What We're Writing: Queen of All Genre

JENN McKINLAY: I'm having a moment. Hopefully, just a moment and not a perpetual state of being. I am currently writing the second cozy fantasy book (WT: DEMONS OF QUESTIONABLE INTENT), which is the follow up to WITCHES OF DUBIOUS ORIGIN (Oct 25) revising next summer's romcom THE SUMMER SHARE (May 26), and copyediting the next library lover's mystery BOOKING FOR TROUBLE (Feb 26). I have to work on all three at once so I don't fall behind. 

Three genres all at the same time. It's fine. Nothing to see here. Everything is awesome. Yes, that is my mantra, why do you ask? And, yes, this is why I'm feeling very Queen of All Genre. LOL.

Oh, and before I forget, there is a Goodreads Giveaway for WITCHES OF DUBIOUS ORIGIN for those who want to score an early copy.

ENTER HERE!

Because I am hip deep in revisions, I will share a snippet of THE SUMMER SHARE, specifically, the meet cute if you can call it that. The premise is that Hannah Spencer and Simon O'Malley each inherit a summer cottage on the Outer Banks from their grandfather. The trouble begins when they arrive at the cottage and discover their grandfathers shared ownership of the cottage and now each of their plans for their inheritance is compromised by the presence of the other.

     Simon: A nudge on my fishing line brought my attention back to the task at hand. I pulled the rod to the side, tugging the lure a bit, trying to assess if I’d managed to catch anything. There was no resistance, i.e. no takers.

     “Dude! You get back here this instant!” A shrill voice broke the silence, startling a great grey heron out of the marsh. He launched into the air, beating his massive wings.

     I whipped around at the sound of footsteps behind me and saw a wild haired woman in cargo shorts and a tank top thundering down the narrow dock on the heels of a black and white horse—okay, more like a pony—that was headed straight for me.

     I quickly set my pole in the holder on the base of the dock and crouched down, putting up my hands in surrender as if the beast barreling toward me was there to rob me.

     “Whoa, whoa!” I cried. The behemoth didn’t slow down one bit. By the time it occurred to him to jam on his brakes it was too late. The beast slammed into my chest like a Mack truck and the next thing I knew I was flailing and free falling into the channel.

      The water was colder than I expected for late June, but what did I know? I hadn’t planned to go swimming. Instinctively, I started to kick up to the surface. I popped up to hear the woman, scolding her beastie.

     “Dude, what were you thinking? What if there are alligators in there? That man could be their lunch.” There was a pause and then her voice took on a harsh warning note. “Dude, don’t you do it. Dude!”

     I wiped the water from my face just in time to see the horse come flying at me. His feet were pedaling in midair as if he were still running. His tongue was hanging out and his ears flapping in the breeze. I only had a second to take in the sight of him, realize I was his target, and try to get out of the way before he hit the surface like wrecking ball. I didn’t make it.

     The monster hit me right in the solar plexus and I plunged below the surface and sank like a rock. The pony had knocked the wind out of me, but I’d spent enough time surfing the Carolina coastline to know not to try and breathe, still blacking out was a high probability as everything started to go fuzzy.

     A splash disrupted the water near me and I felt someone grab me by the collar of my shirt and haul me in sluggish yanks and tugs up to the surface. When we broke through, my diaphragm was still locked and I couldn’t breathe.

     “I think you killed him,” the woman gasped. Then she thrashed against me. “What was that? Something brushed my leg. Ah! I bet it's an alligator!”

     I would have told her to calm the hell down but I didn’t have enough air to form words. Instead, I started to slowly sink beneath the surface again.

     “Oh, no, you don’t.” She yanked me back up. “I did not risk getting eaten by a prehistoric creature just to have you drown.”

     Something splashed next to me and I recognized the big pink tongue as the pony swam beside us, kicking his long legs and enormous paws, without a care in the world.

     I tried to suck in a breath but my chest refused to move. I could feel a thrum of panic surge through me as I flailed to get to the dock.

     “It’s okay,” the woman’s voice was a husky whisper in my ear. “I’ve got you. I won’t let you drown.”

     As if I would! My pride took issue with this but I didn’t have enough oxygen in my lungs to protest. My argument would have to wait.

     She wrapped her arm around my torso and towed me to the lower dock where my boat was tied. The small horse was already out and bouncing on his feet, wagging his tail as if he was having the best day ever. Jerk.

     With a hearty shove, the woman rolled me onto the rough wood and then pulled herself up beside me. “Let’s get you on your side.” With a grunt she maneuvered me into a fetal position. Humiliating. And then she started to vigorously rub my back. “Try to relax. You just had the wind knocked out of you. Take small breaths. It’s all right. I’ve got you.”

     I managed a small sip of air and the darkness receded from my peripheral vision.

     “That’s it,” she said. She kept up the circular massage and I felt my diaphragm slowly loosen, allowing me to take deeper breaths.

     When I had enough air to be able to speak, I lifted my head and rasped, “I’m all right.”

     “Thank goodness.” She flopped onto her back on the dock beside me and panted. “I haven’t been a lifeguard in years. I was afraid I’d lost my skills. Plus, alligators.”

