Writer. Editor. Mom. Daughter. Sister. Friend. Dog owner. Award-winning author and recipe creator. Conservative Catholic with an avid interest in the supernatural. Think all that doesn't go together? Then you have to get to know me better.

6 Life Lessons from Football (A Fan’s POV)

I love football season. My son plays. My husband used to play. If it’s autumn, then Monday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, we’re in football mode.

My son’s high school team won its home opener this Friday. Penn State won Saturday. (Yes. I live a stone’s throw from the University of Arkansas, but I watched Penn State.) I couldn’t wait for Sunday, when the Steelers would play. That would be a two-fer for me. I’d get to see my favorite team and I’d get to see some Pittsburgh skyline shots. (Gee… do you think I might be homesick?)

Their game started off great. The very first play (kick off) they were gifted with a safety because of the other team’s error. They didn’t even have to do anything, and they had two points on the board. It was a great way to start the game. Then they drove the ball down the field on their first possession. I was overjoyed.

Until they fumbled near the end zone.

It kind of went downhill from there. Sacks, interceptions, punts, injuries… It was ugly. We had one good drive near the end and our offense finally put seven on the board, but we didn’t recover the onside kick. The Steelers lost, 9-16.

The good news is, the rest of our division lost, too. All four are tied for first place. Or last.

When the yelling and complaining and armchair coaching were over, I got to work. And as I prepared this post, I realized a few things.

Hard work doesn’t always result in a win. It does make you a better person, though.
Officials aren’t perfect (or they’re horribly biased). In short, life isn’t fair. Adapt.
If your choice of entertainment raises your blood pressure, it’s no longer entertainment. It’s a health hazard. Reevaluate your attachment.
In contests, there are clear winners and losers. But that doesn’t mean everyone can’t learn something from the process.
There are more important things than winning. Like, how you conduct yourself in the face of adversity and how and with whom you choose to spend your time.
Time spent with family is time to treasure. Years from now, no one will remember the score of the game, but everyone will remember the good times spent together.

We’ve got months left in the season. I’m going to try to keep my emotional investment to a minimum and just enjoy the sport for what it is—entertainment. Maybe you can help keep me in check. If I start ranting about the games, please remind me of this post.

For Writers:

Some of these lessons can be as important for your characters as they are for society. As you work, consider:

How hard your characters work at both enjoyable and miserable tasks. What do they learn from their efforts?
How one character can impact outcomes for another character. Do they make bad decisions resulting in more problems? How is that adversity coped with?
Do your characters have unhealthy attachments to something? Can they change their attitudes? Do they need to? Is it a harmless vice or a dangerous addiction?
At the end of a conflict or battle, have all of your characters grown and changed?
Do your characters have an opportunity to make a choice between a habit and a loved one? Which do they choose and why? What are the consequences?
How do your characters interact with loved ones? Can you write a scene or two about which, years from now, your characters would reminisce? One that is poignant enough for your readers to remember?

So everyone, what’s your take on these lessons? Why don’t you share (WIP stories or real life experiences) in the comments section?

First Friday Fiction Feature – Fifty Sheds of Grey

It’s the first Friday of the month. Time for another fiction installment. (Links for this and all Fiction Features can be found on the Freebies page.)

This short story is inspired by a writing challenge given at last year’s OCW Conference. That contest required the story to fit on a 3″ x 5″ index card. This story is a bit longer than that.

Fifty Sheds of Grey

Fifteen-year-old Mallory was a loner. Being alone was pretty much the only way she got any peace. When she was at school, she was the constant target of pranks and barbs.

Because of her cousin Polly.

While Mallory was born into a middle class family, Polly was born with a silver spoon in both her hands. Mallory secretly suspected she had one up her butt, too. Polly made her life miserable. When Mallory was younger, she’d tell her mother how mean Polly was to her, but her mother would say it was because she was jealous. Mallory didn’t know what Polly could possibly be jealous of, but as her mother never had any advice for her, she stopped talking about Polly and kept her pain to herself.

As they grew older, Polly only got worse. As the most popular kid at school, everyone followed her lead. And because she tormented Mallory mercilessly, the kids at school teased her, too. The only person who never followed Polly’s lead was Tommy. Mallory harbored a secret crush on him, but would never admit to it. Tommy was in Polly’s crowd, and Polly made sure Mallory wasn’t.

