Rule #37: Don't open with a cocktail party

 HALLIE EPHRON: As anyone who’s taken any of my writing workshops knows, I’m full of rules.

One of them is: “Don’t open with a cocktail party.” Of course I don’t mean that literally. I mean don’t overload the opening of your book by introducing too many characters too quickly. Don’t open with a crowd scene.

Even introducing a single character is heavy lifting–for both the writer and the reader. There’s the character’s name. Physical appearance. Relationship to the other characters you’re introducing. Quirks. The list goes on…. With their first appearance they need to make an impression. Introduce too many too fast and readers will choke. They won’t remember who’s who and might even stop caring.

My rules usually have the caveat: “Write well enough and you can break any rule in the book.”

Which brings me to a book I’m reading at the moment. It’s a huge bestseller written by a beloved author. And it opens by introducing about half dozen characters, each in a separate location with a variety of connections to one another. Fortunately, in short order one of them is murdered, culling the herd. But still, for about 20 pages it’s a slog remembering who’s who until everything meshes.

Do you think there’s such a thing as *too many characters too soon* and if your story requires it, how do you finesse it?

HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN: The very first book I ever tried to write, which did not get very far, was about the first female golf pro in Massachusetts, and how she solved a mystery about a deadly herbicide on the golf course. It was a brilliant idea. Maybe. But I didn’t know what I was doing. And I stopped.

Totally your case in point: the first chapter was a golf foursome on the course, as well as a caddy, and references to several other people. Truly, there were at least five people in the scene, none of whom you knew, as well as allusions to other people.

You absolutely had no idea who to care about.

But. I also just finished a book that has about a million characters from moment one, and some off-the-page characters referred to as well. But the writing was so immersive, and so fabulous, and I thought: “you know, this author is aware of what she’s doing, and she’ll let me know who I need to care about when the time comes.” And that turned out to be completely true. And the book is incredible.

But I so agree, Hallie. The rest of us are not Liane Moriarty and Big Little Lies. And  I am very careful now not to overpopulate my first chapter.

JENN McKINLAY: I’m trying to think of a book that had a crowded opening scene that made me quit. Nothing is coming to mind, probably because I quit. LOL. I’m not a big fan of prose heavy openings either. I don’t want to read a description of snow falling for five pages.

As for me, I’m a master level eavesdropper so I love starting a book with dialogue as it takes the weight off the opening line and hopefully hooks the reader immediately. No more than three characters for the opening paragraphs and then it can expand.

RHYS BOWEN: One thing I hate is too many characters too soon. I find myself flipping back and forth: Who was Doug? Was he married to Serena? I was trying to remember if any of my books start with multiple characters but I can’t think of any.

In Farleigh Field had multiple protagonists and we jumped between several sites but I think they were all parallel stories going on until they all joined at the end. (At least that was what I wanted!)

Of course my two series are written in the first person so we always start seeing the world through the eyes of the protagonist and having her set the scene tor us. This makes it much easier.

LUCY BURDETTE: I have very little patience with too many characters. Most of the time I refuse to go back and look somebody up, I will either put the book down or else keep reading and hope it all becomes clear.

But Jenn and Rhys make interesting comments, maybe it’s easier with first person to keep the characters under control.

I had to go back and look at the opening of THE MANGO MURDERS, which will be out in August 2025. it does indeed start with a cocktail party! On a sunset cruise! However, before you ever get to the cruise and the party, there is quite a bit of Hayley Snow talking to set the scene.

I hope this works – I’m sure you will let me know:).

DEBORAH CROMBIE: The first chapter of my first book opens with only three characters. Smart, right?

Then, in chapter two, A COCKTAIL PARTY! Literally. What was I thinking?

Obviously I didn't know any better, but I seem to have navigated my way through it somehow. Still, many books later, I find scenes with a lot of characters the most challenging to write. Give me a good old descriptive passage or an internal monologue any day!

JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: This is a timely question, Hallie, as I’m reading a book with a famously vast number of characters - ANNA KARININA.

Yes, one of my resoilutions was to broaden my reading to include classics I’ve missed. I’m reading the 2000 translation by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky, and they translate the famous opening line as: All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.

