A Tribute to My Friend Carl

At this time when a racial upraising is demanding relief and change after hundreds of years of hatred, discrimination and marches, I take this moment to remember my oldest friend, Carl.

I met Carl in 1965, a time when Martin Luther King, Jr., was forcing millions of white faces to see how racism and hatred had bred corruption and inhumanity.  

I am the product of a liberal family, growing up in California, who believed all men and women were created equal. When I read about the South and what the KKK was doing to black men and women, I was infuriated at the cruelty. As an idealistic and passionate teenager, and an aspiring writer, I spent an inordinate amount of time thinking up scenarios and plots where my heroine would infiltrate that evil organization and kill them off one by one.

All right. Maybe my idea of revenge proves that we are all capable of violence if called upon at the right moment. At least mine was fictional.

But I digress.

I was in my early twenties, living life as recklessly as a young woman seeking adventure and excitement could be. I was with a man thirty year my senior and the father of my oldest daughter. He was a product of discrimination himself. At the age of nine he watched his father being murdered because he married an Apache. The son spoke to no one for two years.

I was drawn to him because of what he’d been through. Five years later, I took my daughter and ran away from him because of what racism had done to him. He made it to the top of his field as a hard-hat diver and demolition expert, but never overcame the anger within, and his distrust and paranoia made him an unfit husband and father. I learned he had tried to kill his ex-brother-in-law, a Sicilian and part of the Mafia. I learned we were on the run, when I realized we had to leave towns without notice and change our last name in each new location.

So when I decided the time was right to leave him, I knew that I couldn’t count on anyone to help me. I was working as a waitress at the time in a small town in New Jersey near the Pennsylvania border. I confided in the black man who worked with me, and he stepped up when I told him I saw my chance to take my child and escape. Despite the risk, and the danger he faced if his good deed was discovered, he nevertheless offered to drive us to Philadelphia, where his older brother, Carl, agreed to take us in.

Carl asked no questions when I arrived with my six-month-old baby and ten dollars in my pocketbook. He welcomed me, fed me a simple meal, and offered to share his tiny apartment until I was back on my feet. I was the only white person living in his building, or even on his block. He was in his fifties, a retired musician from New Jersey. Retirement wasn’t his choice. He had played music in clubs owned by the Mafia. He happened to see something he shouldn’t have. The result was that he would never play music in a club or set foot in New Jersey again. He made the move to Philadelphia and found employment as a social worker.

He and his younger brother, saved my life. I have no doubt about that. I lived in his world for most of a year. Carl was the best friend I ever had. He treated me with kindness, generosity, and patience. We found mutual interests while spending hours in conversation. He took me to see Doctor Zhivago and on the way out got caught in a snowstorm. The trains weren’t running and we almost had to walk home before a cab driver decided to pick us up.

Carl backed my road to independence and gently corrected my missteps when I took a wrong turn. He found a wonderful black woman who ran a child care business in her home and took in my little white daughter while I found work. She watched her even while I had three jobs, virtually working around the clock to get back on my feet.

There have been very few people I considered best friends. Carl was one who never let me down. I hope I was able to make his life a little richer as he made mine. We understood and trusted one another. We came to the conclusion we weren’t very different from each other beneath the color of our skin.

ANNOUNCING NEW ANTHOLOGY BY THE FINAL TWIST WRITERS

 I am excited to anounce MENU FOR MAYHEM, a new anthology from The Final Twist Writers is now available as an ebook and paperback, and I am thrilled that my short story "Sucker Punch" is included, along with stories by a most talented group of writers: Cash Anthony, Mark Phillips, Charlotte Phillips, C.J. Sweet, Natasha Storfer, and Sally Love.

CAT FAMILY - EMMA

CAT FAMILY – EMMA

Emma

I noticed the dogs first. They weren’t as large as some others around my neighborhood. Really, they aren’t much taller than me. Both of them were the color of the tree trunks that bring shade to the area. They looked alike. Sisters, I decided. They were older, too. I mean, they could have been my grandmas.

I used to live on the apartment side. When my family moved and forgot me, I found a way under the fence to where the people seemed friendlier. I wanted to find a real family of my own. It wasn’t so much that I trusted everyone. I was hopeful, but careful. I might be young, but I’m not stupid. I believed there was someone out there who would take me in for real. Someone nice. I was too young to live on the street.

I knew the first time I saw Tequila and Quetta and the lady who walked them that they would be my family. You might say I chose them.