No wonder she preferred to be alone.

Given their history, it struck Mallory as more than odd that Polly invited her to her back-to-school bash. It was at their grandparents’ farm—known to the locals simply as The Barn. Mallory accepted despite her reservations.

“Wear lip gloss and bring breath spray,” Polly said. “We’ll be playing some… games.”

“Games?”

“Yeah. You know the shed by the barn? The games are in there. I call it ‘Fifty Sheds of Grey.’ Know what I mean?”

Mallory didn’t answer, but she knew what that meant. Polly, of course, had plenty of experience with boys, but Mallory had never played “Spin the Bottle” let alone been kissed. Ever fiber of her being screamed at her not to go. But not showing would be social death, and her popularity was already on life support. Better to go than be labeled a chicken.

Mallory procrastinated and stalled as long as she could, but finally had to take the plunge. She hoped to go late and blend into the background, but when Polly saw her, she announced her arrival to everyone. As Mallory approached the group, she was greeted to taunts about her inexperience.

How could they possibly know?

Polly, of course.

Mallory scanned the crowd, hoping to see Tommy’s friendly face, but she didn’t see him. To avoid acknowledging the never-ending jeers, she turned around and took in the surroundings. She used to feel so comfortable there, but when Polly started hanging out there with her friends, Mallory had stopped going to the barn. When she visited her grandparents, she stayed at the house and didn’t wander the grounds for fear of running into Polly and her friends. She missed it.

When they were younger, the barn was her sanctuary. She’d climb over hay bales and tuck herself into the corner of stalls with the cats and a good book or a sketch pad. Polly was too prissy to sit in straw, so it was safe to go there. Then Polly discovered how isolated the barn was, as it was far from the house and separated from view by the tree line. Polly started bringing her friends there, and Mallory lost her haven.

It had been about five years since she’d spent time at the barn. Not much had changed. Trees bordered the property on both sides, and the paddock spread out behind it. The barn itself, formerly a proud red but weather-faded to a mud brown, cast a shadow on a tiny grey aluminum shed with chipped paint and a dented roof. Polly gestured to the ramshackle hut. “Tommy’s been waiting in there for you. It’s time for your seven minutes in heaven.”

Tommy? Waiting for her? Her mouth was suddenly way too dry. She tried to swallow, but there was a huge lump in her throat.

Polly must have noticed her hesitation. “Afraid, Mal?”

Mallory didn’t answer. Her lips parted, but no witty come back came to her. She wouldn’t have been able to get a word past her lips if she tried, anyway.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue? We know Tommy doesn’t.”

Everyone started taunting her. She had no choice. She tuned them out and wiped her palms on her jeans. Polly took her by the elbow and all but dragged her to the shed. Then she cracked the door open and shoved Mallory inside. She’d barely crossed the threshold when the door slammed shut behind her.

Plunged into darkness, she cried fruitlessly for help. Eyes tearing, the stench of manure choking her, she fought off the bile rising in her throat and turned to flee. The door wouldn’t budge, so she reached into the stifling blackness, tripped and fell. Her face landed in a mound of fresh straw-laced droppings from the horse stalls. Shrieking, she rose and plowed through the shed door, knocking Polly to the ground and vomiting on her head.

The tables, without any intentional efforts on Mallory’s part, were turned. The kids started taunting Polly. Chants of “Puke Head Polly” echoed throughout the farm, as well as a few cheers for Mallory.

With as much dignity as a filthy fifteen-year-old could muster, Mallory walked away, Polly’s screeches a cadence for her feet.

Labor Day Celebrations and Suggestions

So it’s upon us. Labor Day. The official end of summer. If kids haven’t returned to school yet, they will soon. The festivals are over, the picnics are done… Football’s starting!

Many of the national holidays we observe in the United States have a patriotic element. Memorial Day honors lost veterans, Independence Day the birth of our nation. We celebrate Flag Day, Presidents’ Day, Veterans’ Day. Labor . .Day, however, celebrates the working class.

There is debate as to who first proposed a day set aside to honor America’s laborers. Some credit Peter J. McGuire, general secretary of the Brotherhood of Carpenters and Joiners and a co-founder of the American Federation of Labor. Others give the distinction to Matthew Maguire, a machinist and secretary of the Central Labor Union in New York. Regardless of who first conceived of the holiday, it was the Central Labor Union who adopted a Labor Day proposal and planned festivities for the day. On September 5, 1882, the first Labor Day was celebrated in New York City.

