On the national level, Americans are commemorating the actions of the Second Continental Congress, who ratified the Declaration of Independence on July 4, 1776 and established the United States of America. History buffs might be interested to know that the Continental Congress was comprised of delegates from the 13 original colonies. And, like much of what happens in present-day American politics, there was disagreement in the ranks over dates, details, and much more. Visit the National Archives online for more information.
Being interested in pretty much all things historical, I’m taking time to dig into the research about ancestors who might have emigrated to those 13 original colonies, and in particular those who, like many in my paternal line, fought for this nation (or any other). Among them: American Naval Commander John Paul Jones, born in Scotland, who helped establish the U.S. Navy during the Revolutionary War. According to professional genealogists, he is believed to have been my third cousin seven times removed on my father’s side. If you’re pursuing genealogical research of similarly well-known figures, you might find it helpful to search Appletons’ Cyclopedia of American Biography 1600-1889.
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Here on the home front, we have another important reason to celebrate:
Based on our veterinarian’s estimate of her age, our beautiful Sasha is nine years old today! She came to us as a rescue (bad situation, happy ending). And, much like some debates surrounding the Declaration of Independence, her documents reflect differing dates and details. We chose July 4th for her “official” birthday in declaration of her independence from the old and in celebration of her new life with us.
We’ve registered Sasha with the American Kennel Club so she can participate in AKC events such as Agility and Rally Obedience which promote performance skills and opportunities for handlers and dogs to work as a team. For her “official” name, we chose Ozark for our locale and Highlands for her Scottish heritage; we’re actually in the Ozark Highlands, so it’s a double play on that last word. We included Summer because she has a warm, sunny spirit. And I wanted her call name included because she came to us with that, so including Sasha gave us a bridge between her past and present. Sasha is now formally recognized by the AKC through their via their Purebred Alternative Listing (PAL) program as Ozark Summer Highlands Sasha.
The AKC’s PAL program, by the way, is intended for purebred dogs of AKC-recognized breeds who, for various reasons, had not been registered with the organization. If you’re interested in the PAL program, you can find eligibility details here.
Sasha enjoyed a smidgen of cheese with her morning meal and will munch on seedless cucumber chunks (a BIG favorite) and freshly cooked chicken at dinner time. We’ll round out the day’s celebration with backyard frolics and be safely indoors long before fireworks boom across the county again!
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So here’s to celebrating birthdays, then and now. And here’s to another year of learning from the past, and to another year of laughter and love with our sweet Sasha!
Among the late bestselling author Elmore Leonard ‘s widely quoted 10 Rules of Writing is this gem: “Try to leave out all the parts readers skip.” And what, you may ask, did he believe readers tended to skip? “Thick paragraphs of prose you can see have too many words in them.”
Personally, I’m one of those readers likely to skip those “thick paragraphs” that interrupt the action and slow the pace of the story. I do, however, appreciate short, succinct prose that provides insight into characters’ experiences and events directly relating to the plot. The level of detail I’m willing to read tends to vary by genre and type of book—that is, whether it’s a standalone novel or a series. And if it’s the first in a series, I do appreciate detailed prose that works to develop the overall structure. This is particularly true of cozy mystery fiction.
While there are multiple forms of mystery fiction that plunge straight into the action from the first page, cozy mysteries generally don’t. Instead, the first book in a cozy mystery series has traditionally used the first chapter to introduce the sleuth, the setting, and the “hook” that will carry through the entire series. (In my own Deadly Ties, the people and animals at Waterside Kennels become the hook for the series.) In the article Writing the Cozy Mystery: Quiet Beginnings, author and blogger Elizabeth Spann Craig explains:
“…You can start out with your idyllic, happy, safe…and, yes…cozy environment. You can start out with what’s routine: what a normal day in your story world looks like. This doesn’t have to go on for chapters–just a glimpse of happy normality and what’s lost when someone dies in the close-knit community.”
Getting all that into a single chapter or two requires the judicious inclusion of prose. After those introductory chapters, though, even the most hard-to-please reader should find any “thick paragraphs” of descriptive prose fading into the background as action and dialogue takes center stage.
This is a good time to point out that, while cozy mysteries nearly always exclude graphic violence, explicit sex, and vulgar language, other boundaries between cozy, suspense, classic, and traditional mystery appear to be blurring. As author Olivia Blacke points out when writing for the media site Frolic, writers are finding creative ways to bend—but not break—the traditional rules and norms within the subgenre. Whatever you prefer, browse the shelves of your favorite bookshop and you’ll find cozy mysteries—hopefully with a fair balance of prose and dialogue—that run the gamut from lighthearted quick reads to something edgier, even “unconventional” that increasingly reflect many of the social issues of our time.
