Playing With Poison is now available on Amazon.
Playing With Poison – Now Available
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Category Archives: Books
Salute to William Gilbert
The Pirates of Penzance I did go to see
Gilbert and Sullivan is a definite guarantee
For nonsense to reign and let logic get set free
Just the thing to bring me happiness and glee
Gilbert, the master, could always find a rhyme
For any word or situation, he did it every time
Out of every muddle, mishap, and hill the hero had to climb
Because a sad ending would really be a crime
The stories are ridiculous, the characters are trite
But Mr. Gilbert was never ever any too uptight
To describe every silly saga as a perilous plight
Much to my sheer and thoroughly entertained delight
The silliest stanzas get repeated and repeated
Never, ever, ever would they ever be deleted
Since we the audience would then feel rather cheated
For the show for which we were staying seated
In comparison my own poems are almost somewhat serious
Although I try to make each one extremely cheerious
I could write until my eyes were bloodshot and blearious
And never come up with something quite so downright delirious
Comma Trauma
I’ve never been the Queen of Drama,
But the Oxford Comma
Causes me stress, strain, and trauma.
Semi-colons by comparison are easy;
Their rules are far less breezy.
No need to get all ill, upset, or queasy.
Periods don’t take a whole lot of thought.
They never make me even mildly distraught,
Happily aiding my characters, dialogue, and plot.
What about exclamation points, the curious might ask.
Are they apt to lead you to the flask?
No. Not even those are a chore, job, or task.
Sweet little colons are also not too bad
I use them so seldom; they make me not sad.
And as this poem finds an end, aren’t you happy, joyful, and glad?
But comma dilemmas really haunt me a lot.
The nuances of usage I still do not got.
But enough of this silliness, absurdity, and rot.
Proper ID Required
A rose is still a rose
By any other name.
But if Rose gets mislabeled Samantha
The author is to blame
The Charlie I was so sure of
Informs me about mid way
That really deep down inside himself
He’s always been a Jay
Syd’s Bar and Grill on Finch Street
Never seemed quite right
The bar became Beau’s Bistro
And the happy hour brewski turned into a red wine flight.
I struggle with accurate naming
A good moniker means a lot
Since a character misidentified
Can really mess up a plot
Research Is Not So Poetic
Research: a nuisance, a challenge, a chore
The part of writing I find rather a bore
But this week I’ve been Googling, Googling galore
To learn about Hawaii and all of its lore
My WIP is set in that state
And what’s really great?
So is a movie
Starring George Clooney
My mystery should be funnier.
But trust me, the research will never be sunnier.
Book Two Finished!!
Now that book two is wrapped up, I need to figure out the outline for book three in the Cue Ball Mysteries. Perhaps somewhere tropical?
Welcome to My Life
Quirky people, beyond spectacular scenery, and gobs of solitude. Any blog about me and my muse has got to begin in Vermont. It’s where I was born, where I have spent my summer vacations ever since, and where I am right now. Here’s why.
Like I said—beyond spectacular. Views like this have always inspired me. I didn’t think much about my muse when I was a child, but I did spend many hours imagining what was beyond that first ridge of mountains. Or the second ridge? What magic was happening in that magical and strange place where it goes from green to purple? Okay, so I was a weird kid.
As an adult, I might know what mountain I’m admiring, and the name of the town nestled in the valley on the other side, but it’s still magical. And I’m still weird. I stop the car regularly and irregularly to stare in awe at sights such as this. Call it goofing off, call it peace of mind, or call it communing with God. Whatever it is, it cues my muse.
Getting more specific, this my magical place in magical Vermont. I’ve been writing nonsense at Lake Elmore since I was about ten. A few years ago my husband and I bought a shack up here and the dock you see is my very own. I started my first mystery sitting out there. Three unpublished novels later, I’m still up here every summer, writing to my heart’s content. It’s called idyllic, and it cues my muse.
I warned you I’m weird. That’s me on the porch of my shack, Daydream Cottage. I’m out here every morning with my cat and my computer, writing. Okay, so sometimes I get distracted by the lake, which is about twenty feet in front of me, but mostly I write. I wear my pajamas because even if someone paddles by and sees me, this is Lake Elmore and it’s all okay. I wear my hat to keep the sun out of my eyes. And the fuzzy slippers keep me warm. Northern Vermont can be chilly in the morning, even in the summer. This is called routine and it cues my muse too.
Cueing the Muse
Everyone tells me to blog. Build a web presence, they say. Get your name “out there” so you sell lots of books once you’re published. I might understand the logic, but that doesn’t mean I know what to blog about. My daily existence doesn’t exactly provide a huge, long list of fascinating anecdotes to entertain the masses. That’s why I write fiction—because my real life is dull. On my best days I sit in one spot for hours and hours and pound away at my keyboard, only moving to refill my coffee cup. Boring, boring, boring. I am boring. Everyone tells me to just stop it. Stop being boring, they say, and become interesting, intriguing, and adventuresome. And then blog about it.
Interesting, intriguing and adventuresome? Surely there must be an easier solution. I like being duller than dull, and I’m quite sure I wouldn’t adventure well. So I decide that my blog needs a theme instead. Something that I can think about over coffee and never leave home to pursue. Some interesting concept that will amuse and enlighten my web audience. No matter that I have no web audience. If my theme is good, they will come.
After much deliberation, I have thought of a theme: Cueing the Muse. Stay tuned, you web audience you, and I will elaborate next time.
Keep your eyes open for Snowflake
She’s worth finding. . . .