Amy Waeschle's Blog

It’s been almost 3 years since I published my first novel. Here are the milestones:

October-December 2016 rewrite for the tenth time Going Over the Falls in two-hour chunks during my youngest daughter’s preschool hours.

March 2017 hire an editor, cover designer, website creator, and make about 100 decisions I felt totally unqualified to answer.

April 2017 question: what is a newsletter and how do I start one? 

May-June 2018 arrange a book release party, ship the books stored in my closet to friends and family, organize readings at bookstores and beg people to attend

Summer 2017 realize I need to learn a whole new skillset. Spend hours mucking around with website copy, listening to free webinars, and pulling my hair out

Fall 2017 run my first giveaway. I now have 400 newsletter subscribers, yay!

Winter 2017 wonder if I’m writing in the wrong genre…marketing standalone women’s fiction as an Indie is HARD.

January 2018 quit my fiction editing side gig because the deadlines are murder and the pay is crap. If I’m going to write, I need devote more time to it.

January 2018 think about giving up. The business side of being an Indie is HARD.

February 2018 discover an author coach who proposes I write a mystery series, and to give the first book away for free.

March-June 2018 ponder the idea of GIVING A BOOK AWAY FOR FREE. Good Lord, could I do such a thing?

June 2018 publish Love in the Time of Surfing, which I thought was so so clever. Who wouldn’t want to buy a story set in an exotic location filled with suspense, surfing, and danger?

Summer 2018 Love in the Time of Surfing gets downloaded 8,000 times and becomes a bestseller. People start joining my mailing list. Panic because I have nothing else to sell them.

Fall 2018 write the hardest book I’ve ever created: Meet Me on the Mountain, the prequel and second book in the Cassidy Kincaid series. I still can’t read this book without crying, but it’s the most beautiful love story I’ve ever read. Go ahead and call me biased, but I read A LOT.

October 2018 I now have 1700 newsletter subscribers, woohoo!

November 2018 enroll in a marketing course to help me launch books. Turns out people actually want to buy my books, and I have to stop apologizing for helping them do so

December 2018 start the lengthy rewrite process for Feeding the Fire, a book I wrote years ago that’s been burning a hole in my heart ever since. Know that I should instead work on book 3 of the Cassidy series, but my heart wins.

December-January 2019 escape to Costa Rica for 5 weeks to surf, dream, play, and write, write, write

February 2019 take a paying gig to write marketing copy for my family’s business because I realize that in order to take over the fiction writing world, I’m going to need about a million dollars

February-March 2019 realize that the reason all those new subscribers who joined my newsletter from the free copy of Love in the Time of Surfing is because they thought it was a romance book. Change the title to Rescuing Reeve and struggle with my low-budget designer to get the cover right, then update it everywhere

May 2019 publish Feeding the Fire, likely my best stand-alone book. Glow from Publisher’s Weekly’s praise: “The author’s prose style is very readable, almost transparent in the way it falls away in service to the story. At the same time, the text is beautifully written, with precise language and startling imagery.” Using my new launch strategy, the book does well with my audience but never gains any traction outside of my now-2000 readers.

June 2019. MUST. CONTINUE. SERIES.

Summer-fall 2019. Go through some intense personal struggles stemming from a shift in my health (no crisis, I’m fine). Maybe it influenced my writing because Finding Izzy Ford came out quite dark, and with several mistakes that still make me wince.

Fall 2019 I now have 4,000 readers! Quit my copy writing job for good because I CAN.

November 2019 delays in the editing process push the publication of Finding Izzy Ford into the Christmas craziness.

December 5, 2019. Publish Finding Izzy Ford and try to market among the intense noise of the season.

January-February 2020. Plotting and more plotting for Exposing Ethan. Hire a new cover designer (no more guesswork, researching images, wahoo!), write the blurb, research, research, research. Meet “Buddy” my FBI contact and ping him weekly for intel on all things Bureau.

February 2020 work with a marketing expert to plot my next mystery series: 5 books, set in Seattle, featuring a badass investigative journalist. Stoked for this one, guys!

Feb-March I run another giveaway and gain some more readers. It’s starting to feel like critical mass now with almost 8,000 people enjoying my books and stories

March 2020 finally start writing Exposing Ethan! It’s going to be so good!

April 2020 finish Exposing Ethan

May 2020, edit the ms, plan for the launch, revise the ms, tweak the blurb

June 2020 (aiming for 16th) publish!!!

***

So, there’s the journey for you. Where do I see myself in 3 years? 

Writing full time.
Two more mystery series published (Meg Dawson coming early 2021, then another after that)
Attempting to make a list (USA Today, Wall Street Journal, etc). Believe it or not, this only requires money (and a good product!)
Mentoring other authors – in writing or marketing or both
Spending more time with my family (my youngest will be a teenager by then, yikes!)
Getting better sleep!
Maybe writing in another genre as well as mystery – fantasy? romantic suspense?
Hiring someone else to run all of my social media except Facebook (which I actually enjoy). That’s when I know I’ll have hit the big time!

 

Recently, I attended a class in short story writing. Talk about fun! It’s been a while since I collaborated with other writers to work on craft, and I’ve never been instructed on this form of storytelling.

We met every Tuesday night at our local library. Each week focused on some aspect of the work: setting, pacing, dialogue, etc. After dissecting a few short stories together, we were given a set of prompts and allowed to free write for 30 minutes.

What I love about short stories is how direct my storytelling becomes. There are not enough pages to describe everything that’s going on. I only have to give a taste of conflict to make a point. I don’t have to outline every character’s backstory. Even with these bumpers in place, my biggest problem with short stories is length. Mine are usually > 10,000 words. My goal with the short story writing class was to learn how to write more with less.

The following excerpts are from my freewriting time during the course. I’m not yet sure which will become fully developed. One I’ve already used as an opening in a new novel (see if you can guess which!) I’ve also included the opening to a revised story I wrote long ago called “Making a Pie with Grandma.”