Interested in learning more about cozy mystery fiction? Check these out:
Marlene Bell’s Copper Waters is the fourth in the series featuring an antiquities expert and amateur sleuth who compulsively involves herself in investigations of murder, mayhem, and mystery. If you’re interested in mystery and suspense fiction with a strong element of romance, read on!
Annalisse Drury is an intriguing protagonist with wide-ranging interests. She might, in fact, be the first amateur sleuth I’ve read with multiple consuming passions woven through the storyline. In Copper Waters, you’ll find subplots relating to her professional work in photography and antiquities appraisal, as well as her love of sheep and thoroughbred horses. Add in her quest to find elusive family members and a deepening relationship with wealthy Greek tycoon Alec Zavos, and you have the framework for a mystery that stretches from New York to New Zealand.
When a former girlfriend of Alec’s shows up unexpectedly with a young boy she claims is Alec’s son, Annalisse impulsively decides to put some distance from the situation and accepts an invitation to visit a sheep station in New Zealand. Her impulsiveness as well as her ongoing trust and commitment issues will lead her (and others) into unexpected danger when two seemingly unconnected deaths occur. Local authorities appear to yield under the pressure of local politics and powerful families and are eager to close the cases as accidental. Annalisse, however, is convinced the more likely cause of death is murder.
The beauty of New Zealand shines through the richly detailed narrative, and the author’s knowledge and experience with sheep is evident in the New Zealand sheep station scenes. Regular readers of this blog will also appreciate the sleuth’s explanation of commonalities between sheep show judging and conformation judging for AKC-registered dog breeds.
Just as programs (also known as playbills) are used to share key production notes with an audience, the author uses a list of characters at the start of the book for a similar purpose. In Copper Waters, we’re given a glimpse of key personalities and/or their roles in the story. Of the sixteen characters identified, some are recurring characters in the series, while others appear to be limited to this book. I found the list a helpful introduction, offering insights about relationships and an introduction to potential challenges, motives, and more.
Those descriptions I mentioned did, to some extent, influence my initial perceptions of each character, yet also led me to carefully analyze the behaviors of each character as they entered the story. For example, the author describes the protagonist Annalisse this way: “Filled with trust and commitment issues, she uncovers mayhem and foul play at every turn while love takes a rear seat for this gorgeous, green-eyed antiquities appraiser.” That description from the character list sprang to mind in Chapter 10 when the character herself says: “Researching art history is my thing. Relic and antique appraisals go hand in hand, so yes, I’m where I feel most comfortable.” That led me to wonder: did the author intend this bit of dialogue to illustrate the way Annalisse delves into the past to avoid focusing on the uncertainties of her current relationships? While this is mere conjuncture on my part, it’s prompted me to read the first three books in the series. (In fact, I’ve begun reading the first in the series already; expect a review soon.)
While I have, in the past, read a series out of order and found it easy to follow (Tony Hillerman’s Leaphorn & Chee mysteries and Jonathan Kellerman’s Alex Delaware series come to mind), reading the Annalisse series from the beginning may allow you to more fully appreciate what happened and the effects on characters’ relationships. And, as multiple subplots continue through the series, reading the books in order can offer a sense of continuity as the storylines unfold.
The well-paced narrative leads to a solid conclusion, answering key questions raised in the plot while laying the groundwork for the ongoing pursuit of unresolved issues. Well plotted with diverse characters and locales, Copper Waters is an intriguing read that will leave you wanting to learn more about this unusual amateur sleuth and the mysteries of her past.
Copper Waters Trailer:
Synopsis:
A rural New Zealand vacation turns poisonous.
Annalisse Drury and Alec Zavos are on opposite sides when an ex-lover from Alec’s past introduces him to his alleged son. With Alec’s marriage proposal in limbo, Annalisse accepts a key to her dream cottage—an invitation to a sheep station on South Island, New Zealand—only this time, she travels alone. Unbeknownst to her, a mutual friend follows on the flight, and together they are confronted by two peculiar deaths—either accidental, or the deliberate acts of a psychopath. Temuka police investigators are closing these cases too quickly. They want Annalisse to exit their country before she reveals the town’s darkest secrets. Will she return to Alec, or sacrifice their future together to expose it all?
