In honor of Mother’s Day, and of my mother, whom I lost two and a half years ago, I’ve decided to save my rant against American Express travel agency’s ridiculous and unfair policy on airline tickets for next week and instead share some random memories that may trigger similar remembrances with you.

When I was growing up, money was in short supply in our house. My father was a cop and always worked a second job to pay bills. My mom stayed home to care for my siblings and I, and did her best to economize so we would have a little extra money in reserve for unexpected needs. These little economies, good, bad, and sad, have stayed with me my entire life, so that when I think of Mom, these are what epitomized her.

She always used a tube of lipstick down to the metal base until she couldn’t dig out any more even with a toothpick.

She wore the same kelly green winter coat for fifteen years, until the lining fell apart.

She had two pairs of high heels, an all-purpose black and an all-purpose bone, and one “good” outfit, a black-and-white polka dot dress, that she had to wear for every occasion long after polka dots went out of fashion.

She bought shoes one size too large for us so they’d last longer, requiring tissues stuffed in the toes that didn’t really help them stay on, but a supply of band-aids helped with the blisters.

She kept a cotton throw over the sofa so it would last longer.

Her name was Rosemary, but privately she called herself “Second Hand Rose” because all we could afford were second hand appliances and second rate clothing.

She always had a glass of iced tea ready for the mailman in the hot summer months and a cup of coffee in the winter.

Even when she was down with the flu, she got up to make my dad his eggs and bacon in the morning

She always had time to listen to our problems and was never, ever, judgmental, even when I wanted her to be.

She taught me how to iron, cook, clean, organize a household, and be a firm but loving guide for my own children.

She always had a smile and a kind word for everyone, even when she was dying.

Her last concerns were that all of her family was okay.

I’m not sure why those are the first memories that surface when I think of Mom, but, boy, do I miss her. I still reach for the phone to share something that happened, or to ask a question that only she would know the answer to, and I dearly wish I’d paid more attention to her during that last year, but, as most of us do, we always think we have abundant time.

If you’d like to share some thoughts about your Mom with us, please do.

Enjoy the day.

Kate

I recently attended Left Coast Crime 2008 in Denver, where I was on two panels dealing with what constituted a cozy mystery. All of the authors involved had definite ideas on the subject; we were not all in complete harmony with one another, but close enough for government work (having worked four years for the IRS, I think I can use that expression with impunity).

An amateur sleuth is a must, light on the explicit sexuality, heavy on atmosphere, setting and eccentric characters, and (for me, at least) humor an absolute necessity, along with lots of descriptions of food, clothes and scenery. In fact, for me the quintessential cozy (while admittedly not a mystery) is GONE WITH THE WIND. I can’t read that book without wanting to eat like a horse, buy new clothes or, depending on my budget, breaking out my sewing machine and seeing what I can whip up with drapery fabric.

Good cozies have the same affect on me: I find myself wanting to take up whatever hobby might be part of the book, fighting the desire to eat three times as much as normal (curse you, Diane Mott Davidson!) and having witty banter with unusually sexy cops.

In my first novel, MURDER FOR HIRE: The Peruvian Pigeon, there is enough hot chocolate, freshly baked cookies and other culinary treats to grant me cozy status without the prerequisite romantic relationship between my heroine and one of the cops on the case. I’ve never dated a policeman (although I WAS benevolently stalked by an ex-boyfriend turned sheriff’s deputy) and had no real life experience to give the relationship any semblance of believability. Besides, there are enough of those relationships in mystery novels and I didn’t feel I had anything original to add to the mix.

Maureen (my best friend and co-founder of the real life theater troupe Murder for Hire) and I were both enamored with the hard-boiled film noir of the ’30s, ’40s and ’50s. We loved the pulp magazines with covers featuring lantern-jawed gumshoes, molls and dames in sexy red dresses, thugs and villains of various nationalities heavy on the ethnic cliches. What we didn’t love back in the day was taste of alcohol (we’re both dedicated winos…er…oenopiles now). So we sublimated our desire to follow in the footsteps of the hard-drinking guys and dolls in the world of noir with enough cocoa and hot chocolate to make 17th century Spanish nobility and Aztec priests envious. We were, however, mortally offended when one of our MFH actors asked why we didn’t put mini-marshmallows in our hot chocolate. That would be sissified, we told him. Logic didn’t enter into our viewpoint on the subject.