     I didn’t know what to say to that so I said nothing, closing my eyes as I concentrated on inflating my lungs.

     “I’m sorry about this. Dude has spatial awareness issues. He thinks he’s a lap dog and I can’t seem to dissuade him from that notion. He’s knocked the wind out of me a few times.”

     I held up my hand, opened it and then closed it, hoping that she could grasp the universal sign for “Stop talking.” Then I dropped my forearm over my eyes while I tried to catch my breath in between coughing and wheezing.

     She must have gotten the message because she said nothing. When my breathing became normal, I dropped my arm from my eyes and turned to face her.

     “Lap dog? I thought he was a pony.” I glanced up to see the biggest dog I’d ever encountered standing over us. His ears were perked and his his head tipped to the side. Was that how he looked right before he ate someone?

The PRH art department recently sent me three different covers for THE SUMMER SHARE that were all so good, my entire team was paralyzed with indecision. After a long chat with my editor, we're going to attempt a mashup of all three. And, yes, Dude (a Harlequin Great Dane) will be featured. Yay!

So, Reds and Readers, tell me. Do you follow authors who write in multiple genres or do you prefer if they stay in their lane fictionally?

Lucy Burdette Dishes on Characters

LUCY BURDETTE: (Yes, it’s what we’re writing week and I know you are expecting to see Hallie first. Hallie and I switched days this week because of my schedule, but don’t worry, she’s coming on Thursday!) 

I have lots of balls in the air, including writing the last third of Key West food critic book number 16, preparing the launch of THE MANGO MURDERS (coming August 12), and noodling about a new project while getting ready for vacation. No complaints, but it’s a lot to fit into my pea brain!

Cathy Salustri, publisher of the Gabber newspaper, and author of Florida Spectacular, recently sent me a set of questions about THE MANGO MURDERS. One asked about my habit of including real people as characters in my books. She wondered how people feel about this and whether anyone had asked to be removed. “Not yet!” I said. But that made me think that you might be interested in meeting some of the real characters who will appear in the August book.

This is my friend Ron Augustine, the man on whom LORENZO is based. He is a real tarot card reader, appearing most nights at Mallory Square. Whenever Hayley Snow is stuck, she often turns to Lorenzo. I find him to be lovely and wise and I turn to him too. (Here's a lovely article about him in one of the local papers.)

Dominique the cat man has been a fixture on Mallory Square for years, performing amazing routines with his trained housecats. After the pandemic, his trained cats retired. He still visits most nights at the Sunset Celebration and loves talking to his fans.

This is Key West Police Department Chief Sean Brandenburg. I often give him a cameo and he’s a very good sport about it, even when I mentioned a tattoo that he sports. But don’t mess with him if you’re doing something wrong—he gets very serious then!

John Martini is one of our favorite artists in Key West and a new character. I was a little worried about including him without asking first, but I *think* he’s pleased. 

Now here is a little snippet from the part of the book where Hayley visits John in his studio: 

The interior was a remarkable space, another world from what waited outside. Soaring two stories high, the wooden roof was supported by steel beams. Some of the walls were partially tiled in pale blue with brown designs, and the remainder were plain concrete, like the floor. The entire cavernous space inside was populated with larger-than-life steel figures, ranging from whimsical to grotesque Picasso-like figurines. Tiny bodies with big heads had birds perched on them. They were painted in red and yellow and scattered around the studio. Other body parts constructed of rusty steel waited for assembly. 

The place was downright freaky. I had to wonder what was going on in the mind of the artist when he designed this work.

I can’t think of anything to ask you, but please weigh in with your thoughts about mixing reality with fiction. Or even better, toss out some titles for the next book—they are due this week and I HAVE NOTHING:). Think food, key west, and murder…

If you should wish to pre-order The Mango Murders, the link is right here…

What We're Writing: Jenn Edition

 JENN McKINLAY: Someday I'm going to gather all of these what we're writing posts together just to get a sense of what I was doing every 8 weeks. I will either be pleased or horrified--probably both.

If I worked for the government and was required to submit my list of five things I accomplished this week, it would read something like this:

1. Copyedits on WITCHES OF DUBIOUS ORIGIN - 25 pages/day due Apr 4.

2. Emailed cover ideas for THE SUMMER SHARE (contemporary novel 2026) with a mock up made on an app on my phone because I'm an overthinker. The art department probably hates me. LOL.

Yes, there's a Harlequin Great Dane	in the book named Dude.

3. Wrote 5-10 pages/day on BOOKING FOR TROUBLE (Library Lovers 2026) due ASAP.

4. Decided I wasn't ready to let go of the cupcake bakery series and started writing 3-5 pages/day on a manuscript FORMULA FOR DISASTER (working title) with no plan for release or publication as yet.

5. Started drafting proposals for the next contemporary romance, a romantasy idea I have, and a possible cupcake mystery spin off series.