Twice a day they passed me—early when the morning was new then late in the afternoon when the sky turned color. I wanted to be with them so badly. Finally I just did it. I ran up alongside them and trotted along like I belonged there. Tequila and Quetta shot me looks, but they didn’t bark at me like other dogs would. The lady just laughed, like I made her happy.

But then they reached the street. That’s when I had to stop. I wanted so badly to cross with them, but the street had cars that flew by. I didn’t have to see what happens when one hits a kitten like me.

So I sat at the curb and watched as they crossed to the other side. The woman stopped and looked back at me. She called out. I knew she wanted me to come with them, but I couldn’t move. As much as I wanted to, I didn’t dare cross that street.

This went on, day after day. Sometimes she would start to come after me, but I panicked, terrified of what lay beyond the other side. So I turned tail and ran back to what was familiar ground. Call me a coward. I couldn’t help it. I knew that’s where she and the dogs must live, but crossing the street and going where I’d never been was too horrifying to contemplate.

Then one day I missed them somehow. They didn’t come. Then I missed another day. What would happen if they never came back? I would never be a part of their family. That scared me – even more than the street. I knew I would have to find my courage and strength before it was too late.

I was overjoyed when I saw them next. I pranced alongside like they were already my family. Then we got to the street. I felt the horrible fear rise up inside me. I wanted to run back to what was familiar.

But I wanted my new family more.

The woman seemed to read my mind. She kept coaxing me, bending down to pet me, and finally, after crossing the street with the dogs, she turned back to me. Called out, “Here kitty, kitty. Come here, kitty.”

I kept my gaze on her, needing to trust that she wouldn’t let anything happen to me.

Then I dashed across. Her voice sounded so happy. She and the dogs kept going around and between the townhomes, making sure I was following. Her voice stayed steady and calming. When we came to her house, she opened the gate and let the dogs inside. When she took them in the house, I panicked again. I jumped over the fence so I wouldn’t be left out there alone, but I was in another patio. The wrong patio. I had jumped over the wrong fence. I curled in a corner, terrified.

She was outside then and tried the gate to get where I was. It wouldn’t open. Then she came to the fence that separated the patios. There was a tree on both patios. Somehow she coaxed me up the tree until I was within reach of her.

“Come on, Emma. You can do it,” she said.

She had given me a name!

Somehow that gave me the courage to jump. I landed right in her arms.

My lady kept murmuring soft words until I stopped shaking. And then she brought me inside her house. Both dogs came up to me, sniffing me all over to make sure I was all right.

“You’re safe now, my beautiful, sleek Emma,” she said. “You’re home now. You don’t ever have to go outside again.”

Before I had a chance to digest her words, she set me down and put food and water in front of me. I didn’t realized until then how hungry I was. Food had sometimes appeared on doorsteps in the neighborhood, but not often enough.

After I ate, I met new friends. Smokey and Sabrina came up to me and sniffed, but didn’t spit. I wondered where she found them. I didn’t recognize either of them from the neighborhood. Before they could tell me their story, I was shone a comfortable bed and soon felt sleepy, tummy full and warm. The lady’s words came back to me as I curled up.

I was home. I was never going outside again.

CAT FAMILY - SMOKEY

SMOKEY

I was supposed to be going to school with my human. That’s what I think he told me when we got into his car. He sat me on his lap and then the car moved us down the street. That was scary enough. The last time I remembered riding with him was when he found me and took me home. 

He kept mumbling words I didn't understand but gave me a bad feeling. He turned the car into a place with lots of other cars and stopped between two. I didn't hear the car sound after that. Then he grabbed me and we were outside. We faced a large building. I thought it must be the school.

We weren't alone. Others humans were getting out of their cars. I tried to burrow into my human's jacket. 

But I didn't expect what happened next.

He set me down, mumbled some more then turned and left. Seconds later he disappeared in the crowd. More feet rushed past me. One almost stepped on me and I ran under the car. 

I waited until all got quiet. When I peeked out, I didn't see anyone. The big building had gobbled them up.

Dazed and scared, I looked around. He didn’t even say goodbye.

Then I knew what he had tried to tell me. He couldn't keep me, and he couldn't take me inside with him.

But no! That's wrong. He had to come back for me. I had to believe that. He took me off the street after Mama left. He held me against him and fed me from a small bottle with a nipple. The milk almost tasted like Mama's. My tummy felt just as good. I felt loved and safe.

Who was going to feed me now? Who would love me?

After what seemed a long time, the ground started burning my feet. My body shivered even with the heat wrapped around me. I crept under another car to wait.

What did I do wrong? Doesn’t he know I’m still a baby? His eyes and his words made me feel sad. I’ll be good. Promise.

