In a less than two hours, I will start my next novel during National Novel Writing Month, Searching for Rachel Edelstein. It will be a follow-up to my 2010 NaNo novel, The Last Tontine Survivor. But this is not a thriller.
Rachel is a black Jewish woman in Manhattan. While she was conflicted about her dual ethnic heritage in the first novel, it was not central to the plot, which involving looking for her grandfather and millions of dollars he took from the Nazis in the 1940s while trying to stay ahead of killers who were after her.
In this novel, Rachel, having survived the chaos from before, takes stock in her life and decides to seek out her estranged family in Virginia. Raised virtually as a white woman in New York, Rachel will come truly face-to-face with her blackness for the first time.
I have written out about three pages of an outline for the novel but haven't finished it. So I will be flying blind a little. But that may be good. It will certainly make reaching the 50,000-word goal by Nov. 30 at midnight a serious challenge. I hope I am up to it.
Wish me luck. I'll need it.
And thanks for reading.
Monday, October 31, 2016
Friday, October 28, 2016
Magna Cum Murder
Going to a crime fiction writers conference this weekend downtown at the Columbia Club (an old GOP stomping ground. No matter). Magna Cum Murder is an annual conference that until four years ago was held in Muncie, Indiana, at Ball State University. It's a relatively small conference -- a couple hundred people at most -- but always well-attended by crime fiction writers from around the world.
It goes from Friday to Sunday.
Sisters in Crime is represented there by our Speed City chapter. We are sponsoring a luncheon on either Saturday or Sunday.
As with most conferences, it's a great way to network with other writers at the receptions and dinners to talk and exchange ideas. And, of course, there are the panel discussions and booksignings.
The chapter has a table to promote our books which I will have to staff some time on Saturday morning. And, for the third year, we are sponsoring a flash fiction contest. We provide a prompt for a 250-word short story. Members of the chapter judge the entries on Saturday night and I will announce the winner at the closing luncheon on Sunday.
I never stay downtown at the conference. Hotel rooms are too expensive, particularly since the conference itself is a little pricey. So I come home every night. But it's still a great time and well worth the time, effort and expense.
Looking forward to a great weekend.
Thanks for reading.
It goes from Friday to Sunday.
Sisters in Crime is represented there by our Speed City chapter. We are sponsoring a luncheon on either Saturday or Sunday.
As with most conferences, it's a great way to network with other writers at the receptions and dinners to talk and exchange ideas. And, of course, there are the panel discussions and booksignings.
The chapter has a table to promote our books which I will have to staff some time on Saturday morning. And, for the third year, we are sponsoring a flash fiction contest. We provide a prompt for a 250-word short story. Members of the chapter judge the entries on Saturday night and I will announce the winner at the closing luncheon on Sunday.
I never stay downtown at the conference. Hotel rooms are too expensive, particularly since the conference itself is a little pricey. So I come home every night. But it's still a great time and well worth the time, effort and expense.
Looking forward to a great weekend.
Thanks for reading.
Wednesday, October 26, 2016
National Novel Writing Month
It's nearly that time again. November. National Novel Writing Month.
Let the games begin.
I first signed up for NaNoWriMo in 2009 and since then, I have finished four novels -- in 2009 and 2010, and 2013 and 2014. I wasn't able to do a novel last year because I had a serious car accident in late October which resulted in a bandaged left hand. It was difficult for me to type while it was on and it came off too late in November for me to feel confident of a successful NaNoWriMo attempt.
I haven't definitely decided to enter this year -- there's a lot going on here and I should remain focused on selling one of the novels I have already finished -- but I have two in mind. The most likely of the two is about Rachel Edelstein.