We also put away mass quantities of chocolate chip cookies, fudge (the old-fashioned kind where you have to cook it on the stove forever and drop test a dollop into water to see if it’s set) and donuts to challenge the hardiest of metabolisms. Ours were pretty hardy back in the day; we bought and fit into vintage ’30s and ’40s clothes with nary a pinch around the waistline. 24 inches. Sigh. I once had a 24-inch waistline. 7 inches larger than Scarlett’s vaunted 17 inch waistline, but I had neither a corset nor a Mammy to lace me into one every day.

Maureen and I were very innocent and fearless when we started Murder for Hire. If we had experienced a murder during one of our shows I’ve no doubt we would have reacted with the same combination of naive bumbling and chocolate-fueled determination as Connie and Daphne do in MFH: The Peruvian Pigeon, the fictionalized and cozy re-imagining of our youth.

I’ll be going on a Northwest signing tour with fellow mystery writer Jess Lourey, author of the hilarious MURDER BY THE MONTH series. She’ll be promoting her new book AUGUST MOON and I’ll be promoting MURDER FOR HIRE: The Peruvian Pigeon. To check out our tour stops in the Bay Area to Seattle, starting the Wednesday before Memorial Day, go here. http://www.danafredsti.com/publicity.html

To win a free copy of Peruvian Pigeon, write to me at zhadi@aol.com and tell me name of the famous seven caves in La Jolla. First to answer correctly wins!

I drove up to Medina yesterday, a bedroom community of Cleveland, for the wonderful Writers Live luncheon sponsored by the Friends of Medina Library and Medina Library. Michael Koryta and I were the guest authors—and we had a sold-out crowd of 220 people. Good food, great people, much fun.

The trip takes about 3 ½ hours, one way. The weather was bad—sprinkles to downpours in the blink of an eye. Isn’t it just exhausting to drive distances in the rain? Or is that just me?

It was still raining on the way home. I hit some traffic outside Columbus, but not too terrible. As I drove through Wilmington, the sky darkened, the clouds thickened, and tendrils of clouds spiraled downward – but didn’t reach the ground.

Certainly not tornado clouds. Right?

I checked the outside temp. 62°. Too cold, right?

There were no major storms—just some intermittent lightning. I was extremely glad to get through the area and get off the highway 20 minutes later. As I flipped radio channels, I heard the emergency broadcast tones. Sure enough a tornado had been sighted along the highway back where those clouds had been.

This is when I play the What If game. What if I’d left the luncheon later than I did? What if I was stuck in that traffic a little longer? What if I’d seen the tornado, what would I have done? Other than freaked totally out?

I don’t know. And I’m glad I didn’t have to find out.

But I’m sure I’ll be having tornado nightmares…

~heather

Okay, I’ve finally caught up with my fave series that I taped while I was off on my travels.  I’ll only touch on two today—the two with the most going on.  And, boy, is it ever.

First on LOST:  Finally, scenes with Jack and Kate in the future.  But of course, just when it looks like things are going to be running smoothly—rocks appear on the road.  And that new villain who just landed on the island—boy is he a nasty piece of work.  The mystery keeps on, twisting and turning and taking us with it.

As for The Riches—boy, talk about one surprise after another.  Every time I think the heat can’t get any hotter beneath that fascinating grifter family, the writers turn it up higher.  And, did you see that sexual tension between Minnie Driver and Lou Gossett, Jr. last week?  I wasn’t expecting that.  That series has some of the best plotting I’ve seen since the other new show (also on fX) “Damages” with Glenn Close.  And the actors are marvelous, capturing those characters spot on.  As for plot twists—-you can’t keep track of them all.

Have any of you folks seen the latest episodes?  What do you think will happen on LOST before season close and on The Riches?   

I know, I’ve been MIA for a few weeks. Sorry. I am alive. I mean I’m not sorry I’m alive, but you know what I mean.

You all seem to sorta like the bullet points. I know I do. It’s a summary of where, who, what and how and sometimes there is something kind of interesting in them. I hope so anyway. So here goes:

