Monday, April 8, 2019

Hallie kicks off What We're Writing Week with a real mystery


HALLIE EPHRON: Welcome once again to WHAT WE’RE WRITING WEEK!



Right now I'm focused on launching CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR... never mind that the pub date is months away (August, 2019).

It's exciting, but it's also nerve wracking.
I've finished the final-final edits. Advance readers copies (aka ARCs) have gone out. And in the pool of silence that follows, insecurity breeds. It all feels very unreal until a box of advance readers' copies arrives. And here they are!!

To celebrate, today I'll be giving away an ARC to a lucky commenter...

So back to what I'm writing. Last month I finished polishing an essay for an anthology (spring, 2020) entitled  Private Investigations: Mystery Writers on the Secrets, Riddles, and Wonders in Their Live. Our challenge from anthology editor, Victoria Zackheim, was to write about something mysterious that really happened.



This turned out to be harder than I expected. I’ve not had a very mysterious life. No unsolved murders. Or thefts. Or even things that went bump in the night. Growing up with alcoholic parents
had its share of drama and trauma, but none of it was mysterious. In college I had a roommate who wanted to kill me, but it never came to that.



But I did have a friend whose brother was murdered. There was no mystery about who did it. The killer was arrested and tried and found guilty. Decades later, he’s still in jail. What was mysterious was what happened to my friend in the aftermath of her brother’s murder. She had experiences for which there is no easy explanation. (I call the essay "Ghosted.") If I didn’t know her as well as I do, I’d have written them off as hallucinations and delusions. So I wrote an essay about that, and my own struggle to understand what it was all about.



My first attempt at writing a novel was based on that friend’s experiences in the aftermath of her brother’s murder. I called it EXIT WOUND. Excavating through saved files, I found transcripts of long conversations I had with my friend after the murder, as well as the manuscript of a novel that I tried to write about it. Looking at it with fresh eyes, I realize it’s not as bad as I thought it was. I also understand why it wasn’t snapped up by an agent.



Here’s an excerpt from the day of the murder, a morning when my friend had stayed home from work to take her son Josh to see the doctor. She got an emergency call to come into the office of the family business to deal with what she thought was a car accident in the parking lot. 

I drag Josh out of the house and we race to the office. The first thing I notice is that there are a lot of flashing lights—more than I expected. I thought I’d be going in the ambulance with someone, so I expected to see an ambulance. But I didn’t expect to see so many police cruisers. Then I see a newspaper reporter who I know. A newspaper reporter at a parking lot car accident? This makes no sense. 

I walk over to Bill who works with us and ask, “What happened? What kind of an accident?”

He says, “There’s been a shooting.”

Then I know immediately it’s something terrible.

He says to me, “David has been shot.”

I ask, “Is he okay?”

He answers, “David is dead.”

This is the part I don’t remember. Afterwards they tell me that I hit him, smashed my fists against his body, screamed and yelled. My pocketbook went flying.

This huge cop comes over to me. When there are murders, they have special cops to deal with people. This guy is big, well over six feet. I start banging him on the chest, too, craning my neck to look at him and saying, “Tell me that this isn’t true. Tell me that this is some stupid joke.

He puts his hands on my shoulders and presses down. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

I keep banging and banging him. All this time, Josh is still sitting in my car just watching. He gets out and walks over to where I’ve thrown my purse and picks it up. He hugs it to his chest. Then he waits.
 
I never sold that book. The writing is, as you can tell, not fully developed. But in the process of flailing, I discovered that drama and suspense are my sweet spots. I learned that murder, even a fictional one in a murder mystery, should never be reduced to a plot point.



I also learned that when it comes to my writing, I should never throw anything away. What I wrote twenty-five years ago doesn’t smell nearly as bad as I thought it did when I wrote it, and it still has the power to inspire me.


Have there been any real mysteries in your life, or even riddles and wonders that you're still pondering? 