Rachel is the main character in my successful 2010 NaNo attempt -- The Last Tontine Survivor. And it was a quarterfinalist in the 2013 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award contest. That novel focused on Rachel, a black Jewish woman in NYC, who is searching for her missed and beloved grandfather, a German Jew who survived WWII. But he and others stole money from the Nazis and now, 70 years later, the descendants of a former Nazi official are looking to get the money back -- and are willing to kill to get it. With her pursuers on her tail, Rachel must find her grandfather and save him before they are both killed.
Rachel's ethnic duality (and her conflicted feelings about it) is part of the subplot but will be part of the main plot of his newest effort. I tentatively call it Searching for Rachel Edelstein.
More about that later. But for now, I just wanted to put it out there that I will probably attempt a novel this November.
Wish me luck.
Thanks for reading.
Let the games begin.
I first signed up for NaNoWriMo in 2009 and since then, I have finished four novels -- in 2009 and 2010, and 2013 and 2014. I wasn't able to do a novel last year because I had a serious car accident in late October which resulted in a bandaged left hand. It was difficult for me to type while it was on and it came off too late in November for me to feel confident of a successful NaNoWriMo attempt.
I haven't definitely decided to enter this year -- there's a lot going on here and I should remain focused on selling one of the novels I have already finished -- but I have two in mind. The most likely of the two is about Rachel Edelstein.
Rachel is the main character in my successful 2010 NaNo attempt -- The Last Tontine Survivor. And it was a quarterfinalist in the 2013 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award contest. That novel focused on Rachel, a black Jewish woman in NYC, who is searching for her missed and beloved grandfather, a German Jew who survived WWII. But he and others stole money from the Nazis and now, 70 years later, the descendants of a former Nazi official are looking to get the money back -- and are willing to kill to get it. With her pursuers on her tail, Rachel must find her grandfather and save him before they are both killed.
Rachel's ethnic duality (and her conflicted feelings about it) is part of the subplot but will be part of the main plot of his newest effort. I tentatively call it Searching for Rachel Edelstein.
More about that later. But for now, I just wanted to put it out there that I will probably attempt a novel this November.
Wish me luck.
Thanks for reading.
Friday, October 21, 2016
Callipygian is here
The book launch is in two days, on Sunday, Oct. 23, from noon to 6 p.m., at the Barnes and Noble store at 86th Street and Keystone Crossing Boulevard on the northside of Indianapolis.
FAM is the fifth short story anthology published by members of the Speed City chapter of Sisters in Crime. There are 18 mystery stories, all involving fine art.
My story, Callipygian, is on Page 130. It's about a vacationing FBI profiler who is drawn into the investigation of an art theft and murder. The main character, Kendall Hunter, is one of my favorite characters.
Anyway, I hope you can come to the launch and if not, order a copy online at Amazon, Barnes and Noble or Walmart.
Thanks for reading.
Friday, October 14, 2016
FAM bookmarks
The Fine Art of Murder bookmarks arrived today. I love them. Also on the front side is the cover of Decades of Dirt, which we published last year. The covers for the other three anthologies are on the back. All of them include stories written by members of the Speed City chapter of Sisters in Crime. I have stories in four of the five books and co-edited DoD.
The launch for FAM is Sunday, Oct. 23, at the Barnes and Noble bookstore at 86th and Keystone in Indianapolis. We will be there from noon to 6 p.m., signing books. We will have a program and reading at around 2 p.m.
Hope to see you then.
Thanks for reading.
Thursday, October 13, 2016
Excerpt from CALLIPYGIAN, a short story in The Fine Art of Murder
As promised, here is an excerpt from my newest short story, Callipygian, which will be published next week in the anthology, The Fine Art of Murder. There are 18 stories in the anthology, all written by members of the Speed City chapter of Sisters in Crime. Our launch event is scheduled for Oct. 23, at the Barnes and Noble bookstore at 86th Street and Keystone at the Crossing in Indianapolis.
Kendall Hunter is a Philadelphia-based FBI profiler on vacation visiting her family in Indianapolis when she is drawn into the investigation in the theft of three extremely valuable paintings -- including one called Callipygian -- from a black art gallery. And things get interesting when the primary suspect is found murdered.
