American Survivor Blogzillas

Wow. Those Monday holidays really throw me off. Now that I've realized it's Wednesday (and not Tuesday - as my addled brain would have me believe...because it's evil) I'm barely posting on time. Technically, there are 3.5 hours still left in Wednesday - so maybe I'm okay.

I've been watching a lot of reality shows lately, from Bridezillas to American Princess - among others. And it made me realize that 1) I'm a sick and twisted person, and 2) reality shows aren't reality-based. I once watched an episode of Nick and Jessica and The Osbornes (not together - that would be beyond icky)- only to realize that these celebrities' lives are like mine - beyond mundane.

Now, I'm sure you think that we, the writers on this blog, as romance/mystery writers, live thrilling, exotic lives. That every day, we awaken to the scent of fresh roses on the nightstand, put on our tiaras and pick up our magnifying glasses to have an exciting day filled with romance and suspense.

Well, here's the reality. I hit the snooze button several times, to the fresh scent of Vick's vapo rub on the nightstand. At some point I realize that I only have 45 minutes to get the kids up, fed, dressed, lunches packed and out the door. I let my dogs out, feed the cats and scoop the litter box, and wake up children who either pretend they have suddenly lapsed into a coma or hurl threats at me. At this point, I'm dressed in one of my husband's old army t-shirts and some lounge pants. Eventually I get the kids out the door and settle, still in my pajamas, to check e-mail and hopefully, come up with some brilliant writing. Lunch consists of a peanut butter and jelly sandwhich, letting the dogs out again, maybe cleaning a bathroom or two, and then hopefully, back to work.

About two o'clock, I realize I'd better take a shower before the kids get home. Then we go through all the glamour of homework (where they feign lobotomies and act like they don't know what a pencil is for), dinner (where they try to convince me that McDonald's Happy Meals hit all the food groups), baths (where two sweaty kids try to tell me they don't need to bathe) and eventually, bedtime. After that, it's whatever needs to be done for the next day.

I know, I know. You're wondering why I told you this. Well, maybe it's because watching all these reality shows had made me realize that even when you're doing what you absolutely love, there are still deadlines, a personal life, and the basic mundane activity of just working.

It's my reality show. But I'm not stupid enough to sign a contract with the networks to let everyone see it. Because in my imagination, I'm wearing a tiara and drinking fresh squeezed orange juice made by happy woodland creatures. At least - that's how it looks to me.

Yours Truly,
Leslie "The Assassin" Langtry

Another winner!

Sorry I'm late announcing our prize pack winner this week, I've been out of town all weekend!

What am I talking about? Well, as you may have read in our sidebar, we are giving away a prize pack of our books every week for five weeks to one lucky blog commenter. The prize pack includes copies of Remember the Alimony, ‘Scuse Me While I Kill This Guy, and advanced reader copies of Calamity Jayne Heads West, Unlucky and Undercover in High Heels! Plus a signed cover flat and teaser for the upcoming novel Divorced, Desperate and Delicious!

Our lucky winner for week number two is.... MsHellion! MsHellion email me privately with your contact info and we’ll get your prize off to you ASAP. (P.S. Love the thank you note in your profile. Ha!)

gemmahalliday (at) gmail (dot) com

I'm still waiting to hear from our week number one winner, Meljprincess. If you're reading this, Meljprincess, email me and we'll get your prize off to you!

We still have three more prize packs to give away, so keep the awesome comments coming! Remember the more times you comment, the more times you’re entered to win.

~Trigger Happy & the Killer Fiction Gang

Getting To Know Me...

I recently realized that I hadn’t filled in my profile for the webpage. And sure, I’ve told you guys about my dust bunnies, my husband’s spot cleaning adventures, and my troublesome friends, but in all reality you might not know much about me. So I decided that this week, I’d post an interview I was forced into doing by my web mistress.

My webmistress told me that I needed to answer some questions for my Christie's Info page. Now, this made me wonder what she'd spiked her coffee with that morning. Doesn't she know I'm Southern? Which basically means, not only am I long-winded, but I seldom tell the truth if a lie makes a better story. Nevertheless, against my better judgment, I agreed.

Web Mistress—Question: What are your goals?

Christie's Answer: (Is she kidding? Fine, I'll do it.) I have three goals in life. (Okay, that's a little white lie, I have more than three, but only three are PC enough to share.)

1. To write entertaining books that will make my readers laugh out loud and want to fall in love all over again. Readers may or may not then want to trade in their husbands for some hunky guys like my heroes or my real-life hero, my husband. (Okay that last part about my husband isn't really a lie, but I might be stretching it a bit.)

