Rhys and Cara's Marvelous Adventureut

RHYS: Cara Black and I have a new book released on the same day every March so it has made a lot of sense to do some touring together. (The publishers don't seem to get the idea that touring together could be beneficial but we set up our own).

Cara was with me last week for a launch party at Poisoned Pen bookstore in Scottsdale so we sat by the pool, brainstorming about the pros and cons of touring together.

You'll notice it's a tough life. But I have to tell you it's not all a piece of cake. Book tours sound like such glamorous things. Flying from city to city. Limos, fancy hotels...

reality check:

 Cara flew in that morning from Minneapolis where it was -6 degrees. After our event at Poisoned Pen I took her to the airport where she was taking the red eye to JFK, two hour layover then flying to /Florida where she had to rush to a TV show and then speak at a dinner that evening.  That's the glamorous life of the booktour.

Most of the time things go smoothly and we have a great time (if we get a moment to eat)

CARA: Remember two years ago when we didn't get time to eat and you missed dinner and had that low blood sugar scare and I thought you were having a stroke?

RHYS: I remember it well. It was hard to stay awake and focus and we had three events that day! Now I always take good munchies, just in case. But remember the time when you got no lunch?

CARA: When I spoke to the ladies at the synagogue in LA? Yes, they invited me to speak at their luncheon meeting. AND they all brought their lunches and ate them while I spoke, but didn't think of bringing anything for me. I was ravenous by three o'clock.

RHYS: I don't think this is really unusual. Some people regard the writer as the entertainment. I've had people invite me to come and speak saying "We can't pay you an honorarium but we will give you a free lunch." I want to reply "Do I look like a homeless person who needs feeding up?"  So what adventures have we had that we can share?

CARA: Remember the earthquake last year?  We were having dinner with the bookseller in Orange County after our event and suddenly the whole restaurant starts to shake. Lots of pretty china on shelves but none of it fell down. 

RHYS: And that wasn't all. The next day we were both speaking at a big Sisters In Crime event nearby. I was at the podium when the shaking started again. I remember thinking "When am I allowed to flee for my life? Do I stand here while my audience rushes out of the room in panic? And there was a huge ceiling chandelier right over my head! Luckily it stopped before a Phantom of the Opera moment.

CARA: We meet so many lovely people. 

RHYS: It always blows my mind when someone has come halfway across the country to see one of us. So humbling. But then there are the occasional weirdos who creep us out. Like the man who came to all 3 of my events once and then sat across from me in the restaurant at dinner.

CARA: And my stalker!

RHYS: You have a stalker?

CARA: Well, actually he's quite nice and harmless, I think, but definitely creepy. He wears one of those masks, for one thing. You know, to keep you from getting germs. He's been to my events in several cities and then he showed up in Paris with his mother. And kept trying to tell me about buying real estate in Paris.

RHYS: Yes, it's sometimes hard to define that line between too keen, too friendly and creepy. Remember our event in the nudist colony?

CARA: Naturalist resort, please. We are not making this up. Rhys and I did an event at a nudist colony. Only luckily it was a very cold day so most people were clothed.

RHYS: Except for the one guy who wore only a tiny backpack. And he walked back and forth in front of me while I was trying to talk to the audience. I felt like saying "I've seen bigger and better."

CARA: We have to be prepared for anything, I guess. Like the weather from Minneapolis to Scottsdale.

RHYS:  It's hard to know what to pack, isn't it--except for you. You wear black and layer, no matter what! And hotels--when the publisher books them they are usually very glamorous. But we only get to enjoy them from 9:30 at night until 6 in the morning.  When we book for ourselves, it's always a bit more iffy, isn't it?

CARA: Like the one you booked last year in San Diego?

RHYS: It looked all right online. And it was on the beach. And it wasn't cheap either.

CARA: But it was really crummy. Mildew. Coffee maker didn't work. No hot water and we needed to take showers before our event.

RHYS: Ah yes, I remember it well. And we're together at the Tucson Festival of Books this weekend and then heading back to Southern California on March 20. We have a really full schedule again that you can see on our websites. So let's hope things go smoothly this time.

So what are the advantages of touring with another person?

CARA: Sharing the driving. One person navigating through LA. Getting double the crowd and new readers.

RHYS: And having someone to talk and laugh with when things go wrong. That is so important. 

CARA: The first time I did an event with you you wore a hat. I thought you might be a little strange.