The sun moved again and the air got quiet. A few humans came out of the building and went to their cars. My human wasn't among them. After they were gone, I tucked my feet under me and dozed off again. When I awoke my stomach felt empty and my mouth dry. I ventured out to look for what I could find. I nibbled on some grass and drank from a puddle.

While I lapped up water, a shadow fell over me. I peered up. A new human. This one was older than the others. Older than my human. The man bent down and put out his hand for me to sniff. Good vibes. He scratched my head. I couldn’t help but purr.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “Did you run away? Or did someone stupid drop you off?”

I purred some more, tried to tell him I needed to find home. I rubbed against his knee and pushed my face into his hand.

“Ahhh,” he said. “You poor boy. What am I going to do? I can’t just leave you  here.” 

To my joy, he scooped me up in his arms. He strode over to a car, opened the door and we got in. I huddled close to him as we moved out to the street. The next thing I knew we were getting out of the car. I dug my claws into his jacket and hung on. He wasn't going to drop me on the street if I had something to do about it.

I worried over nothing. He brought me to a house, opened a door and carried me inside. The room was cool and quiet and dark. He brought me a bowl of water, which I lapped up thirstily. I looked around. I was ready to explore.

Another human came into the room. A woman. Next to her ran a little black kitten. They both stopped and stared at me.

The man spoke, but I didn’t pay attention. I checked out my new surroundings. Everything smelled good. The woman bent down and picked me up. She examined me, felt my paws, which were the biggest part of me, and set me down again.

“You’re going to be big,” she said to me.

Whatever that meant. Guess it was good because she brought me and the black kitten some food. I scarfed it down. I never ate anything so good in my life.

“He’s the color of smoke,” the man said. “ Smokey?”

“That’s a good name for him,” She picked up the black kitten. “Sabrina, say hello to your new friend, Smokey.”

Sabrina and I touched noses. She was  female and smaller than me. I meowed a hello. Sabrina hissed. Tossed her head and pranced by me. I followed. We were going to be friends.

I hadn’t seen the dogs yet.

CAT FAMILY - SABRINA

SABRINA

I did not kill the rat.

My brothers and sisters think I’m the guilty one. I don’t like rats. They scare me. They got big teeth. Only this time the rat was missing his head. I tell my siblings it had to be Big Max who killed the rat. Big Max is twice my size. He’s yellow and can be mean. Really, they don’t call him the Mouser for nothing. But he’s not all bad. He sometimes protects me from dogs and other dangers. I guess because I’m the smallest of what’s left of our family.

I don’t know what happened to Mama. After we couldn’t get more milk from her, she wandered off and left us with the big machines. Big Max says they are cars and we better not get in the way of their wheels. The cars come and go, but we pretty much stay there, because where else would we go?

Because I am curious, I notice things. Like, for instance, the cars bring people to the building with the morning sun. People leave in them with the sun goes down.  Sometimes one of the humans will stop to look at me and my brothers and sisters. But mostly they just ignore us. Big Max makes us stay away from them. He’s so mean. Whenever I want to run up to a human, Big Max stops me.

On the other side of us are different buildings but the people who live there are the same ones I see every day. They don’t bother us. The little humans—Big Max calls them children—are fun. They sit and play with us on the sidewalk or on the grass. Their hands feel good when they pet me. They bring food sometimes. I hurry and eat what I can before Big Max shows up and gobbles it all. I get so hungry sometimes and it’s hard to find food and water.

When it gets dark and cold, I huddle up with my brothers and sisters. When the humans arrive to get their cars, I stare at them the longest. Big Max hisses at me and swats with his paw when I venture too close. But I’m curious. Where do they come from? Where do they go? Their eyes look toward us, but don’t seem to see us. Big Max says I shouldn’t try to make friends with humans. He’s so bossy, and I know he killed that rat. Finally, I give up and run back to the others and we hide until all the cars are gone. As I curl up, I wonder what else is out there that I can’t see.

Then one day, when there’s almost no cars around, a human appears. She is carrying a box. I stare at her while she puts the box in the car. Instead of getting inside, she turns her head and sees me. She has the nicest face with her lips wide and turned up. She’s smiling. Like the children I play with. But different. She’s smiling at me. Nowhere else.

I can’t help myself. I don’t feel at all afraid. I run to her! She has music in her voice and she bends down so her face is close to mine. She reaches out and strokes me. I’m in heaven! I love her!

Then she stands and her face gets all sad and she shakes her head. I don’t move, but I feel hope leaving me. She gets into her car. No! Wait! Take me with you! Come back!