Suitcases and Shadows

Prompt: combine “a characters who comes from money” with the phrase “missed call at 3am” and the words “dumpster” and “restaurant.”

Cedric pulled his Mercedes coupe to the curb and checked his GPS, then at the darkened streets. Here? he wondered as a feeling like worms in his gut took hold. Across from him, an alley disappeared into shadows, but he could make out the shape of a dumpster.

Cedric closed his eyes tight. The smell of the leather seats filtered through his senses. Outside the safety of his vehicle, a diesel truck rumbled past.

They had called him at 3 a.m., and though he’d missed it, they left him the coordinates for this dumpster–it had to be this one–it was the only one for several blocks and the only one behind the restaurant.

He fingered the Ziplock bag next to him, the package wrapped neatly inside it. He’d met all of their demands, but what if he was wrong?

Behind him, he heard loud voices and turned in his seat to see three young men dressed in baggy jeans, tank tops, and one with a black watch cap pulled low over his brow. In an instant, his eyes locked with the middle one, the leader, clear by the strut in his step.

Author’s note: When I wrote this story, I was in the throes of finishing Finding Izzy Ford, book 3 in my Cassidy Kincaid mystery series, which is probably why this story has a creepy, sinister feel.

The Bungalow

Prompt: write a story either related to a real experience with family (or not) using a specific time span such as an amusement park visit, a day trip to a museum, etc. 

Margaret stepped over the threshold of the single-story bungalow the real estate agent called “sunny” in her gushing description. Today, the agent was dressed in a red wrap-around dress, red strappy sandals, and carried a large leather tote bag. The agent paraded into the hallway, her shoes clicking on the linoleum that Margaret had already noticed was curled up along the moulding.

Margaret stood as the emptiness swirled around her. She tried to imagine her daughters playing by the fireplace, or how it would feel walking them inside after swim practice, their wet hair dripping all the way down to their shared room. The real estate agent clicked into the kitchen, showcasing the faded appliances like Vanna White: kitchy refrigerator, peeling varnish cabinets, the single sink. All Margaret saw was what it lacked: kitchen island, second dishwasher, pantry stocked with supplies, her mixer, blender, and her secret stash of boxed Merlot that had carried her through everything.

The backyard, a tiny square of brown grass lined with withered roses offered no shade trees, no jacuzzi, only a fence made of faded boards and rotting posts that the real estate agent said she would “handle.”

Her older sister had said that if a marriage makes it until the children go off to kindergarten, it’ll last. So Margaret had been the dutiful wife and mother, tending to everyone’s needs but her own, knowing that the marathon would eventually end so she could reclaim her life. If only she had known the cost of such a plan.

Author’s note: sounds a bit dark, right? I wanted to capture the bitterness and uncertainty of a woman having to make a fresh start as a single mother. This opening has been revised since to make it a bit more hopeful. This exercise – using an event with a limited timeframe, in this case, the real estate tour – as a way to keep the story short was the most helpful lesson I learned in this class. 

Burning Timbers

Prompt: use the phrases “the time Leslie called me a leech” with “set fire to the house” and “tulips”

I put the tulips under the pillows, and then set fire to the house. Standing in the trees to watch it burn, I savored the thrill of what I’d done.

They’ll never find me.

It took a long time to find six tulips all the same color red, but in the end, they were all the same, I decided. Or close enough.

The blaze burns higher. I see the second story windows of the old farmhouse glowing orange. The roof will go next, and once there, the fire will eat up every bit of poison in those timbers.

All the years they tormented me. The time Leslie called me a leech. The time Jasper cut the soles out of my shoes. I never asked to live with them. Never wanted to get locked in the outhouse or slaughter pigs or wear hand-me-down girl’s underwear.

Now I’ll never have to look at that old place again and wish for it to disappear, because soon it’ll be gone.

Forever.

Author’s note: Don’t worry, I don’t actually have arsonist tendencies. But the prompt created the need for a deranged narrator, and that was fun to experience. This could be the opening of a mystery where the arson is the inciting incident. After this, the book could switch to the detective’s POV, giving readers insight to the story that the protagonist doesn’t have. 

Father of the Bride

Prompt: combine the idea of a family mystery uncovered with the words “Sunday,” “wallpaper,” “swap,” “sister,” “marathon,” “feminist,” “demand,” “notebook.”

Tom laced up the tight black shoes his daughter had left for him inside a plain brown box, then stood slowly, going easy on his spine, and slipped into the silky jacket. With shaking fingers, he fastened the single button and brushed back his thinning hair, avoiding his reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Down the hall, he slipped into his daughter’s suite and stood frozen near the door like a lamp, or a coat rack. Though Jenny was ten feet away, her back was to him as her mother affixed tiny flowers into her hair, he could not and would not speak to her. Not today.

Two months ago, she came to see him. They met at a local breakfast place he’d never been to but heard was nice. He’d shaved, shined his loafers. He thought maybe . . . even though he’d hurt her so many times, pushed her away. But he’d been wrong.

Tom tried to make conversation, his yearning to connect so strong he felt his bones contract. They hadn’t shared a meal together in so long, not since he’d been sober. Not since he discovered that the ticking time bomb that was his heart would soon fail.

But she evaded his questions and asked nothing about his life. “I need you to walk me down the aisle,” she said, looking at him as if he might be a ghost, or a picture on the wall. “Sober.” She pulled a cream-colored invitation from her purse and slid it across the table.

Author’s note: The idea for this story was inspired by Annie Proulx’s short story original of “Brokeback Mountain.” If you haven’t read that piece, it’s a beauty. I wanted that same kind of sensation–longing, regret, sacrifice–but set against a joyful time like a wedding. I have always been drawn to stories of contrasts, the extreme highs lined with terrifying lows, or good characters that make bad choices. 

Making a Pie with Grandma

Using the lessons from my short story writing class, I decided to revise one of my first short stories. I’d never been satisfied with the ending.