RHYS: That was to promote Her Royal Spyness. Have you changed your mind since?

CARA: You put up with me slinking outside to smoke.

RHYS: I think we get along pretty well. And we know each other so well now that I sometimes start our events by saying "Bonjour, I am Cara Black and I write about Paris".  I could do your whole spiel and you could do mine.

So you can see that we have fun, no matter what. If you're in Southern Cal or Tucson, come and see us.

Cara will be signing her new Aimee Leduc novel, Murder at the Champ de Mars

and I'll be signing my new Molly Murphy novel, The Edge of Dreams

Rhys Celebrates Pub Day for THE EDGE OF DREAMS.

RHYS BOWEN: I'm cheating on my 'What We're Writing' Day' and turning into 'what I've written' day but I have a good excuse: today I'm celebrating the release of my 14th Molly Murphy book, called THE EDGE OF DREAMS.

And if I'm allowed a tiny brag, Suspense magazine review starts with "Rhys Bowen hits this one out of the park."

It's probably the most complicated and suspenseful Molly book that I've written. Two stories, actually: Daniel trying to stop a clever serial killer whose victims seem to have nothing in common and who sends taunting notes to the police, while Molly's friends are trying to help a young girl who was the only survivor of a fire that killed her family and can remember nothing. BUT she is having terrible and vivid dreams. Molly's friend Gus has just studied with Freud in Vienna. Can she unlock these dream symbols? And can the two cases possibly be linked?

I always like to bring in true New York history and this event actually happened:

It was an overcast morning, rather uncomfortably warm with a heaviness to the air, promising rain or even thunder later. Ninth Avenue was busy with early morning activity—people hurrying on their way to work, shopkeepers winding out awnings,  putting out trays of vegetables, bric-a-brac, flowers, books.  Smart carriages and hansom cabs raced past. Delivery drays lumbered along and there was even an occasional automobile, dodging in and out of slower traffic, impatiently tooting its horn, which delighted Liam. I should have been enjoying the scene but I couldn’t shake off a feeling of uneasiness. I found I was glancing over my shoulder, as if someone was watching me—which of course was absurd, since nobody knew I was in this part of the city.

When we reached the Fifty-Ninth street station I realized my folly at coming out so early. The platform was jam-packed with business people, traveling down to the commercial center of the city at the southern tip of Manhattan. I was half-minded to go back down the stairs and hail one of those cabs. But that would have been an extravagance we couldn’t afford, especially with the added expense of furnishing our house. I still hadn’t had time to ask Daniel where the money was coming from to buy these bed linens and kitchen supplies.  That was one of the problems with being a policeman’s wife—there was never time just to sit and talk. And too much time to worry, alone.

A train came rumbling down the track toward us, the bright disk on the front of the locomotive revealing it to be a Sixth Avenue local.  Just what I wanted. But apparently so did everyone else. The crowd surged forward and I saw to my dismay that the carriages were already full.  A portly man with mutton-chop whiskers, wearing a derby hat saw me carrying a baby and stepped aside for me to get on board, but just at that moment a man came hurtling past, nearly knocking me over as he ran down the platform. My protector in the derby hat leaped to my aid, muttering curses at the unchivalrous lout and as he did so the doors slammed, the whistle blew and the train pulled out.

“No matter,” my portly protector said. “See, another train is right behind it. They come thick and fast at this time of the day, and I’ll wager this one is less crowded too.”

As it rattled into the station and pulled up with a squeaking of breaks I saw that it wasn’t a Sixth Avenue Train this time. It was a Ninth Avenue. I hesitated as doors opened and others climbed aboard. I could take this train to Christopher Street but it would mean a longer walk at the other end. Then it struck me that It would also mean that I walked past Sid and Gus’s favorite French bakery. I could stop off there and bring them croissants for their breakfast.  Thus encouraged with the idea of buying my friends a little treat, I was about to climb aboard the second car when I heard the sound of a hacking cough. No thank you, I thought. I was forever mindful that summer diseases can linger into September in New York. Every year had its share of cholera and typhoid, and consumption was ever-present. I wasn’t going to expose Liam to that risk.  I backed away and pushed through the crowd to the third car instead. Passengers were packed like sardines behind the first two doors. I wrenched open the third door and heaved Liam and myself up the step. This part of the car was just as crowded. Two round middle-aged women, immigrants from somewhere dressed in black dresses and black headscarves were sitting on the seats nearest the door, leaning across to each other deep in conversation and seemed oblivious to me, continuing to talk around me as if I wasn’t there.  A man across the aisle tried to offer me his seat, but I couldn’t get past a large lady with a round shopping basket on her arm, so I was forced to stand with Liam in my arms.