In the first eleven pages, we meet seven characters in person, name check the titular character, and are also told the household has an English governess, a cook, a coachman, a kitchen maid, and the now banished affair partner, the French governess. It feels crowded, which is perfect, because the household of Prince Stepan Oblansky is crowded to the point of intrusiveness, just as, we will see, the society he and his family live in is crowded and intrusive. There never seems to be enough space for people to just be themselves.

Technically speaking, all these character introductions work because they come through Stepan’s point of view. Everyone is described in terms of how they relate to him: his wife, his favorite child, his sister, his valet. It gives the reader a solid framework to slot characters into place. And yes, I was brave and decided to plunge in without reading the cast of characters, so I was relying on Tolstoy to not let me down.

BTW, I’m really enjoying it so far. It’s much more lively than I thought it would be.

HALLIE: So how about the rest of us? Which writers manage to defy the odds and keep you turning the pages even when they introduce a plethora of characters in short order?

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.

What We're Writing Week: Julia's cover reveal!

 JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: It's been a big week for cover reveals - first Hank's, then Lucy's and now mine! I loved the design from the first time I saw it - the cover artist really leans into the Christmas feeling. No, that's not what Clare Fergusson's church looks like; hers is brick gothic revival. But the white clapboard says church to everyone, and it pops beautifully against the colors of the sky.

 

 I'm also sharing my first run at the flap copy. I just sent this off to my editor for review. It's not that I consider myself wildly talented at flap copy, it's just that the stuff that's been written in-house has often been, well, less than satisfactory. Once, a then-assistant to my then-editor included, "The author has enriched her telling of this tale by drawing in episodes from Miller Kill -- and Jane Ketchem's past." Which is neither enticing to the reader nor, I believe, grammatical. She also added I won two Tony Awards on the back of the book. Finally, my youthful acting dreams realized.

Let me know what you think, and how I can improve this! (Oh, and P.S.: it's available for pre-order now...)    

   

It’s Christmas time in Millers Kill, and Reverend Clare Fergusson and her husband Russ van Alstyne - newly resigned from his position as chief of police – plan to enjoy it with their baby boy. On their list: visiting Santa, decorating the tree, and the church Christmas pageant.

But when a beloved holiday parade is crashed by white supremacists, Clare and Russ find themselves sucked into a parallel world of militias, machinations and murder.

Single mom Hadley Knox has her hands full juggling her kids and her police work. She’s doesn’t want to worry about her former partner – and sometimes lover – Kevin Flynn, but when he takes leave from the Syracuse PD and disappears, she can’t help her growing panic that something has gone very wrong.

Novice lawyer Joy Zhào is keeping secrets from her superiors at the state Attorney General’s Office. She knows they wouldn’t condone her off-the-books investigation, but she’s convinced a threatening alt-right conspiracy is brewing – and catching the perpetrators could jump start her career.

NYS Forest Ranger Paul Terrance is looking for his uncle, a veteran of the park service gone inexplicably missing. He doesn’t think much of an ex-cop and out-of-town officer showing up in his patch of the woods, but he’s heard the disturbing rumors of dangerous men in the mountains.

All roads lead to the forbidding High Peaks of the Adirondacks, where deep snows hide deadly plans and ancient trees shield modern hatred. As the December days shorten and the nights grow long, a disparate group of would-be heroes need to unwind a murderous plot before time runs out.

 

What We're Writing: Debs Says Sometimes Authors Just Gotta Have Fun

DEBORAH CROMBIE: I have been amusing myself in the latest scene in Kincaid/James #20. I finally have moved (inched) the plot along to scenes I have always intended to set in Richmond. I had been drawn to this western part of Greater London (Richmond, Twickenham, Teddington Lock,)  along the course of the Thames, since before the huge popularity of streaming series Ted Lasso. No, I haven't actually been working on this dratted book since 2020! But we didn't have Apple TV then and I don't think we watched the first season of Ted Lasso until maybe summer of 2022, by which time the book was definitely percolating.

For those who haven't seen the series, an American football coach is hired to coach a failing English soccer team called the Richmond Greyhounds, and while not all the purported Richmond scenes were filmed in Richmond (several of the exterior locations were actually filmed in Notting Hill) some of the real Richmond locations became iconic. 