COMING, spring 2020 from Seal/Hachette " Private Investigations: Mystery Writers on the Secrets, Riddles, and Wonders in Their Live," personal essays written by top mystery writers.
EDITOR: Victoria Zackheim
CONTRIBUTING AUTHORS: Tasha Alexender, Cara Black, Rhys Bowen, Lynn Cahoon, Steph Cha, Jeffrey Deaver, Carole Nelson Douglas, Robert Dugoni, Hallie Ephron, Connie May Fowler, Sulari Gentill, Rachel Howzell Hall, Ausma Khan, William Kent Kreuger, Caroline Leavitt, Kristen Lepionka, Martin Limón, Anne Perry, Charles Todd, and Jacqueline Winspear.



 

98 comments:

  1. I particularly enjoy What We’re Writing week with its excerpts and its glimpses into the writing process . . . .

    The thing that strikes me about this piece, Hallie, is the response, the sheer agony of the news for David’s sister; even knowing that you were writing about the murder of this young man before I read it, this short piece still brought tears to my eyes . . . .

    There are no real mysteries in my life; like your friend, in the aftermath we know the facts that accompany the difficult pieces of our lives.
    I’m looking forward to reading your essay . . . .

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    1. Thank YOU! Yes indeed, the real deal is no laughing matter.

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  2. Wonderfully creepy excerpt, Hallie. And congratulations on receiving the ARCs for your new book! I can't wait to read it.

    One enduring mystery in my life centers on a little boy I met when I was walking my dog a a few blocks from home, back when I was in college. He was a cute little kid, maybe three or four years old, and he was riding his tricycle in his driveway when my dog pulled me over to meet him. The kid was a little too close to the street and, even though it was a cul-de-sac with almost no traffic, I thought I ought to warn him to stay on his driveway. I didn't remember seeing him before, and there were no adults outside to supervise. I introduced myself, and he said his name was August Jody. He said he'd been sick, and this was the first time he'd been able to come outside to play. We chatted a little, mostly about my dog, and then we waved at each other and I went on home. The next day I came back about the same time, and ran into some other people I knew on the street. I asked about August Jody. Nobody knew who he was. The family that lived in that house didn't have any kids. They hadn't had any visitors with kids. Nobody up or down the street had a child who looked like I described. To this day, I have no idea who August Jody was.

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    1. Time for some census research, Gigi. Was there ever a family by the name of Jody in that place? The census could give us some clues.... now I'm itching to find out!

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    2. That gave me the shivers, Gigi!

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    3. Whoa... because of course then, in a novel, the next step would be the fictional Gigi does that research Flora suggests and finds that there was an accident, a little boy riding his tricycle... (My grandson's name is Jody so this particularly gave me the shivers.)

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    4. There are more things in heaven and earth... gooseflesh, Gigi.

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    5. I haven't found the right story for him yet, but I keep him in my back pocket. I always assumed that August Jody was only part of his name. He was probably August Jody McIntire, or some such, and his mother only called him August Jody when he was in deep trouble.

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  3. I hope you dust off that idea and run with it, Hallie.

    I haven't had a mysterious life, either. My beau's birth son found him out of the blue two years ago, which was pretty amazing but not a mystery. We really like Chris and his wife, and now we have three grandkids! A friend staying here overnight last year saw a mysterious woman in an antique nightgown standing at the foot of our guest room bed - but I've never seen her. Maybe that's why I write mysteries, to add some to my life. ;^)

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    1. That spectral figure 'standing at the foot of the bed in a nightgown' thing is a common experience. Doctoral dissertations have been written...

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    2. and Edith, funny you should suggest that I "dust off that idea..." because that's just what I"m thinking of doing. No actual sentences written yet, but soon.

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    3. Hmm. Maybe I should sleep in the guest room sometime!

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  4. Hallie, congrats on that box of arcs! That must be an amazing experience every time it arrives--to hold your finished book finally! And, wow! I can't wait to get my hands on a copy of that anthology! Can't wait to read your essay!