2. To help other people reach their dream of publication. (You might be thinking that's awfully generous of me, but I'm really not all that giving. I just love the high I get when I see other people meet their own goals. Plus, I figure they will be indebted to me and buy my books.)

3. To grow taller. (Let's just say that I don't get to enjoy all the rides at the theme parks.)
Now, I know that third goal presents a bit of a problem. Being like most women writers in their early thirties (the age thing is just an out-and-out lie,) I spend most of my time at the computer and enjoy working out my brain more than my body. That's why I'm considering altering the third goal to read…“To grow smaller.” Smaller, as in pants size and not in height.

Web Mistress—Question: Where are you from and where do you live now? Do you have family?

Christie's Answer: Southern from the tip of my hat (which isn't very high) all the way to my toenails, (which needs a good painting.) I was born and raised in Alabama. I say “Y'all” and “Ain't” and don't apologize for it, either.

In 1986, I was transplanted to Texas—the land of larger tales than even Alabama. I live with my husband, my teenage son—a boy who is six-two and wears a size 13 men's shoe—whom I'm convinced was swapped at birth with the baby of some professional basketball player. Also accompanying me in my abode are my four cats, one dog, and a pond of turtles. My daughter, artist extraordinaire, has already flown the nest, gotten hitched, and regularly brings my grandpuppy for lap-sitting visits. (Trust me. It's not as easy as it sounds.) My son-in-law is a nice guy. I’m pretty sure he’s only denied knowing me once. The fact that it was at the wedding stung a bit, but hey…I love him anyway.

Web Mistress—Question: Where did you go to school to get your degree?

Christie's Answer: Well, I went through Harvard. (I was in Boston and we drove right through the campus.) Actually, I graduated from a slightly less prestigious university, The College of Hard Knocks, with a degree in If-You-Want-it--Make-it-Happen and minored in the Art-of-BS—which I prefer to call fiction. Formal education aside, I'm a how-to book junkie, and an advocate of “never stop learning.”

Web Mistress—Question: Did you always know you wanted to be a writer?

Christie's Answer: Actually I had my heart set on Pro Basketball. But I always was a dreamer. Writing didn't come naturally, but the art of storytelling—AKA B-S'ing—did. (It might be a southern thing.) Of course, my dad swears up and down that I inherited my talent of making up crap from him. Hey…he is a contractor.

Web Mistress—Question: When and how did you start writing?

Christie's Answer: I started writing in '84 when my husband was trying to get me to go to college to become a Spanish teacher. In addition to BS’ing, I also have a knack for languages. I can say “Where’s the bathroom in about six languages.” Any how, when husband approached about the being a Spanish teacher, I had to come up with something I wanted to do real fast or he was signing my butt up for school.) So I blurted out the first career I could think of using the Alphabet as my guide. Animal Husbandry? I skipped that one. Attorney? Nah, I'm a better person than that. “Author! I want to be an author.” How perfect was that? I get to stay home and sit on my butt and write. Write? Well, there was that little problem. I'd have to learn how to do it first.

That little problem turned into a bigger one than I anticipated. But not being a quitter, I persevered and my Silhouette Romance was published in '94. Then things happened, editors quit, and the magazine publishing business called my name. Six years later, with almost 3000 national magazine credits and tired of being a one-book wonder, I started writing novels again. Breaking back in wasn't a piece of cake. For almost six years, I kicked, screamed and bit (I profusely apologizes to that one editor, too) until I found my break.

And what a break! Four books sold in one day. Still wearing pajamas, I got off the phone with my agent that morning, and sat there and stared at the cursor blinking on my computer screen. When my husband came home seven hours later, I was still sitting there in my PJs, staring at the blinking cursor. And the only thing I could say was…”Boy, I'm glad I didn't go into Animal Husbandry.”

Web Mistress—Question: Where do you get your ideas?

Christie's Answer: Generally, on the clearance rack at Wal-Mart. I hate this question, I'd rather tell someone my weight. (Okay that's the biggest lie I've told.) The truth is my answer is sort of sappy. And the last thing a southern woman wants to be accused of is being sappy. But here it goes… My stories are gifts—little gifts that sometimes show up out of nowhere. I'm not actually saying I have a writing angel who pops in with plots, but I do notice I get a lot more ideas when I'm maintaining a full life and not neglecting my friends, family, pets, or the spiritual side of life. And, yes, I also believe in karma.

Web Mistress—Question: Have you met all your goals?