It's fun to write this character and I have several more unpublished stories featuring the character. Perhaps next year I will figure out what to do with them all.
But until then, enjoy. And thanks for reading.
____
"Wrap your lovely lips around this."
Taken aback by the sudden and unwanted flirtation, Kendall Hunter turned. And despite her government training, her heart nearly stopped. She was face to face with the most gorgeous man she had ever seen in person. As she opened her mouth to voice her indignation, a fork full of cake passed between her lips. The frosting was a delight to her taste buds and the man a delight to her eyes. Both were a creamy chocolate. She imagined his face -- with its light-brown bedroom eyes, full lips and well-defined cheek bones -- was chiseled personally by the gods.
Kendall took all this in in the span of two seconds, and hoped he didn’t notice her brief bewilderment. "It’s delicious. Thanks," she managed after swallowing.
His smile was charming and his white teeth were a perfect counterpoint to his dark skin. "My name is—" he started.
"Hampton Simmonds," she finished for him, having recovered her composure. "It’s you we’re all here to celebrate."
"Ah, yes, well, I suppose you are right about that," he said, sounding modest and nearly embarrassed as he looked around the art gallery at the crowd of beautiful people in their best formal attire. Men generally look good in a tux. But Hampton Simmonds’s six-foot frame looked positively spectacular.
He handed the plate with the remains of the cake to a passing waitress. "You can just call me Hamp," he said to Kendall.
She wore a form-fitting blue evening dress with a modest neckline and spaghetti straps. Her white pearl necklace and pearl earrings were her only accessories. "I’m Kendall Hunter."
Hampton smiled again and his right hand engulfed hers in a strong, confident, but not crushing grip. "It’s nice to meet you." He didn’t release her hand, but guided her toward the wall to her right. "Let me personally escort you through the gallery."
When Hampton released her hand, he seemed to carry her along through the force of his personality. They moved into a room of contemporary paintings. One wall was dominated by a 10-foot-wide painting in off-white with five diagonal splashes of deep red. Kendall stopped, stared, and frowned, but felt Hampton observing her.
"You don’t like?" he said.
"I can’t wrap my mind around what it’s supposed to mean," Kendall said. She studied the information card on the wall next to the painting to avoid looking at the luscious man next to her.
They started walking again and took the stairs to the second floor. "I don’t get it, either," he said with a chuckle. He lowered his voice to a conspiratory whisper. "I’ve never liked that artist. She’s tremendously overrated."
Kendall began to relax as they continued, with Hampton pointing out bits of information as they passed more art. Occasionally, someone would catch his eye and nod but no one interrupted them. Kendall’s sister’s eyes bugged out when she spotted them together but Kiara quickly turned back to a sculpture of a pair of steepled hands.
"Are you a collector?" Hampton asked. "I think I’ve met all the major black collectors here in Indianapolis. But I don’t think I’ve seen you before."
"I’m originally from here, but I live in Philadelphia now," she said. They entered the main room on the second floor. On the opposite wall were three abstract paintings.
"And what do you do in the City of Brotherly Love . . . and Sisterly Affection?" he said, flirting directly once again.
She didn’t skip a beat. "I’m a special agent with the FBI. I specialize in criminal profiles."
That stopped him in his tracks. "Really?"
Kendall smiled and started them moving again. In social situations such as this, she loved revealing her occupation, as if being a tall, attractive black woman and an FBI agent were mutually exclusive.
"I’m home for a short vacation. Visiting family. As a matter of fact, you know my sister, Kiara. She works for Mitch, the gallery owner. Does the PR. She had an invitation, of course." Kendall held up the embroidered invitation in her left hand. "I’m her plus one."
"Oh, yes, Kiara. I do know her," Hampton said, turning to look back over his shoulder to where Kiara had once stood, then back at Kendall. "And I’m certainly glad you’re her plus one. Otherwise, I might have been bored out of my mind this evening."