    I think I was drawn to archaeology because of the mysteries of the past--rediscovering ancient cultures or even historical cultures and piecing together the stories of long-dead people. It's probably why I love mystery novels so much--piecing together the puzzle of what happened and why. And one small personal mystery--how did my mother hear my voice from 100 miles away?

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    1. Me, too! In a weird way, it's the pleasure of going to yard sales and foraging in the bottom of boxes excavated from the basement.

      And I want to hear about your mother hearing your voice...

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    2. Hallie, I was living about a hundred miles from my parents and my mom was in poor health. It was a constant worry on my mind and early one morning before work I woke up worrying and finally said 'Mom' out loud to try and clear my mind for the day. My mom heard me. She got out of bed and went to see if my car was in the driveway so she could unlock the door and let me in. The next time I called her she was laughing about me waking her up--and it wasn't the only time this happened and I wasn't the only one of her children with whom it happened.

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    3. Flora, how weird--and wonderful!

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  5. Hallie, your story sounds intriguing and your new book even more so. Exciting!

    When my ex and I first moved in together, we rented half of an old house in Sandwich, MA. Across the street was a little duck pond and an historic saltbox known as the Hoxie House. Returning from a predawn trip to the bathroom, I glanced out the window to see a figure that looked like it was dressed in a monk's cowl, disappearing behind the structure's dark silhouette against the barely lightening sky. It had all the elements of mystery: a mysterious figure, an building dating from the 1600s, and swirling mist in a gray light.

    I've never been a believer, but I've always wondered what I saw that morning. Was it just a figment of my still half-asleep imagination? Maybe someone attending some sort of ritual? Or perhaps it really was something ghostly?

    Your post made me interested enough to google the house, Hallie, and I see it was occupied by Reverend John Smith, his wife Susanna, and their 13 children. Interesting!

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  6. SO interesting! Makes you wonder...

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  7. I inherited a box of photos when my mom died several years ago… And they are not labeled! I realized there was no one left alive who knows who those people are, or where they are, or why mom had them. It is almost upsetting—but better to think of it as mysterious, I guess !

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    1. I feel for you! I'm forever telling young people ASK QUESTIONS NOW! Because by the time you start wondering and caring (or finding that box of unlabeled pictures), the people with the answers will be gone.

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    2. I have some of those, too, Hank. But among them I found (last week) a picture of my little maternal grandmother sitting on a rock reading a letter - with a rifle on her lap. Expect a new series featuring Ruth Skinner, expert shot and private detective in 1920, one of these years...

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    3. She is a young woman in the picture, I should add.

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    4. Hank, I am the last of my mother's side of the family and I received a box of photos. Most are labeled, however some are cryptic in their description so I would add to Hallie's comment. Full names, dates, locations, and WHY??? Birthday? Hiking? Family reunion? Cmon people, what you post of Facebook has a shelf life of 15 seconds. It is not archival!

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    5. I have a whole album like that. Old photos and I don’t recognize one person!

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    6. Edith, I saw your wonderful photo on Facebook. I'd agree your grandmother deserves to be in a story!

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    7. Yes, it's SO frustrating. But again, it's also the wonderful beginning of a novel. Still, I'd rather get fact from it than fiction. Though I have no choice any longer...

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    8. I have boxes of photos from my own life in the closet. I guess I better label or throw out because no one
      will have a clue. or maybe care...

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    9. And what about all of the digital archives we're all accumulating? That's a blog for another day.

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  8. I have a five inch garden gnome who moves around the foundation bed. He's watching me.

    After my mother died, I was clearing out the trunks in her attic. I found a vintage white Shetland wool cardigan that I put in the donation bag. Immediately, the lights flashed and the window rattled. "Young lady, there's plenty of wear left in that sweater. You keep it." During the same visit, I came back to the house after dinner to find the garage doors continuously going up and down. Sure enough, there was an issue with mouse traps, documents in the filing cabinet, or spring bulbs that hadn't been planted.

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    1. OMG nagging from beyond the grave! That is truly terrifying.

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  9. Hallie, I agree that you should revisit the unpublished book. That excerpt was moving!