More than one hundred years later, we are still honoring the toils and sacrifices of our labor force. There will be parades and picnics, festivals and fun.

And then it’s back to work.

I had a productive week last week. And have a huge workload waiting for me. Instead of working on Labor Day, though, I’m taking a break and relaxing with my family. With school in session and the demands my husband’s job place on him, it’s virtually unheard of for all four of us to be home on a weekday. So we’re going to make the most of it.

If you find yourself with some down time this Labor Day, maybe you’d like to read some classic literature depicting the lives of the working class.

The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck is a story of tenant farmers who lose everything during the Great Depression and set out for California in search of a livelihood, and more importantly, in search of their dignity. After suffering several losses on the way, they arrive out west only to discover there is little work, and even fewer rights for laborers. The story ends by showing how the family functions in the face of adversity.

Babbitt, by Sinclair Lewis, is a portrait of the industrial city and the businessman. The novel’s main character is described by The 1930 Nobel Prize committee as “the ideal of an American popular hero of the middle-class. The relativity of business morals as well as private rules of conduct is for him an accepted article of faith, and without hesitation he considers it God’s purpose that man should work, increase his income, and enjoy modern improvements.” The protagonist is a realtor who becomes disillusioned with his life and seeks to improve his lot through a series of relationships and travels. In the end, he returns to the life that he thought was unsatisfying.

The Jungle, by Upton Sinclair, is a story of the hard-working immigrant and his sacrifices while looking to achieve the American Dream. It focuses on two major social classes: the upper class, who are comfortable and corrupt, and the working class, who are impoverished and hopeless. The main character hopes to care for his whole family, but as working conditions decay, they are all forced into labor. The combination of the upper class abusing their power and a series of accidents and tragedies lead to the main character’s ruination. Desperate to turn things around, he leaves Chicago as a hobo, but finds things no better on the farms where he tries to eke out a living. He returns to Chicago and is enticed by the socialist movement. He eventually is employed by a socialist and resumes supporting his extended family, although they’ve all undergone significant change.

Are you spending the day with one of these books, or something else you’ve been waiting to get time to read? Will you be watching a movie, swimming, or picnicking? Something else, perhaps something unusual? I’d love to hear how you’re spending the day. Why don’t you share your plans below?

And Happy Labor Day!

Are You Making the Most of Your Relationships?

Something profound happened to me this week, so in lieu of promoting my new book or discussing writing techniques, I’m going to share my story.

My daughter is a tennis player. She’s been battling an injury, but she keeps on going. She’s supposed to wear a boot when she isn’t playing, and tape when she is, but she won’t. It’s inconvenient, so she just deals with the pain. She won her first match this week, 8-2, but to do it, she suffered. I’m concerned she might be doing herself more harm by not sitting out and resting, but she insists it’s worth it. I’m not so sure.

My son is a football player. He was doing great in his scrimmage this week, until he was blindsided. There was a helmet-to-helmet collision, and he lay unresponsive on the field for the longest five seconds of my life. When he stood, he wobbled and was led back to the bench. He’s now battling a concussion. His only desire is to get back to the game. I’m more worried about him healing.

My dogs were outside this week and got into a pool chemical bottle that the pool maintenance people left out. I saw them on the patio, laying beside a puddle and a chewed bottle. Our vet rushed me out of his office with medicine, not even giving me the time to pay. He felt time was of the essence. My dogs kept spitting the medicine out, and of course they went right over to the puddle when I let them out again. They’re all about instant gratification, preservation-instinct be damned. I’m just worried their quest for fun will ultimately harm them.

Thank God nothing happened to my husband this week. I don’t think I could have taken the stress.

I have a lot of lives dependent on me. I don’t care what my “job title” is. Wife, mother, and pet owner take priority every time. As does daughter, granddaughter, sister, niece, aunt, friend… I have lots of titles.

Unfortunately, one of those titles is not Ultimate Decision Maker. If it was, everyone would listen to me and there would be fewer problems in my life. (Of course, that would probably add a lot to my plate, and who needs that? Not me.) Maybe I would just like to be the mom/wife/dog owner who is obeyed, at least when she has everyone’s best interests at heart. But I digress…

People can say all they want that to be successful in any endeavor, a person has to put certain things aside and just work. And that includes relationships.

