It’s not New Year’s, it’s Groundhog Day!
We have a running joke, Susan and I, that sees us sharing digs once again, only this time, instead of beer and cigarettes (that was me, I’m afraid, guilty on both counts), it’ll be tea and cookies and incontinent supplies. And maybe a bottle of scotch. Our biggest concern is that we won’t remember where we stashed it!
However, in the meantime, (we figure we’re good to go for at least another twenty or 
thirty years) here’s our list-everlasting of New Year’s resolutions!
- Make money, lots of money…preferably by writing books that generate enough of an income for us to travel and retire in style.
- Write books that people want to read.
- But first, write the books that we want to write, not the ones we think we should.
- Pat ourselves on the back (as we are wont to do!) for everything we have done; whether we make the money we’d like to have or not!
- Revel in the writing process ‘cause there’s nothing finer than a well-chosen word or a well-writ phrase.
- Celebrate in style when we do succeed.
- Which means finding that perfect dress, one which hides life’s bumps and bruises and show us to be the grand dames we have become…of course, if we stick to the script, that would be red for Susan, black for me.
- Take a nostalgia tour of all our old haunts and be able to eat and drink like we did in the old days without fear of not fitting into the aforementioned perfect dresses.
- Be thrilled with our accomplishments when it is time to put down our pens even though we said, way back in ’92, that if we never did anything else, we would be happy anyway.
- Remember each and every moment so we can relive them in conversation, laugh merrily at our own foibles and toast our successes.
Over and over again….
An old gold mine, missing shares…
The Story Behind Paper Treasure
I’d been dawdling over the morning paper, sipping a cup of coffee and reading the business section — anything to avoid the blank page waiting for me upstairs — when suddenly I struck “story gold!”
A newly-formed Canadian company had its eye on an abandoned mine and, with the price of gold at an all-time high, was trying to find the original shareholders. The trouble was the old mine had been closed for so long, most of them didn’t even remember where their certificates were, let alone what they were worth…and without a majority ownership, the new company would be out of business before they even started.
This was exactly the story nugget I’d been looking for to jumpstart my latest mystery
for middle readers. I had my main characters, 13-year-old Charlie Bradford, his annoyingly cute younger brother Joey, and Lisa Kirby, the girl next door.
Charlie’s grandfather had died six weeks earlier, and the book opens with the Bradfords coming back to Colville for the summer to pack up Malcolm Rossitor’s belongings and put the house on the market.
But for Charlie, selling the house is like selling memories….
When he was little, he used to spin his grandfather’s globe with his eyes closed. Then he’d stop it with his finger and try to guess which continent he was touching before he opened his eyes.
Once he’d had his finger on France, and his grandfather had told him all about World War Two and how he and five other Canadian soldiers had hidden in a barn in France for two days surrounded by enemy troops.
“Weren’t you scared?” Charlie had asked him.
“Aye,” said his grandfather, “but when you’re with your friends even the worst times don’t seen so bad.”
Especially when one of those friends has a secret.
The week before he was shipped overseas, Archie Spencer had been prospecting for gold in northern Ontario. He’d found it, but it was too late to register his claim. There was nothing he could do but keep his mouth shut.
But this was war. The six men made a pact. Whoever made it home would give Archie the stake he needed to make his claim. They’d all be equal partners in The Treasure Creek Gold Mine.
Ten years later, the gold had petered out.
It hadn’t, of course, but the cost of getting the gold out of the ground had gone up faster than its value! And not just for my fictional shareholders.
It took years, but when mining became profitable again, those old share certificates had become Paper Treasure, and I had my story. Complete with dividends, or as they say in the writing business, royalties!
All Charlie had to do was track down his grandfather’s missing shares, find the other partners before they’re tricked out of theirs, and save his younger brother Joey from a thief who will stop at nothing to get his hands on The Treasure Creek Gold Mine. And, at the end of it all, hope that Lisa will still go to the movies with him!
Piece of cake.
How to get away with murder…in print!
While meeting your next husband!
Several years ago, I was asked to give a workshop on writing mysteries. I’d published a few for nine-to-12 year olds by then, written several short stories, and was active in the local writing community. It was an easy decision.
But one always needs a hook.
“How to get away with murder…in print” was mine. I put together my program, added a blurb or two for the advertisements, and left it for organizers to sort out the rest. Little did I know that across town, the Detective Inspector in charge of major crime was about to be given a copy of the ad by one of his staff sergeants.
I like to think it was my bio that intrigued him, but when the Inspector in 
question actually showed up on the day, it was clear – he suspected foul play. Taking up a position in the back of the room, he pulled out his notebook and the moment I started talking, he began taking notes.
In retrospect, I’m not sure exactly what particulars he was taking down because when he returned from the lunch break, he handed me an apple and asked for my card. He had an interest in writing, he told me. I wasn’t so sure.
The other students had drifted in and taken up their seats.
It wasn’t until midway through the afternoon that he had me to rights. “You write mysteries yet you’ve never been in a police station?”
Two dozen sets of eyes swivelled my way.
“Does the backseat of a police cruiser count?” I asked.
“Depends on the circumstances,” he countered.
“Research,” I responded.
Which was exactly the hook he used when he phoned the following morning and invited me down to the station. Tempting, but no. His offer remained on the table….
It was two years before I called him back. (And, no, I wasn’t serving time – I was, shall we say, otherwise engaged…) He reiterated his invitation to tour the station. We could have lunch, he could take my fingerprints…it was, in fact, the perfect date.
I’ve been asked to report that we have been married for 20 years…and as for who the officer-in-charge is now, I’ll leave that for you to decide!