Praise for Copper Waters:
“Marlene M. Bell’s COPPER WATERS is a well-written murder mystery with descriptive scenes, an intriguing setting, and enough push and pull between the characters and within the plot to keep readers engaged.” ~Indie Reader
“Marlene M. Bell is a master storyteller when it comes to the cozy mystery genre.” ~Book Review Directory
“Copper Waters is an entertaining and fast-paced mystery, where small-town intrigue, family drama, and a high-stakes whodunit will deepen readers’ affection for the tenacious Annalisse.” ~Self-Publishing Review
“Copper Waters is emotional and thrilling, surprising and life-changing.” ~Book Excellence Review
“Bill, get left!” I yell while checking for oncoming traffic. That’s when I notice a group standing in a semicircle near a driveway—around limbs. From here, it looks like a person’s body. “Oh no.” I stare through the windshield. We slow to a stop and park near the curb of a strip shopping area, leaving our engine running. “We should help.” I jump out to investigate. Women wearing rompers and a guy in greasy mechanic’s overalls are standing over someone on the pavement. “What happened?” I ask Bill, jogging to the scene and scanning the narrow two-lane road where no other vehicle has pulled over other than us. A familiar beige fishing hat lies a few feet from the victim. “A mad driver went on a strop!” a female screams from the gawking crowd. “It’s Alastair,” Bill mutters, his words loud enough for me to catch them. “Did he have a heart attack or did someone hit him?” Bill reaches the bystanders on Main Street before I do and throws his arm out, blocking me with his body and a stern glare. “Annalisse, would you please wait in the car?” “Can’t someone help him?” “It’s too late for that.” I change my mind about approaching Alastair. He’s in a bad way if Bill wants to shield me from viewing him. Travelers like us from the US who allow a local to drive their rental car will shoot us to the top of the authority’s suspect list—even if Ethan sent Alastair to pick us up at the airport. Our first day in Temuka and a nice old man is sprawled out dead on the road less than an hour after he stepped out of our vehicle. We’re so naive when it comes to learning the customs of another country before making the trip. Why didn’t I research this? I can’t help but think of the police encounters we’ve participated in and the hours of interrogation that happened not too long ago. This time we aren’t witnesses to the crime and weren’t in close proximity of Alastair when he was hit. Who is Alastair McGregor, really? A chilliness penetrates my hands. Why did he insist on walking along the roadside? Did he want to throw himself in front of a moving car, or is this just an accident? I wave Bill over at the same time one of the women throws up what appears to be her luncheon salad near Alastair’s prone body. I’ve seen no movement and try not to think about what’s staring me right in the face. Bill speaks to the male witness and returns to the car. “I hope you didn’t see him like that. According to one of the witnesses, Alastair was strolling his usual path. He takes this walk each day, rain or shine, and his reputation precedes him. They all know him well―a businessman and an environmental activist from their community.” “Was he hit by a car, or did he collapse in front of traffic?” “He was struck from behind, then the car came back around to finish the job.” Bill shudders. “Not an accident?” I’m in utter disbelief. “Activists make enemies. Alastair mentioned a protest next week at Bluebasin Lake. I hope someone didn’t do this on purpose to keep him from the protest.” “His cranium was crushed. Brain matter everywhere. The crime appears to be more deliberate, according to the ladies who saw the whole thing.” My fish and chips crawl up my throat where I can taste them again. I close my eyes to Bill’s description of the crime scene and try not to relive it in my mind. “There’s no chance he could survive?” I ask. “No way. His head was mashed under the tires. Once struck, he didn’t have a chance to get out of the way. Per the eyewitnesses, the driver sped through like a crazy person in a rage.” He verifies the navigation while we’re stopped and makes his U-turn in the road. “Shouldn’t we wait around for the police?” If we take off, won’t that look like we showed up to make sure—” “This country has a constitutional monarchy where England runs the show here. I’m not familiar with how a monarchy works, not yet anyway―homework for later. Let the police interview witnesses who saw the incident as it happened. We’ll go down to the precinct and tell them how we met Alastair and when we saw him last.” Bill glances into his rearview mirror. “I should also bone up on the local government in Temuka. We’re tourists in their country and should understand our rights before going to the police.” “The cottage is that way.” I point over the seat. “We’re taking the scenic route. I don’t want to drive past that crowd with police on the way and remind them we could’ve staged this. It’s not like they know us.” Poor Alastair. If he didn’t meet us, he might still be alive. “I wish he wasn’t sent to the airport to