I say if you want to be truly successful, you have to nurture your relationships. They are what make you who you are. (tweet this)

The rest will take care of itself.

If you want to be a success, take the time to celebrate the people in your life. Spend quality time with them. Even at the expense of some “work” time.

You never know when something will happen to rob you of that chance.

As hard as this week was, I am blessed that no permanent damage was done to my loved ones. I’m not going to wait until there is a permanent issue to put them first on my priority list.

I hope you can say the same.

When I Knew I Was a Writer

I am participating in the ‘Writing Contest: You Are A Writer’ held by Positive Writer. Here is my entry:

When I Knew I Was a Writer

I used to distinguish between the words “writer” and “author.” You see, I’ve been a professional writer since before I graduated college, and a writer since I knew how to write. Authors were a different breed—they were published fiction writers.

When I was little, I used to draw pictures and write stories or reports to go with them. When I was in second grade, we had spelling pre-tests on Mondays (before we were introduced to the words for the week). Students who got 100% on the pre-tests were asked to write stories on Fridays when the rest of the class took their official test. I usually aced the pre-tests, and on Fridays I would create fascinating characters in magical worlds. Sometimes I continued those stories at home, just so I could complete what I’d started in class. In junior high and high school, I’d write poetry in my free time. If I’d had a computer back then, I probably would have written more. You can only do so much with writer’s cramps in your hands.

I wasn’t an author, though. I was a hobbiest.

When I went to college, I considered writing as a major. Many discouraged that choice (never my parents, though). People said all I could do with a writing degree was teach or write books, and few people ever get their books published. So I majored in business, which I hated, and then architecture, which I didn’t care for either. Running out of time and options, I defaulted to English. Even after changing my major so many times, I was able to not only catch up, but double major, write for the faculty newspaper, and create software documentation for an on-campus software developer. All that, and I graduated on time. I got my degree in Professional Writing and Creative Writing, and did so well the university offered me a scholarship to continue my studies. I jumped at the chance and began writing for more on-campus departments. I took an internship with the H&SS College’s Public Relations Department and managed to get my master’s degree one semester early. After graduation, I started working for local companies. I started as a copywriter for a local travel agency, then I worked in the development department for a nursing home, which I left for a corporate communications job at an engineering firm. After the birth of my first child, I left that department and transferred to the technical writing side of the company.

I’d been writing since I was young. I had been a writer since college. But I wouldn’t even consider calling myself an author.

After my second child was born, I quit working to be a stay-at-home mom. I loved it, but I missed writing. My parents suggested I write a book, but I was busy with my children. Instead, I took some freelance writing jobs. When the kids got older, I even starting teaching three writing classes at a local college.

I had gone from writing to teaching. I began to doubt that I was even a writer any longer.

But then we moved, and I was without a job. The kids were in school, and I had nothing to do. I decided to try my hand at fiction. It had always been a passion of mine; I might as well explore it.

I read books, I joined critique groups, I went to conferences and workshops.

And I wrote. And wrote. And wrote.

I had short stories published in a little over a year.

Three years into the process, I have a published novel, an agent, and a job as an editor.

I am a “writer” and an “author.”

And what did I learn from that odyssey?

I’d been a writer and an author ever since I put words to my pictures as a young girl.

In fact, I don’t even distinguish between the terms any longer.

I may have resisted calling myself a writer for a long time, but it seems I was born one.

And I’ll be a writer until I die.

6 Lessons Learned Because of the First Day of School

back to school — I thought we were organized and prepared, but as you can tell, my daughter lost her blow dryer. How do you lose a blow dryer? Should have expected the unexpected.

Today is the first day of school for my kids. I have no idea where the summer went. It seems like it was just last week that they came home ready to celebrate the end of their school year. We went back to Pennsylvania for a visit, came home, and sports practices started. Now here we are, school supplies purchased and packed, and struggling to get up in time to make the bus.

I guess the adage is true: Time flies when you’re having fun. Or running all over the city as a chauffeur.

I dreaded this day since the first day of summer break. I hate not having my kids around. Sure, they weren’t around that much anyway, what with social events and sports activities, but they were here a lot more than they will be now. And in a few years, they won’t be here at all.

Saying goodbye is hard. (tweet this)

But there are positives to the new school year starting.