When I pick up Grandma at Sunny Oaks, she is dressed to go but doesn’t know me. Her weathered skin looks pale but her eyes are shiny-blue and sharp. Her white hair is parted straight and secured in two, tight buns, giving her a girlish look.

“Hi Grandma.”

I take a deep breath. “It’s me, Brigit.” I pronounce my name the way she knows it. Everyone else calls me Bridge-it.

She looks at me curiously.

“Your granddaughter.”

“Oh.”

“We’re going to my house to make a pie.”

Grandma’s posture straightens. But she says nothing.

“Ready?”

“I suppose.”

When I make a pie with Grandma, every so often I get lucky and her memory comes back. Sometimes it’s a little thing, like calling me by name, other times it’s much bigger, like remembering a piece of the past.

When we get to the house, it’s empty because Jim has taken the girls ice skating. This is something I do without them. Sometimes, if Grandma is having a good day, I’ll ask him to come back early. I want my daughters to know their great grandma. I fear that they’ll never love her, not like I do.

I settle Grandma into the easy chair. It faces the kitchen and is near enough for her to watch me work. I make coffee and slip a quick swig of whiskey into the bottom of her mug, the way she used to do for me after dinner when I visited her.

She thanks me and takes a sip. Not even a flicker do I get from those impish eyes. I sigh and pull out the flour, the shortening, the big, chunky bowl with the cracks in the glaze.

“Are we making a pie?” she asks.

My heart soars. “Yes.” I breathe deeply and try not to smile too big. “We’re making a pie.”

Her lips gather like she is about to reprimand a child for pulling a cat’s tail. “Make sure you use ice water.”

“Yes, Grandma.” My stomach flips.

I retrieve the Pyrex measuring cup with the faded red lines and push it under the ice maker on the refrigerator door. I hear its mechanical grinding, followed by the high-pitched plink of ice cubes tumbling into the glass. I tell myself to slow down. I don’t want to spook her with my excitement. When I have filled the measuring cup to the top line with cold water, the ice makes cracking, popping noises.

“What kind of pie?”

“Pumpkin.”

“Oh.” She looks pensive. “I never did like pumpkin.”

I chuckle. “You do too like pumpkin,” I tell her, feeling dizzy with this tiny window of lucidity.

“No. I never did. Karena loved pumpkin.”

My breath catches in my throat. She hasn’t spoken of my mother for a long time. She died of breast cancer six years ago. Whoever said, “Time heals all wounds” is full of shit.

Some mornings when the house is still quiet, I can feel my mother. My eldest daughter sometimes gets a curious, calm look on her face that belongs to her. It’s a look I only know from photographs of my mother when she was young. It’s certainly a look she never gave me.

I pour myself a cup of coffee but resist the temptation of whiskey. I tell myself that it’s too early. The hot coffee nearly burns my mouth but I swallow it, feeling it burn my throat with a strange satisfaction. I look out the window at the steam rising from the garden, the grass still polka-dotted with glistening drops of dew…

Author’s note: At its core, this story is about estrangement and the ways we distance ourselves from pain until we’re ready to face it. The grandmother in this story is nothing like my own, but the details of pie making and Norwegian culture come from experience. The grandmother that I made pie with passed away almost two years ago, and though she lived a full, incredible life, making pastries will always made me a little bit sad because she’s gone. I took the ideas here and crafted a full-length novel, my first, called Going Over the Falls. 

Which story would you like to read more of? You can make a comment HERE.

This summer, while managing kids on school holiday, camping trips, nursing a pinched nerve in my shoulder, and generally burning the candle at both ends, I finished writing a novel.

Cassidy Kincaid, my protagonist in my amateur sleuth series, is back with a new quest: to find and bring home a wayward college student after she disappears.

If I had an unlimited budget and oodles of free time (ha! someday…) I would trace Cassidy’s journey from Joseph, Oregon to the final scene in San Francisco. Because I don’t have either of those things I rely heavily on Google maps to show me some of the stopovers along the way. Like this one, which is a truck stop along Oregon’s 1-84.

I’m sure I’ve even been to this truck stop, but the ability to fly around this hub of travel activity helped me “be” there while Cassidy tried to dig up information. In Biggs Junction, Cassidy arrives in the middle of summer, the sun frying the pavement. She flags down a trucker that gives her critical information on where Izzy may or may not have gone.

I also used Google maps to zoom Cassidy to her next destination. I got the lay of the landscape as well as the distances between destinations. I imagined driving her route. What would I see out the window? Where would I stop for gas or a snack? Where would the young woman she’s following have gone off track?

At one point, Cassidy must confront a faculty member for what she believes is a misuse of his influence. Because many of the conversations Cassidy has with suspects and persons of interest happens on the phone in this book, I decided that Cassidy needed to conduct this interview in person. I used Google maps to investigate different neighborhoods until I found just the right location. While I never copy the real life example, it’s the seed that sets my imagination loose.

At one point, Cassidy gets stranded and an anti-hero is the only person who can help her. Based on her location, I could pinpoint the side of the road where she would have stopped. Because it’s near where my family once camped for a family reunion, I could smell the lakeshore, the red dirt and open pine forest, hear the cars zooming past.

The most fun was flying over San Francisco! While it’s one of my favorite cities, I have not visited in several years, so re-orienting myself with some of the neighborhoods, transportation systems, and maritime feel of the peninsula was essential.

I also relied heavily on the advice of my good friend David, who lives and works in the city. “What train would Cassidy catch?” “Where’s a good area for student housing?” “Do locals take the trolleys?” For the next Cassidy book, The Silent Search, I am definitely going to have to plan a visit to San Francisco, because a critical piece takes place there that ties the whole series together.

 

Finally, the climax scene needed to take place somewhere out of the way, but not too far from the city center. I searched and searched, narrowing my search after my friend Dave gave me a good idea. I’ll give you a preview–remember those pallets! You’ll see them again

So you’re wondering how to keep your little darlings from turning into pterodactyls on your next road trip?