    I haven't had a lot of mystery in my life, either. There's one story I've told in this community a few times before. Other than that, there was a girl in my high school class who was brutally murdered in a park during our junior year --run over with a car so many times that at first glance her remains weren't recognized as human. That has never been solved, but I believe there is a general consensus that it was drug and/or gang related. Not a very pleasant memory or mystery.

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    1. Omigod, Susan, how awful.

      A girl I went to grade school with was also murdered by being run over by a car, although not as brutally as that. She was killed by a jealous rival, in the early 70's.

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  10. Margaret, that gave me the shivers! Not the part about the garden gnome--that caused a guffaw! LOL

    Hallie, the first time we ever met face to face was at a Bouchercon, when you handed me an ARC of There Was an Old Woman.

    Probably the biggest mystery of my life was one I should have followed up on, and didn't. That in itself is a mystery. I was haunted in a motel in Thermopolis, Wyoming, on my way from my daghter's in Boulder to visit my friend's ranch in Meeteetse. Friends from the area told me there was an old Indian murdered in that hotel, but I've never been able to find out any information about it.

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    1. Love those place names. Thermopolis and Meeteetse. You were seriously haunted???

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    2. Karen, I would love to hear more of this story!

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    3. Yes. I'd been driving for eight hours, and too tired to be scared.

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  11. Wow, Hallie, yep you gotta write that! It hit home for me, the woman punching the cop, because I did something similar when I heard that my dog was killed - just started throwing punches, which is totally unlike me.
    I don't think I have any personal mysteries but many years ago I heard about a case on the news. It was wintertime and a young couple was missing. As many people did they drove their car across a frozen lake to go to a bar in the neighboring state. 2 or 3 days later when they didn't show up for work the missing persons bulletin went out. They were never seen again. I've been thinking about this case a lot; there are so many possibilities.

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    1. "they drove their car across a frozen lake"! Whoa. People do that?

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    2. The whole frozen lake thing was the decoy.

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    3. The lake is very wide at its widest part but I think most people traveled over a narrower ortion.

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    4. I've always felt scared when using "ice roads" as short cuts. They open those roads every year in Estonia and people travel between the mainland and islands during winter months (weather permitting). I have a feeling this was just an accident and the ice didn't hold the weight of the couples car?

      What do you think?

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  12. It's always nice when we pull out something we wrote years ago and think, "Hey, this isn't as bad as I thought." Gives us hope, huh?

    I haven't had a very mysterious life. In fact, my past is about as interesting as watching paint dry. =)

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  13. I look at the excerpt from 25 years ago, and see a story I want to know more about. I am glad you are only 4 months from pub day. Thanks for including so much of the process with us.

    This is such a minor puzzle. Recently the neighbor to the west moved. We have an outdoor feeding station for the feral neighborhood cats. They all disappeared the same weekend the neighbors moved. Then, our favorite, --we gave him a name -- returned with a shaved neck.
    No notched ear so he wasn't picked up in the Feral Cat Program. So where did everyone go? and who will be back?

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  14. Wonderful post this morning! Hallie, Congratulations. I'm glad there is still excitement in opening a box and seeing "your" book.

    Nothing mysterious to report in my life. However... I'm intrigued by the idea that dissertations have been written about the spectral figure 'standing at the foot of the bed in a nightgown' thing

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    1. Some psychologists link it to what's called 'sleep paralysis.'

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  15. The anthology sounds so fascinating! And we could put something together from today’s responses!
    Uncle Robert, my father’s brother, was my absolute favorite. When I was ten he took me for a long walk in Manhattan and gave me advice about reading. Soon after he disappeared.
    My father tried to contact him through the Salvation Army. My mother was sure that someone in the family knew where he was.
    Then, around 1990, he emerged. And he and I began a wonderful correspondence. Twice I was supposed to meet him. Once I went to his apartment in a project in lower Manhattan. He didn’t answer the door. I never saw him. He did see others, and I have seen photos. But he died before I was able to see him. Where was he?

