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.

Hallie on What We're Writing (it's personal)

 HALLIE EPHRON: Here we are again, come full circle to WHAT WE’RE WRITING WEEK. And leading off, let me tell you about the class I’m putting together on “Writing from Experience.” It’s for people who reach a point in their life when they want to get their thoughts and memories down on the page and, in the process, figure out what the heck they think about all that stuff that went on.

I use examples from my own writing, examples that follow the memoir-writing advice of Philip Lopate ("To Show and To Tell") to make oneself into a character. And at the same time to take my own advice about storytelling: give the main character (me) a problem.

Here’s one of the examples:

It was September and I was starting eighth grade, the same year my sister Delia left for college. I’d moved out of the room I shared with my baby sister Amy and into Delia’s room, a sliver of space carved from the side of the house. The room was papered in fat yellow cabbage roses floating on a field of pale gray.

The room was so small that if I stood up from the bed and took giant step, I’d run into the door. But it was mine, all mine, even if the walk-through closet was still half-full of Delia’s clothes. Even if when Delia was on school breaks I had go back to sleeping in the big bedroom with the annoying Amy.

My very own phone hung on the side of the desk beside the bed. I could talk to my best friend, any time of day or night with nobody watching me and asking, "Who are you talking to?" or "Do you have to breathe like a hippopotamus?" or "Did you just fart?"

Problem was, at that moment, I was fresh out of best friends.

Just for fun, here's a photograph of me with my sister Delia on the left and Amy on the right, in about the year I'm writing about.

As I’ve been putting together the material for my class, I made a very short list of books to recommend… my own personal favorites.

Bossy Pants - Tina Fey
The Liars’ Club - Mary Karr
On Writing - Stephen King
The Color of Water - James McBride
Eat Pray Love - Elizabeth Gilbert
I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings - Maya Angelou
The Glass Castle - Jeannette Walls
This Boy’s Life by Tobias Wolff
Left on Tenth by Delia Ephron

So two questions:
- Do you read memoirs, and if you do what memoir(s) would you recommend?
- And... If YOU were writing about your childhood bedroom, what detail would make it distinctly YOURS? (It's that thing that writing teachers go on and on about: the telling detail.)

WARNING!!! CONTROVERSIAL TOPICS AHEAD

 JENN McKINLAY: We live in controversial times. It seems people are willing to go to the mat over just about anything so instead of avoiding these controversial times, I've decided to embrace it. 

Below for your argumentative enjoyment are the five top low-stakes controversies (according to Grandma Internet). Feel free to weigh in and let your opinions fly in the comments. I think we can all agree to be civil about these.

1. Is pineapple allowed on pizza?

2. Can you wear socks with sandals?

3. Is a hotdog a sandwich?

4. Is cereal actually soup because it's liquid based and served in a bowl?

5. Toilet paper orientation: which is correct - over or under?

Jenn: Yes, no, yes, no, over

Hubs: Yes, no, no, no, over

Clearly, we're going to have to discuss hotdogs!!!

How about you, Reds and Readers? What's your take on these hot topics? 

JANUARY AND THE NON-FICTION TBR

JENN McKINLAY: Every January without fail I find myself buying more non-fiction books than I do throughout the rest of the year (excluding research books, of course). What were my picks this January?

ATOMIC HABITS

INNER EXCELLENCE

RUNNING UNTIL YOU'RE 100

MEDITERRANEAN DIET

Pretty easy to see what I’ve got going on, eh?

BUY

How about you Reds, what non-fiction books are you reading/have you read recently? Do you tend to buy more in January or no?

LUCY BURDETTE: I don’t buy more nonfiction, but I acquire it through the birthday (and Christmas) season LOL. Here’s my list:

BAKING WITH JULIA by Dorie Greenspan

BAREFOOT IN PARIS by Ina Garten

THE NEW PARISIENNE by Lindsay Tramuta

BUY

Food in Paris, anyone?

HANK PHILLIPPI  RYAN:  Buying more in January because of various resolutions, right? Like resolving to read more nonfiction. At which I have already failed.  

Oh, I am always so tempted by non-fiction, and I just got the Ina Garten book, too. But I have so many fiction-reading assignments for interviews that it’s difficult to read for fun. (Isn’t that ridiculous?) Thank goodness for the New Yorker. 

