The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up

I love this book by Marie Kondo.  I first bought an e-book copy and read it on my phone (a first for me) while on vacation this summer in Oak Park, Il.  When I got back to the California desert, I bought a hard copy so I could underline and make notes in it.  And now I am in the process of decluttering my life following the Kondo method--with a few necessary modifications.  To track my progress and keep me accountable I started a blog.  If you're interested you might enjoy checking out how I stumble through her very interesting suggestions at www.magictidyingup.blogspot.com

Eula May and the Easter Kandy Killer

My crazy, funny mystery, "Eula May and the Easter Kandy Killer" is now available as an e-book on amazon.com.  Unfortunately, it will take a week for the 'Look inside' feature to be available. Therefore, I'm posting an excerpt of chapter one to give you a flavor of what the book is like.  As I said in my previous blog post,  Warning.  After reading this book, you may find yourself looking differently at Chocolate Easter bunnies.
Click here to go to it on amazon.com:   "Eula May and the Easter Kandy Killer"
 

   

 CHAPTER ONE

My boss, Sal Minitini, decided we needed to hold a brain stormin' session over Easter weekend in Palm Springs. Good gravy. I'd just got to Hollywood from a tiny Kentucky town as a wanna be dancin' star, and even I knew that wasn't the best time or place to hold a serious meetin'.

Who wanted to discuss TV plots at a California oasis callin' itself the Playground of the Stars? Half the college population of the West Coast and their grandparents were there to sit next to Lucille Ball on her iron bench, rub Sonny Bono's bronze knee, and cavort down Bob Hope and Frank Sinatra boulevards. But Sal's bearded and bald yoga guru had persuaded him relaxation was the key to gettin' creative juices flowin'.

So there I was, the most junior staff person, workin' since seven on a coolish Friday morning. I was pool side of our fifties Retro Motel guardin' lounges for the rest of Sal's staff. I'd strewn green and white towels over five of the chaises and pulled them into a half circle facing the bright blue water. I was nervous and kept rearrangin' the chairs. I'd made no friends since I moved from Karnak, the tiny town I'd lived in all my life. I was hoping the three co-workers on this trip would turn into more than colleagues. I was getting' a little lonely.

And of course I wanted to make a good impression on Sal. Although he was only a middle-aged, overweight TV producer with few successes, I counted on him to make good on his promises. He'd told me if I did a bang-up job as a go-fer, he'd get me an introduction to the producer of 'Dancing with the Stars'. Right, as if that was ever goin' to happen, but I was an optimist. After five discouragin' months in Hollywood, I still had high hopes that somethin' excitin' was on its way. It was but not in the way I anticipated. Who anticipates murder?

I'd put on my best casual outfit--dark green cotton pants, green and white striped shirt and white flip flops. With red hair and green eyes, I wore a lot of green. I hoped I looked like a serious Shirley MacLaine and not a Christmas tree.

I'd gotten two pitchers of orange juice in ice buckets and a coffee urn waiting for the nine a.m. meeting. Would Sal and his people actually make it down at that hour? Only time would tell.

He'd told me to make sure he was up after the motel's wake up call at eight or else. He was a heavy sleeper and might go back to dreamland. My bright pink, Hello Kitty, watch read eight-fifteen. It was time to show I was a bang-up go-fer and check on him. I gave his fake wood paneled door a timid knock. It was unlatched and swung open. My stomach clenched as I wondered, 'What does a new employee, who wants to keep her job, do now?'

I stuck my head in and whispered, “Mr. Minitini? Are you up?” It was quiet. I listened for sounds of breathing or bed clothes rustling. Nothing. I stepped in, the bathroom looked dark. I didn't think he was there. I repeated a little louder, “Mr. Minitini. Are you here? It's me, Eula May.” I hoped he wasn't goin' to grab me as I walked over to the rumpled bed. I'd heard horror stories of some TV producers. Most were all business, all the time, but some were...well, you know.