The kids will get to see all their friends every day.
They’ll get to explore new subjects and learn new things.
I’ll get back into a routine, which will make writing easier than it had been this summer.
There will be less mess in the house.
Steeler Football is starting. (Yes, that’s a selfish one, but it’s a benefit to me.)

I don’t know if you, like me, are feeling that temporary empty nest syndrome, or if you have the house to yourself permanently, or if you have babies at home and won’t be getting a break. What I do know is that we all have things in common.

We all can benefit from spending time with family and friends.
Knowledge is wonderful and powerful.
Routine breeds productivity.
Physical decluttering leads to mental clarity.
Change can be good.
Entertainment in any form (particularly Steeler football, but to each his own) is necessary for recharging.

Fall isn’t always looked at as a time of new beginnings. In fact, that’s when leaves are falling, harvests are being reaped, and summer toys are being stored.

But it’s time more than just students and teachers look to autumn as a new beginning. (tweet this)

Take this opportunity to reexamine WIPs and breathe new life into your efforts. January 1 does not need to be the only time we stop, take stock, and make plans for improvement. What areas in your life could use a fresh start? Why don’t you share in the comments section?

Mystery Heir Spotlight

A big thanks goes out to Missy Frye for hosting a book spotlight for my new novel, Mystery, Ink.: Mystery Heir. There you’ll find a short bio, a description of the book, and a never before released excerpt.

Check her post out here. I hope you enjoy it, and send Missy some love!

Enrich Your Characters in 5 Easy Steps

I am a space fanatic. It started when I was a little girl in school studying the constellations. I was hooked. Even today, I’d give anything to try an antigravity chamber and the multi-axis trainer. Don’t get me wrong; I have absolutely no desire to go into space (the thought terrifies me), but what’s out there is fascinating. I’m always watching television specials about the stars, the planets, dark matter, and black holes. I’m the one in my family telling people about upcoming meteor showers, eclipses, and anything interesting they might find in the sky. When NASA canceled the shuttle missions, I was devastated. But I still follow ISS news.

This summer has been particularly eventful. Did you know that history was made on July 9? Luca Parmitano was the sixth Italian astronaut in space, but the first of his country to take a spacewalk. He celebrated by sharing some traditional fare with his crew mates. The Italian Space Agency created an antipasto appetizer, a lasagna and pesto risotto first course, an eggplant parmesan main course, and a tiramisu dessert. (Imagine that. Tiramisu in space!) Parmitano began a second spacewalk on July 16, but the walk was cut short due to water leakage in his helmet. It was a dangerous situation, but he remained calm and tragedy was averted.

Of course I feel some Italian pride given his accomplishments, but that wasn’t the only exciting thing that happened this summer. On November 26, 2011, NASA launched a space probe to Mars. It just landed on August 6, after what is being dubbed as the “seven minutes of terror.” When it finally set down, undamaged, in the Gale Crater, NASA’s celebration was caught on camera—and instantly Flight Director Bobak Ferdowsi became an internet sensation.

Ferdowsi, now known as “Mohawk Guy,” didn’t set out to break scientist stereotypes, but he’s doing it. He’s a self-proclaimed ‘exercise fiend’ and a recreational softball player, but what’s taken over the web is his hair. Ferdowsi gets a special cut for each mission, and this one was noteworthy. He sported a Mohawk with red and blue highlights and bleached stars in the side. His cut inspired plenty of memes and a 10,000 follower spike for him on Twitter, but really, he is inspiring many of today’s youth to become scientists. By breaking the mold of “geeky scientist,” he’s opening the world of science to a whole new group of students. And isn’t that what’s really important?

Writers: Consider the characters in your WIP. Are any of them stereotypical in any way? Dumb jocks, nerdy scientists, Versace-clad models, Rolex-wearing businessmen? Try mixing things up a bit to add variety and authenticity to your characters. Here are five things to look at when analyzing pigeonholed characters.