Screens can only take you so far…

Audiobooks to the Rescue

For the last 9 years, I’ve been driving my kids to and from school. To pass the time, we’ve listened to hundreds (yes, really) of audiobooks.

[image error]They’ve been a lifesaver, and if you plan to have children or “mixed company” in your vehicle during your next road trip adventure, having a few of these handy for when the iPad/Kindle/gameboy dies/has epic cloud storage failure/gets left behind will save you from the utter hell of trying to make miles while one or several of your passengers is crying.

(Reviews coming soon….)

The War that Saved My Life by Kimberly Brubaker

Walk Two Moons by Sharon Creech

The Series of Unfortunate Events by Lemony Snickett

A Long Way From Chicago by Richard Peck

Space Case by Stuart Gibbs

 

Stay in touch!

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Rescuing Reeve

How far would you go to find the stepbrother who destroyed your family?

Over the past 9 months, I expanded my reading horizons. I wanted to find out what types of stories were popular in other genres. Some I read for research purposes–I’m always looking for inspiration–others were simply to open my mind to new ideas, characters, storylines. Because I started writing an amateur sleuth series last year, several of my favorites on this list are from that category. I also read several romance titles–don’t judge!–because it’s consistently the best-selling category in the market. I wanted to find out why, and see if any elements of those stories could be incorporated into mine.

Under Tower Peak by Bart Paul

I’m a fairly generous reviewer but this book deserved the full five stars despite a semi-slow start. I was intrigued by the cover–nobody in “amateur sleuth” is doing this. I thought…”watercolors? men on horseback?” but it has plenty of good reviews so I took a gamble. The first detail that pulled me in was the Eastern Sierras setting, a rugged, almost forgotten terrain that was described in perfect, rich detail. I’ve spent several summers in Wyoming’s Wind River mountains, which felt similar, and have also relied on horse packers to deliver my rations, so this type of lifestyle felt wonderfully familiar. The story opens when Tommy, an army sniper back from a tour in Iraq, a gentle, calm soul who is healing from deep wounds he can’t quite see, and his best friend and packhorse partner, Lester, spot a downed plane melting out of the snow under Tower Peak while doing trail work for their boss. They investigate, and find a dead pilot dead and a suitcase full of cash. Unbeknownst to Tommy, Lester pockets some of the cash and the pilot’s very fancy watch, later claiming that the dead man doesn’t need it. What happens when Les’s girlfriend leaks information about the missing pilot to his son is when the story takes off.

What makes a story for me are the characters, and this book had several that were so finely tuned that they became real. The author’s rich use of detail and voice was spot-on, masterful even. There’s a solid dose of “Western” like the subtitle makes clear, but it’s so perfectly executed, from the language the characters speak, their ease with working in remote and rough regions, the way they navigate the two worlds–the small town and the backcountry–make it feel rich and wonderfully complex. The way the main character carries himself, managing to outsmart several dangerous characters, is especially well done. I grew to love Tommy like a brother, and when the story ended it felt like I’d lost a friend. The pace of the book speeds up with each twist, and the climax was expertly presented. There’s another book featuring Tommy Smith, and I can’t wait to read it.

Fallen Mountains by Kimi Cunningham Grant

I so enjoyed this small town mystery with it’s wonderful characters and intriguing plot. The author made good use of the “everyone has a secret” tool in this book, and as they are revealed, the layers of the plot start to come together beautifully. The story opens with a missing person named Transom, a local who grew up in Fallen Mountains, population tiny. Transom left to seek his fortune but has recently returned after the death of a beloved community member named Jack. Transom’s best friend Chase, Jack’s grandson, has inherited his farm, a 200-acre tract of land full of beautiful old trees, wild meadows, and wildlife, a sacred place that has been in Chase’s family for generations. But the farm is deeply in debt, and Chase, overcome with grief (his parents died when he was a teenager), agrees to sell the farm to Transom who promises to shoulder the debt. As part of the deal, Chase gets to stay, farming the subsistence garden and milking the cows, doing the part of the work he loves.

But things start to sour quickly when logging trucks and fracking rigs arrive at the farm to sink their teeth into the land that Chase loves. But the two are close friends, with a deep, complicated history, both with secrets they’d like to keep hidden. When Transom goes missing, almost-retired Sheriff Rediford and everyone else in town thinks he’s taken off just like he always does. But Red is holding onto a secret of his own that may play a part in the mystery that just won’t go away. The more he investigates Transom’s disappearance, hoping the evidence will point at him simply leaving town, the more obvious it becomes that something serious has happened to the slippery character he’s never trusted–especially after witnessing the event he’s kept quiet about all these years.

The book goes back and forth from “Before” to “After” which did throw me for a bit until I realized how the two were connected. In each “Before” we learn a little more about each suspect’s history, some little piece that comes to play in the “After” when the sheriff and (near the end), a city-bred P.I., are investigating. The small town setting and the environment (set in North Carolina) were beautifully portrayed here and formed the tight-knit setting that suited the story perfectly. A lot of authors could learn from the author’s detailed use of place, and if she didn’t live in a town like Fallen Mountains, she must have spent quite a lot of time crafting it. The ending is very clever, and that’s the sign of a true gem–when the surprise is both satisfying and creative, and this book delivers on both.

The Dry by Jane Harper

A stunning, full engrossing novel that I couldn’t put down and didn’t want to (though I should have in order to savor it). Very few mysteries these days can surprise me. But this book, set in rural Australia in the midst of a heartbreaking drought that’s slowly swallowing the town, blew me away. I loved the characters and the setting, which is so wonderfully woven into the fabric of the plot, and the premise, which brings a boy once shunned from the small town back to mourn, and inevitably investigate, his best friend’s apparent suicide.

But the town hasn’t changed, and many people remember what transpired so many years ago, and make it clear that our hero, now Federal Agent Aaron Falk, isn’t wanted. As Falk investigates further into the circumstances of his friend’s death, the town closes in on him, adding intense pressure to an already tense setup. But Falk discovers reasons to believe the suicide isn’t what it seems, and what comes next is a series of twists and turns that kept me guessing all the way until the end. I repeatedly found myself shocked and pulled in by Harper’s fast paced and engrossing writing. One of the best books I’ve read this year.