But oh, yes, I just got HOW SONDHEIM CAN CHANGE YOUR LIFE by Richard Schoch which I am in love with. Fun fact: Did you know that all of the songs in A Little Night Music are waltzes? ALL of them? I cannot get that geniusness out of my head. Anyway. This is the joy of non-fiction: facts. 

BUY

HALLIE EPHRON: My challenge right now is finishing the books I’ve started – I’ve got 3 under way and one of them is a memoir that I love but it strikes too close to home so I’ve had to take it in laps. The rest of my “nonfiction” reading is the New York Times, Washington Post, Boston Globe, and a newsfeed from AXIOS. All of which I like to think of as “nonfiction.” (And I’m not giving them up.)

JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: I’m currently rereading OUR OWN WORST ENEMY: THE ASSAULT FROM WITHN ON MODERN DEMOCRACY by Tom Nichols. It came out in 2021and I’ve also ordered the second edition of his THE DEATH OF EXPERTISE. He’s a smart and entertaining writer, and I can also highly recommend following him on Bluesky.

BUY

I also bought Becca Symes “Quit Books for Writers” 4, 5, and 6: ARE YOU IN WRITERS BLOCK, YOU’RE DOING IT RIGHT, and ARE YOU INTUITIVE. She’s an author’s coach with a  podcast/video series I follow. I’ve listened to her previous books and gotten a lot out of them, so I’m hoping for more of the same. 

Jenn, if you’re interested in habit formation, you should take a look at Katy Milkman’s HOW TO CHANGE. I have the audio book and I loved it!

JENN: Thank you, Julia! I"ll check it out. I also have several of Becca's books and love them.

RHYS BOWEN: Over the holidays I read (devoured) THE SALT PATH about a couple who lose everything–home, health etc–and choose to walk the 630 miles of the Southwest Coastal Trail in England. The prose is exquisite and I would often linger over a description. I gather it’s about to be made into a motion picture but that won’t do justice to the writing. The amazing thing is that the writer only kept a journal for herself, never imagining it would be published. Having lost their farm etc, she is now a bestseller.

I’m also wading through a thick biography of Edward VIII. Most of it I already knew but shows what a weak character he was.

BUY

DEBORAH CROMBIE: Rhys, I want to read THE SALT PATH! Unfortunately, I’m afraid if I buy it I may be consigning it to the fate of most of the non-fiction I buy, which is to sit neglected and dust-covered in one of my many to-read piles… I asked for Nic Kristof’s memoir, CHASING HOPE, for my birthday in June. Alas, even though Kristof is one of my favorite journalists and I will read any column he writes, I haven’t cracked the book. Hmm. Maybe I should try the audio version…

BUY

How about you, Readers, what's on your non-fiction TBR?

SOMETHING'S FISHY

JENN McKINLAY: There was a murder in our house this week. Or so I thought. 

The origin story: Way back in October, Hooligan 1 and his Plus 1 arrived at our house with a sad looking goldfish that Plus 1 had won at a carnival game at October Fest. They already had their quota on critters, so Hub and I happily adopted the little fish, naming it Shohei Ohtani because Hub's beloved Dodgers were in the World Series.

Surprisingly, our cats all ignored little Shohei...well, all except one.

Tig was rather obsessed with Shohei and liked to "help" me feed him. For his part, Shohei didn't seem to mind the chonky cat, as if knowing Tig couldn't reach him and his life was such an upgrade from carnie life that he frequently did zoomies around his tank and was a talented rapper, his fave being Eminem's Lose Yourself (see video - which I hope managed to capture the audio).

Fast forward to this week, Hub and I left the menagerie to play in our weekly volleyball league (where we froze but that's another blog post). Tig had "helped" me feed Shohei before we left and I thought nothing of it. 

When we arrived home, I went to switch off the tank light but little fish did not come to rap at me. Huh. I looked to see if he was hiding in his house. Nope. There was no sign of him. Little Shohei was GONE and there was no sign of a struggle. The tank was intact, no water anywhere, nothing. 

I was distraught. Shohei had brought me much joy over the past few months and I adored him.

I wanted to know what happened to him, but there was absolutely no evidence. Still I had my suspicions...my "helper" Tig must have done it! Hub pointed out the impossibility of the cat opening the tiny food door, grabbing the fish, and closing the food door without making a mess but I was still unconvinced. I mean look at this face. It has apex predator all over it!