pick us up.” I say what Bill could be thinking. “We didn’t do this to him. A person in a dark Land Rover did,” Bill announces without warning. “They saw the car? I hope the driver gets what’s coming for murder. Knowing the make of the car will narrow down the suspects. How many Rover models can there be in a town of a few thousand people?” “Land Rover has an entire line. Remember, we’re in a British Commonwealth, and Land Rover is a UK company. You might not have noticed how many Brit vehicles we passed leaving Christchurch. Tons. They aren’t all the boxy type we think about,” Bill says. “The police will have their work cut out finding the hit-and-run driver if witnesses didn’t get a license.” My heart sinks for Alastair’s daughter. “Whoever gets the nasty job of notifying Alastair’s daughter, I pity that person. Before you returned with the rental car at the airport, I spoke to a woman named Jenny at the sweet shop. She may hear about it first.” “Immediate family notification isn’t going to be a problem.” “Why?” “The women had strange expressions when I brought up his family in a general way. It seems that Sidney and her son died two years ago, with Alastair at the wheel of their car.” My hand flies to my mouth. “You’re kidding.” “According to them, Alastair’s alone and has no living relatives.” The ache in my heart increases, as does the sadness. “The family were in a car accident together, and he was the sole survivor? That’s painful just thinking about it. Why did he tell us that his daughter owns, present tense, the shop on Whaler’s Street? I thought Jenny was an employee.” “Jenny could’ve stepped in to take over the shop for Sidney, and Alastair might’ve been so lonely after her death that he took on the taxi service to give himself purpose.” “Whoa. It takes a story like Alastair’s to remind us not to squander our time with friends and family.” “So true.” “I’m glad we ate when we did because there’s no way I could handle food after all this mess. Who ran Alastair down in broad daylight—without fear of being seen and then drove away?” Bill’s detour takes us to the cottage cutoff from the opposite direction. It’ll add a few extra miles, but I don’t mind when we have so much breathtaking countryside to absorb. I power the window down as we pass gigantic, smooth-barked, native trees filled with noisy birds that include hooked beaks and fat little bellies. Purple wildflowers that look like asters dot the meadows, and plants shaped like Scheffleras grow from the bases of those big trees. A faded green sign marks the dirt road to Woolcombe Station’s cottage on an idyllic triangular property marked by old fence posts. Pristine hedges and more flowering shrubs in pinks and yellows line the wooden porch to the main entrance. Shed dormers break up the A-frame roof, a dead giveaway for their heavy snows during winter. As per Ethan’s description, weatherworn gray planks in vertical lengths give the home a rustic, country feel. Crisscross windows in washed-out white casings add to the ambiance, but the most glorious part of this little house is the pond and stepping stones that wind to the rear. Water spilling over rocks nearby from a stream to our left pulls me in to its sound. The trickle and movement of water is so calming. We park next to clumps of small pampas-like grass finely maintained by a groundskeeper, I suspect. Not a blade of ground cover is out of place. Mowed volunteer grass on the outer yard matches what’s near the porch—a landscape that looks utterly natural and not at all commercially grown. “The cottage is larger, and the outside is cleaner than I expected. Quaint and pretty. Ready to check out the inside, or would you rather get some exercise?” I ask Bill. “Inside first.” Bill’s standing behind me as I dig into my tote compartment that holds Ethan’s box with the key. I slip the key into the slot and the door opens to a spacious world of twenty-by-twenty neutral tile and monochromatic sage-green area rugs. Two leather armchairs side by side and an exquisite nubby sofa crowd a large, calf-height, wooden coffee table similar in color to the gray exterior of the home. A vaulted ceiling adds size to the space, an illusion of a much larger dwelling than it is. “Chic. Someone has a knack for decorating.” I glance into the ugly mustard-tiled kitchen. “Ugh. Spoke too soon. We have early seventies over there.” “Not a guy’s pad, that’s for sure.” Bill wanders past me, leaving the vast room for a short hallway. “Looks like two bedrooms and a main bath,” he remarks loud enough for me to catch his remark from the end of the hall. The kitchenette is cubbyhole small, as if it’s been left that way from a modern renovation of the living room. One bright window has a view to the pond from booth seating made from the same nubby fabric as the couch. The stove and oven are a single-unit throwback from the Nixon administration, with electric elements and a tea-stained, harvest gold range top. “Not exactly gourmet cooking appliances.” My fingernail scrapes off some of the old grease. “I see a lot of takeout in our future. Are the bedrooms nice?” I stroll to the hall and smell the pungent odor of fresh paint. “Rooms