Clothing
Do your characters wear clothes that announce what they do or who they are? Coaches may need sweat suits on the field, but not at home. Maybe your coach likes to lounge around in silk pajamas or dress clothes. This wardrobe change can help expose the hidden dimensions of your character.
Hair
Many people don’t think about it, but hair can be stereotypical. The librarian with her hair in a bun. The model with long curly tresses. The surfer with bleached streaks in his hair. It doesn’t have to be that way. Consider changing a stereotypical hairstyle to make your characters more individual.
Accessories
Are the props you’re working into your characters jobs and homes trite? Try using a few things that are unexpected, or omitting some things that are cliché. Using our librarian again, does she wear eyeglasses on a chain? Omit them. Does your professor have a pipe and leather chairs in his office? Nix the pipe. Switch an overstuffed sofa in for the chairs.
Food
Unless you’re trying to establish a strong cultural tie, you don’t want your characters eating and drinking only food from a specific ethnicity. The Irish don’t need to always be drinking in bars, an Asian character doesn’t have to eat rice with chopsticks for every meal, and Italians (and I know this for a fact) like more than just spaghetti or pizza.
Activities
Are your characters involved in cliché work and play situations? Does your English teacher only attend the theater? Send her to a ball game. Does your coach come home and turn on Sports Center? Have him play classical music instead. Doing something out of the ordinary will round out your people and make them more than cookie-cutter characters.

Changing from the unexpected will enrich your work, deepen your characters, and enliven the reading experience for your fans. Just a little work and forethought goes a long way in story development. It’s worth it.

Are you a space fan, too? Are you interested in breaking stereotypes or in encouraging students toward the science fields? Are you working on a story where you’ve shattered traditional labels? Share your story with us in the comments section.

Do You See the Magic in the Small Things?

Did you ever see something that took your breath away? Something new to you, beautiful beyond compare?

We were out shopping at a home improvement store, something that makes everyone in our family grumpy. The kids were arguing, my husband and I had grown short-tempered, and we all really just wanted to go home. Then my daughter said, “Hey. What’s that in the sky?”

We all stopped and looked. There was a large cloud in the sky colored like a rainbow. It wasn’t raining; it wasn’t even overcast that day. It was a sunny afternoon, no chance of precipitation. But there it was: the rainbow cloud.

We all stopped and stood in the parking lot, staring at the anomaly. None of us had ever seen anything like it before.

And then I noticed the true benefit: we’d all stopped arguing. There was no sniping about the heat, no arguing over what to buy, no griping about how long we were out.

We all were silent taking in the beauty of the rainbow cloud.

Sometimes nature interrupts life and we need to just stop and take it in. (tweet this)

Once we got back in the car, the fighting was over. It was as though the spectacle had erased all feelings of ill will. We were quiet, and at peace.

I’m not saying it was a magic cloud. On the contrary, I believe there is a scientific explanation for what we saw. I don’t know what it was, but I know there is one.

What I am saying is: sometimes things intrude in our lives that make them better. (tweet this)

Take a moment today to look around, to stop and smell the roses, to listen to a symphony or just walk in the park. Open your mind to a new experience and you might be surprised at how you’re elevated.

And writers: consider taking a break in the action to let your characters experience something momentous, something that changes their perspectives or just gives them time to breathe. Sometimes the best parts of your work can be found not in the action scenes, but in the downtime between them.

In my recently published novel, Mystery Heir, the most poignant scene doesn’t occur during the action. It occurs in the moments between, when protagonist Naomi reunites with her new friend, Aaron. Here is an excerpt:

Out in the waiting area, Penelope and Ryan were standing and talking. But Naomi’s eyes were drawn to the benches. That’s where Aaron sat, alone, waiting. She headed straight for him, and when he saw her, he leapt up and ran at her. He flung his arms around her waist, nearly taking them both down to the floor in the process. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and put her head down to his. She had a great rapport with all her college students, but she couldn’t remember the last time she had bonded so quickly or so fully with a younger child. She stood there, enveloped in his embrace, and marveled at her fondness for him.

“I was worried about you,” his muffled voice said from inside the hug.

She pulled away from him and looked into his eyes. “I’m fine. I was worried about you.” She pulled him down on the bench beside her.

“They couldn’t reach my mom last night. She was in surgery.”

“Oh no! Is she okay?” Penelope asked. She and Ryan had walked over and she heard Aaron’s last statements.

“She’s fine. She’s a nurse at St. Vincent’s Hospital. I guess she was called into some surgical procedure, and they couldn’t get her out. They reached her this morning. She’s on her way here now.”

“I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you’re safe,” Penelope said.

He looked at her, then turned back to Naomi. “They’re bringing Social Services in, too.”