Bonus task: Prepped a print version of I CAN'T EVEN, which comes out on 4-8-24 (Oops! I meant 4-8-25- thanks, Edith for catching) for the readers who demanded it. You're welcome :)

ORDER NOW

So, those are my top working tasks this week. What else did I do? Had a long chat with my agent that boiled down to this:

Amazeballs Agent: Jenn, we've talked about working smarter not harder over the years--

Me: That's never gonna be me. It just isn't.

Amazeballs Agent: LOL. I know.

(I think I wore her down, y'all)!

And lest you think I don't have a life, I also took care of my critters every day, worked in my garden, continued training for the upcoming Pat's Run (4.2 miles!), celebrated my birthday with the fam by seeing the musical WICKED, and tried to keep up with the news (oh, horror)! 

So, Reds and Readers, are you a "work smarter not harder" sort of person? Or an incurable workaholic like me?

What We're Writing: Revisions and First Drafts

JENN McKINLAY: First the news: I have some new deals!

 

I try to only work on one project at a time, but occasionally there is a log jam in the workflow and I end up writing a draft while revising another work. This has been my life over the past few weeks and while I'm happy to work on both it does require shifting gears especially when one is a fantasy and the other a romcom. 

Constant vigilance is needed or magic might appear in the romcom THE SUMMER SHARE (coming 2026) or an overly smexy scene will slip into the fantasy WITCHES OF DUBIOUS ORIGIN (October 2025 - which is up for pre-order now - just click the title) although I think that's an acceptable crossover.

Thankfully, I turned in the revisions this weekend and I could not be more pleased with how my first fantasy came out. So, now I'm back in the saddle to finish the romcom in the next week so I can start the library lover's mystery mentioned above. A busy year - my favorite type!

Sneak peek at a bit of the cover which has not been finalized...yet.

Here's a snippet of WITCHES OF DUBIOUS ORIGIN to encourage you to click that BUY link!

     October was my favorite month as the sticky humidity of summer departed and jeans and sweater weather returned.  As I walked the half mile from the library to my cottage, I reveled in the chilly temperatures, the scent of wood fires on the air, and the satisfying crunch of leaves under my feet. 

     The village of Wessex where I lived and worked was nestled between the Appalachian Trail and the Housatonic River in the northwestern corner of Connecticut. It was a small community known for the private boarding school that resided on the west side of the river. I had attended that school, leaving to go to university in New Haven and then doubling back here to the only place that had ever felt like home. 

     As soon as I stepped inside my cottage, I slipped into my pajamas while I microwaved a big bowl of mac and cheese. I flicked on the television and scrolled through the streaming channels until I found a mystery series I had yet to watch. I preferred the British ones because I loved that the actors and actresses looked like real people as opposed to American television where everyone looks like a supermodel pretending to be a real person. 

     I was halfway through my bowl of cheesy goodness and a third of the way through the first episode when I heard a thump on my front porch. I paused the show and stopped chewing, listening intently. Living in Wessex where everyone knew everyone, I wasn’t as worried about crime as I was a neighbor dropping by to chat. It wasn’t that bad things didn’t happen here, of course they did, it’s just that it was very rare and usually the person who did the crime was known for having a dented moral compass so it wasn’t a big surprise.

     Thump!

     The noise sounded again only more forcefully. I put my bowl down on the coffee table and shoved my chenille throw aside. I crossed the room to the front door and switched on the outside light. I peered out the side window that looked onto the porch before opening the door. If it was a rabid raccoon looking for food, I didn’t want to get into with him. The porch was empty. 

     Just to be certain everything was all right, I opened the door and poked my head out. I glanced from side to side. The only items were my large potted geranium on one side and my small wicker table and two chairs on the other. Satisfied, I went to close the door and glanced down at the doormat. I gasped. Placed on the center of the mat was the same envelope that Bill had delivered to me at work that afternoon. But I knew I had left it in my desk drawer. What the hell was it doing here?

     I glanced around the porch to see if someone was lurking in the shadows, playing a prank on me. It wasn’t really Bill’s style, he was more of a dad joke type of guy, but he was the only person who knew about the mysterious book so logic dictated it had to be him.

     “Not funny, Bill!” I called into the darkening evening. There was no answer. No one was there. 

     I picked up the envelope  and pulled the book out, experiencing the same twinge of unease I’d felt before. A flash of green lit the porch as the envelope was immediately engulfed in emerald flames. I yelped and dropped it. In seconds the envelope was gone not leaving ash or smoke behind. I examined my hand and noted that the weird neon fire hadn’t even felt hot. Okay, if this was a prank, it was next level. 

     I glanced out at the street, making certain no one had seen what had just happened. It was an old response I’d developed as a kid when my mother had used her witchcraft to make flowers dance in the air or gave our dog colored spots just to make me laugh. My father’s worry for her and his fear of something happening to her because of her magic had conditioned me to feel anxious whenever magic was present.

     I took another look around the porch and yard before I went back inside, locking the deadbolt. I studied the aged volume more closely. It was a shade of black so matte it seemed to soak up light, the edges of the pages were jagged and uneven, and the book’s hexagonal metal latch was rusted from humidity or lack of use. I couldn’t tell which. I brought it to the kitchen, thinking I could open it with a knife. 