are clean. Dresser, mirror, and a queen-size bed in each.” “I believe we’ve solved our travel problems, having only one car between us. Since the cottage is in the boonies, if you’d care to use the other bedroom, I’d like you to stay here. Having someone in the house will distract me from noticing paranormal activity at night.” I’m holding a straight face but about to burst from his expression. It’s priceless. “Is that right? Alec didn’t mention that you see ghosts.” Bill settles himself against the wall, with wide eyes and hands hidden behind him. “Drake, lighten up already. I’m kidding. We have enough to worry about without people in the hereafter joining our vacation.” “If you’re sure you don’t mind?” Bill’s lips flatline. “I don’t want to impose.” He hesitates as something stirs behind his eyes. “I’ll let Alec know the arrangements, don’t worry. Unless he plans on showing up unannounced? I don’t know what the two of you talked about.” “He knows he’s being slightly overprotective, but it’s well-founded. Trouble seems to like you… a lot.” Bill shoves a hand in his pants pocket and twists his mouth into a pucker. Alec does the same pocket thing when he’s frustrated with me. “Come on.” I bump him on the elbow. “I want you to camp here. Alec trusts you, as I do.” Bill’s serious nature is absorbing everything I say as truth. I’ll have to be careful teasing him. He hasn’t crossed any line since we met last year, so I feel protected in his presence, as if Alec were here. “I hereby promise not to make a nuisance of myself. Cross my heart.” I cross myself and hold up the Boy Scout salute. “Scout’s honor.” He looks at the sofa and touches it as if soothing the fabric. “Considering the incident with Alastair, it’s a good idea not to hang around town for lodging until we talk with police and explain how he showed up at the airport.” “I agree. The last time you spoke to Alec, what was his general mood?” “Crazy worried,” Bill says. “In his shoes, I’d be the same way.” I drop my gaze to the floor and consider how I left Alec with Noah. “He put you on the flight because you’d keep me from harm. You can’t do that from a motel in town. I’ll call Alec and give him the details about Alastair and tell him you’re staying at the cottage. I considered keeping the hit-and-run from Alec, but he should be told everything.” “I’ll bring in our things. Thank you for taking pity on a detective out of his element.” He’s outside before I can thank him for his mediation. Homicides R Us is back in business. *** Excerpt from Copper Waters by Marlene M. Bell. Copyright 2022 by Marlene M. Bell. Reproduced with permission from Marlene M. Bell. All rights reserved.
Author Bio:
Marlene M. Bell is an eclectic mystery writer, artist, photographer, and she raises sheep on a ranch in wooded East Texas with her husband, Gregg. Marlene’s Annalisse series boasts numerous honors including the Independent Press Award for Best Mystery (Spent Identity,) and FAPA— Florida Author’s President’s Gold Award for two other installments, (Stolen Obsession and Scattered Legacy.)
Her mysteries with a touch of romantic suspense are found at her websites or at online retail outlets. She also offers the first of her children’s picture books, Mia and Nattie: One Great Team! Based on true events from the Bell’s ranch. The simple text and illustrations are a touching tribute of compassion and love between a little girl and her lamb.
For the second time in my professional life, I’m bidding farewell to a decades-long career.
Nearly 30 years ago, I retired from active military duty and moved on to graduate studies and new pursuits in higher education. This month I bid farewell to my second career as a college professor, course designer, academic advisor, and communications coach. After 24 years focusing on public speaking, interpersonal communication, and organizational dynamics, it’s time to seek new adventures.
And while I have no immediate interest in accepting offers for speaking engagements or teaching, I’ll heed the words of Charles Dickens who wrote “Never say never” in his debut novel The Pickwick Papers. I do, however, have immediate plans to immerse myself in writing and editing projects. The most pressing of these is Dangerous Deeds (book 2 in the Waterside Kennels mystery series) which has been gathering metaphorical dust on the computer’s hard drive.
I’ll also continue to use this blog to feature other authors and their books, and will do my best to keep up with the ever-changing tech trends in the publishing industry. On that note, I’ll pass this along: Jane Friedman—book publishing industry expert in author education and trend reporting—has this to say about Steven Marche’s article in The Atlantic: “Best thing I’ve read yet on generative AI, writing, and creativity….Worth a read regardless of how you feel about generative AI.” Find that article here. And I’ll note that I agree with Jane Friedman–the article is definitely worth your time to read.
Time now for me to step away from the computer and squeeze in a walk with Sasha before the rain returns. I’ll leave you with this photo of Buddy The Wonder Cat demonstrating “must do” behavior for a happy retirement:
