Click, click. Ha! Caught you!
The big debate in my hometown this past week has been whether the city should install cameras at major intersections. It’s a hot topic because some say the cameras are an invasion of privacy. Some claim it’s just another way to make revenue for the city. But the city says it cuts down on accidents and fatalities. I was leaning towards the latter just because it made good sense.
Then today, the big headline in the newspaper was that an accident had claimed the life of a forty-one-year-old woman, an Indiana University Northwest associate vice chancellor, a wife and mother. Her death was caused by a semi-truck driver who barreled through a red light. The driver responsible for the woman’s death wasn’t injured, but did receive citations for disregarding an automatic signal and failure to yield. The woman is dead.
For me, the debate is over. Install those cameras. Now! I don’t want to be the next victim of a careless driver. I’m not saying the cameras are a sure-fire way to stop people from running red lights, but I can’t help thinking it will cut the number way down, especially if the fines are hefty enough. People will think twice, hopefully, before continuing on through.
My husband was nearly clipped yesterday when a semi-truck ran through an intersection. He could have been a fatality, too. I don’t know about you, but I feel pretty darn vulnerable around big trucks. If there is any driver who should be taking every precaution, it should be a big rig driver.
Does your city or town use cameras? How do you feel about it?
Have a safe week and a great Labor Day holiday. And please be careful if you plan to travel this weekend. Take a moment to check the intersection before you start across it.
Best,
Kate
I am down with a fresh case of strep throat, so my apologies for not writing about cupcakes, as I’d planned. Have just returned from CVS with very, very large and rather electric green pills.
Enjoy your Labor Day weekend, everyone!
And Happy Birthday, Heather! :)
Birthdays. Love them, hate them, or both?
I personally love birthdays. Even my own (which is tomorrow), even when another year means more wrinkles, more grays, more aches and pains.
Because it also means more life experience, more wisdom, more tolerance, and another year with those I love and care for.
A good trade-off in my opinion.
Birthdays also mean presents (and I confess to loving presents), a dinner of my choice (usually my favorite Chinese food), and cake or pie (I’m still on a pumpkin pie kick, though coconut cake has been a favorite in the past).
Birthdays are in theory completely a selfish day. It’s all about me, me, me. And for one day a year, I’m okay with that.
Do you have birthday traditions? Or try and forget the day altogether?
~heather
PS: Happy Birthday to JT today and Debbie (present is in the mail) tomorrow! Love and hugs.
I’ve been struggling with ideas for books lately.
Oh, not the way you might think. The problem isn’t that I can’t come up with any; it’s that I have more than I need.
The first book in the Do-It-Yourself Home Renovation mysteries, FATAL FIXER-UPPER, will be released in early November. In it, Avery Baker—my protagonist, a New York City textile designer—inherits her Aunt Inga’s house in tiny Waterfield, Maine, and lands knee-deep not only in paint and drywall, but in scheming relatives, murder, and historical intrigue dating all the way back to the French Revolution.
I’ve finished DIY#2, as yet untitled; although in a moment of levity I suggested HAUNTED HOUSE HOMICIDE, and now I’m horribly afraid my editor is going to agree to it. Avery and her trusty sidekick, hunky handyman Derek Ellis (my in-house publicist came up with that alliteration, not me) tackle the renovation of a local haunted house and find a skeleton in the crawlspace. The manuscript is with my editor awaiting revisions at the moment.
Now it’s time to start DIY#3. I have a pretty good idea what it’s going to be about—Avery and Derek renovate a Colonial house on an island off the coast, and find the body of a young woman on the beach—so that’s not the problem. No, what I’m dealing with here, are all the other voices in my head, that won’t shut up long enough to let Avery have her say.
The most persistent is a sixteen-year-old girl named Jocelyn. She lives in Virginia, and her brother Jared is accused of murdering his pregnant girlfriend. I like Jo. She’s younger than most of the characters who have taken up residence in my head—younger than me by quite a lot—but I think I could work with her. It isn’t that long ago that I was 16; I can still remember it.
Then there’s Cassie. Cassie goes to England to celebrate the birthday of her Brit boyfriend’s dear old mum, only to be accused of murdering the dowager Lady Sherbourne with her own birthday cake. In fact, it might look almost like Cassie was invited to the shindig just so the murderer would have a handy scapegoat. She needs help, and I’d like to provide it, but I don’t know when I’ll have the time.
Corey is fourteen, and looking for his missing father. It’s been seven years, and Corey has to find his dad before his grandparents can convince his mother to have his father declared dead so she can marry the guy they’ve picked out for her. Poor Corey is desperate, and gets into a ton of trouble I need to help him get out of, but you know how it goes. Because…
…then there’s my ‘other’ mystery series. The one I put on hold when Berkley asked me to write the DIY-mysteries. The first book is on submission to a half dozen different publishers, the second book is finished and waiting in the wings, and I started the third, but had to put it aside when Avery started talking to me. Still, Savannah is clamoring for me to get back to her. This is the book where she finally gets to go to bed with the hot guy who’s all wrong for her, and she’s understandably eager. It’s been two years, so you can understand her feelings. She’s just gonna have to hold on, though, poor girl. I don’t have enough hours in the day to get to everyone.
And to make it worse, these are just a few of the more vocal ones. I have another handful of characters I’d like to talk to, but they’re further down the line, their stories less developed. Until they get impatient and their voices start getting louder.
So what about you? How many people live in your head? How do you focus on just one of them, when they’ve all got so much to say, and it all sounds so interesting? Any tricks for prioritizing you can share with me? Or are we all in the same boat here, with too many ideas and too little time?
Jennie Bentley is the author of the D-I-Y mysteries from Berkley Prime Crime. You can visit her at http://www.jenniebentley.com. She’s also planning to write all the other books she talked about above, so don’t get any ideas.
My apologies for not blogging for three weeks, but I’ve been on a working/writing trip to my old hometown of Washington, DC. to do some “on-site” writing of my Molly Malone mystery. And boy—-did I get a lot accomplished. I was up and out of the B&B by 8:00am or so every morning, backpack w/laptop + gear on my back, and off I went. I took the metro and walked to different locations all around the DC area from Georgetown to Downtown to the Waterfront to Dupont Circle and all over the place.
Mornings were for walking and checking out locales for various scenes in the mystery. Then at lunch time, I would find a good place to sit, plug in my laptop (that’s the tricky part), and start to write. I became a quick expert in scoping out cafes, libraries, coffeeshops, gourmet markets, you-name-it for electrical outlets. When I couldn’t find one, then I simply stayed outside and wrote until my “low battery” message came on. Whatever worked.
I had a great time enjoying different cafes and restaurants at night. Some of my favorites were near or overlooking the water. Washington is a city that’s almost surrounded by water—rivers, channels, canals. Water is everywhere and there are cafes located where you can sit, enjoy good food and wine/beer/drink of choice, and drink in the scenery and. . .relax.
After that, I’d actually find another cafe or sit outside with newly-charged battery and write until dusk settled and it was getting dark. And the bugs started to bite. That’s when I knew it was time to head back to the B&B (usually around 10:00pm) and collapse and watch a recap of that day’s Olympic activity.
Tiring? Well, only at night when I’d crash. The rest of the time I was positively energized, even traipsing around with my backpack, which felt kind of heavy at times. I had a BALL. Walking, working, enjoying that beautiful city which is such a part of me and my history. Our Nation’s Capitol is a great place to visit. So, I encourage all of you to pay a visit if you haven’t already.
And here was the surprise of the trip—-the “Dog Days” were nowhere to be seen. Yep. After all those dire predictions I kept making about how I was leaving Colorado right when the July heat had left and the August temps would decline to lovely—AND—I was going back “home” to the Dog Days of 95+ temps and 99% humidity. Well, guess what? From the moment I landed at National airport August 8th to the day I fly out, Saturday, August 23rd, the weather was ABSOLUTELY GORGEOUS!! Temps were in the 80’s almost every day and the humidity was 30%. Unbelievable! That’s what it is in Colorado!! The mornings were even cool! None of my friends or family or acquaintances in Washington area could ever remember an August like that. It was “fall” in August, the weather folks kept saying.
What a treat. Next week, I’ll share some of the great little simple fun things to do in Washington while you’re visiting. How many of you folks have visited our Nation’s Capitol?
I’m back from MIA without a good excuse. All I can offer up is summer has been a bit crazy. Don’t know if you read the post I wrote as we entered summer and how excited I was with thoughts of going to the beach. Yeah well, I made it to the beach two times. Both of those times were with out of town guests, which we seemed to have a handful of this summer. And, while on the beach with our guests I kept thinking, “Oh jeez, I have a lot to get done. I shouldn’t be at the beach!”
On the positive side–this has been one of the better summers I have had in a long time. Granted I was in Mom Mode the entire time as summer camps are way too expensive, but I was okay with that because my little one and I had some great times together. My boys are too big and way too cool to hang out with mom any more, so they did their thing and Kaitlin and I did ours, which was all about the horses.