The bed looked empty. But as my eyes scanned the room, I saw a pile of clothes lying by the bathroom door. I gasped. “Oh, lawdy. Mr. Minitini! Are you OK?” I flipped on the starburst overhead light. He was curled up like a shrimp and his eyes stared at nothing. I could see he'd been sick.

I pulled out my cell phone. I told myself I would not scream. My mother was a funeral director. I'd seen dead bodies before. But still my fingers trembled as I punched in 911 and babbled, “I think he's dead. I think he's dead.” As I answered the dispatcher's calm questions, my eyes roamed the room, anywhere but on the body. On the stand next to the bed, was a large chocolate rabbit with one ear missing. I had one just like it in my room, but it had both ears.

***

Sal's three staff members stumbled out and down to the pool area when they heard the sirens. They wore shirts and shorts or jeans. Either they slept that way, or they'd stopped to pull on clothes before they escaped a possible fire. We sat in the lounge chairs I'd saved for the meetin'. When the first police officer had arrived, after checkin' my ID, he'd let me go and I'd scrambled to keep the seats we no longer needed.

Other motel residents rushed out of their rooms, also thinkin' it was a fire. The desk clerk flapped his hands at them. “No fire, no fire. Go back to beds. Everythin' OK.” When they saw no fire engines or handsome, hunky firemen they went back to finish their sleep or whatever else they'd been doin' in the Retro Motel on Easter weekend.

I felt a strange, fierce desire to talk and never stop. My co-workers looked stunned as I blurted what I'd seen and done in Sal's room. I didn't mention the chocolate Easter rabbit. For all I knew it was perfectly innocent, just like me.

Jennifer, Sal's thirtyish personal assistant, burst out crying when I told them Sal was dead. Last night's mascara leaked around her eyes making her look like one of the undead. The two writers, Mark and Bruce, were slurpin' down OJ. Mark had emptied a flask into one of the pitchers and I didn't think it was an energy additive. Although I felt numb from findin' Sal, my heart beat up a little when I looked at Mark's remarkable abs, peeking out of the unbuttoned shirt he'd thrown on. He was one of the reasons I'd been so excited to be invited on this trip. As I mentioned, I'd been getting' a little lonely.

“Crap. Everything happens to me.” Mark complained, runnin' his hands through his black curly hair. I stared at him. He explained, “Well, doesn't it? Bruce and I are here to finish writing the pilot for Sal's new series, 'Gals and Guns.' And now it's gone with the wind.”

Bruce perked up. “Hey, I like that. Gone with the wind. Write that down.”

I blinked. These were writers? “You do know that's the title of one of the most famous movies in the world?”

“Before my time. Probably just an oldie.” Bruce scoffed.

Although stunned by Sal's death, my blood was gettin' hot, and not from the early sun. I was especially upset with Mark. He was, I'd thought, one of the nicest guys I'd met in Hollywood. He didn't treat me like a hick from the sticks and he had the cutest dimples when he smiled. I also liked the tight faded jeans he wore that cupped his bottom nicely.

He saw the outraged expression on my face and backtracked, “Eula May, I am sorry Sal's dead. He wasn't just a meal ticket to me. He was my friend. But his death is also the death of the dreams I've had since I was a kid in Idaho. You should understand that.”

Now he did sound like a writer, a bad one, but still a writer.

“Yeah, I know what it's like to have dreams that never see the light of day. But you're still alive, you can try again. Sal is dead! Any dream he ever had is dead. He can never try again!” I cringed inside 'cause now I was soundin' like an inspirational 'you can do it' book. I guess sudden death brought out the cliches.

Mark reached over to pat my hand. “I know, I'm sorry.”

A tall angular man who looked forty in spite of graying hair ambled toward us. He pulled a leather billfold from a back pocket and flipped it open to a silver and gold police badge. “Detective Steele. I understand you all knew the late Mr. Minitini.”