Christie's Answer: I've met some and I'm working on some. My second goal of helping other writers is in the making. My nonfiction book, co-authored with Faye Hughes, THE EVERYTHING GUIDE TO WRITING ROMANCE NOVELS, is scheduled to hit the stores in September of 2008. I also offer writing workshops that are educational, motivational and entertaining. I love to share what I've learned and if you need to know how to ask about the whereabouts of the bathroom, I’ve got you covered.

Now, for that third goal, getting taller and making the BIG team? Well, I called the Rockets and informed them not to wait up on me. I'm pretty sure that writing novels is about as good as it gets.

So . . . that’s a little bit about me—my goals, my family, and the fact that I always like knowing where the bathroom is at. And to be honest, I’m big on goals. So tell me, do you have some goals you’re working on? What do you want to do when you grow up?

--Crime Scene Christie

What Would Miss Manners Say?

Happy Labor Day!!!!!

So last week I blogged about the funny things that people say, without even knowing it. I had one of those experiences last week and thought I would share. Before I get started with my story, however, I want everyone to know - I promise I am fine. There is nothing seriously wrong and I promise you will all have to put up with me for years to come.

I had a raging respiratory infection (a common side effect of my horrible allergies) and went to my family doctor on Tuesday morning for a round of antibiotics. I had also noticed that while putting on deodorant for the last couple of weeks, my armpit seemed sensative (and I know you were all dying to know about the state of my armpits). Since this is where lymph nodes are located, I figured I better ask about that as well. Now, my family doctor is very thorough and in my opinion somewhat panicky (or adverse to a malpractice lawsuit, take your pick), so he checks everything, does a full blood workup, then wants to send me out to a bevy of specialists to "rule out" anything serious.

So my first trip is to my gynocologist who agrees with me that it's an infected hair folicle, but orders the mammogram anyway because I am going to be forty this week (a whole other discussion). That was on Thursday. On Friday, I had an appointment with an oncologist (otherwise known as a cancer specialist). Now, my experience with doctors has always been that the more specialized they are, the less personality they have. It almost seems that the more medical knowledge is shoved in their minds, the less social skills they have available. This doctor was no exception.

He studies my blood work, inspects my lymph nodes - both in the armpit in question and everywhere else. Then he steps back, looks at me and says in all seriousness, "Well, I'm not impressed."

It was all I could do not to laugh. What a thing to say to someone who is seeing you to make sure they don't have cancer. You're not impressed??????? What is the appropriate answer to that - "Yeah, I'm glad!" or maybe "I'm sorry to disappoint you."

I managed to hold it in until I got into my car to call my worried husband and give him the good news. Then I started laughing. What a nutcase! And I'm absolutely positive he didn't and never would see a thing wrong with what he'd said.

All the same, for the first time in my life, I'm really happy to have disappointed a doctor. :)

- Deadly (but nowhere near dead) DeLeon

Private Investigator Jon Hargrove

Today we’re lucky enough to have Jon Hargrove as a guest blogger. He’s a licensed Private Investigator in the State of California and in addition to being a kick butt P.I., Jon has also written numerous mystery/adventure books. You can check out his latest book, Ararat, about the search for Noah’s Ark, here, and he’s currently shopping a football themed mystery series. And all of his books feature characters who are – what else? – private investigators.
Jon’s agreed to answer some question throughout the day, so feel free to ask away. (Warning: He’s a bit of a flirt, ladies, so watch out!)

Gemma: Thanks for coming to chat with us on Killer Fiction, Jon. Can you tell us a little about how you became a private investigator?

Jon: In the state of California you can apply for a private investigator's license if you meet one of the following criteria: 1) Three years of military police experience 2) Three years of civilian police experience 3) Three years apprenticing with a licensed private investigator 4) A four year degree in criminal justice (plus two years apprenticing with a P.I.) 5) Three years claims investigation experience. I came into private investigations (California license no.: 24885) under the fifth category: I had over nine years of auto claims experience.

G: What are some of the main difference in what a private investigator can do versus a police detective?

J: Good question. One of the reasons so many private eyes are ex-cops is because a lot of the work is similar. In fact, all investigative work is the same, be it police investigations, private investigations or claims investigations. The goal in any investigation is to gather enough evidence to make a strong enough case to stand up in any court of law. Private detectives ask the same questions police detectives ask. But remember, the same people who are nervous around a police investigator might be more talkative around a private eye. To answer your question, the police have more resources than a private dick: more access to records and criminal records and access even to FBI networks. However, police detectives have less time and are often overworked (okay always overworked). Which is why you will often hear about a private investigator being hired to look into cases concurrent with the police. Why? Private investigators can devote much more time to individual cases. Hey, remember the Wendy's chili/finger incident? Wendy's ultimately hired a slew of private eyes to get to the bottom of that mystery, and it was a P.I. who broke that case.