1. My dad had back surgery last week. It was a doozy. He’ll get better and be better than before they assure us, but man it has been stressful. I think my mom is totally overwhelmed by it. He came home Friday and I took the night shift with him because their bedroom is upstairs and he can’t go up the stairs yet, so I slept on the couch and he had one of those hospital beds. Needless to say that he was agitated all night, up and down and needing help to the bathroom, wanted water, wanted his glasses, wanted to make sure I gave him his pain medication, his antibiotic and on and on. At one point I felt a little like going Achmed on him. I know that seems like a bad daughter thing to say, but I was losing those warm, loving daughterly feelings at about three in the morning. But we made it through the night, and my mom took over at about 5:30 so I could get some rest. Sure as you know it, my daughter comes in at 7:00 and asks when am I going to get up. I buried my head under the pillow and told her to go and pour herself some cereal. (She wanted a waffle–she didn’t get one). The best part was, my dad tells my mom when he woke up (yes he slept from 5:00 until 10 for her, and then went back down until noon) that it was a good thing he had such a good night’s sleep. Must have been the drugs, or else the two of us were on a separate planet. Oh yeah–drugs can do that for you. Good news is–today he is coherent and attempting to walk without a walker.

2. I cut my hair again. I told you that I would. This time I chopped it all off. It’s boy short and takes all of 5 minutes to do, which is perfect. I don’t even care if it looks good at this point, I just like that it’s easy.

3. Saturday I am speaking at a luncheon to about 200 women, and I’m scared to death. I am supposed to talk about balancing family and career. Ha, ha, ha! I am laughing. The only conceivable way I can actually see a balance ever happening (by balance I suppose it means–time for the family, time for yourself to get all spiritual and healthy and all that jazz, paying the bills, writing, feeding the animals and always looking lovely–give me a break) is by having a lot of help. Seriously. Otherwise, i don’t know about the rest of you but I feel like I do my life half assed (sorry–I know we are supposed the be PG here, but assed isn’t even technically a word). I want to be the best mom and wife and also the best writer I can be. I want to keep the house in order because I really don’t like messes (even though my house is always a mess–ask my friends), oh and I want to be a good friend. I kind of think I’m mediocre at all of it, which is depressing, because all of these things that I want to be good at, I love doing. So, if I’m honest I really don’t know how to balance it all out. I think there are times when one area of your life gets more attention than another and they all rotate in and out. Someone should really clone women. I think we as women should all have three of ourselves stashed in the closet. You have career woman (for me that would be the writer), but I think there should actually be two of those women alone–writer woman and marketing woman (I can already see we’ll need more than three clones here). Then we have housekeeping woman and this one doesn’t just pick things up. She deep clean and keeps the entire house totally organized and knows where everything is at all times. For me, I need mommy woman. She handles all the kid related stuff. Goes to PTA, bakes brownies, drives them everywhere after school, takes time to write little notes and put them in their lunches. She never yells, but maintains this calm demeanor during discipline (ever watch Cesar the dog whisperer–I’m getting this from him) and her children have total respect, love and trust toward her. There should probably be wife woman (you all can probably guess what her duties are). Cooking woman makes incredible gourmet meals that are healthy and will not make any of the other women in this group gain an ounce of weight and she has the help of healthy woman who attends yoga class, kickboxing, meditation, spiritual retreats and says mantras for love, joy, peace, health and wealth. The last woman we need is kick back woman–all she has to do is go to the spa and come out looking spectacular. That’s it. She gets to relax–oh wait that should be me. I didn’t decide what my job was–yes–spa woman! I like her best. There you have it, we need seven women to take care of just one. That would be a really great invention and one heck of a Mother’s Day gift.

4. My last bullet point for the day is that teenage boys suck. Oh crap I just added two more women to the previous list–teenage mom woman (totally separate from Mommy woman because teenage mom has to have special talents like complete and total patience). She handles them and all of their drama with total ease and finesse and never lets them get under her skin. The other woman is therapist woman who listens to the complaints and gripes of the other women. LOL. That would be you all today (maybe some men out there too). So, we all need nine extra selves! That’s my opinion.

Abd, I suppose that teenage boys don’t suck. They’re just difficult at times. The latest is when I try and give them a hug or a kiss on the cheek they pull away and make a face like I’m an alien. I know this will pass, but geez I do think little kids are much easier! Thank God I still have a little one. But everyone says she’ll be the hardest one because she is a girl. Say it isn’t so!

That’s all I have for you. If anyone has nine clones stashed in the closet, send them my way. I’d do it for you.

Cheers,
Michele

P.S. To all the moms: HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!

Well, yes, as a matter of fact, she was in India. And we were having a communication problem, because the very polite representative from India kept reading her responses from a script. And no matter what I said, she wouldn’t deviate from it.

“But can’t you at least understand my plight?” I kept asking.

“I am very sorry, ma’am, but I am unable to make those changes,” she read in a monotone. “It is against policy.”