We gaped at him from our cushioned lounge chairs. Jennifer's blue eyes grew bigger, if possible. “Yes, yes, I knew him. He was my boss.” She wiped her eyes with a scented tissue from the pocket of her light blue shorts.

Detective Steele pulled over a chair from a patio table, its legs scraping on the concrete so bad it set my teeth on edge.. “I need to ask a few questions,” he said with a hint of a drawl. He sat and gestured toward a stooped, bald headed man who sat behind him and pulled out a notebook. “George here will take your statements. Please be sure to speak clearly and always face George. He's hearing impaired but he's the fastest lip reader in the country.”

I gave George a little smile and waggled my fingers, hoping I wasn't saying something bad in sign language.

Detective Steele cleared his throat and said. “I'm sure this must come as a shock to you all.”

“Of course not,” I stammered. “I have a good friend in Karnak who can't hear, either.”

“I was referring to the death of Sal Minitini.”

“Oh, yes, right.” My face was so hot, I thought it would melt.

“Sal never did look after himself,” Mark said. “Lived life to the full and loved the ladies. Still I could scarcely believe Eula May here, when she told us how she found him.”

Bruce jumped in. “Did he have a heart attack? What happened? Did he have Ebola? Or what about measles, I hear that's goin' around right now. Are we at risk?”

George's eyes widened at Bruce's wild comments. He was a speed lip reader if he kept up with Bruce's breakneck gushing.

Steele squinted at Bruce. “We don't know what caused Mr. Minitini's death. But we're treating it as a suspicious death 'cause he wasn't under a doctor's care, as far as we know. Do you know?”

“He always said he was healthy as a horse, and would live forever.” Bruce could sure spout cliches. I wondered if his bedtime readin' included classic overused phrases.

Mark rubbed his chin. “I think he had an annual physical a while back and everything was fine...unless of course he didn't want us to know he was sick.”

“Why wouldn't he want you to know that?” Steele stared at Mark.

“Sharks!” Bruce cried. “Sharks are always circling in Hollywood. If they see weakness they eat you alive.” He made biting gestures with his fingers.

We looked at him. He pursed his lips and draped a pool towel over his wispy shoulders. “Well you know it's true.”

The detective slid his hazel colored eyes to me. They weren't hooded like a snake's. But they were cold and tired looking. “And you...Ms. Sweet? Eula May Sweet? Is that your real name or a stage name?”

He scared me, but his words were insulting. By stage name did he mean like a stripper? I tried to keep my voice as steady and cold as his. “It's my real name. I'm from Kentucky.” And then I blew it by blurting out, “You know where we all marry our cousins.”

Jennifer gasped, Bruce snorted with laughter, Mark's mouth fell open, but Steele just raised an eyebrow. Just one. He was cool. I wondered if he had a heart beating inside that robot like exterior.... 

I hope you enjoyed reading this excerpt.

Eula May and the Easter Kandy Killer

Some readers are curious about how writers write.  Here is how/why I wrote my most recent story.

On March 1 (2015), I set myself a challenge of writing a short (20,000 word) Easter mystery in less than a month so it could be published before Good Friday.  I met my challenge (doing nothing else except writing!) and the book, after final editing, will be available on amazon.com soon--I'm hoping Friday, March 27.
       "Eula May and the Easter Kandy Killer" takes place during Eula May's Hollywood days before she returns home to Karnak, KY, having failed to become a successful dancing star.  (This is the same Eula May who recently starred in my first novel, "Eula May and the Flim Flam Nun.")
       The dancer's low bank account forces her to take a go-fer job working for Sal Minitini, a TV producer.  Her first assignment is help Sal and his writing team over Easter holiday weekend at the Retro Motel in Palm Springs, CA.  Sal thinks the relaxing spot will up his writers' creativity turning his new TV series, "Gals and Guns," into a big success.  
      Unfortunately, before the script is finished Eula May finds Sal's dead body.  To save herself, she needs to discover how and why he died.  And, if he was murdered, 'who done it'.  Of course, there's a handsome homicide detective who both helps and hinders her, and gets her heart beating in more ways than one.
      Warning.  After reading this book, you may find yourself looking differently at Chocolate Easter bunnies.
     