 

Sunburn by Laura Lippman

I have a weak spot for strong, somewhat untrustworthy female narrators…and this one takes the cake. Sunburn is another story of secrets, but these characters are wickedly smart about managing them. These secrets start unfolding early in the book; details slipping out as brief as a thought (“When you’ve been in jail even a short time, you don’t like being confined”), facts materializing before their significance can be grasped, clues gradually accumulating until all of a sudden you’re in the thick of it. This process is mirrored in the development of Polly, our main character, and Adam, the P.I. tasked with finding her as they enter into an unexpected relationship. Falling in love was never the plan for either of them, and what began as something closer to target practice than courtship, with each testing the other, establishing boundaries, going through the motions of a happy relationship while working their own angles, becomes an emotional investment before they realize it.

I didn’t know who to believe or trust and it was a delicious feeling, knowing I was going to be surprised, and was kept guessing right up to the end. And what an ending it was! It was a surprising development that I had to sit and think about for a while. If you like noir-type mysteries, think The Postman Always Rings Twice crossed with a femme fatal movie like The Last Seduction, you’ll be in reading heaven.

 

Books NOT to read: 
My Sister’s Grave by Robert Dugoni

I’ve met Robert, back when I was involved in the Pacific Northwest Writer’s Conference where he served as the event’s M.C. and I was a volunteer helping new authors pitching their stories to agents. He was going through a bit of a rough transition–his popular legal thrillers were falling out of fashion and he was desperate to find a new trope. He landed on a female FBI agent-driven series, which I quickly forgot all about (yawn). This winter, while doing research on bestselling female sleuth novels, his most recent in this series, featuring Federal Agent Tracy Crosswhite, occupied a spot in the top 10. With great reviews, and a setting near my hometown, plus the fact that I knew him and liked him, I settled in for what I expected was a great read. Ugh. This book is an example of what happens when authors get lazy, editors get compliant (why edit this when it’ll sell thousands based on the author’s name?), and readers stop paying attention. Sloppy plotting, inconsistent details, the female character was so clearly written by a man that it made me angry (what modern author would write about a woman being self-conscious about calories? It’s so outdated as to be painful), and the love story so predictable (right down to a dog being injured that brings them closer together…double ugh) to an ending with so little energy if it wasn’t on my kindle I would have chucked it across the room.

Tangerine by Christine Magnan

I haven’t had a book make me actually angry–fists shaking with rage angry–in a very long time. Basically–the bad guy (in this case, a cunning and deviant young woman) wins. A historical literary fiction story, this cleverly written book is set in Morocco just when the country is on the brink of a revolution to regain control from the French. Because I’ve lived in the Mediterranean region and have visited Morocco, I was interested to revisit some of the sights and scents of the region, and the author does this so well. Her characters, two women, one fragile and quite unprepared for the cruel, harsh world and its complexity, and the other a “friend” who has courted her the way a viper might coil around its prey. As the climax neared and it looked like our vulnerable heroine, Alice, would lose, I burned through the pages, waiting for the author to turn the story around at the last minute–hoping for vindication, redemption, and for the wicked friend to get her due punishment. When this didn’t happen, and the evil friend takes everything, I was crushed, betrayed, even (my husband even said I screamed).

Books for the curious:

Losing It by Crystal Kaswell (romance)

Okay, okay, you got me. Yes, this is a romance, the happy ever after kind with lots of gritty sex. I wanted to check in with this genre after avoiding it since I was fourteen and reading harlequins at summer camp. I wanted to see why people love these books. After doing a ton of market research this year, romance is the top-selling fiction category by a landslide. This book hovered at the #1 spot for weeks, so I gave it a try. I’m not a fan of fairy tales, or perfect, happy endings, but I went in trying to be open-minded. This story is a “first-time romance” which is romance code for someone’s losing their virginity. I was pleasantly surprised by the characters, which are well-developed and interesting. The male lead is a “bad boy” type with deep scars from a messed up family situation, and the female lead is a nerdy loner about to head off to medical school. But she doesn’t want to start this phase of her life–at age 23–a virgin, so chooses childhood acquaintance, a player named Wes. The plot centers around the two falling for each other despite their different pasts and life goals, and it’s surprisingly sweet even though it’s overdone (but probably spot on for the genre). I learned a few tricks from the developing relationship and the trust these two people cultivate over the course of the book. Not sure when I’ll use it but I found it interesting.

The Rosemary Spell by Virginia Zimmerman (YA)

The Rosemary Spell completely captivated me in and refused to let go. This book has such an amazing and creative concept, and a mystery all rolled into one. Mystery is a genre that I have always loved and this book did not disappoint. Geared for a middle grade audience but adults will love the enjoyable writing, unique story, and the satisfying ending.

Best friends Rosie and Adam find an old book with blank pages that fill with handwriting before their eyes. Something about this magical book has the power to make people vanish, even from memory. The power lies in a poem—a spell. When Adam’s older sister, Shelby, disappears, they struggle to retain their memories of her as they race against time to bring her back from the void, risking their own lives in the process. Don’t be afraid that it’s YA, the language, subplots, and characters are all wonderfully complex and will be enjoyed by all audiences. A truly great read!

Whatever you’re reading, I hope it inspires and entertains you!

You wouldn’t think that being a fiction writer would require research. For sure, plenty of fiction authors don’t take the time to research their stories–I know because I’ve found their errors. And plenty of readers don’t mind when authors make everything up.

I mind.

In fact, given the amount of time I spend on research, I probably mind too much.

For each book, there’s a “big picture” idea, such as “family” or “reconciliation” or “true love” and then there’s the little details that support the theme and that add tension to the plot. For example, in my Cassidy Kincaid series, Cassidy is an orphan, and though she rarely thinks of her parents, this loss influences every relationship in her life. In Feeding the Fire, Zach had a younger brother that he couldn’t save, and though he’s an adult, this heartbreak lives and breathes in him and guides his relationships–from friendships to his love life–and is his core motivator in his work and activities.

