What We're Writing @LucyBurdette

 LUCY BURDETTE: In spite of the fact that I’m way behind in my schedule for Key West mystery #14, I've spent much of this last month in New Haven rather than Key West--in my mind, that is! The editorial comments on THE INGREDIENTS OF HAPPINESS arrived in my inbox during Christmas week. This book falls into the category of contemporary or women's fiction, and it takes place in New Haven with a little side trip to Madison CT. I've been lucky in my writing life to land amazing editors who help make my books stronger, and this time was no exception. Lots of changes were made to strengthen the character and the story. Soon I'll be able to show you the cover, and provide a pre-order link… But meanwhile, here’s the opening introducing psychologist and so-called happiness expert, Dr. Cooper Hunziker:

Chapter One

Things my mother taught me, part one: chocolate cake makes everything better. 

This thought floated through my mind as I paused, willpower wobbling, preparing to run the gauntlet of glassed-in cakes that greeted each coffee shop visitor as soon as the door closed behind her. Carrot cake, sponge cake, coconut cake, poppyseed pound cake, peach shortcake, chocolate cake with chocolate fudge frosting: not a single one was on my no-white flour, low-carb, low-sugar, low-fat, I’m-in-control-of-my-life diet. 

Except I wasn’t in control, and every cell and synapse in my body recognized that. “Could I get a small-ish piece of the chocolate cake?” I asked the girl behind the counter.

She shrugged and grinned, the piercings around her lips and nose bristling. “Sorry. We’ve already cut it into slices. What if you bought a piece, ate half, and threw the rest out? Or wrapped it up for tomorrow?”

“As if that would ever happen,” I said with a chuckle. “Might as well give me the whole thing. I’ll do my best.”

I paid for the massive hunk of cake and a full-fat latte and carried the soul-soothing loot to a small wooden table near the far door. From here I could watch out the big window and try to picture whether New Haven would ever feel like home. Yale students and worker bees streamed along Chapel Street, headed toward their morning destinations—some chattering and laughing, some expressionless, absorbed in whatever played through their headphones. How many of them were happy? How much did that matter?

My attention caught on a couple sitting at the next table over. I had taken them for lovebirds, with their heads bent toward each other, whispering sweet nothings, sharing a slab of coconut cake. His voice rumbled and I made out the words: “try again, a different therapist, the puppy.” 

Then her hissed voice grew louder. “I don’t want the puppy. I never wanted the damn dog in the first place,” she said. 

She dabbed the tines of her fork over the crumbs on the plate, though most of their cake was intact. She brought the fork halfway to her mouth, but then let it drop to the table. (I would have licked that implement clean.) After wiping her hands on a napkin, she grabbed her purse strap and slung it over her shoulder as she stood. She lowered the volume of her voice a notch.

“You don’t seem to understand, I can’t do that. I need space, lots of it. Right now I feel like I can’t breathe.” She pressed her palm to her neck and then clacked out of the shop on tall heels, model-thin and businesslike, leaving her husband (I assumed) sitting alone.

Awkward as it felt, we were left facing each other and I couldn’t avoid meeting his gaze. His cheeks bloomed pink and he flashed an embarrassed smile. In spite of the sweater and the glasses and the tiny overlap of his front teeth, once he smiled, I could see he was cute. The kind of cute that could make your gut flip a little once you’d noticed.

“That went well,” he said, and crooked another little smile. “Sorry to subject you to my marital dirty laundry. She’ll come around, eventually. Don’t you think? From a cake-loving woman’s perspective, I mean.”

I glanced down at my plate, which was in fact empty. This was the problem with getting distracted and not eating each bite mindfully—I’d powered through the whole slice. As for his wife coming around, I didn’t think so. 

“I don’t know her, so it would be hard to say,” I offered, trying for something noncommittal and diplomatic.

“But supposing,” he said, his face so hopeful, “you were giving your very best advice to a lovesick friend.”

How could I flat-out lie? 

“Things my mother taught me, part two,” I said. “Don’t count on someone else to make you happy because chances are, you’ll end up alone anyway. Except for the dog. You’ve definitely got the dog and that counts for something, right?” 

Instantly I wished I’d gone with my first instinct and not said anything other than sorry. This was none of my business and now I’d made him feel worse. “I’m so sorry, that was a dumb thing to say. I blurt when I’m nervous.”

But he’d started to laugh. “Your mother sounds like a wise woman.” He stood up to leave. He was taller than I would have expected, solid and muscular like an athlete. “Now I’m curious about part one. Have a good day.” He smiled again, gathered their dishes for recycling, and disappeared out the side door. 

I drained the last bit of foam clinging to the bottom of the mug, placed it and my empty plate in the rubber bin marked for dirty dishes, feeling a little sad and definitely regretful. The poor man must have felt bad enough without me clanging him on the head with the bald truth as though I was wielding a cast-iron skillet. How humiliating to be dumped in public. 

So that's coming in July! 

In addition, A CLUE IN THE CRUMBS, #13 in the Key West food critic mystery series, has a gorgeous cover and is now available for preorder. 

If you are a Netgalley reviewer, A CLUE IN THE CRUMBS is available there. 

(I got a big kick out of this review: I have loved this series since it first came out. But this book is the best yet. It had me completely absorbed into the story and I read it in one setting. Then I got mad at myself because I finished it so quickly.)

Final news: The first seven Key West mysteries will be available as audiobooks soon, in case you or someone you know prefers listening over reading. AN APPETITE FOR MURDER will be out on February 7, and DEATH IN FOUR COURSES on February 21.

Phew! What I need right now is to jumpstart the real writing and skip over the distractions of all the above... Suggestions welcome!