Living the Dream

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.

To see how others answered this question, check out the link! https://www.insecurewriterssupportgroup.com/p/iwsg-sign-up.html

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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Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. Mara is about to find herself in another mess. Our word this week is CANDY. I’m continuing with Naughty Rudolph, my Christmas Romance Comedy.

As if she were an adult and not a six-year-old child, Callie extended her hand to Albert and then to Mary. “Are you going to have babies?”

Albert laughed. “That’s the first time anyone has asked me that.”

Nell shook her head. “Oh dear. Our Callie seems to be obsessed with babies at the moment. It probably has to do with the Christmas pageant, but she asked me the same thing when Amos and I announced our engagement last night. It seems she’s misunderstood a portion of the Nativity story.”

Mary nodded and scrunched down to the child’s level. “I would love to have babies, but I’m too old for that now. However, I knew you would be here, and I brought you a gift.” From the reusable bag she held, she removed a doll dressed in sealskin. “This doll represents my people. She’s wearing an amauti, that’s the warm coat with a large hood, kamikluuk, pants, kamiik, boots, and aitqatik, mitts. Look inside the hood. She has a surprise there for you.”

Callie moved the hood aside, her eyes and mouth rounding at the same time. “A baby. She gots a baby. Look Mara!” She held up the miniature doll.

Mary smiled. “That’s always been the best part of giving this gift—the surprised look on their face when they find it. You have a beautiful little girl.”

“She’s not—”

Before I could finish, a chuckle from the doorway had me glancing over my shoulder.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Mara Howard. What are you doing in Miami, Manitoba? Someone told me you’d gone to Florida for the holidays.”

It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be.

“Doug?” I gasped.

The second I did, the mint in my mouth slipped out of my mouth and down my throat, blocking my windpipe. Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe. I grabbed at my throat, trying to force the solid ball of sugar down. I tried to cough to dislodge the damn candy but couldn’t. I tried to speak but only managed a high-pitched squeal. My eyes filled with tears as panic overtook me. My gaze focused on Rudy across the room. I tried to suck in air through my nose, and slowly, the room around me dimmed.

Oh God, please don’t let me die, not like this.

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Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. Have you ever built a snowman? It’s not as easy as it looks. Our word prompt this week is GRUMPY. I’m continuing with Naughty Rudolph, my Christmas Romance Comedy. Enjoy!

Rolling a snowball isn’t as easy as it looks and despite the fact that my balls were smaller, they took me as long to roll as the larger ones. By the time I’d finished, I was sweating.

Rudy settled the medium sized ball onto the large one, and he and Callie secured it in place with snow, blending the two together. They repeated the process two more times. Once they were done, he picked up my sorry excuse for heads and added them to the bodies. I helped pack the snow to keep them in place while Callie got the necessary items to complete the job.

She had large buttons for eyes—one set green, another blue, and a final set brown. She used carrots for the noses and plastic mouths made with small buttons attached together to complete the faces. The one on the largest snowman kept slipping as if he were grumpy. Finally, she stuck plastic twigs in for arms and used two black buttons on each chest.

One head got a straw hat, another a flowered sunbonnet, and the third a ball cap.

“Yay! We’re finished. Daddy take out your phone and take a picture. We have a daddy, a mommy, and a little girl.”

I swallowed. Not, “Daddy, Aunt Nell, and me,” as I’d hoped.

Rudy took several pictures of us with the snow family.

I laughed when I noticed snow protruding rather obviously from the snow mommy.

“We need to shave a little off here,” I pointed to the bump. “The snow mommy is a bit too fat, don’t you think?”

“No,” Callie cried, horrified by the suggestion. “She’s growing a baby for next year. Babies grown in mommies’ stomachs, but they take a long time. My friend Lucie’s mommy has been growing one since Easter. It’s supposed to be ready for Christmas.”

I tried to keep my face blank, but one look at the surprise on Rudy’s face and I almost lost it.

I managed to contain my laughter. “My, you certainly know a lot about snow babies. Don’t you?”

“Yup. I pay attention. Aunt Nell calls me a little pitcher with big ears. It means I listen all the time.”

Even when she wasn’t supposed to do so. Rudy and I would have to be very careful. Callie might well be working on what she wanted for Christmas next year.

Before I could say anything, the door opened and Nell called us in for lunch.

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When I wrote And Justice for All last spring. I was well aware of the illegal drugs and weapons moving back and forth across the border in the area where I live. I was also well aware of home-grown militias operating in both countries, and a rise in racism, mysogynism, fascism, and a lot of other negative “isms” I can’t begin to understand.

With that in mind, I created a storyline that was believable, gave a few facts and home truths about the flow of illegal substances, and created characters who were human, flawed, and yet brave, charcters who embodied the Canadian spirit.

This morning, when I was reading the news on my phone, concerning recent arrests in a joint police venture entitled Project Fester.