Ted's fictional flat is in the little alleyway that Gemma walks through in the scene below. The pub known as The Crown and Anchor in the series is actually The Prince's Head, below.

Richmond Green, and these iconic red phone boxes, were used repeatedly in all three seasons.

Of course, since the series, The Prince's Head has become a fan destination--and the pub has made the most of it!

Here I am in the "Ted Lasso corner."

Having just eaten what looks like a massive plate of triple-fried chips and something--fish, maybe? Some fellow Ted Lasso fans (from Australia!) took the pic.

In this snippet, Gemma samples the chips. She's following leads in Richmond with her new detective sergeant, Davey Butler, who she suspects might not be all he appears to be.

They found a spot in a multi-story carpark in Richmond town center and walked towards the Green. “There are a couple of pubs to choose from,” Davey Butler told Gemma. Once out of the car, he seemed more relaxed, almost jaunty as he led the way around a small church and then through narrow paved alleys with little shops and boutiques.

“I don’t know Richmond,” said Gemma. “Bit on the far side of London for me, growing up.”

“I came here a good bit. Night out with the lads, impress a date. Bit pricey for drinking, though,” Butler added, and Gemma liked that he’d had to consider the cost. The sun felt warm on her shoulders and the whole place had a festive feel, with the colored pennants strung across the alleyway moving gently in the breeze. They came to the alleyway’s end and suddenly the Green was before them.

“Oh!” Gemma exclaimed. “How lovely!” They stood at the edge of a wide paved area, bordered by a narrow street, and beyond that, huge trees marked the edge of the wide, grassy expanse of the Green. People sat on benches or lay on blankets in the grass, and in the distance, Gemma saw a group playing a desultory lunchtime game of football.

“There’s The Prince’s Head, just here, and The Cricketers a bit further along,” said Butler, and Gemma realized they had come out of the alleyway right at the first pub.

“This looks fine, don’t you think?” The shadowy interior looked cool after the warmth of the sun, and Gemma realized suddenly that she was starving.

Since they were on the late side of lunch, they easily found a table in a front window where they could look out over the Green. Gemma perused the menu while Butler fetched drinks from the bar. When he returned, she took an unladylike gulp of her fizzy water with lime. The sun and too much coffee had ganged up to give her a terrible thirst and the beginnings of a headache.

“Non-alcoholic. Cheers,” said Butler, raising a half pint of beer to her. “It’s much better than it used to be.”

 “I’ll take your word for it,” Gemma told him. “Not much of a beer drinker.”

When they’d both ordered food at the bar, Gemma settled back into her seat and admired the view. “This is nice. Have you been here often?”

“Occasional nights out with the lads. A few dates. It’s a bit off my usual manor as well.”

“I should bring my husband here for a dinner date some night, assuming we ever manage to have a date.” Gemma sighed.

“It must be challenging. Both of you in the job, and three kids, you said?” Butler’s expression was open, friendly, and if he was digging, she’d given him the opening.

“We’re a blended bunch. His son, my son, and our foster daughter. We’ve finally given in and hired a part-time nanny, but I feel like a bloody yummy mummy even admitting to such a thing,” she added with a grin.

“Sounds right bougie,” Butler agreed, and they laughed. “You can just say ‘child minder.’ That removes a bit of the stigma.”

“Just don’t spread the ‘nanny’ word around at the nick,” Gemma said easily, thinking that she’d know soon enough if he did. She’d made her overture, but she wasn’t about to tell him any more of their personal details.

Butler nodded. “Right, boss.” After a moment’s hesitation, he began, “Your foster daughter—” but just then their food arrived and the moment was lost.

I haven't actually mentioned Ted Lasso, because it won't mean anything to non series fans, and also because I hope people will still be reading my books in some distant future when Ted Lasso will have faded into no more than a cultural footnote. (There was this show about ethics and kindness and good sportsmanship...)  But the references made me smile.

Readers, do you have favorite Easter eggs in books?

And in a totally unrelated question, how do you feel about exclamation points? I was taught in writing classes that you should never use them, but I think that's silly. Of course they can be overdone, but why waste a perfectly good punctuation mark? In this snippet, it seemed weird to end Gemma's exclamations with periods.