     Not wanting to lose a finger, I chose a butter knife. I slid it under the decorative metal band and tried to pry it loose. The metal didn’t budge. I tried to pop the hexagon with the blade as well but it held fast. I set down the utensil and glanced at the door. If it wasn’t Bill who had dropped the book off and made the envelope go poof…nope. I refused to go there. 

     The pin pricked my finger and blood beaded up out of the wound. I yelped and dropped the pin. Drops of blood dripped from my finger and I pressed my thumb to the tip of my middle finger to stop the flow. Had I just stabbed myself with a pin…on purpose? I blinked. I glanced down, noting I was wearing my pajamas. 

     Relief whooshed inside of me. It was okay. It was just a dream. An awful, stupid, painful dream. I shook my head, trying to wake myself up. It didn’t work. It couldn’t…because I was already awake. 

     I glanced down at my kitchen counter where small splats of blood marred the smooth surface. The battered old book that I had tucked into my shoulder bag sat on the granite beneath my pricked finger.

      Shit! I had almost bled on the book. I spun away from the counter and rinsed my finger in the sink. What the hell had just happened? Sleep walking? Night terrors? Had I actually pricked myself with a pin? Why? 

     I grabbed a paper towel and wiped the blood off the counter. I rinsed off the pin and returned it to the container I kept in the utility drawer at the end of the counter. I threw the towel in the trash and stood staring at the book in confusion. What was the book doing on the counter when I was certain I had put it in my bag? 

     Insistent whispers sounded at the edge of my mind. Like shadows that faded as the sun rose, I couldn’t quite hear the words, but I knew. I knew without a doubt that those whispers had been in my dreams and that they had instructed me to stab myself with the straight pin. I glanced down. Goosebumps raised on my forearms as I gazed at the black book. I ran an uninjured finger over the cover half expecting it to be absorbed into the black leather as if it could pull me in just as it seemed to soak in the light. It didn’t and I lifted my hand and noted my fingers were trembling.

     I’d had a strange feeling about this mysterious volume from the moment I first touched it, and I knew of only one person who might be able to help me.

The release date for WITCHES OF DUBIOUS ORIGIN is October 28, 2025, which feels appropriate. I've already outlined book two in the series and will start writing that after I finish the library lover's, which means I'll likely be revising THE SUMMER SHARE at the same time. I'm trying not to think about it right now.

Tell me, Reds and Readers, when your life is a log jam of projects, how do you manage them? Any tips welcome.

WORKING TITLE: What We're Writing by Jenn McKinlay

 JENN McKINLAY: Ever since my first fantasy book was spawned out of a random department that I wrote into the Museum of Literature romcom novellas, the working title was BOOKS OF DUBIOUS ORIGIN -- named after that fictional department of oddball books. Well, as we get closer to the publication date (still a year out) in Oct of 2025, the title has been changed to WITCHES OF DUBIOUS ORIGIN. 

What do you, dear Readers, think of the change? Oh, wait, you probably want to know the premise so you can be better informed:

Zoe Ziakas enjoys a quiet life, working as a librarian in her small village. When a mysterious black book with an unbreakable latch is delivered to her library, Zoe consults the Books of Dubious Origin department at the Museum of Literature and discovers that she is the last descendant of a family of witches who specialize in raising the dead and this little black book is their grimoire. 

Pragmatic Zoe rejects this ridiculous narrative, but when an undead friend of her grandmother's shows up at her house and asks Zoe to help her, Zoe realizes she will never get her quiet life back until she decodes the family grimoire and solves the mystery of what happened to her grandmother and her mother.

The book's potential power draws all things magical to it, and Zoe finds herself under the constant watch of a pesky raven, while being chased by undead Vikings, ghost pirates, and assorted ghouls. With help from the strange and intimidating staff of the Books of Dubious Origin department, Zoe confronts her past and the legacy of her family, but will she embrace her destiny or return to the quiet life she held so dear?

As you can imagine, I have polled A LOT of people about the title change. And this is how it rolled out by preference:

Mystery Writers: BOOKS OF DUBIOUS ORIGIN

Romance Writers: WITCHES OF DUBIOUS ORIGIN

Fantasy Writers: WITCHES

Academic Librarians: BOOKS

Public Librarians: WITCHES

How do I feel about it? Undecided. I trust Sales and Marketing to know how to best represent the book, but I was partial to the original title, the manuscript of which I am revising right now. 

In fact, here's a snippet:

     I put down my novel and shoved my blanket aside. I glanced out the window beside the door. There was no one on the porch. I cautiously opened the door. I checked the walkway to the street. No one was there. I studied the wind chimes hanging on the corner of the porch. They weren’t moving, so it hadn’t been a breeze. I shifted my gaze to the two wicker chairs to the right. They were empty but perched on the back of one of them was the raven.

     “Ah!” I started. Had this uninvited guest been making all of that racket? He was the only one here so it had to have been him. I was equal parts relieved and annoyed. I walked toward the bird. He didn’t move. I raised my arms and waved my hands at him. “Shoo!”

     He turned his head to the side and stared at me with one pale blue beady eye as if assessing my threat level. It was going to be high if he pooped on my furniture. 