The waitress appeared again, this time carrying a tray of hors d’oeuvres. Her presence was announced a second earlier by the fragrance she wore. The waitress offered them sausage-stuffed mushrooms, which Kendall declined. Hampton popped one into his mouth as the woman moved on.
"Those are your paintings, aren’t they?" Kendall asked.
Hampton reached around her waist in a particularly intimate way and pulled her toward the wall where the paintings hung. "What do you think? This is my series celebrating the female form."
Kendall stared. "I’m not sure what to think."
"The one on the left is called A Woman’s Eyes," Hampton said.
It was an abstract with bright primary colors and broad, yet soft brush strokes for the facial lines. In the profile facing to the right, both eyes appeared on the same side of her face.
"The one on the right is simply called Bosoms of Love," he commented.
Like the others, it was in a simple dark frame. But it didn’t look like the breasts of any woman Kendall had ever seen.
"You can see the outline of the torso from the neck down to the narrow waist." Hampton continued. "But see how the painting draws your eyes to the center of the female form. It’s not sexual but it encompasses the wholeness of womanhood. Do you see that?"
Kendall wanted to say no, but just nodded instead. Finally, Hampton brought her attention to the painting in the middle.
"This is Callipygian. My masterpiece," he said, almost as if in a dream.
"Callipygian? What does that mean?" she asked.
Hampton smiled and scratched his shaved bald head. "You’ll just have to figure that one out."
While it was still abstract, Kendall was able to discern the curve of a woman’s back, from just below the neck down to the round, full hips, sweeping inward again to reveal muscular legs. The brush strokes were soft and feminine, the colors bright and vivid.
It was obvious Hampton was a man who loved the female body. He put his hands on the curve of her hips as he leaned in to whisper into Kendall’s ear, "You should come model for me sometime."
Kendall Hunter is a Philadelphia-based FBI profiler on vacation visiting her family in Indianapolis when she is drawn into the investigation in the theft of three extremely valuable paintings -- including one called Callipygian -- from a black art gallery. And things get interesting when the primary suspect is found murdered.
It's fun to write this character and I have several more unpublished stories featuring the character. Perhaps next year I will figure out what to do with them all.
But until then, enjoy. And thanks for reading.
____
"Wrap your lovely lips around this."
Taken aback by the sudden and unwanted flirtation, Kendall Hunter turned. And despite her government training, her heart nearly stopped. She was face to face with the most gorgeous man she had ever seen in person. As she opened her mouth to voice her indignation, a fork full of cake passed between her lips. The frosting was a delight to her taste buds and the man a delight to her eyes. Both were a creamy chocolate. She imagined his face -- with its light-brown bedroom eyes, full lips and well-defined cheek bones -- was chiseled personally by the gods.
Kendall took all this in in the span of two seconds, and hoped he didn’t notice her brief bewilderment. "It’s delicious. Thanks," she managed after swallowing.
His smile was charming and his white teeth were a perfect counterpoint to his dark skin. "My name is—" he started.
"Hampton Simmonds," she finished for him, having recovered her composure. "It’s you we’re all here to celebrate."
"Ah, yes, well, I suppose you are right about that," he said, sounding modest and nearly embarrassed as he looked around the art gallery at the crowd of beautiful people in their best formal attire. Men generally look good in a tux. But Hampton Simmonds’s six-foot frame looked positively spectacular.
He handed the plate with the remains of the cake to a passing waitress. "You can just call me Hamp," he said to Kendall.
She wore a form-fitting blue evening dress with a modest neckline and spaghetti straps. Her white pearl necklace and pearl earrings were her only accessories. "I’m Kendall Hunter."
Hampton smiled again and his right hand engulfed hers in a strong, confident, but not crushing grip. "It’s nice to meet you." He didn’t release her hand, but guided her toward the wall to her right. "Let me personally escort you through the gallery."