I called Hooligan 1 and he was very sweet about the loss. When I talked to my mom the next morning she suggested the "fish rapture" might have taken Shohei. LOL. I kept giving Tig a side eye, wondering if he'd burp up some fish bones. He did not.

Then Hooligan 2 stopped by with his Plus 1 (they'd snagged me a cupcake to help push through my deadline) and I told them the story of the mysterious disappearance. They were also sad (we all adored Shohei). And then Hooligan 2 said, "Mom, he's in the bottom of his cave. Very dead."

What?! I went racing over to check and sure enough there he was. Y'all, I checked that tank with a flashlight. He was not in there! I have no idea where little dude was hiding his dead self for 24 hours, but he managed it. This morning, I buried him in our backyard pet sematary cemetery with a simple somber service. 

Now here's the take away: This is exactly how people believe an innocent person did something that they didn't do! I was thinking with my heart and not my head, looking for a culprit when it was natural causes (in my defense if Shohei's body had been visible from the beginning, we could have avoided all of the unpleasantness, but I digress). For what it's worth, I profusely apologized to Tig for all of the dark looks I sent his way and gave him extra treats. "When I'm wrong, I say I'm wrong." (Who knows what movie that quote is from?).

Anyway, anyone else misjudge their pet as badly as I did? Or have a goofy pet story to share? Happy Friday!

 

They do what to your what?

JENN McKINLAY: It was November of 2019 and the Jungle Red Writers were meeting at Bouchrcon in Dallas. I think this is the only time all seven of us have been together in my eight years as a Red. Miracles happen!

We were having this group picture taken:

Hank doesn't love this one, no idea why...lol.

Anyway, somehow we got into a conversation with our photographers, two very nice gents somewhere in their 30's/40's - honestly, I have no idea, I'm a terrible judge of age - and I think one of our Reds got squashed (Julia?) and muttered something about it feeling like a mammogram. 

The photographer dudes clearly had no idea why we thought this was so funny and being the informative types we are, we then described in great detail to these two horrified males what all a mammogram entails. Boob meets glass plates and smash! 

Y'all I can still see their faces. Yes, it was that comical and I still laugh when I think about it. Also, I believe we did them and the women in their lives an invaluable favor that day.

Side note: This might be on my mind because I'm having one today. 

After that encounter, it occurred to me that we ladies do the world a terrible disservice in not letting our co-creators of the species know exactly what being a female of humankind entails. As the mom of two boys, I was pretty blunt about body parts and how they work (both male and female - my sex ed talk lives on in the family lore to this day) but you never know if they're really getting it, you know? 

Exhibit A: 

How about you, Reds and Readers, do the men in your life know how the mysterious female body works? And if you're one of our male readers, how do you rate your knowledge of the female body? 

Hooligans Know Best...Sometimes.

 

JENN McKINLAY: The above picture is where I spent a good portion of Monday--when I was not chained to my desk cranking out the words to meet my impending deadline. Why? Well, the Hooligans arranged it because they are wonderful lads who think their mom is a workaholic (ME???) and they're worried about my stress levels. 

Full disclosure. I am not a massage person. The last time I had one was in 2003 when I booked a massage at the Waldorf Astoria in NYC because I was flying in from Phoenix on the red eye. I had a meeting with my Harlequin editor and I wanted to look refreshed instead of like a piece of petrified wood exhumed from the desert. 

How did it go? Great! I fell asleep to the sounds of taxi cab horns and other city noises only to wake up face down on the table watching the drool from my mouth splat on to my massage therapist's shoes. How does one recover from a moment like that? With a big tip!

Needless to say, I was a little nervous that history would repeat itself. I mean the table is heated. You're just asking for me to fall asleep like a very large cat. Thankfully, I did not. I did consider paying them to let me nap for another hour after the massage but work called...as it always does. 

This massage was definitely more successful than the last. I had jacked my knee during Saturday's 5K, and this morning I woke up all better! Yay! So, I'm rethinking making time for more self-care, partly because they gave me coupons for two free massages (I think the knot in my shoulder - a hazard of the writing life - which thwarted my therapist LeAnn was the impetus for the coupons. LeAnn will not be defeated)! and partly because I'm a woman of a certain age and frankly, I need all the help I can get. 

Since booking the massage, I've gotten much feedback from some folks who love them and others who are horrified by the thought of letting anyone touch them--and both responses make perfect sense to me.

Reds and Readers, where do you fall in the massage opinion poll? For or against? Anyone else drool on their therapist? Just me?