     “Party’s over!” I clapped my hands. The sound was loud in the evening quiet. He flapped his wings and flew from the chair to the porch railing. I clapped again. “You don’t have to go home, big guy, but you can’t stay here.”

     With a leap, he jumped off the railing and soared out into the darkness. I glanced at the houses on each side of mine. All was quiet. I turned and went back inside, assured that peace had been restored.

     I had just settled into my chair and started reading when there was a thumping sound on the porch. 

     “Oh, hell no,” I muttered. “We’re not doing this all night.”

     I tossed aside my blanket and crossed to the door. I unlocked it and yanked it open. “I said, ‘Shoo!’”

     But it wasn’t the raven. Instead, standing before me was a diminutive ash blonde, a pale woman of a certain age--I was guessing  mid to late fifties. She was wearing a beige wool coat and clutching a stylish handbag which matched her equally fashionable shoes.

     “Can I help you?” I asked.

     “I certainly hope so, dear,” she said. Her blue eyes crinkled in the corners when she smiled at me. “I’m Eloise Tate, a childhood friend of your grandmother’s.”

     “Excuse me?” I asked. The odds of Mamie coming up in conversation twice in one day had to be a million to one. Years of my life had passed without my grandmother being mentioned and now she’d been mentioned twice. My gut twisted. Something wasn’t right. 

     “Antoinette Donadieu, Toni, she was your grandmother, yes?” Eloise tipped her head to the side as she studied me. “Your resemblance to her is uncanny.”

     “I’m sorry. I don’t want to be rude, but Mamie would be in her eighties now. There’s no way you’re old enough to have been a childhood friend of hers.”

     “Oh, but I was,” Eloise said. “Sadly, I passed away when I was fifty-two.”

     “Passed away?” I choked out the words.

     “Yes, but dear Toni brought me back and I was her faithful companion right up until the day she died. Now I need you, Zoe, to send me on.”

     “Send you on?” I repeated. There was a buzzing in my ears, probably panic, that made it hard to hear her.

     “You have the grimoire from your mother, yes? Which means you have the spell to send me across the veil to the other side.” She beamed and I noticed a fleck of pink lipstick on her teeth.

     “You’re telling me you’re dead,” I said. My eyes ran over her. She was clearly not dead. So…what in hell was going on here?

     “Oh, I can assure you, I’m very much deceased.” She nodded. “Toni planned to return me before she passed away, but the grimoire was stolen and Toni was murdered before she had the chance.”

     “Murdered?” My chest felt tight. I couldn’t get enough air, everything went fuzzy and I started to see spots. I leaned heavily against the doorjamb. “Who exactly murdered Mamie? Do you know?”

     “Why it was your mother, dear.” 

Now my second question is: How much does a title weigh in on your decision to buy a book? And should I be concerned? LOL.

What We're Writing by Lucy Burdette

LUCY BURDETTE: First, I will say our hearts go out to every single one of you in the path of Milton. So much destruction and fear...we are with you in spirit.

My Key West #15 mystery is in the repair shop. That means the manuscript I blithely sent off in early September has been returned with my fabulous developmental editor’s suggestions. Actually, I didn’t blithely send it off; I knew perfectly well there were weak spots in the plot and a few character issues too. But I also knew all this could be fixed and that’s what I’m in the middle of. Meanwhile, over those two blessed break weeks, I caught up on lots of things that had been neglected, including reading some of my favorite writing and publishing blogs and newsletters like Jane Friedman’s. In a recent edition, I noticed the name Anne Dubuisson, who had written an article about the benefits of writing a book proposal.  (Another project I was tackling!) I recognized her as an editor I’d used before I was published. I named a character after her who became Miss Gloria’s Houseboat Row neighbor and best friend, somewhere along the 14 books in the series. I wrote the real Anne D. a note, thanking her for that long-ago help and telling her about the character, (whose name I had misspelled all these years.) Here’s her reply:

It’s so good to hear from you—thank you for taking note of the blog post. I recall our work well. You were one of my first freelance clients after I made the move from NYC publishing, and when I read your manuscript, I thought, wow, this gig is going to be great, such quality writing! Since then, I’ve been lucky to collaborate with numerous fine writers (and of course, many not as skilled), but your work is still a highlight.

Where might I find my namesake? So honored!

Isn’t that a lovely note? And surely exaggerated:). I wrote her my thanks in return, and sent a snippet about her character namesake in KW #15. 

Anyway, here she is in next year's release where Miss Gloria is taking her daughters in law on a small tour of Houseboat Row:

A few minutes later, she led her relatives back onto the finger of the dock. “Next up, Annie Dubisson’s home.”

This time I did troop along behind because it had been a minute since I’d seen the inside of her best friend’s place. Mrs. Dubisson appeared delighted to show us around. We toured the larger boxy living area, with a faded red Tibetan rug, a multitude of plants, and workmanlike kitchen. I knew the ladies liked playing mahjong here because it felt more spacious and lighter than Miss Gloria’s place.