Naomi took his hand and squeezed it. His eyes were dry, but she could see the sadness and fear in them. “Everything will work out, Aaron. You wait and see.”

He shrugged. “I’m glad you’re okay. And I’m sorry I blamed you. I know it wasn’t your fault.”

She dropped his hand and put her arm around his shoulder, hugging him again. “No worries now.” No matter what he said, what anyone said, she’d always carry guilt for what happened to him.

Ryan said, “Aaron, Miss Williamson from Social Services is here. She’d like to see you before your mom arrives.”

Naomi gave his shoulders one more squeeze, then she turned him to face her. “Listen to me. You’re going to be fine. And you have my number. If you ever need anything, anything, you call me. Understand?”

He nodded. And without another word, he got up and went off with Deputy Ryan.

“Good kid,” Penelope said.

“Yeah,” Naomi said. Her voice was hoarse, and Penelope was wise enough not to comment on it.

So you see, the downtime between action scenes and plot progression is where readers learn the most about your characters. Make sure you use those slower moments to explore your characters’ depths.

If you’d like to read more of Mystery Heir, you can find it on Amazon or Barnes and Noble.

If you’d like to share something that stopped either you or one of your characters and led to a breakthrough moment, tell us about it in the comments below.

Mystery Heir Deleted Scene

Mystery Heir follows amateur sleuth Naomi Dotson and her twin sister as they try to find a killer. The police have a man in custody, but Naomi thinks they have the wrong person. Her obsession to see justice prevail compels her to continue the investigation, resulting in dangerous and potentially life-threatening consequences.

Without further ado, I give you:

A Deleted Scene from Mystery Heir

Naomi’s sister woke her and sent her to the living room. Normally, Penelope would have gotten rid of any visitor when her sister was trying to sleep off the stress of having been robbed, but this caller was different.

No one turns the mayor away.

Naomi stumbled to the living room, trying to rub the bleariness out of her eyes. It didn’t work, so she kept trying. Her eyes would definitely be puffy and bloodshot in the morning, but that wasn’t the important thing at the moment. Dealing with Everett was.

“What can I do for you, Mayor?”

“Mayor?” Everett said. “So we’re back to formalities? Come on, Naomi. Give me a break.”

She sighed, rubbed her eyes again. “Everett, why are you here?”

“I just heard about the break-in. I wanted to be sure you were okay.”

“If you heard about the break-in, then you had to have heard I was fine. What do you really want? Did the chief send you? Or Ryan? I’m not giving up on this. The cops have the wrong guy.”

“No, Chief Clark hasn’t said a word to me. I bumped into Deputy Ryan, and he told me about the break-in. He did say you were okay, but I needed to see for myself.”

She looked at him, her vision finally clearing. His brow was furrowed into wrinkles of worry, and his gaze never stopped roving over her, like he was taking a mental inventory of possible injury sites.

“No one was there when I got home. The only thing damaged is my apartment. Well, that and my ego. I should have expected this and been more prepared.”

He raised a brow and continued to scrutinize her.

“I’m fine. Really. Look.” She flailed around like the inflatable air dancers companies used to catch the attention of passersby. “No injuries.”

He laughed at her display. “I guess we don’t need to rent those balloon people for the next festival. I can just hire you.”

“You couldn’t afford me.” She yawned and took one more swipe at her eyes.

“I’d better get going then. Let you get some rest.”

“I’ll walk you out.” She led him to the door and stepped outside with him into the chill of the October air. The night was clear, the crescent moon forming a smiley face with some of the brighter stars in the sky. Despite her ordeal earlier that evening, she found herself smiling back.

The laugh that had so easily claimed Everett just moments before vanished. He grabbed both her shoulders and held her at arms’ length. “Are you sure you’re okay, Naomi?”

“Yes. I’m really okay.”

“I was worried.”

“You don’t have to worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

He pulled her closer, looked down at her face. Their breaths mingled, a misty cloud of potential evaporating into the night. Was he going to kiss her? Did she want him to? Her heart raced, her breath caught.

“Good night, Naomi,” he said, his voice husky.

He walked away before she could react, respond.

She could no longer see him, but she could hear his footsteps, a rhythmic cadence fading away.

“Go inside and lock up,” he called.

She went inside, closed and locked the door. Only then did she manage to whisper, “Good night, Everett.”