fame eluded me. And then the bottom fell out of my writing world and I learned that people are not always good and honest, wanting the best for you and your career.

Some of the publishers were grifters who did a poor job of editing and cover design, and in the end, stole what little I had in the way of royalties. Others were too small to compete in the growing writing market, and again, whatever royalties I had were lost. My first publisher, the one that had set me on this second career path, was bought out by one of the big publishers, but that published didn’t care about us and how much we lost been absorbed by the giant. All they wanted to do was stifle the competition. My steady flow of royalties vanished. In fact, my most recent check form them was for two cents, USD. A bank won’t even accept that, so it’s an expenseive book mark now.

I honestly believed my career was over. Then, a friend suggested I publish my books independently. When I looked into it, I found that it wasn’t too difficult to do. I painstakingly recovered the rights to everything that I’d written. Then, I went into the material, edited and rewrote it, until I republished it. Did it cost money to publish my own books, yes, but doing so with Amazon and Create Space at the time helped. Have I recouped everything I’ve spent? No, not by a long shot, and I doubt I ever will.

Writing is far more work than teaching was. It involves long hours sitting alone at the computer, researching, typing, cutting, pasting, and editing, over and over again. How long do I write each day? Since I consider this a job and not a hobby, as a rule seven to eight hours a day, but since I am my own boss, that is flexible when needed. How many days a week do I write? Everyday, rain or shine, but again, that’s flexible as I do take time off as needed for vacations, family celebrations, and this year, surgery and recovery. When will I stop? That’s a question for the Good Lord to answer. As long as I can, I’ll continue to let my imagination soar. I’m no longer young. I have a finite number of writing days ahead of me, I know that, but I have a new dream. I want to leave a legacy for my grandchildren, maybe not a financial one, but I love hearing my grandchildren say, “My grandma wrote this book.” Maybe someday, it’ll be my great-grandchildren.

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Welcome to November and the last post from Naughty Rudolph. I hope you’ve enjoyed meeting Callie, Nell, Rudy, and Mara. The book is off to the publishers. Next week, I’ll have something new for you. This week, our word propmt is PIE. Enjoy.

The elderly man nodded. “Of course. Glad you’re okay, Mara. You gave us all a scare.”

He hurried out of the parlor, almost knocking down Doug who still stood in the doorway, watching events unfold, his face a mask of confusion.

“I hope she’ll be okay. There were times when she was just too much of a drama queen for me. She had our entire future all mapped out. I’m just not cut out for the life she wanted, and of course leaving Osoyoos was out of the question. I’m amazed you got her here, especially at this time of the year.” His brow furrowed. “We dated for five years, and she never once mentioned you. I had no idea that you even knew one another, let alone that she was a mother. Were you in some kind of custody battle because I can’t see Mama Mara leaving her kid for anything?”

“Not now, D A. Here’s Callie. I’ll explain everything later.”

Callie, tears running down her face, ran into the room, throwing herself at Mara on my lap.

“I’m okay, sweetie pie,” Mara croaked. “That candy got stuck, but your Daddy saved me. He’s my hero.”

Callie stopped crying and wrinkled her nose. “It smells like throw up in here.”

I chuckled. “Out of the mouth of babes. Yes, after the candy came out, Mara was sick. That’s what happens when people choke on things. I’ll carry her upstairs so that she can get cleaned up and then, I think she needs a nap. You can come upstairs too and watch Tree House.”

“I want to stay with Mommy,” she insisted, her face mutinous, her arms crossed over her small chest.

Nell, Amos, Mary, and Albert came into the room.

“Enough of that Miss Callie. Now, Mara has had a big scare and doesn’t need to be worrying about you, too. You’ll do as you’re told. Rudy, carry Mara upstairs.”

I was about to object when she shook her head.

“And don’t you even think of disobeying me young man. Susie is on her way. Malcolm is bringing her on the snowmobile. In case you didn’t notice, the snow is coming down hard and fast. They’ve already closed the highway. Our guests will bed down where they are for tonight. What are you waiting for? Let’s go!”

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