“We love living here on the water,” Mrs. Dubisson told the guests. “That little bit of wave action at night always makes me feel like I’m being rocked to sleep in my mother’s arms.” She paused. “There are surely drawbacks—it’s damp out here and everything tends to rust, and it’s more trouble to schlep back groceries and what not. This life wouldn’t be for everyone. Maybe someday we’ll retire.” She glanced at Miss Gloria—two weathered old women who would be bored silly without something to do—and they howled with laughter.

Now I must return to the repair shop. But meanwhile, how important are characters’ names to you? Do you have an early mentor in whatever path you took that you remember with gratitude?

What We're Writing - Jenn McKinlay

First things first! We have a winner for Ellen Byron's giveaway last week and it's...ALICIA!!! Congrats, Alicia, you can reach Ellen at: ellenbyronla at outlook dot com 

Jenn McKinlay: Okay, I can't really talk about what I'm writing as yet since contracts need to be signed and whatnot before the big reveal. But I can talk about my research!

The setting of my work-in-progress is the Outer Banks, North Carolina. As you can imagine, the research is a real hardship (not). I was thrilled to discover our Lucy grew up there, so I have a first person source as well as my own memories of camping trips with my family on the beaches of North Carolina and of course I have a trip planned to do boots on the ground research while revisiting an area I love. 

Outer Banks, NC

My first attempt at writing a setting where I did not reside was the London Hat Shop Mysteries. In my original concept, my protagonist was British. It took me all of five minutes to realize I could never pretend to think/speak like a Brit and so Scarlett became a fish out of water American. Boom. The mystery wrote itself. 

Since then, I've gone on to write many locations that I've visited but do not inhabit and I have discovered that when I view a place through a tourist's eyes (mine), I can lean into a place's uniqueness. For example, when I wrote about Rhode Island for one of my Good Buy Girls mysteries (written under the name Josie Belle), I mentioned coffee milk - this is a pure R.I. thing as told to me by a college friend who had grown up there. And then I had readers from Rhode Island reach out and tell me how surprised they were that I'd gotten it right. Very rewarding!

In my recent release LOVE AT FIRST BOOK, which was set on the Emerald Isle, I went to Ireland to do research (yes, more hardship - lol) but the real insight into capturing the essence of the places I visited was to sit and observe and listen, talk to waitresses, bookshop clerks, cabbies and so on and let them tell me their stories. I have about an hour of video of Irish cabbies teaching me everything from the history of Trinity College to the rules of the sport called hurling to how to drive in Ireland. "Keep the bitch in the ditch" -- IYKYK. 

Needless to say, I am very excited to visit the Outer Banks and talk to the locals and learn the the oddities that only the long time residents know and as soon as I can share more, you'll be the first to know.

So, Reds and Readers, when you read about books set in places you know very well, are you offended when an author gets it wrong? What oddities make up the places where you live? 

What We're Writing: Ghosts Pirates! by Jenn McKinlay

 JENN McKINLAY: I am polishing up the first draft of my first run at writing a fantasy novel entitled BOOKS OF DUBIOUS ORIGIN (coming 2025). It's very fun as it's a fairly new genre and the rules are not yet set. As in, the only limit appears to be my imagination which is both intimidating and thrilling!

I was doing my final read through the other day and I hit a scene that felt flat when all of a sudden...ghost pirates! 

BOOKS OF DUBIOUS ORIGIN excerpt

     “Zoe, about last night,” Jasper said. 

     No, no, no. I didn’t want to talk about this. The potential for more embarrassment was too probable. Should I pretend I couldn’t hear him? Interrupt him with some other talking point? Listen to him? Ugh, I was so bad at all of this. This was why I was happily single and not dating excluding short lived hookups. Anything longer and I would inevitably humiliate myself.

     “I didn’t mean to leave you so abruptly,” he said. Even his charming British accent couldn't soften the words.

     Jasper was talking to the back of my head. I didn’t want to turn around. I didn’t want to see his pale gaze filled with pity at the lonely librarian who’d been hitting on him. I hadn’t been but if I denied it now, he’d think I was trying to save face—which was even more mortifying. A motion outside the window of the ferry boat drew my peripheral vision. I turned and felt my heart drop into my shoes.

     “I was unforgivably rude, displaying the sort of boorish manners—”

     “Pirate!” I yelped.

     “Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,” Jasper protested.

     I whipped around to face him and all thought of our previous evening’s awkwardness vanished. I glanced around the nearly empty lounge and pulled him down by the lapels of his freshly laundered coat. 

     His eyes went wide, his face mere inches from mine. “Zoe, I—”

     “Listen, I don’t want to panic the passengers but there is a ghost pirate ship floating above the water headed right for us.”

     Jasper turned his head slowly to the window. His eyebrows shot up and he muttered, “Bloody hell!”

Yeah, so that happened. The scene is definitely more exciting, at least to me. Now I just have to figure out how one gets rid of ghost pirates? Suggestions?