Cornwall, Ont. police seize 35 guns and over $2 million in drugs. (Open the link to read the article)

https://www.ctvnews.ca/ottawa/article/cornwall-ont-police-seize-35-guns-and-over-2-million-in-drugs/

It amazes me when my imagination creates something so close to reality. Smuggling has always been hard ro stop in this part of the country because of the geography of the area. If you can open the link below, you’ll meet Cornwall’s police chief and learn more about the area and her dedication to keeping us safe. https://www.facebook.com/reel/2285891928503456

Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. Yesterday was Canadian Thanksgiving, and the weather was perfect for this time of years. Cool nights, mild days with lots of sunshine, and the colors of fall are at their peak. I’m continuing with Naughty Rudolph. Today we’re back inside Mara’s head as she faces another consequence of her hasty decision to enter the contest without reading the fine print. Enjoy!

“I haven’t mentioned Callie’s latest request from Santa to Nell, although I did talk to Saul about it. His solution was for me to get married. What do you think of that?”

Married? To whom? Was he thinking of marrying Hazel? That would be worse than not dealing with it, and if Callie discovered Hazel was the new mommy Santa had brought her … but he’d said he was done with Hazel. I opted to skip saying anything about pending nuptials and concentrate on what he’d said about Callie’s behavior. I could identify with that.

“I got teased, too and acted out in my own way. Kids can be cruel. Children follow the examples set by adults, and lately those haven’t been the best. I try to get my students to treat each other with respect, but every now and then, I fail.” I took a mouthful of liqueur. It was now or never. “Rudy, we have a bigger problem than her letter, and it’s all my fault. If I’d read the entire contest form … this wouldn’t have happened. I believe Callie sees me as her Christmas mommy. The evening I arrived, she said something I didn’t understand. She said, ‘Santa got it right.’ Then, she told Cora her special present had come early. How are we going to tell her the truth? That I’m not her Christmas wish. That I’ll be leaving in nine days. How are we going to explain that to her without breaking her heart?” And mine.

He rubbed the back of his neck and paced.

“I suspected something like that had happened, and I was hoping you would have a solution. I was going to mention it tomorrow. Have you ever come up against anything like this?”

Tomorrow? he was going to wait until Christmas Eve to deal with this catastrophe?

I huffed out a breath. “No. I’ve dealt with kittens, puppies, dragons, and baby brothers, but no one has ever requested a mother or a father, although I did wish for them myself before the Howards adopted me.”

He stopped pacing and stared at me. I could almost see that imaginary lightbulb popping on above his head.

“Then that’s the answer. You can adopt Callie.”

I flinched as if he’d hit me, the pain of the impossibility leaving me weak.

“Be serious. I can’t adopt your daughter.” I spoke sharply, not sure whether to be hurt or angry. “What if you do decide to get married? What will your wife say?”

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Welcome to October. This week, things are heating up in Miami, and not in a good way. We are once again in Rudy’s POV as I set my scene to the word FALL. Enjoy this exerpt from Naughty Rudolph, my Christmas Romance Comedy with a soupçon of suspense, because what’s a story without some drama?

“Mara,” I screamed, running out of the bar faster than I ever had before, yanking her back, and knocking her to the ground under me seconds before the large truck would’ve hit her.

The truck didn’t stop. Instead, it increased its speed, disappearing into the darkness.

By now, the last of Dick’s patrons had joined Jerry on the edge of the sidewalk. He rushed over to us.

“My God, are you alright?” He helped me stand, and then we both turned to help Mara.

“I’m fine. I skinned my palm in the fall, that’s all. I’m more worried about her. She hit the pavement hard.”

I turned to the woman sitting up on the road beside me. She was pale, trembling, with tears rolling down her cheeks. Her left knee was bleeding through her torn leggings, and Aunt Nell’s coat was covered in mud. Luckily, she’d donned her gloves and spared her hands, but one of her cheeks and her forehead had mud on them, too.

Should I move her? She could have a spinal injury or worse.

“Don’t move her,” Susie ordered as she ran over to us. “Let me have a look at her first. We were just around the corner when I heard you shout. What happened?” She squatted to examine Mara who hadn’t yet said a word.

Amos joined us.

“Some damn fool almost ran her over,” the elderly man said, his voice full of emotion, clearly showing how upset he was. “I don’t know what that asshole was thinking. There’s plenty of light here. He was sitting there idling. I thought he was waiting for someone, and then he started moving slowly. Suddenly, with the light still red, he stepped on the gas. Either he’s drunk or he stopped for a nap by the side of the road, woke up, and didn’t know where he was. He must’ve panicked. Now, the son of a bitch is still on the road and dangerous as hell.” He shook his head. “I didn’t get the plate number, he was moving too fast, but it looked like an older model semi to me. There aren’t many of those around here. I’ll call the RCMP and report it.” He pulled out his phone. “Is she okay?”

“I don’t think anything is broken, but she’s going to be bruised for sure. She may have a slight concussion, too. You’ll have to watch her for a few hours. Concussion protocol. You know the deal. After all, you went through it yourself last spring.”

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