G: Cool, I didn’t know that! Okay, as a writer yourself I have to ask - are there any common mistakes you've seen writers make when depicting P.I.'s in their books?

J: Oh yeah. Most books have P.I.'s working out of their cars. I actually fell into that same trap with my first novel. It's just not very sexy having your P.I. driving around in a clunky nondescript van. And, as you may or may not know, I'm all about sexy. Moving on...in modern private eye novels the police often give the private investigator way more respect than they get in real life. In real life, we are a serious nuisance to cops. We get in their way, question everything they do and often make them look bad when we find something they overlooked. Oh, and the reality of the private eye business is that the majority of our work is done through the internet, with only a handful of field jobs a week. The fun cases are few and far between. And often the field work consists of following cheating spouses.

G: I'm sure you've seen a lot of strange stuff working as P.I. in Los Angeles. Care to share any stories with us?

J: Every now and then something interesting does cross your desk. Last year I was hired to investigate a string of thefts at a furniture warehouse in L.A. The trouble was, nearly every worker seemed to be involved in the theft ring. In the end, I was unable to provide a satisfactory report to help the owners. Last I heard, they shut everything down and moved to another state. Probably a good idea. Recently, a woman thought her phone calls were being bugged by her boyfriend. She was right, I found the phone tapping equipment outside. I was once following a cheating wife (yes, wifes cheat too!), and she tagged me. I hate when that happens. She pulled off the freeway and into a parking lot where she was waiting for me. As I pulled in, looking for her, she came running from around a corner spitting furious, demanding to know if her husband had hired. PI's never, ever admit to being hired by a spouse if we are caught following. So I told her I had no idea what she was talking about and I got the hell out of there. I called the husband that night and ended the assignment. A tagged P.I. is not a good thing.

Final P.I. facts: the only three things that a private investigator can do that a private citizen can't are these: 1) Access proprietary personal databases 2) Photograph someone without their permission 3) Follow someone without their permission. Yes, P.I.'s can legally stalk!

Nice talking with you. Hope this helps!

Gemma Goes Hollywood

My third High Heels book just hit the shelves this week, and, not to play favorites, but I think I had more fun writing this one than any of the others! Undercover in High Heels finds Maddie back in L.A., Hollywood to be exact, where she goes undercover as the new wardrobe assistant on the set of TV’s hottest prime time soap, Magnolia Lane. Which sounds like a dream job until a beautiful young starlet winds up dead on the set. Now it’s up to Maddie to catch a killer as she sifts through a leading lady with a secret, an actor on the verge of a nervous breakdown, a sexy cyber scandal, and one tabloid reporter who'll stop at nothing to get the story of the century. Not to mention the case's familiar lead detective, Jack Ramirez, whose patience with Maddie is wearing thin, maybe for good this time.

One of the things that made writing this book so much fun was that I got to revisit my Hollywood days. When I was a teenager, I moved to L.A. to peruse acting and what an amazing experience that was! I got to meet so many neat people (even a few celebrities) and spent most of my days on the set of movies and TV shows. I had a few regular roles on shows like Sweet Valley High (anyone remember the Wakefield twins? God, I loved those books as a kid!) and Beverly Hills 90210 (Brandon! Dillon! Sigh.), as well as some minor background roles in feature films and commercials. (Ten points to anyone who can spot Gemma in Romy and Michelle’s High School Reunion!)

But my favorite studio set to visit was the one that I modeled my fictional Sunset Studios in Undercover in High Heels after - Universal Studios. No matter what we were shooting, it was like walking into an alternate reality the second you set foot on the lot. Universal is so big that it’s like a little city unto itself, complete with police force, restaurants, gardens, and even it’s own theme park! My favorite part of working there was that as the theme park’s studio tour would go by, we’d get to wave at the tourist taking our pictures like they’d just spotted Angelia Jolie. I have no idea how many vacation home videos I’ve ended up in, but I’m guessing it’s a lot!

The other thing that made Universal Studios so unique was the different complete neighborhoods they’d built onto the lot. They’ve got one street made to look like a typical New York city neighborhood, complete with brownstones and two story walk ups, but as soon as you turn the corner, you’re suddenly on Main Street USA, filled with mom and pop stores and the local diner. They’ve got an Old West street that you’d swear leads right to the OK corral, and a tree lined Leave it to Beaver style suburb. Not surprisingly, it’s hard to get your bearings when you’re walking through these disjointed neighborhoods. I’ll admit, just like Maddie does in Undercover in High Heels, I found myself lost once on the Universal lot, aimless wandering through the New York streets looking for my trailer. Thankfully, unlike Maddie, I didn’t have a crazed killer chasing after me.