What We're Writing: Lucy's Thinking About Mothers

LUCY BURDETTE: since Mother’s Day is coming up soon, I thought I’d write about one of my favorite topics, the mother figures in Hayley Snow’s life. She has quite a few of them by this point in the series! She has developed a wonderful relationship with her own mother, and a good solid relationship with her stepmother, and she is even on steady ground with her mother-in-law. (Not an easy feat!) And of course everyone’s favorite mother-character, Miss Gloria, is planted firmly in Hayley’s world.

Hayley’s mom makes her first appearance in the second installment of the series, DEATH IN FOUR COURSES. Hayley is attending the Key West Loves Literature conference in this book—an event that’s fraught because she is dying to become a food writer and critic of note, and all her foodie idols are in attendance. She’s made what she begins to worry is a big mistake: invited her mother to come with her. Janet Snow is a foodie too, but she lacks confidence and direction and focuses her anxiety on her daughter. This scene takes place during the conference’s opening remarks:

“I know you didn’t come all the way to Key West to listen to me,” Dustin was saying from the stage. “So I am thrilled to introduce our keynote speaker, a man who truly needs no introduction.”

“But you’ll give one anyway,” I muttered.

My mother took my hand and pulled it onto her lap. “Oh, sweetie. Let him have his moment.”

She was right—as usual. But still I rolled my eyes and squeezed her fingers back a little harder than I meant to.

“Jonah Barrows has had four major culinary careers in the time most of us have only managed one. His mother once reported that he had a highly sensitive palate right out of the womb—he would only suckle organic goat’s milk.”

The audience tittered. How completely embarrassing, the kind of thing a mother might say. Mine, in fact, was chuckling loudly. “Remember when you’d only eat strained carrots and your skin turned yellow from too much carotene?”

“Mom, stop,” I hissed.

At this point in my current WIP, Key West food critic mystery #15, Hayley’s relationship with her mom has evolved into something comfortable and healthy. They share a lot in common, but not in a competitive way. Here’s a little snippet that I hope shows a bit of that. The two women were both passengers on the boat that blew up off Mallory Square in the book’s opening:

The ringing came from the landline that Nathan suggested we keep in case the cell towers went down someday. He always wanted to be prepared for future disaster. I snatched up the receiver. My mother’s number scrolled over the small screen, and I punched accept.

“Are you OK?” I asked. At the same time, she said, “how do you feel?” We both laughed.

“Shocked,” she said, “horrified. Disappointed but grateful. I’m physically fine and Sam is too.” She lowered her voice as if someone would listen in. “The cops were here. Asking all kinds of questions. I get the feeling they think we are at the center of what might have been the crime of the year in Key West.” 

“Same,” I said. “I got the bigwigs, my husband, the chief, and Steve Torrence. Looking back, do you think you saw anybody doing anything suspicious?”

“I was so focused on getting the food out and making sure everyone was having a lovely time with something to nibble on and full champagne glasses. I wasn’t watching for criminals.” Her voice sounded sad. This promised to be a showcase for her business as well as my ezine.

“Yes,” I said, “I’m sorry. It was going to be such a lovely party. Plus, you’ve lost a lot of your catering equipment.”

“Insurance will cover it,” she said. “We’re alive and well, that’s all that matters. Did you come up with any leads for them?”

“I mentioned that there were a lot of people from the local food world, and that some of them would not have been happy about my reviews. Nathan made fun of that, and we had a little mini spat.”

“Tension is almost inevitable in a crisis,” she said. “He adores you and he respects what you do. But he feels responsible for a lot of trouble right now, and I know he worries about all of us.” She paused, and I could hear the click of her fingernail on her phone. “I wonder if it would be worth us doing some informal interviews with some folks in the foodie world. People that the police might not necessarily reach out to. Even if they did, they might not ask the right questions because they can never truly understand what drives our passion.”

Lucy again. I adore having had the chance to write about the relationship of Hayley and Janet, to observe it grow and mature. I prefer reading series to standalones because I love following the character development that occurs in the best of these. How about you Reds, series or standalones?

PS: If you haven't yet joined the Jungle Reds private Facebook group called Reds and Readers—launched January 1st—there are live chats, giveaways, and so much more! Join now so you don’t miss out... Leave a comment over at Reds and Readers to be entered in the drawing for DEATH IN FOUR COURSES.

What We're Writing: Jenn is Blurbing

 Jenn McKinlay: Okay, so when I originally wrote this post I was officially out of contract, waiting to see if they publisher was interested in any more books from me. After fifty-plus manuscripts, you never know. I could have worn out my welcome. 

Well, I'm happy to say that yesterday I signed a contract (for something new that I can't talk about yet) so I remain employed, which I'm sure the Hooligans' colleges appreciate. So, what am I writing? Since I've been in the upside-down/in-between for a couple of months, I've been working on proposals, blurbs for other authors' books - so many blurbs! - articles, blog posts, you know, all of the things we authors write in addition to our books.

I could talk about any of the above for they all take huge amounts of time, but I want to focus on author endorsements. These are not easy for me. I tend to write long and I think blurbs need to be short (no one has time to read these things) but they also need to be accurate. Describe the book enthusiastically but don't give the plot away. Very, very, tricky. 