"WIRED FOR STORY" by LISA CRON

If you like to write stories, I've discovered a great help.  It's "Wired for Story," subtitled 'The Writer's Guide to Using Brain Science to Hook Readers from the Very First Sentence.'  As a former psychologist I was intrigued with the idea of using brain research to create plots and characters that would keep readers turning pages.  The author, Lisa Cron, is an instructor at the UCLA Extension Writers' Program, has worked as an agent, TV producer, story consultant, and in publishing.  I especially liked Chapter 9 "What can go wrong,must go wrong--and then some."  Pity the poor heroine or hero whose creator follows these directions.  Each chapter contains a cognitive secret and a story secret.  In chapter 9, the first is that "the brain uses stories to simulate how we might navigate difficult situations in the future."  And the second is that "a story's job is to put the protagonist through tests that, even in her wildest dreams, she doesn't think she can pass."  The paperback was published in 2012, but I recently found it at The Book Table, a great little but big book store in downtown Oak Park, IL.

Thank you for more than 4,000 downloads

I was stunned that "Eula May and the Flim Flam Nun", the e-book version of my funny mystery had 4,182 downloads over the weekend.  For a 24 hour period it was # 1 mystery and # 1 cozy (subset of mystery) at amazon.com.  Thanks to all the readers that thought it would be a good read.  And I want to thank again the two artists (Sandra Tang Fremgen and Tom Fremgen) responsible for the cover that attracted such a huge number of people.
     If you want a vacation from your world, visit the madcap characters in a warm hearted town, Karnak, Kentucky, site of the Eula May series.
     I write funny stories because there is so much stress in the world.  A laugh a day keeps the doctor away.  Have fun, enjoy life.

Continuing Preview of EULA MAY AND THE MONKEY BUSINESS

Scroll down to previous blog to read the beginning of chapter 1.  This material continues it.

End of previous material

“Oh dear, I seem to have found another dead body.” I grimaced, looking at the deceased.

“Not again! You shouldn't be allowed out on your own." Sheriff Buck growled.  "Where are you? I'm coming over.”

“I'm at that new shop, Monkey Business. As mayor I thought I should welcome the owners to Karnak.” The shrill animal voice in the back kept shrieking. “Maybe you should bring someone from animal control, too.”

New material

“Lord love a duck. All I got is Deputy Kipp. He'll have to handle any animal problem. Hang on, don't touch anything. I'll be right there.” He cut the connection.

I squeezed my eyes shut hoping things would look different when I opened them. But nothing changed. It was still Monday morning, my stomach was still overfull from the Chamber of Commerce breakfast I just gobbled down unaware I would soon be staring at a dead body. I sighed, punched in #2 on my phone and heard, “Clip and Curl, we're here for you.”

“Wanda, thank God you answered the phone. I'm in deep do-do again. Get over here fast.”

“What? You think I can just run around like a jack rabbit. I've got clients to take care of.”

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but..” my voice dropped to a whisper, “I've found another dead body.”

Wanda shrieked, “Did I hear you right? Did you say...”

I cut her off. “Stop. Don't say it. Everyone in town will be running over here.”

“Where's here?”

“The Monkey Business. It's the new store in town, about a block from you.”

“Oh yeah, I know it. I'll be right there. Sylvia can run the shop.”

I clicked my phone shut. I didn't know if I should call anyone else or not. It was hard to think with all the noise coming from out back. I ran my fingers through my short, curly red hair, worried about what I should do as mayor. Scanning the shop, I noticed the animal cages were empty. Perhaps the owner didn't have time to stock them with small dogs, cats, and rabbits.

Oh, oh, I remembered reading angry letters to the paper about the new business. A 'concerned animal lover' wrote the shop should be boycotted because it encouraged 'unspeakable puppy mills'.