So, in honor of my Hollywood theme release, I’m opening the floor to some serious celebrity gossiping today. Who is your favorite actress? Which hot leading man makes you drool? What is your can’t-live-without TV show? I’ll start: fav actor – Johnny Depp. In addition to being hugely talented, I just can’t watch the man without getting tingly all over.

~Trigger Happy Halliday

School 'Daze'

I feel like a zombie. One of the living dead. I look like one, too. There’s good reason. Beyond my usual hectic life. You see, just like Tressa Jayne in my fourth Calamity Caper, I dropped back into college this week. And after more years away from academia than I care to admit to you nice folks, it isn’t a pretty sight.

Unlike Bethany’s poignant recounting of her son’s first day at kindergarten rich with emotions that tear at your heartstrings and, perhaps, take you back to a time when you had to see your baby or grandchild off on a big, yellow bus or wave goodbye to them at the classroom door, my own version of ‘Kathy Goes to College--Part II’ evokes few warm, fuzzy thoughts or deep, shaky ‘ah’ sighs. The sighs associated with my academic re-entry are more along the lines of a gasp for air followed by ‘Ohmigosh, what have I done?’ or the long, deep, sigh of relief when I fall into bed at night--‘fall’ being the operative word here.

So what would compel the middle-aged mother of four teenagers who holds down a full-time job and has writing deadlines looming to sharpen her pencils, purchase a five subject notebook, pricey textbooks, pull on a book bag and take a seat in a classroom with classmates her children’s ages? Well, besides masochism, that is.

In a word? Goals.

I’m a bit anal when it comes to goal-setting and goal-reaching. Once I place something on my goals grid, there are only two ways to see it disappear. One. I meet that goal. Two. I die before I meet that goal. Little Mary Sunshine here, huh? Like I said, I’m pretty OCD about this stuff.

This was the year I finally got sick of seeing the goal line stating: ‘Finish criminal justice degree.’ You see, I’m ‘this’ close to a degree in criminal justice. ‘This’ close! So I also decided this was going to be the last year that goal would vex me. And since I really prefer meeting that goal to kicking the bucket, I registered for classes two nights a week.

But this morning when the alarm had the audacity to go off at its customary five a.m. I wanted to throw my big, heavy, criminology textbook at it. I lay there wondering who the hell the smart ass who thought up the phrase ‘life long learner’ and in the dark of the pre-dawn morning I speculated on some interesting ways to do ‘em in.

Literarily, of course.

I was so dead tired I shuffled to the bathroom like a sleepwalker. What I saw in the mirror made me flinch. Halloween had arrived early. I looked like I was already made up for a role in a George Romero zombie flick. My hair was all stuck up like the Bride of Frankenstein and my eyes were bloodshot and red like Dracula’s eyes just before he bites the big one. (i.e. the jugular) Yikes! Someone should’ve warned me higher education could be hazardous to my health. And more importantly--to my hair!!!

Yet in those same moments I also thought about how many women I knew who, like me, were heads of their households, and held down jobs, wrote books, volunteered their time and talents, and still managed to pursue their dreams. Achieve goals. Kick butt and take names.

I lifted my chin and gave my reflection my best Dirty Harry look. I hadn’t managed to get both eyes open at the same time so I looked more like Popeye but you get the point. I can do this, I told myself, humming the ‘Gonna Fly Now’ music from Rocky. I can compete with kids half my age. I can work fourteen hour days. I can keep up this grueling pace. I am woman. Hear me roar. I almost dislocated my shoulder patting myself on the back. I felt like freakin’ Joan of Arc--well, until I remembered I’d only survived two night classes so far.

So much for Bullet Hole Bacus, Warrior Collegian. Still, having pursued by dream of writing for publication ten years before realizing it should win me bonus points for endurance and stamina. Right? Then again, it could all be due to good ole Iowa stubbornness.

They say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks but I beg to differ. It’s totally possible to teach an old dog new tricks. If you manage to keep the old dog awake long enough to teach her…

So, what elusive dreams are you chasing? What goals are proving elusive? And, if you have any sure fire tips for success--short of pharmaceutical aids, of course--as Kathy Goes to College: The Sequel plays out in real time, send them my way. Any sage advice or words of wisdom or atta girls as I limp through the hallowed halls of academia would be greatly appreciated.

Hoping to ‘make the grade’ -- or die trying,

~Kathy the Coed a/k/a Bullet Hole Bacus~