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  16. Happy for you to be able to hold your new book in your hands. I like your excerpt and I see that Rhys writes something too in the anthology, it should be interesting.


    A situation happened in the 70's that left me with a broken heart. As we wanted children but had difficulties to get pregnant and lead it to term, we decided to receive at home children from Social Services. It went well for many years but one day we greet Eric, 7 years old, sweet and kind boy but very nervous because coming from a brutal home. After a couple of weeks, he felt better and was happy with us when, one afternoon, he didn't come home with the bus after school. Panic !
    After phone calls, we learn from Social Services that his biological father took him at school and because of administrative problems they can't get him back. Then, one week later we learn that a little boy has been killed ( brutalized ) by his father: it was Eric's brother. We tried to get Eric back thinking it would be best for him but SS refused with no explanations. After that, no question of dealing with them anymore and we never knew what happened to this sweet little boy.

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    1. that is a heart-breaking story! So sorry for you guys and really sad for Eric...

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    2. So sad... that's a story that should have had a very different ending.

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  17. Mysteries are in families and I would love to discover more but have reached a dead end. An uncle whom I rarely saw when I was growing up and had children who now would be a little younger than I am now, disappeared. Where, what and how? I am enthralled with this and no one knows.

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  18. I can now learn about cousins and family through the Ancestry.com which my son gave me but there are still individuals whose lives I cannnot locate who were close and I did meet briefly when I was a young girl. No one does seem interested but now that I am older I am intrigued. Their lives did intersect with mine but they are long gone.

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    1. It's amazing what people are learning now about long lost relatives.

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  19. Hallie -- so excited about your next, gorgeous book. I found your excerpt truly chilling, early or not, and I agree that sometimes dragging things out of old drawers (or computers) can pay off in unexpected ways. I think the only true mystery I've grappled with in life is the suicide of an old boyfriend who was one of the most accomplished scientists/scholars in the country and on the surface, at least, joyful. I have no idea what happened (we had lost touch until I saw his obit in the NYT...) and it was so shocking, I did wonder for awhile whether he'd actually been murdered.

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    1. It was, Hank, especially as they found him in a cheap hotel room in Pasadena. Broke my heart, still haunts me.

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    2. Suicide. I've had several friends who've done it. Leaves so much guilt and so many questions behind.

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  20. Nothing too dramatic, but when my father was struggling to breathe in the hospital hours before his death, and the oxygen mask didn't allow him to speak, he wrote something down for me: If I make it through this, we need to talk. I had it all wrong!" That has haunted me ever since--I wish I knew what insight he had suddenly gained during his final hours.

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    1. Margie! I almost burst into tears. Oh. My goodness.

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    2. Margie, that is truly haunting. Thank you for sharing this. You've inspired me to share something from my mother's death bed, which I will write now.

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    3. Maybe he was a great practical joker? Figured he'd give you something to ponder??

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  21. Kudos on the ARCs, Hallie. I'm trying to resist jumping up and down and saying "pick me pick me!"

    A year after my mother died, I was getting out of a car at a friend's house on Long Island when we saw this elderly woman coming up the street from the dead end. My friend's house was the last one before that dead end, and she couldn't have been visiting there. It was my mother or her doppelganger -- or her ghost, complete with tightly curled white hair and one of her favorite Alfred Dunner matching pants and top. (Does anyone know what I mean?) I called to her but she kept on walking up to the corner and then disappeared. My friend and I searched the neighborhood, never saw her again. Creepy.

    On the other hand, in our house I frequently catch glimpses of cat ghosts, shadows in another room: Lila, Joey, Isadora, Lucy, Ethel, Archie, Sam the Serial Killer, all of them stay with me.

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    1. Alfred Dunner! Hilarious. Like Leslie Fay. xoxo

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    2. If ever I get so old, please do the kind thing.

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    3. So cool, Finta, that you had a witness in your friend.
      And I love the idea of "cat ghosts."

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    4. I love the cat ghosts too. They could keep Tbone busy...