I didn't know about pet store ethics, but I knew the town needed new businesses. Karnak had been slammed by the current economic recession. No matter what the politicians called it, when you couldn't find a job it was a recession, maybe even a depression. I cringed as I realized now I was one of those dreadful politicians feeding at the public trough. Well, at least I hadn't sought the office. No one even told me there was a write in campaign for me as mayor to get rid of good ole boys' politics. Since my salary was only a token $1,000 a year I didn't think I was a burden to the taxpayers either.

A police car pulled up to the curb, Buck and Deputy Kipp slammed out of it and ran into the store.

“OK, Eula May, where's the body?” Buck snarled, his meaty hand on his holster.

The noise from the back grew louder. Kipp shoved back his cap and asked, “What's that?”

Eula May and the Monkey Business, Preview of my new book

Chapter 1. Not Another Body

I pulled the shiny brass knob on the glass door and walked in to the tinkle of an overhead bell. As newly elected mayor of Karnak, KY, I felt it my duty to call on new businesses and this one, Monkey Business, promised to be fun. But what I saw wasn't funny. The merchandise seemed to have tumbled off shelves in an earthquake. Boxes and bags of dog and cat food, pet toys, leashes, and shattered glass aquariums were strewn on the concrete floor. From a back room I heard squawking. There was a strange, fusty smell. I stepped around the fallen supplies to the green Formica counter. A tossed pile of clothing behind it caught my eye.

My stomach clenched as I saw what looked like a human head sticking out of the jumble. “Oh, law. Not another dead body.” I shuddered remembering the mess I'd gotten into the last time I found a body—an aborted wedding and my arrest for murder. I stared out the shop windows, trying to think of a way out of this new mickle. Ignoring the beautiful spring morning, the swaying pink and red tulips in the grassy park across the street, I moaned, “There's gotta be another explanation.”

But I knew what I had to do. I couldn't run and hide this time. I pulled my phone out of my blue blazer pocket and hit #5. Because he'd insisted, Sheriff Buck Johnson was on my speed dial.

“Sheriff here, Eula May. What's up now?” His gruff voice hurt my ear.

“It's not my fault, so don't get any ideas...” I started to explain.

“What's not your fault?” he demanded. “Get to the point.”

“Oh dear, I seem to have found another dead body.” I grimaced, looking at the deceased.

“Not again! You shouldn't be allowed out on your own. Where are you? I'm coming over.”

“I'm at that new shop, Monkey Business. As mayor I thought I should welcome the owners to Karnak.” The shrill animal voice in the back kept shrieking. “Maybe you should bring someone from animal control, too.”      [This book will be available this fall as an e-book.] 

"Invitation to Destiny" continues, Other Good Reads

Just a reminder that Chapter 2. "Who is Michelle" of  Invitation to Destiny, a free serial novel, will be posted on Friday, August 1.  The adventures of Vanessa with the honey colored hair are continued at www.amy-solittletime.blogspot.com.  In this chapter, she learns more about Charlie, opens the invitation from France, and her boyfriend with the darling dimples calls.

Other Good Reads 

Some e-books I recently read that I enjoyed are:

1.  The Gaugin Connection by Estelle Ryan.  This is the first in a series featuring protagonist/detective Genevieve Lenard, an autistic woman who is a genius at finding patterns and works in the fraud department of a huge insurance company.  She is dragged into helping outwit an international murderer who is killing promising young artists after they forge multimillion dollar paintings for him.  An ingenious plot, with engaging and enraging characters, but it is Genevieve's vulnerability, intelligence, and moral sense that will keep you reading past bedtime.

2.  Two Faced by Sylvia Selfman and Leigh Selfman.  Every time I thought the heroine was safe, another horrendous problem was tossed at her.  If you like twisty plots, underhanded crooks, and vulnerable heroines, you'll enjoy trying to figure out what's really going on.  Add a little romance, is he a hero or a villain, and the plot is complete.