So here are a few of my recent book blurbs, and I want your honest opinion. Would any of these get you to buy the book? Or at the very least peak your interest? And do author endorsements matter to you at all or no?

Not for nothing, but there's a lot of pressure to gather endorsements and if y'all don't actually notice them or if they don't influence you to buy a book, well, that would be a relief actually. 

Ali Brady's UNTIL NEXT SUMMER beautifully captures everything that's magical and marvelous about long summer days, away camp, best friends, first kisses, finding your people and the place of your heart. When the Chickawah camp is placed in jeopardy, our protagonists try everything they can think of to save it. Rarely have I been so completely invested in the outcome of a story. In a word, it's Chicka-wonderful! Hey, if you know, you know and if you don't know you need to read UNTIL NEXT SUMMER! --Jenn McKinlay

"Ellen Byron's newest mystery series is a laugh out loud, make you snort, tale chock full of oddball characters in the delightfully rustic setting of an old motel. Come for the laughs, stay for the puzzler of a mystery that will keep you up entirely too late, trying to solve it." --Jenn McKinlay

Star Struck is a delightful addition to McCown's Hollywood Mystery series! With her years of experience in the industry, McCown crafts a zinger of a whodunit with all the glitz and glam a reader could want, along with a twisty turny mystery that readers will devour." --Jenn McKinlay

Confession: I have only bought one book because of an author endorsement and I hated it. I've never given them so much as a glance ever since. Shocking, I know.

What We're Writing: Lucy's at the Beginning

 LUCY BURDETTE: Happy New Year and welcome to all Jungle Red Readers, both old and new! I’m at the beginning again, this time of book 15 in the Key West food critic mystery series, tentatively titled LAST MANGO IN PARADISE. That means I’m starting to tackle the questions of how to get both food critic Hayley Snow and her detective husband involved in a mystery, which other beloved characters must be included, and how to find something new and fresh about the setting of Key West to satisfy long-time readers and tempt new ones. 

I realized this isn’t the first time I’ve written about beginnings. Here’s what I said back in 2016 about my writing process: I try to think about the questions a therapist would ask a new patient: Why is this person here now? What drives her and feeds her passions? For an amateur sleuth, why is she getting involved? Usually this ends up having to do with good-hearted Hayley worried about a friend or relative who's landed in big trouble.

In some ways, this is the most amazing phase of writing a book. Anything is possible! Nothing is horrible because it isn't written yet! If I’ve come up with a grand idea, I haven’t had enough time or enough words to realize the many ways it just won’t work. This time around, an idea came from an op-ed in the Keys Weekly by Robert A. Jensen, who’s written a book called Personal Effects, about his life’s work as owner of the world’s largest disaster management company. His opinion piece called for the Key West authorities to prepare better for a possible ship-borne emergency in our port.

Hmmm. That’s exactly the kind of headline that jiggles my writer’s mind into fifth gear. So now I know the book will open at one of Key West’s best-known ports, Mallory Square. There will be many visitors and performers and possible witnesses—though I imagine that most of them have cocktails in hand as they enjoy the chaos, so no one is really watching…For sure, Lorenzo will be there...

Here are the first paragraphs (maybe!) from the new book...

Chapter One

 

Key West’s Sunset Celebration on Mallory Square has been a magnet for visitors to our island since the 1960s. An hour or two before sunset, the square on the waterfront begins to bustle with food and drink carts, performers and buskers of many kinds, a sprinkling of homeless folks, and purveyors of Key West-themed trinkets and tchotchkes. Everyone loves it—except the police tasked with keeping people safe, including my hubby, Nathan Bransford. I tease him that from a police officer’s perspective, it’s all about what could go wrong.

As the sun drops closer to its nighttime resting place in the Gulf of Mexico, the square grows more crowded with chattering tourists, the air ringing with performers call to action (donations to the artists!) and scented with buttered popcorn and sweet mojitos. The water off the square hums with happy revelers on sunset cruises.

I’d visited the scene hundreds of times since I moved to the southernmost point in the Florida Keys, sometimes with out-of-town guests, sometimes to check in with my dear friend and tarot card reader Lorenzo, and sometimes on my way to dinner at a nearby restaurant or a musical or dramatic performance. Tonight was the first time I would be experiencing it from the water, sailing on a cocktail cruise sponsored by my employer, Key Zest—the ezine that aspired to be the go-to source of information on all things Key West for tourists and locals alike. (Everyone knew this truth—if you wanted the real dirt on our island, you went to the locals’ Facebook group.)

Lucy again: Who knows if any of that will still be there when I write The End. But for now, how important are the first few pages of a new book? Do you give a book and its writer time to unspool, or are you impatient to be drawn in? 

PS I’ve just turned in the copyedits for book 14, A POISONOUS PALATE, and you can pre-order that here.

PPS If you didn't catch the promo video I made for this post, here's another version of it, with blooper included!

PPPS: If you haven't yet joined the Jungle Reds new private Facebook group called Reds and Readers—launched January 1st—there will be live chats, giveaways, and so much more! Join now so you don’t miss out! Leave a comment over at Reds and Readers to be entered in the drawing for A CLUE IN THE CRUMBS.