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    5. Cracking up at the idea of cat ghosts... with names. OF COURSE I remember Alfred Dunner. Washable before washable got expensive.

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  22. Hallie, I can't wait to read the anthology! And I do hope you revisit that story. What a powerful scene, and so goose-bump inducing!

    I think I've led a pretty dull life. The oddest thing I can think of is having had a visitation from my grandmother on the morning of her funeral. I woke just at daybreak, absolutely certain that she was there in the room, and heard her voice. It was incredibly comforting.

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    1. My mother-in-law had this experience, nearly identical, only with her husband right after he died.

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  24. Congratulations on receiving your ARCS, Hallie! i'm looking forward to reading your newest selection.

    Twenty-five years ago, my father, a college professor and former WWII bomber pilot, passed. He had had the expert driving skills and the calm necessary to teach me to drive as a teen. At the time of my mysterious incident, I was a adult student at Manhattanville College. I attended at night and had an hour commute north to return home to my husband and three kids. One night at 10:30, along a lonely stretch of the Taconic Parkway, I heard a male voice say, "Watch out for deer." Surprisingly, the sound didn't frighten me, but I felt alert. About a mile further, a large buck was standing still in the middle of my lane. I was able to maneuver swiftly around the deer and make it home safely.

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  25. Hallie, I'm excited about Careful What You Wish For! What a title!
    The great mystery that keeps me occupied 24/7 is the human psyche. (Also, the canine and feline psyches.) This is probably why I became a psychotherapist and then a novelist.

    Just trying to understand what makes us all tick, what we are capable of--the good and the bad, what makes us the way we are, and how capable of change we are. It's a thing that I think about constantly, and yet I'm surprised all the time. We are mysterious creatures.

    In novels, whether writing or reading them, we get to explore that: who is this character, what is she going to do, and why?

    That's my mystery: our behavior.

    Sorry if it's a cheesy answer, but it's all I've got!

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    1. NOT cheesy! And you're right. It's the WHY that intrigues us.

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  26. After reading Margie's comment, I did think of something else "mysterious."

    When my mother lay dying in 2005, and I sat with her, she said, "You know, your father was here."
    This surprised me, because he had died of suicide 22 years earlier.
    "Was he?" I asked.
    "Yes," she answered. "He really wants me to come with him. He's insisting."
    Knowing that she was close to death, I asked her, "Well, what do you think about that?"
    She said, "I think I will. Yes, I think I'll go with him next time he asks."
    The next day, she was gone.

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    1. that is another astonishing story. So interesting that many of these have to do with dying people...

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    2. Yes, we do seem to have a theme going here...

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    3. When my mother was in long term care, she told me about having had lunch with my grandmother (her mother) the day before. My grandmother had been dead for nearly 30 years by that time, so I chalked it up to Mama's advancing dementia. It never occurred to me that it might have been a mysterious appearance! I'll have to think about that.

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    4. That's the loveliest story ever, Keziah.

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  27. No real mysteries here - but Hallie, that is really powerful writing. Like Joan, I had tears in my eyes.

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    1. Thanks, Julia! So your old old house harbors no old souls?

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  28. Hallie, I love the cover of Careful What You Wish For, and I'm hoping to get a review ARC, as I'm excited about reading it. What a horrible experience your friend went through with her brother's murder. Your excerpt about it conveys just how devastating it was. I often wonder how people can get through a death like that, especially those who lose children to murder.

    The only reappearance of someone I loved after death I've been connected to is when my father told me that my mother had come to him during the night. This was right after her death. I asked him if she said anything and he said she did, but he couldn't remember what it was. I was focused on comforting him, but in my mind I was thinking, "Really, you never did listen to her like you should." He only told me about this event, not my three siblings, and I think he did so because he knew I was open to the possibility of it happening.