This was not wise, I told myself. No wonder I couldn’t shake off the feeling of unease that had gripped me since I left the building that morning.  I tried to hang onto to the leather strap above my head but Liam was now too heavy to hold with one arm, and besides he was wriggling and complaining at being squashed like this. 

I’ll get out at the next station and take the Broadway trolley instead, I decided. It takes longer but at least there is fresh air and Liam can see out as we ride.  I was swung from side to side as the train picked up speed.  Then I was pressed to the door of the carriage as the train started to round a curve. I remember thinking that we were traveling much too fast for such a curve. And surely there was no steep curve on the Ninth Avenue El? It was the Sixth Avenue Train that went around that sharp bend. But even as these thoughts were flashing through my mind suddenly there was a tremendous jolt.  I was flung violently against the carriage door. The large woman and her basket slammed into me. Liam cried out. People were screaming. The screams were deadened by the sound of screeching metal, of splintering wood. The life was being squeezed out of me as more people piled into me. I tried to yell, “Liam!” as he was wrenched from my arms.

And then we were falling. Plunging down toward the street below.

I have posted my signing schedule on my website and hope to see some of you in the next weeks. Also Tasha Alexander and I are having a Facebook chat today on my Facebook page if there are questions you'd like to ask. www.facebook.com/rhysbowenauthor

Mary Kennedy Dreams a Little Dream

RHYS BOWEN: When I met fellow writer Mary Kennedy I was instantly drawn to her new series because it's all about the interpretation of dreams and a Dream Club. I've always been fascinated by dreams and was hooked when I did a course on dream psychology when I was studying at the University of Freiburg in Germany. And I put this knowledge to good use when I wrote my upcoming Molly Murphy book called THE EDGE OF DREAMS. The story hinges on understanding a young girl's vivid dreams after a horrible crime, thanks to Professor Freud's recent treatise on interpreting dreams..
So Mary's book is right up my alley, so to speak. But I'll let her tell you about it.....

MARY KENNEDY:


What Do Your Dreams Really Mean?

Dreams are amazing, ephemeral and fun.

As a psychologist, I enjoy listening to my clients’ dreams and I’m grateful to have a window into their world. Their dreams teach me so much about their unconscious fears and desires, their most hidden emotions. When I read about the popularity of dream clubs in the northeast, I thought it would be a great idea for a mystery series and I wrote Nightmares Can be Murder, the first in the Dream Club Mysteries (Penguin, Sept 2,2014).

A dream club is like a book club except the topic is dreams.  In Nightmares Can Be Murder, business consultant Taylor Blake has returned to Savannah, Georgia, to help her sister Allison  run an old-fashioned candy store.  Allison is interested in dream interpretation and forms the Dream Club where members meet once a week to share their dreams (and solve a murder or two!)

Are dreams really the “royal road to the unconscious,” as Freud suggested? Can they give us insight into our deepest thoughts and unspoken wishes? Or are they simply random firings of neurons as the brain rests and recharges itself, processing the day’s events?  Do the dream club members really uncover clues in their dreams that expose the killers? Or are they just lucky coincidences? I leave it to the reader to decide.
Mary Kennedy is a licensed psychologist in private practice and lives in the northeast with her husband and eight eccentric cats. The cats have resisted all her attempts to psychoanalyze them but she remains optimistic. You can learn more at www.marykennedy.net or at the Cozy Chicks where she blogs every Saturday. www.cozychicksblog.com

 

 

http://www.marykennedy.net -visit Mary's website.
Nightmares Can Be Murder, the first in The Dream Club Mysteries,  http://tinyurl.com/kloqok3
Be Mary's Facebook friend https://www.facebook.com/mary.kennedy.948
Follow Mary on Twitter https://twitter.com/marykennedybook
Link with Mary on Linked In  http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=10658765&trk=nav_responsive_tab_profile
Mary blogs every Saturday with the Cozy Chicks. http://www.cozychicksblog.com


RHYS: And Mary will be stopping by to chat and will give away a copy to one lucky commenter today.