Psychology Mapping

If I hadn’t become a writer, I would have become a psychologist. I’m fascinated by the human mind and how the choices we make and the events in our lives become a part of our very being and influence our behavior. Why we do what we do is a subject I never get tired of.

I’m extremely lucky to have a partner in crime for researching psychology and behavior, my good friend Craig. Several years ago, when the idea for Feeding the Fire came to me, he agreed to help me understand my main character, a 13-yr old girl named Jessie. When the story opens, she is perched on that edge between girlhood and the shift to adulthood. I wanted to add a significant event in her life that would steer her from the normal path of being a good kid to being a kid who made terrible, destructive choices. I needed to understand what type of event–how severe, how terrifying–would cause this change. Once I had that, I could design the storyline.

Craig is my lifeline for developing characters like this. He is a very busy therapist, so I only get to talk to him on the fly, usually via Facebook Messenger. Over a period of about four months, we logged over 100 messages. He also read passages of the book to check my accuracy. We also talked about Zach, and he helped me add a critical detail to his background–something I never would have thought of but that made a huge impact on his character. Craig also helped me develop Cassidy Kincaid and walked me through her mindset and motivations as well as the experience of losing Pete (so hard…I still cry when I read that book). I am indebted to Craig for this assistance.

Fine Details

Once the baseline psychology is clear and I can walk in my characters’ shoes, it’s time to figure out the day-to-day details that shape their life. My characters do the mundane things like go to school, go to work, and pursue activities. Here’s an example from a few of my stories:

Zach is a firefighter/paramedic at a municipal fire station. Even though I am married to a firefighter, I still had so many questions. For this, I reached out to retired Poulsbo Fire Chief Jeff Griffin and a friend through our firefighter family network. I begged him to help me with the details of Zach’s life. He preferred email but we texted too–sometimes when I would be in the middle of the scene.

Me: “Hey Jeff, what do the fire station tones sound like when a call comes in?”

Jeff: “There’s three short tones and then a female voice lists each engine being requested.”

I also enlisted my husband, who read an early draft of Feeding the Fire and caught all my firefighter/fire station errors: “Poulsbo’s turnouts are black, not tan.” “Brody can’t have a goatee as a firefighter.” He also helped design the fire in the climax scene. It had to be blazing but not too big, otherwise “Zach wouldn’t go in if the house was already fully involved.”

There’s also the jargon: “rig” for ambulance; “knocked down” to describe the flames being extinquished, “fully involved” meaning the structure is engulfed in flames all the way to the ceiling.

I also had a lot to learn about Jessie’s school life. I’m a former middle school science teacher, but things have drastically changed since 2002. For this, I reached out to my neighbor and friend, Joe Vlach, a former high school vice principal and current curriculum director of my local school district. Because Joe is also a very busy father of three teenagers and runner, I could only hit him up sparingly, but when we connected, he was a treasure trove of information. For example, cigarettes are out, vaping is in; a security officer is posted in every school nowadays, and teenagers don’t actually talk to each other anymore, they text. Joe was also kind enough to read an early draft of the book and having his affirmation gave me a huge boost in confidence.

Certainly, I could have made up or faked a lot of the details in Feeding the Fire, but that’s not the kind of writer I want to be.

My hope is that these hundreds of hours logged with experts create books that you love and savor.

Where will my research take me next?

an interview with a local PI
an interview with a former FBI agent
more psychology with Craig for book 3 in the Cassidy series
research on what it’s like to be a geology professor at University of Washington
a career path for Cassidy’s friend, Emily

There’s also a visit planned to the small town of Joseph, Oregon, the scene of the opening chapters for Finding Izzy Ford, the next Cassidy book. My family is planning a camping trip to Idaho this summer, and we’ll make an overnight stop here so I can get the lay of the land. And for book 4, the conclusion of this series, I will need a lot of help from law enforcement.

It may even require a trip to San Francisco…

On the first day of our 5-week Costa Rican sabbatical, which began in Tamarindo, we woke to the sound of the wacky birds making a major racket just outside our door. We’d rolled in late the previous evening after an epic travel day. Despite the expert and free packing list by Travelers Todos, I still forgot swim goggles, so our first errand was to buy a set from the surf shop across the street. I also forgot the kids’ homework (oops).

I had brought my two daughters, age 8 & 11 to Witch’s Rock Surf Camp for several reasons. The first was because I wanted them to gain some surf tips that would help them enjoy the remaining days of our trip. The other was more personal: I wanted to see the changes I’d heard about in the little town I fell in love with 15 years ago.

Walking into Witch’s Rock Surf Camp HQ that first morning, with my young daughters in tow felt surreal. The restaurant where I spent so much time heckling my friends and reliving every wave brought back so many memories, mostly, of being younger. When I became a parent I was ready to trade in my freedom for something bigger, something so much more lasting and meaningful, but I’d be lying if I didn’t suffer just one little pang for the days when life was easier, when I could just jump on a surfboard or read a book when I felt like it.

The first surf lesson went great! The girls had their own lesson with an adorable young woman named XiQuiu (pronounced CQ). She pushed them into whitewater waves and they belly-rode them gleefully with the accompanying squeals of delight.

To say Tamarindo has changed since the last time I said goodbye would be a major understatement. I remember dirt roads, frogs chirping in the bog located on the way to the minimart, and a youthful, friendly vibe. The vibe is still here, but the town has exploded (and I’m no longer young). Big hotels, and plenty of souvenir shops and kiosks, coffee shops, and a large grocery store. The beach hawkers blow their colorful clay whistles day and night and from every corner – not buying one felt offensive. The low-key feel is gone. At night, it felt like a much bigger city–not a place I would want to be wandering alone. 