3.  Butler Did It! by Sally Pomeroy.  An innocent young woman, photographing ocean curiosities unwittingly sees what she shouldn't, risks her life to save a human target, and becomes a target herself.   Fun and scary story and characters. An unusual adventure focusing on the adaptation of WWII vehicles, ships, and other apparatus for peace time research activities.  But they turn out to be extremely useful, too, for saving the world from the evil machinations of power mad men.  

 

How to Hug an Author

As a writer I try to support other writers.  A friend sent me an email, included below, which gives ideas on how to do that.  I did not write it, but if you love to read, it's for you.

Subject: *Hug an Author* Today! Here is how to support your favorite authors (it'll encourage them to write more books!)

Hello dear Bookworm! 

Did you know that authors need our help? 

Authors put their heart and soul into their books.  Then, after laboring over their book for many, many hours, they release their work into a world of millions of books where it is hard to get noticed. 

How can we help? 

There are many things we can do to support our favorite authors.
 Here are my top 5 suggestions:

5. Share the author and their books with your friends.
Word of mouth is powerful! 

4. Like their Facebook page and sign up for their email list. 

3. Purchase their new book when it comes out.

2. Share about their book on your blog (if you have one), in
forums, and on any social media platform you enjoy.

And the easiest and definitely one of the most effective ways
to support an author you appreciate is:

1. LEAVE A REVIEW for a book you love!

It’s the easiest way to show some love and it is immensely effective!  

Reviews will help bring more sales which in turn will help better rankings 

within Amazon...which are greatly important to your favorite author. 

So hug an author today. Leave a review!

Eula May and the Flim Flam Nun, Chapter 1 and Invitation for a new story

New Blog Novel:  Invitation to Destiny
I'm keeping the first chapter of 'Eula May and the Flim Flam Nun' posted below for a while.  In the meantime, I'd like to invite you to read the first chapter, No Good Deed Goes Unpublished, of my new blog novel, "Invitation to Destiny."  Follow the adventures of Vanessa with the honey colored hair on the first of each month as she juggles her job, a boyfriend, a dog, and a mysterious invitation.  All the action is at www.amy-solittletime.blogspot.com.


Eula May continues
To thank all of my enthusiastic supporters, here is the first chapter of my funny mystery 'Eula May and the Flim Flam Nun'.  I would really appreciate comments sent to me at afremgen@gmail.com.  Enjoy.
The entire book is now available at
http://www.amazon.com/Eula-May-Flim-Flam-Nun/dp/149961151X/


                                                            1 Death of a Saint

“I know you’re in there, Sister Claire. Let me in.” I rattled the doorknob on her old trailer. The latch was loose and the door swung open. I called, “Sister Claire? Is anyone here?” 

It was quiet, too quiet, dead quiet. I sniffed a strange, musty smell. Stepping into the living area, I could hear a humming from the nearby refrigerator and the ticking of a wall clock. The heater creaked on as opening the door let the cold January air hit the thermostat. The nun at least had electricity. She wasn’t a poverty stricken martyr. She didn’t need to blackmail poor little me, although she demanded I meet her there with money I didn’t have. 

My eyes swept the room. Beige plastic paneled walls, beige floral covered sofa, beige coffee table with a beige ceramic vase of plastic white lilies and…I gaped at a black robe laid out in what looked like a coffin. And since my mother was the town’s undertaker, I recognized one when I saw one. My heart almost stopped as I realized there was a body in the coffin.

I approached cautiously. “Sister Claire…is that you?” No answer. “Are you OK?” 

No that woman is not OK my brain was screaming at me—that woman is dead. But I had to check just in case. Much as I hated her and what she was doing to me, my upbringing took over.

Grimacing I reached into the coffin, and pulled the soft black sleeve away from her bony wrist to feel for a pulse. I couldn’t see her face—thank Goshen for that—her black head veil had fallen across it. Her skin while still warm produced no pulse. Now what? Should I call 911? And tell them what? I found a murdered body. Murder? What made me think of murder? 