When Hampton released her hand, he seemed to carry her along through the force of his personality. They moved into a room of contemporary paintings. One wall was dominated by a 10-foot-wide painting in off-white with five diagonal splashes of deep red. Kendall stopped, stared, and frowned, but felt Hampton observing her.
"You don’t like?" he said.
"I can’t wrap my mind around what it’s supposed to mean," Kendall said. She studied the information card on the wall next to the painting to avoid looking at the luscious man next to her.
They started walking again and took the stairs to the second floor. "I don’t get it, either," he said with a chuckle. He lowered his voice to a conspiratory whisper. "I’ve never liked that artist. She’s tremendously overrated."
Kendall began to relax as they continued, with Hampton pointing out bits of information as they passed more art. Occasionally, someone would catch his eye and nod but no one interrupted them. Kendall’s sister’s eyes bugged out when she spotted them together but Kiara quickly turned back to a sculpture of a pair of steepled hands.
"Are you a collector?" Hampton asked. "I think I’ve met all the major black collectors here in Indianapolis. But I don’t think I’ve seen you before."
"I’m originally from here, but I live in Philadelphia now," she said. They entered the main room on the second floor. On the opposite wall were three abstract paintings.
"And what do you do in the City of Brotherly Love . . . and Sisterly Affection?" he said, flirting directly once again.
She didn’t skip a beat. "I’m a special agent with the FBI. I specialize in criminal profiles."
That stopped him in his tracks. "Really?"
Kendall smiled and started them moving again. In social situations such as this, she loved revealing her occupation, as if being a tall, attractive black woman and an FBI agent were mutually exclusive.
"I’m home for a short vacation. Visiting family. As a matter of fact, you know my sister, Kiara. She works for Mitch, the gallery owner. Does the PR. She had an invitation, of course." Kendall held up the embroidered invitation in her left hand. "I’m her plus one."
"Oh, yes, Kiara. I do know her," Hampton said, turning to look back over his shoulder to where Kiara had once stood, then back at Kendall. "And I’m certainly glad you’re her plus one. Otherwise, I might have been bored out of my mind this evening."
The waitress appeared again, this time carrying a tray of hors d’oeuvres. Her presence was announced a second earlier by the fragrance she wore. The waitress offered them sausage-stuffed mushrooms, which Kendall declined. Hampton popped one into his mouth as the woman moved on.
"Those are your paintings, aren’t they?" Kendall asked.
Hampton reached around her waist in a particularly intimate way and pulled her toward the wall where the paintings hung. "What do you think? This is my series celebrating the female form."
Kendall stared. "I’m not sure what to think."
"The one on the left is called A Woman’s Eyes," Hampton said.
It was an abstract with bright primary colors and broad, yet soft brush strokes for the facial lines. In the profile facing to the right, both eyes appeared on the same side of her face.
"The one on the right is simply called Bosoms of Love," he commented.
Like the others, it was in a simple dark frame. But it didn’t look like the breasts of any woman Kendall had ever seen.
"You can see the outline of the torso from the neck down to the narrow waist." Hampton continued. "But see how the painting draws your eyes to the center of the female form. It’s not sexual but it encompasses the wholeness of womanhood. Do you see that?"
Kendall wanted to say no, but just nodded instead. Finally, Hampton brought her attention to the painting in the middle.
"This is Callipygian. My masterpiece," he said, almost as if in a dream.
"Callipygian? What does that mean?" she asked.
Hampton smiled and scratched his shaved bald head. "You’ll just have to figure that one out."
While it was still abstract, Kendall was able to discern the curve of a woman’s back, from just below the neck down to the round, full hips, sweeping inward again to reveal muscular legs. The brush strokes were soft and feminine, the colors bright and vivid.
It was obvious Hampton was a man who loved the female body. He put his hands on the curve of her hips as he leaned in to whisper into Kendall’s ear, "You should come model for me sometime."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)