Day 2 of surf school began in tears when my youngest admitted that she didn’t want to learn to surf. This even after telling me she was so looking forward to surfing together on Christmas Day in two weeks when we’ll be in Santa Teresa. I wasn’t completely surprised: she’s my cautious one, and rarely even surfs whitewash waves with me on my board. But I was crushed. The only choice was to let her make the one that she needed, which was to bow out of the week of lessons I’d paid for.

After a week with Xiquiu, my older daughter had started to stand up! On one day, she had a different instructor named Mao who pushed her a little harder than Xiquiu, and though my daughter didn’t fully appreciate this, I noticed a difference (she was also now in private lessons). He pushed her into little green-face wind waves that were a perfect little ride, yelling “up!” which she did again and again for a solid 45 minutes. I’m feeling confident that if she wants to take her learning further, during our 3-week stint in Santa Teresa, she can.

On the final day, both of my daughters joined Xiquiu for a lesson, though my younger only rode waves with her sister. Though little surfing took place, the two girls playing in the warm waves with their young guide was the highlight of the trip.

Will I return to Tamarindo? Probably not. I would visit for a few days, see old friends, enjoy the excellent restaurants. But the town is loud–music plays 20 hours a day, and it’s very tourist-centered. Witch’s Rock offered great surf instruction and a fun vibe, but it’s not really geared for families with younger kids. My future teenagers will likely love it, so maybe we have another trip in us yet.

 

 

Have you ever been so scared that the hairs on the back of your neck stood up?

As an outdoor adventure-lover, I have faced many challenges: from raging rivers to snowy passes to lightning storms, and though I’ve never come face to face with a bear, I have seen the flash of their shiny coat as they fled from my path. I have smelled their presence, and seen their deep scratches in the bark of trees. I have felt them and heard them. One time, in Alaska, I startled a grizzly, and the sheer terror of this encounter still lurks in my nightmares today.

Even though the bear didn’t harm me, my creative brain wonders: “what if?” I decided to let my imagination loose, and share with you a “flash fiction” (400 words or less) idea that’s been cooking in my subconscious.

 

The Bear and the Shotgun

My ears throb with the sudden release of adrenaline and my breath becomes shaky and fast. With feet locked to the earth, I reach for the shotgun.

She stands up, all eight feet of her, her dark eyes like shiny buttons, her coat glistening in the low artic light. She is 25 meters away and still chewing on whatever grub she’s found in the tussocks and creek-side shrubs. I know she smells me. So does her cub, who copies his mother and sniffs the air.

I must have surprised her. I walked a short distance upstream to filter tomorrow’s supply of water. I don’t mind the task—one rarely gets the opportunity to be alone in grizzly country. I’m here with a group of scientists studying the glaciers that once filled this valley; we’re armed with chisels and hammers and sampling bags, a flare gun, a custom-built lake coring platform, a shotgun, a pistol, and enough DEET to give us all cancer.

Basically, we’re number-crunching, tree-hugging pansies who still have a soft spot for Bambi. The idea of killing a bear doesn’t come lightly. But in Alaska, if you don’t bring firearms into the wilderness, the locals think you’re nuts—despite the fact that grizzlies rarely attack large groups and that pepper spray really does work. “Pepper spray?” our pilot grunted as he loaded our gear. “That stuff’s just seasoning. You wanna be bear bait?”

So, anytime one of us pansies is alone, we’ve sworn to carry a weapon. Just in case. Tonight, I happened to grab the shotgun. I’ve never fired a shotgun. This suddenly seems like a major oversight.

The grizzly is swaying, shifting her weight from side to side, trying to see me better. I hear her woof-like grunt as she drops to all fours. I wonder if she smells my terror.

She begins to charge, her coat rippling like silk. My breath is high in my chest and my fingers are shaking. I remember this: the hard butt of the shotgun against my shoulder, my legs tensing, on eye closing as the other sights her at the end of the barrel. My finger is on the trigger when she stops in a dead halt. She sniffs me again, her nose up. Her sharp claws click against the smooth stones of the gravel bar as she steps closer, still sniffing. In two steps she could have my head in her jaws. I am crying now, my whole body shuddering in panic and desperation. I don’t want to do this. Don’t make me do this.

In one heaving leap she turns away, galloping through the brush, her cub scurrying behind. The gun slips from my hands and my wobbly legs give way. In the distance, their coats flash silver as they disappear over the ridge.

————————————————————————————————————————————————–

All of my stories begin with “What if?” because I’m fascinated by the many twists and turns our lives take, and the resulting ripple effect. In Going Over the Falls, I explored “What if I loved surfing and the lifestyle it created for me so much that I couldn’t or wouldn’t give it up in order to be a mom? How would that affect my daughter?” In Love in the Time of Surfing, I explored “What if an estranged family member–one I had pushed out of my life because of his misdeeds–went missing? How far would I put myself in danger to help him?” In Meet Me On the Mountain, I explored “What if my past heartbreaks made loving someone else a huge risk, if I met my soulmate, would I take the leap?” My goal is always to go deeply into the emotions we experience when faced with huge obstacles, be they external or internal, or both.

For a fun daydream, think back to a choice you made in your life and explore the “what ifs” of what might have been. Would you be where you are today?

 

Despite my family’s zeal to play hard all summer (meaning little time to read but who’s complaining?) I managed to devour several good books. I even tested out a few freebies just to see what other authors dabbling in the free market were writing.

If you’re looking for a few good reads, here are my four favorites from summer 2018:

Before the Fall by Noah Hawley

“A complex, compulsively readable thrill ride of a novel.” – Kristin Hannah.

I picked this up on a vacation day at 10 am and didn’t stop reading until I turned the last page at 1am (okay, there were a few minutes spared for sipping margaritas and I may have jumped in the pool). The characters and the plot were both top-notch. It is a riveting suspense novel that hooked me from the first page, and offered a little bit of everything: a mystery, great subplots, grief and loss, pitch-perfect characters, finding love, and wonderful writing. The author is an award-winning screenwriter (Farley) so knows how to entertain.

