I write cozy historical mystery fiction and cozy fantasy mystery fiction. “Novel Basics,” my book on writing fiction, is available now.
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A JKWryter Fav Long a fan of Nancy Martin’s Blackbird Sisters Mysteries, recently I came upon her stand-alone mystery, Miss Ruffles Inherits Everything while trolling the mystery section at my local library. I’m very glad I checked it out because…
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Watermelon on the Fourth of July
A Reminiscence Writing “The Barn Door” and “Lost Dog,” prequel stories set on July 4 and July 5, 1898, to my calendar mystery series, reminded me of a trip Mom, Dad, Dotty, our short-legged beagle mix, and I made one…
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First Crush
A Reminiscence One afternoon back in the summer of ’52, I got in such deep trouble with my mom and dad that I got spanked for it. The guy I got in trouble with was gorgeous: medium height, he had…
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Dress Shields and Other Devices of Torment
A Reminiscence Around the age of fourteen I had my one growth-spurt of adolescence and reached my full height of five foot one and three quarters. I also attained the full maturity of my glands, including those I sweat with.…
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First Love
A Reminiscence It’s Sunday just past eight as we leave Mom behind at home. Dad wears the same dark gray suit he wears to work. His shirt is fresh and his tie knotted close to his Adam’s apple. My brother…
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Hollyhocks and Tomatoes
Like Hector Jones, a character in “The Barn Door,” my father always had tomatoes and hollyhocks in his gardens, no matter how large or small. He must have done this sketch from memory because it’s dated 11-16-39 in his neat…
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A New Calendar Mystery Story
When Hector Jones needs a detective on the 4th of July weekend in 1898, he hires Daniel Price, in “The Barn Door,” a NEW prequel short story to my calendar mystery series. It’s FREE July 4 through 8th at www.amazon.com/dp/B073G7ZXMP…
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A House in the Country
A Reminiscence Whenever we went for a drive on Sunday afternoons and on long trips, too, back in the 50’s, Dad stamped white horses. If he spotted a white horse in a field by the side of the road, he’d…
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My Father, the Story Thief
With stories, my dad was like a magpie. Anything flashy he took. Often he polished them to his own particular shine, too. For example, if you climb up our family tree on Daddy’s side far enough, way back to the…
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