Oh, and a progress report: a couple of weeks ago I passed the 50,000 word mark in this manuscript, so I can now at least say that I am on the downslope!

P.S. By weird coincidence, I'd just started re-listening for the umpteenth time (don't judge, these books are my comfort listens) to the first Ben Aaronovitch Rivers of London book, published in 2011 although I didn't read it until a couple of years later. And there, at the beginning of Chapter 4, is my introduction to Richmond and Eel Pie Island. :-)

What We’re Writing: Lucy’s Got a Cover!

LUCY BURDETTE: So much happening in my writing life right now! Last week, I completed reviewing the page proofs for the 15th Key West food critic mystery, THE MANGO MURDERS. That will be out on August 12! I have the finished cover—isn’t she gorgeous? I’m so lucky to have those artists working on my books. Meanwhile I’m writing like mad on #16. (Yes, I buried that lede—there is now almost a contract for two more books in the series.) But most fun of all, The Friends of the Key West Library are hosting one of my favorite crime fiction writers this weekend: Ann Cleeves. We will perform her murder mystery for libraries on Saturday, and she’ll be the guest of honor at our author talk and gala on Monday. I don’t expect to get much else done!

Setting all that excitement aside for a moment, today I’ll share a snippet from The Mango Murders. One of the subplots in this installment is the celebration of Miss Gloria’s 85th birthday over the period of a week. (Here’s a bit from a former post about that party.) Hayley Snow grows worried when her friend doesn’t show up for the opening event and goes to the cemetery (where Miss Gloria gives tours) to track her down. This scene gave me a chance to think about the meaning of the big birthday from the perspective of two characters—Miss Gloria herself and Hayley. The cemetery that lies in the center of the town is chock full of wonderful history and atmosphere, so I love setting scenes in that space.

The cemetery was a big space right in the middle of Old Town. It was laid out in a giant grid, identified with street names, and contained the resting places of many Key West residents, along with elaborate family crypts and various celebrity graves with oddball inscriptions. “I told you I was sick,” was a very popular destination, along with “I’m just resting my eyes” and “I always dreamed of owning a small place in Key West.” There were more serious gravesites too, of course, including the section devoted to the victims of the U.S.S. Maine, and a trove of local eccentrics and heroes. A tall, black metal fence surrounded the cemetery so it could be locked up at night, leaving only iguanas and chickens as company for the dead.

I hurried down the biggest street, headed toward the Jewish section of cemetery that I knew my friend favored as a place to sit and think. She liked the idea of visitors leaving stones on a grave, as she thought it must remind the inhabitants they weren’t forgotten or alone.

Minutes later, I spotted her perched on a concrete bench under a big gumbo limbo tree. I breathed a sigh of relief and tried to gather myself so I wouldn’t appear like a worried and hovering mother. She looked sad, and that made me feel glad I had come.

I sat beside her on the bench and tucked my arm around her shoulders. “I got a little concerned about you because we’re due at Salute in an hour or so. I hope you don’t mind that I came to give you a ride home.”

She looked at me, seemingly puzzled, her expression a million miles away.

“I thought you might have been hit by a car or one of those crazy people drinking beer in golf carts with the right-hand turn signal permanently on.” That was a joke she loved to tell about how some tourists behaved on our island.

Miss Gloria smiled briefly and patted my knee. “We can’t really know when our time is up, can we?” she said in a wistful voice. “I don’t think mine is anytime soon. Though with a murder or a freak accident, those are impossible to predict.” She paused and I suppressed the urge to fill the silence. She needed to talk, and I needed to listen. “The one thing I don’t like about getting older is remembering and missing all the friends and relations who’ve passed before me. I love my life and my new friends, but I miss the old ones too.”

“Of course you would, that seems only natural.” She had a melancholy look on her face that I’d rarely seen. I wondered if she was thinking about her husband, Frank. He’d been gone for many years, but they’d had a happy marriage full of adventure and love, and I knew how much she still missed him.

LUCY again: How do you feel about time spent in cemeteries—I don’t mean in a permanent way, but rather, visiting?

(Of course, The Mango Murders is available for pre-orders now...)