 

The Trespasser by Tana French

New York Times bestselling author Tana French is “required reading for anyone who appreciates tough, unflinching intelligence and ingenious plotting” (The New York Times).

I picked this up in a new favorite bookstore on Orcas Island, Washington while delivering my oldest daughter to her first-ever sleep away camp. Inside Darville’s Books, not only did I fall in love with the sweet and savvy ladies working the shelves (booksellers that know books and love to recommend them? What a rare delight!) but I picked up several great gems, all new to me. Tana French’s The Trespasser was a compelling read. Her detective-writing skills impressed me, as did her characterization. Antoinette Conway, the protagonist, is as complex and as compelling as I’ve ever encountered. It’s rare to find both a plot-driven and a character-driven story in one book.

Blood Orchids by Toby Neal

“Paradise has a dark side. Overcoming a past filled with scars, Lei makes a life for herself as a cop in the sleepy Big Island town of Hilo. When a routine patrol turns up two murdered teens, Lei’s world is rocked: she knows one of the girls.”

This is the free book I mentioned earlier. I’m a sucker for good cop stories, and I was curious about this concept: A female Hawaiian cop overcoming a troubled past by solving crimes in her native land. The plot was gripping, if dark at times, and the main character was complex and flawed, but earnest. I enjoyed both her inner journey and her outer journey. There are a few structural errors here and there but they were easy to ignore and I’m sure the author has improved her craft as the series (there’s now 12) advanced. A highly enjoyable read–great for a plane ride or for binge reading on the fly, and I’m sure I’ll read more of the series.

Styx & Stone by James W. Ziskin

“Styx & Stone is a knockout! Vivid period detail, a clever plot revolving around a stolen academic manuscript, and a memorable protagonist add up to one of the year’s best mystery debuts.'”

I wouldn’t say I’m a historical fiction fan. Especially as a female. After watching the sexual harassment being exposed in every corner of our universe this year, reading about a female reporter heavily suppressed by sexual discrimination wouldn’t normally be my thing. BUT James Ziskin’s writing is SO GOOD. His mysteries offer the highest quality, with wonderfully clever plots, and are so satisfying, like a fine wine or beautiful symphony–delightful from beginning to end and to be savored slowly, with all the senses wide open. Ziskin has six more of the Ellie Stone mysteries and I’m currently on number five. There’s a delightful surprises in each story–a rare treat.

 

 

Honorable Mention: My Absolute Darling by Gabriel Tallent

The reason this isn’t on my list of “favorites” is because it’s probably the most difficult book I’ve ever read. There’s some explicit scenes in here that are incredibly disturbing, heartbreaking, and so wrong at times I had to look away. But the characters, a young teenager named Turtle and her survivalist father, and the setting, in the woodsy and wild Mendocino coast area, were so rich, detailed, and beautifully rendered that I kept reading. The story will hurt you to read, but if you can stomach the journey, the rewards are worth it. Plus, the climax–when Turtle brilliantly frees herself from the life she’s been suffocating in–comes to fruition, explodes off the page like fireworks. Rooting for a character who is so damaged and watching her win filled me with hope, both for humanity and for the power we have as authors.

 

 

Do you have a favorite book from this spring or summer? Drop me a line and tell me all about it!

Or you can join my newsletter. Just for signing up I’ll send you a free book!

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Book groups almost always ask: “How do you write such great love scenes?” They especially love the way both the male and female characters are equal players, and the woman’s pleasure comes first. “Shouldn’t it always be this way?” I always reply.

The following are 10 tips to writing great sex scenes:

First, establish the chemistry between the characters. This needs to be built in to the story long before they slip between the sheets. Sure, physical attraction is important, but great romance has depth. A person might admire their lover for something they stand for, or for something they have endured, such as a hardship. Empathy mixed with desire is powerful.
I like to play with the power dynamics between male and female. There’s nothing sexier than a woman who knows what she wants! Or a shy guy eager to please but doesn’t know how.
Use past experiences as a way to remember what the beginning was like. As a teen, did you pine for another person? Were you spurned? Did you have awkward encounters in the dark? Dive back into those thoughts and emotions and recreate them to suit your characters’ needs.
Go easy on the language. Nothing kills a good love buzz than the P-word. Readers have excellent imaginations, and subtle word play allows them to fill in the blanks. Also go easy on the Harlequin terms like “his manhood” and “her velvety folds”. Yuck.
All of the great lovers in my life have prioritized my enjoyment before their own. While some believe this is fantasy, it doesn’t have to be.
The best love scenes I’ve ever written happen when I’m truly feeling free, which means my kids are out of the house and I’m not worried that my husband is going to come in and ask me about what we’re making for dinner. So, don’t try to write a passionate love scene when you can be interrupted. Find a hidden corner of a library, with headphones playing your favorite mood music, or a friend’s empty house that you’ve offered to watch for the weekend. Light candles for ambiance, sip a glass of wine.
Pinterest is a great place for getting inspired. I have made story boards of couples kissing or being affectionate mixed with settings I like. You can check out my story board for Going Over the Falls here.
Think beyond the bed. While the bed is obvious place to set a love scene, it’s perfectly acceptable to imagine other interesting places as long as it fits the story. Are the characters in a rush? Feeling playful in a new setting? Or does one kiss lead to another and suddenly the bedroom just seems too damn far away?
Sex without tenderness tends to have more of an “erotica” feel to it, which is fine if that’s where you’re going. Readers enjoy the physical thrill of a building climax, but it’s the connection that makes love scenes meaningful. Real intimacy makes us emotionally vulnerable; receiving a simple caress (on the arm or neck) is incredibly grounding.
If you’re really stuck, check out this post by author coach Jennie Nash on Huff Post, or this book by Elizabeth Benedict: The Joy of Writing Sex Scenes.

Whatever your characters get into, may it be passionate, grounding, and interesting. If you have a favorite love scene, please send it my way!

Rescuing Reeve

How far would you go to find the stepbrother who destroyed your family?