“Would you please listen to what I’m saying?” I begged. “This is a problem you caused, and there’s a simple solution. A click of a button on your end!”

“I am very sorry, ma’am, but I am unable to make those changes. It is against policy.”

“Okay,” I finally said, “then let me talk to your supervisor. Someone has to be able to help me.”

After a five minute wait, during which annoyingly loud and jarring music blasted my eardrum (was that designed to make me hang up?) a supervisor came on the line. And guess what? After listening to my dilemma, she gave me the same scripted line in the same accent. And both women sounded as though they were about fifteen-years-old.

I finally got the email address of this big company’s customer relations department (the rep refused to give me their phone number) and I e-mailed my complaint. Now my dilemma has become an incident number. I won’t go into the details, as the matter is under dispute, but suffice it to say that I am hopefully awaiting a phone call from someone from their company in the United States to straighten out the mess.

My friend had a similar experience when ordering ink cartridges from a major computer company. She could not make the person on the other end of the line understand what she wanted. Plus, the person was obviously reading her responses from a script. So now my friend takes her cartridges to a drug store that fills it for half the cost — and no aggravating phone calls are needed.

Have you had any experiences like these? What are we supposed to do when a communication problem arises? Who do we complain to? And how do we get these outsourced jobs back?

Kate, frustrated but determined

Jess Lourey, author of the Murder-by-Month series, the guest blogger for today, has just released August Moon, the fourth book in her Lefty-nominated Murder-by-Month series. Of August Moon, Kirkus Reviews writes, “Another amusing tale set in the town full of over-the-top zanies who’ve endeared themselves to the engaging Mira.” Of this review, Jess Lourey writes, “Another vaguely encouraging review set in the sea of milquetoast blurbs offered to nameless authors at small publishers.”

Jess will be touring the West Coast with mystery author Dana Fredsti in May and hitting the Midwest in June. Check her website (http://www.jesslourey.com/appearances.html) for more details on dates and locations.

I’ll be back next Saturday! JB

*Malice was great. Met lots of new people, caught up with old friends, and remembered why I love the conference so much. Was able to get Diana’s Corpse Pose and Lorna Barrett’s Murder is Binding, but couldn’t find Sarah Atwell’s (hi Sheila!) Through a Glass, Deadly, so need to order it ASAP. I did share a panel with Sheila/Sarah, and have to say I wish I was that composed and eloquent my very first panel. The Cozy Chicks’ meet and greet went really well. JB did an amazing job putting together our basket of goodies, and I know the young woman who won it was very happy.

*I missed my connection on the way home from DC. You should have seen me running through the Detroit airport like a contestant on Amazing Race, trying to make it to my gate on time. I didn’t. By four minutes. Can I just ask who designed that airport? A sadist for sure. Oh, and although I eventually landed in Cincinnati a few hours later, my luggage did not. It was a long, long day.

*Here’s the cover for Weeding out Trouble. Overall, I really love it. BeBe is supposed to be black, but other than that, the colors are great, and who doesn’t love a critter cover. Well, let me amend that (as I recall my first cover). Who doesn’t love a cover with a dog on it?

*I read an article this week about the new craze in the gang world. Shaving lines into eyebrows. Now let me just say that I come by my line honestly. I earned every inch of that scar on my right eyebrow after falling into the corner of a TV set when I was two.

*Found out at Malice that my pen name, Shawna Avery, isn’t going to work after all. This causes quite a conundrum as I have a website and blog under that name. What to do? First, I need to get a new pen name for the Lucy Valentine series. And I think I’ll keep SA and use it as pen name for women’s fiction/romance writing. I’m hoping my web designer can simply move my site to another domain (please, oh, please). I’m totally taking suggestions for a new name. The only requirement is that it’s “strong.” Don’t ask me what makes a name strong. Obviously I have no clue.

*Since my Shawna Avery blog will be going on hiatus until the name thing is sorted out, I thought I’d create another blog where everyone can keep up with my day to day (who am I kidding? It’s more like week to week) happenings. It’s www.heatherwebber.blogspot.com, and it’s still under construction so keep that in mind. But what do you think so far? The colors okay? Easy to read?

Until next week,

~heather

Last week I asked Deb Baker to post for me since I was arriving in Northern Virginia late to visit old friends for several days before the Malice Domestic mystery conference in Arlington, VA.  Arlington in my hometown, where I grew up.  Just a stone’s throw across the Potomac River.  And the old friends I visited grew up there with me.  We lived directly across the street from each other as primary age school children, then junior high schoolers, then high schoolers. . . well, you get the picture.