    I do give my father credit for standing up for me when I was spending a last night in my parents' house before it sold. I was there with my husband and two children, and we were sleeping on the floor in the living room. I think I've told this story before. Well, I know it's a hard story for some people to swallow, and if it hadn't happened to me, I might be skeptical, too. All I can say is that there was an evil presence in the house that night (not the first time I had encountered it), and I could hear on some different plane of existence my father arguing that whatever it was couldn't have me. Now, here is what adds validity to my story. My husband felt something, too, because when I said that we needed to leave and go to a hotel for the rest of the night, he was right onboard with it. It was around 11 or 12 that night, and I guarantee that my husband wouldn't have gotten up and gone to a hotel if he wasn't uncomfortable with staying in the house. So, although I was back in the house again before it sold, I never again spent the night or stayed long. Interestingly enough, both of my sisters had felt something odd before in the house, too. Can anyone say Amityville?

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    1. Oh, Kathy - that IS spooky. I cracked up at your reaction to your father's sharing. If it had been me, I'd have blurted out what I thought. Maybe he shared it with you because he knew you wouldn't.

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  29. I think the biggest mystery is looking back from today in time and wondering how I got where I am!

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  30. Oh, Hallie, that's fantastic. I can't believe you wrote that 25 years ago. It's a wrenching scene and I felt every bit of her pain and denial and terror. Seriously, well done.

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  31. Such stories! Mom said that Dad appeared to her not too long after he died. He was in the doorway to the bedroom and told her it was time to get up. He was always an early riser. In the last couple of months of her life she still knew who we were but didn't know when we were. She'd ask about Dad and little brother Brian like they still lived in a house. She said she'd seen Dad at dinner more than once, seated at another table. And other people long gone. Oddly enough she never mentioned my youngest sister who was the first of us to go.

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  32. Such fascinating stories people have to tell today! I can't think of anything mysterious off the top of my head today. The upcoming anthology sounds intriguing--I'll have to keep it in mind. And receiving the box of ARCs must be exciting. Congratulations!
    -Melanie

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  33. I don't have any mysteries to solve in my life other than the figuring out the winning Powerball numbers so that I can retire to a life of leisure.

    Beyond that, I lead a relatively staid and boring day to day life.

    As for what I'm writing, I finished a concert review yesterday and submitted that. It hasn't gone live yet though. I've got a couple more CD reviews in the pipeline as well. Oh and I've done the preliminary work on this week's Cassette Chronicles article, I just have to do the actual writing of the piece now.

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    1. Jay, have you shared where we can find your music reviews? Looks like Cassette Chronicles is on Limelight Magazine https://limelightmagazine.com

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  34. I love everyone's answers here, they are so provocative. I don't know how mysterious this is, but it was odd. The summer I was 21 I was visiting my parents' home. The radio news came on and penetrated my brain when I heard a young woman named Ellen had been killed in Boulder. It further reported that Ellen was 21, she was a student at the same university I went to, and she lived in a basement apartment in the same town. I lived in a basement apartment. Everything they said was a match to me, except it reported that she was a journalism student. That was a mistake. I was the journalism student. It was so strange I told my mother about it. She said what what the woman's name? I said, "It was Ellen Sue G-----." My mother shrieked and she wasn't a shrieker. "That was the baby born the same day as you were." It turned out that my mother and her mother shared the same hospital room, both had babies the same day, and both named them Ellen. Only she died at 21, killed by a guy she met at a bar. He drove her home in a Mercedes Benz and killed her with a steak knife that had belonged to a former girl friend of his.

    I wrote a play inspired by this experience, but it needs another look. Life is full of strangeness.

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    1. So strange it defies belief... oh my goodness. And how sad.

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  35. Two years ago my younger brother ended his life, and I'll never truly know why. That's the mystery I carry with me, knowing that solving it won't change the outcome.

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    1. My heart goes out to you, Beth. I wish there were something anyone could say that could help, but I know better.

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  36. When I was in my mid-20's, I spent a weekend at my mom's & slept horribly. I remembered saying, "Grandma, I'm sleeping. Leave me alone." Apparently I woke my mom in doing so, & she was rather perturbed, commenting "Grandma isn't here" & acting like I was nuts. My not-dead grandma was definitely waking me up for some reason.

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