Yes–we spent all summer grooming, riding and smelling (like a horse). It all started two weeks into summer when my best friend of twenty-five years gave me a call to tell me about a mare who needed a home. This mare is twelve, well trained, good disposition and very pretty. I asked my friend (who happens to be named Nikki and is also a horse woman) what the deal was. She wasn’t sure, so i took a drive to where the horse was located. She was everything I had been told that she was. Her name is Krissy. The deal with her was that her owner needed a tax write off and wanted her to go to a good home. She didn’t want her to become a lesson horse and she didn’t want to put Krissy through the protocol of being tried out by every rider looking for a good horse. I decided on the spot that she needed to be my horse, and for a meager donation to a horse rescue I became the proud owner of the mare.
Now, Krissy is a big girl (16.2 hands). She is a half Warmblood and half Thoroughbred and way too much for my little girl who was quite a bit envious of me owning Krissy. Well, about a month after Krissy came into our lives, Kaitlin stayed the night with my parents. The next morning they brought her down to the ranch where Krissy lives now, and The Pony Club happened to be going on. As luck would have it, one of the teachers of Pony Club came over to talk to us about a pony who had been brought down during the fires in Northen California. My parents were interested in taking a look at the pony (I almost choked when she told us the pony’s price, which immediately put me out of the running to make the purchase, but Kaitlin happens to be Nanny’s (grandma) girl and when Nanny wants something for her girl, not much gets in the way–including Papa). That was on Saturday, well by the following Friday Nanny had bought the pony and we had a pony living next door to Krissy. His name is Monty, but Kaitlin calls him Mister Monty. I might be a bit biased, but he is the cutest guy on four legs! He’s only eight and very well trained. He is an eventing pony, which means he does all the olympic events–dressage, stadium jumping and cross country. He is really good to his kid and she adores him. It’s a very special bond and relationship. In fact, Kaitlin just got home early from school and is in the back ground saying, “Can you please make me lunch so we can go see Monty!” This means I must hurry.
Monty is a Gypsy Vanner. Vanners are essentially small drafts that were bred by the Irish Gypsies. They needed a horse who was as strong as the large drafts but wouldn’t eat as much. The horse also needed to be gentle because of all the children they have, so these little horses are considered the Golden retrievers of the horse breeds. They also had to be smart and willing. This is exactly what Mister Monty is. Look up Gypsy Vanners on the web if you get a chance. They’re beautiful. I will post some pictures asap. I need to get them off of my husband’s computer first.
So, if anyone was wondering or cared, I have not been writing but riding all summer and taking care of our new family members. But school did start today, which means that I can now accomplish the two things I love most in the world to do!
Thanks Gang! I missed you. Happy Trails.
Cheers,
Michele
www.michelescott.com
My petunias are looking a little long in the tooth these days. The blossoms aren’t as vibrant or profuse and their vigor is diminishing by the day. My geraniums seemed to be all bloomed out, too, but maybe that’s because of the muggy, relentless heat of the dog days of summer.
Still, as I inspected the flowers and shrubs around the house today, it struck me with sadness that soon my colorful, floral compadres will be a distant memory. Come February, I’ll be pointing to a patch of snow and asking, “Was this where I had the Impatiens? Did the hydrangeas bloom before mid-June? Where did I plant the tulips?”
Ah, summertime. I wait all year for it and then it’s over in the blink of an eye. I think what I’ll miss most is being able to slip on a pair of flip-flops and walk out the door, not worrying about jackets, scarves, gloves, frostbitten ears, or slippery sidewalks. Or maybe I’ll miss all the color. (I’m a total color-aholic. Ask anyone who’s seen my office. I need my fix every day.)
What I won’t miss are the mosquitoes.
What will you miss most about summer? (If you live in a place with nearly year-round summer, what would you miss most if you had to move north?) What will you miss least?
Your turn.
Have a great week,
Kate
Last weekend I drove to Durham, NC (home of the Durham Bulls and Duke University) in order to attend the wedding of a young man I used to babysit. It was a lovely ceremony and the new couple radiated all the hopefulness and brightness of newlyweds preparing to embark on a life together.
I think I was still in a post wedding fog as I traveled north to Richmond and home. My son was in the back, happily watching a National Geographic video on volcanoes (he is totally into natural disasters at the moment and keeps asking me when we’re going to get a good hurricane. And I keep telling him I’d be glad if we’d just get a nice thunderstorm. The entire state is brown and parched).
Zooming along on I-85, I recalled something my uncle told me (he’s a Sheriff in Oregon). He said, “Drive up to 9 miles over the speed limit and it’s unlikely you’ll ever be pulled. Drive ten or more, and the cops are going to come after you.”
Nine miles over it was. Two college-aged boys passed me in a compact Ford and together, we passed by one of dozens of cut-throughs in the trees where members of law enforcement love to hide. All morning, these blind alleys had been empty, but this one was occupied by a Sheriff’s Department cruiser.