Well, maybe she suffered a heart attack or stroke and collapsed into this wooden box. But it looked to me as if someone tucked her robe around her. I’m not a medical person but I don’t think she could have done that to herself.

My brain ticked away. If murdered, then how? I scanned the tiny area. The beige patterned linoleum floor was bare. No visible blood or likely weapon.

And who would have done it? Who would have killed a saintly nun? Of course, I knew she wasn’t a saint but no one else did. Would a saint try to blackmail me with fake pictures of me molesting my young dance students? Not only would these false accusations ruin my dance studio but they’d ruin my chances of marrying the man of my dreams—rich, handsome, Lance. Maybe I should look for the fake photos. No, I best leave right now.

I wasn’t going to stay there and call the police either. I’d be the first suspect and questioned for hours, if not days. It would be goodbye wedding plans. 

Then it struck me—what if the murderer was still there! I gasped. According to all the murder mysteries I read, the murderer would knock me out, put the murder weapon in my hand, and make a quick anonymous call to 911. I whirled around. No one in sight and no sounds other than the refrigerator, clock, my beating heart and...a soft scrabbling sound. My ears stood straight out of my head. 

The noise came from behind a shuttered door. Something, or someone, was pushing on it. I heard a weak meow. I smiled in relief and pulled the door open. A tiny orange striped cat stepped daintily out, shaking its head. It looked up at me with enormous green eyes.

I didn't know Sister Claire had a cat. Did anyone else? What'd happen to the little guy if Claire's body wasn't found right away. Would he starve? I couldn't push him out in the cold to fend for himself. I groaned. Kitty swayed as he walked over to rub against my leg. My heart lurched. I was going to have to take the kitten with me. 

But if people knew the nun had a cat and saw me with it, I'd have a lot of explaining to do. Oh, mercy me. My brain couldn't decide. My body did. It walked me into the pantry where the cat had been, tossed the empty food and water bowls and all the cat food into my tote bag.

I picked up the cuddly bundle and tucked his fragile body inside my green warm up jacket. I scuttled to the front door and peered outside. I didn’t see anyone. The lacy white curtains in the double wide, soft pink, modular home across the street twitched but I couldn’t worry about it. 

I scurried to my ten-year-old, ugly, but gas conserving Honda Civic and slipped the cat into the back seat. I burped the stubborn ignition twice before I could pull away and drive into town. 

My little yellow car almost sighed with relief as it pulled in front of the white wooden frame building at the far end of the block. The old fashioned lettering on the window read, “Franklin Delano Rockenbucks, CPA. You make it, we count it.” He had gotten me out of trouble before. I was counting on him to do it again.

Swayzie the Cat

Someone asked me if the cat pictured on the cover of Eula May and the Flim Flam Nun had a name.  He does have a name and even plays an important role in the story.  Eula May finds him abandoned at the trailer home of Sister Claire of the Holy Cloth.  The nun is dead and may have been murdered. Because Eula May has a bad history with the nun she is afraid she might be accused of the woman's murder. When she realizes it might be a while before the nun's body is discovered and it's too cold to shove the cat outside, she decides to adopt the cat.  Because the little cat sways when it walks and because one of Eula May's favorite all time movies is "Dirty Dancing," starring the late, great Patrick Swayze, she names the kitty 'Swayzie'.  She worries, though, that she'll be in jeopardy if anyone recognizes the cat as Sister Claire's.   The cat illustrates Eula May's kind heart and also provides humorous events throughout the book.  I love cats.  How about you?

Playing Ping Pong with a Book

What's a Blurb?

I thought a few people might like to know the steps a book goes through before it is offered to the public. That story, Playing Ping Pong with a Book, is at the end of this post.  

Most viewers probably prefer to read a blurb for the book.  A blurb is sort of a tease to make you want to read more about the story.  So until the actual book is ready, here's a taste of it.