Rhys has just finished a first draft.

 RHYS BOWEN:  Big sigh of relief here. I've just finished the first draft of the latest Royal Spyness novel, called From Cradle to Grave.  Actually I really enjoy writing these books. I suppose I like the characters and am interested in what they plan to do next, and I do like a good chuckle when Queenie does something awful or Georgie is clumsy. I think readers of the series will find this story particularly satisfying (I'm not going to say why, but you'll know when you read it).

I think I shared a snippet with you before about the arrival of the nanny from hell. This is only the beginning of Georgie's nightmares. Following the nanny her sister-in-law Fig arrives unexpectedly to make sure that nanny settles in properly and to give Georgie a few instructions on how to run her house. This does not go well.

I felt it was important to see how Georgie tries to balance motherhood with challenges of a life beyond the house--something so many of us have faced. And the pull of the outside world is extra strong in this book as she hears about a tragic death of a contemporary of Darcy's, then another. When there is a third death within a few weeks she starts to wonder if these were not accidents after all. Is somebody killing off he sons of the British upper class? Then the next question: Is Darcy on that list?

So it's quite a tense book, with a nanny who is infuriating her at home and cases she wants to help to solve, but Queenie's escapades create a side plot, including some fun moments like this one:

My former maid Queenie, now our assistant cook, burst into the room giving her usual impression of a runaway cart horse. The cups rattled alarmingly as she skidded to a halt, staring at the visitor open mouthed. “Oh blimey,” she said. “I didn’t realize you’d got company. I’d have put a slice of my lardy cake with the tea things.” Her cap was askew and one of the front buttons of her dress uniform had come undone or had split open, revealing a hint of rather gray and unappealing undergarment.

                “That’s quite alright, Queenie,” I said. “This is Nanny Hardbottle. She has come to take care of master James.”

                “But I thought you said you didn’t want no nanny,” Queenie went on in her usual tactless way. “You said no dried up old prune was going to raise your child. I heard you myself.”

                “That will be all, Queenie,” I said. “Please put the tray down carefully on the little table.”

                “I can be mother, if you like,” she said.

                “No. I can manage, thank you.” My gaze told her that the sooner she left the better. Queenie was never quick on social cues. “I don’t mind at all,” she said. “I ain’t got nothing more to do since I already peeled tonight’s spuds and chef is making one of them Frenchie puddings tonight. He called it a po de crème.” She giggled at the mention of the word po. Cockneys seemed to find the mention of anything to do with lavatories or bodily functions highly amusing.

                “You may go, Queenie,” I said.

                “Bob’s yer uncle then.” She gave Nanny Hardbottle a big grin. “Nice to meet you, I’m sure.”  The vases and statues rattled as she clomped out.

                There was a silence as I poured two cups of tea.

                “What an extraordinary woman,” Nanny Hardbottle said. “Who on earth is she? Surely not one of your maids?”

                “My assistant cook,” I replied. “I’m afraid she’s a little unorthodox. But she does bake rather well. Usually we keep her safely in the kitchen, but I expect the other servants were occupied elsewhere, or, knowing Queenie, she took it upon herself to bring up the tea.”

                “Extraordinary,” Nanny Hardbottle repeated. “Your housekeeper seems a competent woman. Can she not teach this person the rudiments of polite behavior?”

                I had to smile.  “She has tried, I’m sure. We have all tried. Either nothing sinks in or Queenie deliberately doesn’t want to learn.”

                “Then why not give her the sack?”

                “Because she was once my maid and she was awfully brave. She saved my life in Romania. I feel responsible for her. And as I said, she does make rather good cakes and biscuits.”

                Nanny Hardbottle said nothing this time, merely shaking her head.  I handed her a cup of tea. She sipped suspiciously, as if Queenie might have done something unmentionable to it.

It is always a juggling act when I write to insert humor to what is otherwise a tense story. It can never take away from the gravity of the situation but can relieve an overwhelming amount of tension. When I read I like this approach. The Lord of the Rings, one of my all-time favorites, has those sweet and gentle scenes with Hobbits being simple country boys amid terror and despair. This keeps it feeling human and relatable. Interestingly enough these scenes are lacking in the movie version, and the films are entirely fight or flight and thus not as appealing to me.