There’s nothing quite like visiting old friends who “knew you when.”  Old friends keep you honest.  And haven’t you noticed that you “pick up the conversation” where you left off? 

After a wonderful visit with those two sisters and their husbands in their gorgeous homes in Vienna, Va, I merged into the crazy Metro DC traffic and drove to the spacious Marriott hotel where our mystery conference was being held.  While there, I had a great time renewing acquaintances with fellow writers.  I also got to have meetings over coffee and lunch with my agent and my editor, separately.  Always an informative experience.

But the most endearing experience of the conference was—as always—meeting the readers.  Seeing some familiar faces and discovering new friends of Kelly Flynn and her adventures.  At the Agatha Awards banquet, at the panel presentation I participated in, and during the booksigning following the panels—-I met the greatest people:  mystery fans.  It was so much fun to hear some readers tell me—as I signined their books—that this was their first Malice Domestic.   And they were loving it. 

Meeting the readers—former acquaintances and new ones—and talking with them, sharing the love of all things mysterious—-that’s what makes a conference special for me.  And Malice Domestic is still one of the best and most memorable conferences around.  And one with the most memories, too.

Dear Friends,

I am off this weekend for another Malice Domestic conference in Arlington, VA, so I am leaving you with this blog I wrote 2 years ago, after just such a weekend. Enjoy!

WHY I LOVE (and HATE) HOTELS

Having just returned from Malice Domestic, one of THE BEST annual mystery readers/writers conferences, and having spent half a day unpacking the luggage that took half an hour to pack (where did all that stuff come from? Surely not my closet), I’m slowly settling back into life without maids and room service.

I have a long-standing love-hate relationship with hotels. I mean, how cool is it to hop onto an elevator that will carry me to a floor filled with restaurants and cafes  – as opposed to schlupping up the hallway to my kitchen, where I have to actually make something myself? And, please, let’s not even get into the clean-up part. Then there’s the magic that happens when I leave a messy bed behind and come back later to find the pillows plumped, the sheets tucked and the comforter lump-free, not to mention that the hairs on the bathroom floor have disappeared.

Honestly, though, the issue with dirty glasses and sheets not withstanding, hotels have  done bad things to me. The latest incident was last Friday morning, when I decided to indulge myself with a rare treat – breakfast in my room. I’ve never felt so pampered and so sophisticated as when that hotel staffer in his maroon coat whisked a tray into my room and removed the shiny stainless cover — VOILA – to reveal crispy French toast, sliced bananas, ripe berries, maple syrup, hot coffee, and orange juice hiding beneath. I mean, does life get any better than that?

Well, no, actually. It got worse. After stuffing myself with the above delights, polishing off the coffee, and replacing the cover on the empty plate, I remembered that in the movies, people always carried the tray to the hallway and placed it on the floor beside the door. So I did, too. There. Done. No longer my problem.

Which would have been fine except that the door had shut behind me. Quickly and solidly. I was lucky my heel had cleared the sill. Who designed those doors, anyway? Shouldn’t there be a grace period?

With no key card, no ID, no cell phone, no underwear, no shoes, and no make-up, (but my hair was nice) I stuffed down my rising panic, pulled the sash of my robe tighter, and considered my options. (1) I could proceed to the elevator in my thin robe and bare feet and go down to the front desk for help. (Thank goodness I’d polished my toenails the night before, but still, the embarrassment factor would be through the ceiling.) (2) I could knock on neighboring doors and hope to find someone still in residence who would call for help. (3) I could look for a “house phone,” which, sadly, would require a long trip up the hallway, around several corners, possibly passing any number of curious hotel guests who might recognize me and confirm their worst suspicions. (Hey, she is a wacko, but would you look at those toenails!) Or, (4) resort to my fall-back plan: WWAD.

WWAD (What would Abby do?) has seen me through several dicey incidents. For those not familiar with my Flower Shop Mystery series, Abby Knight is my sleuth, a short, feisty, fearless young florist who might not be the sharpest pencil in the cup (she did flunk out of law school) but does excel at extricating herself from tricky circumstances, although not often in a very glamorous manner.

So — WWAD in this situation? How about look for the maid’s cart? Wherever the cart goes, so goes a hotel employee carrying a master key card. Luckily, there was a cart around the corner, with a friendly, forgiving woman cleaning in a room nearby who put an end to my misery. Abby would have been proud.

Kate