He pulled out.
I braked and swore under my breath (even though it felt like I couldn’t breathe at all J ).
What happened to the nine miles over rule? I thought anxiously.
I waited for him to approach my van from behind and set his lights ablaze, and though he seemed to slow enough to check me out, he opted for the college boys instead.
Did I escape because I had a VA Police Beneficiary decal on my rear window? Because he saw my son’s car seat? Or because he too is a fan of volcanoes? I don’t know, but my heart was in my mouth. I drove like a saint the rest of the way!
When’s the last time you were pulled over? What had you done? Have you ever been let go?
The start of school is just around the corner, and one of my favorite things about this summer will have to come to an end.
For my son’s high school graduation, we gifted him a subscription to Netflix. Of course, I quickly infringed on his queue (with his permission) and started ordering movies to watch with my daughter.
She’s finally old enough to a) see a lot of the romantic comedies b) appreciate the Jane Austen classics c) love musicals as much as I do.
Do you see a movie theme? Complete chick flicks.
The two of us will wait till dark, pop a movie in her DVD player, snuggle up while clutching our separate bags of popcorn (they’re mini bags—too small to share-that’s our story and we’re sticking to it), and just enjoy the time together.
These movies nights tend to go well past our normal bedtimes. Bedtimes that will be enforced once school starts—especially mine. Which, essentially means, the majority of the movie nights will have to fade to black.
Luckily there are weekends to look forward to, plenty more movies in the queue, and a ten pack of Orville Redenbacher’s Movie Theater Butter mini bags in the pantry…
~heather
But for the grace of God (and my editor), I could be writing this as Charisma Crafton.
No, I’m not kidding.
It all started when I began negotiating with my editor at Berkley Prime Crime about generating a series of cozies for them. (The first, FATAL FIXER-UPPER, will be released November 4th. It’s about a home renovator, and it has those cutesy tips for Do-It-Yourself projects in the back. It also has two cats, a hot handyman, scheming relatives, missing heirlooms, and a few dead bodies. But more about that later.)
We had established that I was qualified to write the books (I’ve owned eight houses in the past eight years, and renovated all of them), that I wanted to write the books (there are worse ways to break into publishing than accepting a multi-book contract from Penguin), and that I was willing to write the books for what they were willing to pay me (the less said about that, the better)… and then my editor said, “Oh, by the way… we’d like you to use a pseudonym.”
Hunh.
Now, it wasn’t like it was unexpected. I have an unusual first name. People mispronounce it all the time, and nobody would be able to remember how to spell it, so Google wouldn’t have any idea how to find me. (I’m going on the assumption that sooner or later, someone would have to use Google to find “those really fun DIY Home Renovation books that that woman writes… you know the ones I mean, with the cats and the hot handyman… what’s her name again?”) My last name is Irish, courtesy of the love of my life, and it’s also easy to misspell. The juxtaposition of the two is interesting, to say the least. Not best-selling author material, though. At least not according to Berkley, who suggested I come up with something different.
And so the hunt was on. For the next few days, I invented various combinations of Bentley, Benton, and Bennett, both because they’re somewhat close to my real name, and because they come early in the alphabet, which I was told is a benefit when choosing a pseudonym. I also toyed with names I thought sounded appropriate for a writer of home renovation mysteries. Carpenter was one of them, as was Crafton. (Crafton’s a neighborhood in Pittsburgh, FYI. I’d just been there for a visit. It seemed like a good choice. In addition to the fact that it, also, comes early in the alphabet.) When I ran the various possibilities past my agent, someone in her office remembered that there’s an actress named Charisma Carpenter. “Why not,” this person suggested, “be Charisma Crafton?”
Cooler heads prevailed, I’m happy to say. My editor very diplomatically suggested I go with something friendlier and more approachable, and if I’d been in New York at the time, I would have kissed her.
So I became Jennie Bentley instead. It’s a better fit, I think. The idea of introducing myself to someone – anyone – as Charisma is more than I can bear. I couldn’t do with a straight face.
So what about you? If you’re a writer, do you use a pseudonym in your writing? Would you choose to, if you weren’t required? Why, or why not? And if you’re not a writer, what do you think of the whole idea? Do you care what your favorite author is named? Would you read a book, or not read it, based on the name of the writer? And finally, just because it sounds like fun, if you had to come up with a pseudonym for yourself, what would it be?
Bente Gallagher is the author of the Do-It-Yourself Home Renovation mysteries from Berkley Prime Crime. Jennie Bentley gets all the credit. You can visit both of them at www.jenniebentley.com