What do you feel about humor in mysteries? Would you rather the author just got on with the plot?

What We're Writing: Hank gets a PEOPLE MAGAZINE exclusive!

Hank Phillippi Ryan: Well, how often do your dreams come true? So many of mine have, come to think of it. (For better and worse, just saying.)

But a few days ago, the cover of my new book, and the official synopsis, were revealed in People Magazine.

I will pause for a moment, to let that sink in.

AHHHHHH!!!

I could not believe it.  I clicked on the link and there it was.  I was floating the entire day.  And still am floating. If you want to see it in situ, in all its People Magazine glory,  here it is.   It's really fun to see.

If you don't want to click, here's a version of it. 

Hank Phillippi Ryan's New Thriller Was Inspired by Her Own Book Tour: See the Cover! (Exclusive)

'All This Could Be Yours' is both a "twisty cat and mouse thriller" but also a "love letter to readers," Ryan tells PEOPLE

By Bailey Richards

Hank Phillippi Ryan’s latest novel was inspired by her own fans — and how even innocent interactions could easily be “twisted into something sinister.”

The bestselling author, known for The House Guest, The Murder List and more, is gearing up to release her latest book, which the publisher calls a “twisty cat and mouse thriller” this fall — and PEOPLE can exclusively debut its cover.

All This Could Be Yours, slated for a Sept. 9 release, follows a writer whose debut novel becomes a sensation, but whose success is accompanied by career sabotage, threats and a secret from her past that comes back to haunt her.

"Tessa Calloway's dreams have come true — she's now a debut author with a surprise bestselling novel, with standing room only events and adoring readers on her triumphant nationwide book tour. But soon, things begin to go terrifyingly wrong, and Tessa knows it cannot be a coincidence,” an official synopsis teases.

“Someone is obsessed with not only sabotaging her career, but destroying her beloved husband and kids back home,” the synopsis continues. “Problem is, Tessa has a devastating secret. The escalating threats and increasing danger might be her own fault—the result of a high-stakes Faustian bargain she made long ago. And now, that one split-second decision may be back to ruin her life.”

All This Could Be Yours is first and foremost a nail-biting thriller, but it also has a deeper meaning, one that’s close to Ryan’s heart — and career. Ryan got the idea for the novel while interacting with a fan of her work at a book signing, she tells PEOPLE in an exclusive statement.

“It happened on my very own book tour — I was signing my novel to a reader, and wrote: 'So wonderful to see you in Scottsdale.' And I added the date. As I handed the book back to her, I thought well, I’ve just given someone a perfect alibi,” she tells PEOPLE. “That inscription proved she was at this particular Scottsdale event, and so was I. And that we had met.”

Naturally, the exchange got her thinking. “Then I thought about all the other inscriptions I’ve written: 'thank you for everything,' or 'so good to see you again,' or 'I enjoyed our time together,'” Ryan says. “I realized how many double meanings someone could concoct from those, and how my perfectly innocent inscriptions might be twisted into something sinister. Even menacing. Yikes!”

“I also thought about authors on book tour; how vulnerable we are, how everybody knows where we are every day,” the author continues. “We make it so easy — just look at our websites! Suddenly, my fabulous and exciting book tour became full of threats and danger. And life-changing bargains.”

That concept became her next novel, which is also a tribute to the people who make books come to life and into the hands of readers.

“Yes, it's a twisty cat and mouse thriller — but as I wrote it, it also became a love letter to readers, writers, librarians, booksellers,” she says, “and anyone who loves the world of storytelling.”

All This Could Be Yours comes out Sept. 9, 2025 and is available for preorder now, wherever books are sold.

HANK: Can you believe it? What do you think? Isn't it different than all my other covers?

You know I have a new publisher, so this is all part of that. And wow, so far so fabulous. And blurb from NITA PROSE! Ah ah ah.

And I cannot forget to add that the cover was designed by Minotaur's fabulous David Rotstein. Standing ovation!

And let me just point out to you..LOOK at the spine of the book! I mean--whoa. That should be in the spine Hall of Fame, don't you think? See the periwinkle earring? It's a clue...

And here's the link to People again. Just because.