Eula May and the Flim Flam Nun is a mystery laced with humor instead of arsenic and riddled with romance rather than bullets.

Eula May chokes back a shriek as she stumbles over the blackmailing nun's murdered body. Will this affect her wedding plans? Lance--rich, handsome, candidate for mayor—will dump a fiancee` involved with the police. And he's her last ticket to happy heaven.

After torching the chef's toupee on a Hollywood cooking show, she dragged her tutu home to Kentucky, doomed to teach dance. Lance's proposal opens doors she feared were glued shut. Would the nun's death slam them back on her fingers?

The rest of the blurb can be found on my other blog, www.amy-sotlittletime.blogspot.com in post 57. about the ABNA.

Playing Ping Pong with a Book

Getting a book from the computer to your hands.

Last week I finished writing and editing my funny and romantic mystery novel, "Eula May and the Flim Flam Nun".  Then I formatted this text to meet publication standards, and finally created a cover.  I sent my formatted cover (thanks to Sandra and Tom Fremgen for all their work) and the formatted interior to CreateSpace, my 'publisher.'

I sent version one Monday morning and got a message that night saying it had been accepted.  But I found a typo on the back cover, so corrected it, and on Tuesday morning sent back a revised copy, version two.  That night I again got a message saying it was accepted but I didn't like the way the yellow of the cover dripped over onto the spine of the book, so I corrected it, and on Wednesday morning sent back a revised copy, version three.  Surprise, surprise that night I got another message saying it was accepted but that since the graphics weren't a dpi (whatever that is) of more than 200 the images might be blurry.  Sandra fixed that problem and on Thursday morning I sent off, version four.   Last night (Thursday) again it was accepted, and this time it looked perfect to be so I ordered a physical book for proofing.

The book should arrive by June 3, and if all goes well and I approve this copy, amazon.com should have copies available before the end of June.

Hey look, it's a Book

I finally discovered the little picture icon to use to insert a picture.  So here is the cover of my book.  As soon as it's available on amazon.com, I'll let you know.  It's a great summer book to read at the beach or while sipping sweet tea or.... just enjoying life.

Eula May Goes to the Publisher

Hurray!  Tomorrow I'm submitting to the publisher my self formatted interior and cover for my new book, Eula May and the Flim Flam Nun.  It's a funny mystery with romantic overtones.  I've been told by experts (all family members) that it's the best book they've ever read--had them rolling on the floor with laughter when their hearts and other parts weren't pitty-pattying for love and weddings.  
       Writing can be lots of fun.  You get to dream up characters, just like you, who look terrific and have wonderful things happen to them.  And then there is the flipside, you can pay back (anonymously of course) all your enemies by writing about terrible misfortunes that happen to them in your book.  Ah, but I would never do that, would I?  I guess you'll have to read my book to find out.
        If you would like to write--a book, a play, a script, or even a letter--I need to warn you what happens when you start your project.  Up until now your computer has been a fairly good and faithful servant, sending and receiving emails, finding out important information on internet searches--such as how old is she anyway.  But the minute you embark on A WRITING PROJECT, 
            the evil b*st*ard that lives in your computer 
takes over.  You may beg, cry, scream, curse, even unplug the computer, and when forced by despair, remove the battery and wait five minutes.  Nothing will work. You have to find another way of doing what the manual says is easy.
      This is why only truly creative people can write anything.  You must be truly creative to come up with clever ways around the destructive roadblocks
            the evil b*st*ard that lives in your computer 
will put in your path to authorship.   Of course there is another way to deal with this vicious problem and I will discuss it in a future blog.
     In the meantime, I'd like to hear stories from anyone else who has an evil b*st*ard that lives in your computer.   But no bad words, please.  I only used this one, to get your attention.  Now that I have it, I won't need to resort to such weasley tactics.  I'd also like to know if weasley is a real word and if I've spelled it correctly.
     Send emails to afremgen@gmail.com. 
                                                                          The End