The garage is empty now. Big Max circles me like he’s the lion king. “Told you so.” He thinks he’s so smart. I turn my tail to him and return to my brothers and sisters.

I can’t stop thinking about her. Day after day I wait and watch. Big Max laughs at me, but I know she’s coming back. I just feel it in my little bones to the tip of my black tail.

I’m right! I’m right! It’s her car. She getting out. But I wait this time. I watch from the side. I’m not sure anymore. Will she drive away without seeing me? Or worse, she’ll see me and still turn away.

She faces in my direction, not seeing me, I think, but making sounds like she’s calling out. Hardly daring to breathe, I hop on top of the car next to me. I’m easy to find this way. I sit there and watch her.

She sees me! Her face gets all shiny and bright and she leans down and opens her arms. She calls out, “Here kitty! Come here, kitty!”

I can’t help it. I leap off the car and I race to her. Her car door is open. I’m not taking any chances. I jump in. She laughs and climbs in beside me and closes the door. I’m so happy I could burst.

As we drive away, I look out the window. There’s Big Max watching. He’s got something in his mouth. Probably another rat. But I swear he’s grinning at me.

A Matter of Revenge

A Matter of Revenge launched on January 21, 2017 at Murder By The Book. We are appearing at The Book Scene on Saturday, February 25, 2017 at 1:00 p.m.

All the Niki Alexander books feature teens who can be found living on the street or in shelters. Sometimes they are running from a scary home. More often they have been neglected or abandoned.

In Less Dead, sixteen-year-old Jade has been abandoned. First her mother died, then her father left on the street corner in the Montrose area of Houston.and never returned.

In Lost Witness,a small lost boy is found next to the body of a drug mule and becomes the center of a drug ring fight between two brothers, one in Houston and his sibling in Mexico. Once again Niki Alexander becomes involved in the feud to find answers that will save the child.

In a Matter of Revenge a young pre-teen takes it upon himself to expose a wealthy businessman as a pornographer and pedophile. Desperate to find his friend, a possible victim, who has disappeared, he accepts assistance from the eleven-year-old runaway Niki Alexander has been asked to find.

In all three books, Niki never hesitates to protect and help these kids. After partnering with a homicide detective for several years, she was caught in an office-involved shooting of a seventeen-year-old. She quit to become a counselor at Open Palms, a shelter for teen runaways, throwaways and delinquents. Niki makes it her life's work to prevent another unnecessarily death of a child.

A Third Niki Alexander Mystery Coming Soon

Niki Alexander will soon make an appearance in her third mystery, A Matter of Revenge. 

This book follows Less Dead and Lost Witness. 

As a woman who used to be a street cop, Niki's instincts for finding the lost and abandoned children on the Houston streets is only sharpened after she quit to become a counselor for a teen shelter. Quitting anything is never easy for Niki, but especially hard to turn her back on the career she loved. Only the aftermath of a officer-involved shooting of a seventeen-year-old boy, crazed by drugs, could knock her to her knees. She got up to fight again but nothing was ever the same, and the nightmare of pulling the trigger still visits her. She vowed never to walk away from another troubled child and to do all she could to prevent that happening again.  

I realized, after I finished writing A Matter of Revenge, that a theme had developed in each of these books. In Less Dead  abandonment was the central theme. In Lost Witness it was drugs, families and borders.

In A Matter of Revenge, the refusal to be a victim emerges. Niki is astounded to find two pre-teens daring to expose a wealthy sexual predator by burglarizing his home.  She steps in to assist them in their fight for justice and relief. . 

Assisting Niki is Nelson Spalonetti, the cop who now worked with her ex-partner. They met first in Less Dead and became lovers in Lost Witness. They both get a jolt when someone from Niki's past shows up in A Matter of Revenge. Seventeen years is a long time to be out of touch with family, even for a step-mother whose divorce from Niki's Hawaiian father had not been civil. Niki doesn't buy the coincidence of the woman's timing. Did she come to reunite with her stepdaughter, or is she there for another purpose altogether?.

A Matter of Revenge will  be out in e-book and print editions on January 28, 2017 and will be available wherever books are sold. In the meantime you can catch up on the first two Niki Alexander books.

Here are the Amazon buy links:

LESS DEAD

https://www.amazon.com/Less-Dead-Niki-Alexander-Mysteries-ebook/dp/B009ZURM70/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1477598429&sr=8-3&keywords=Less+Dead  

LOST WITNESS 

https://www.amazon.com/Lost-Witness-Niki-Alexander-Mysteries-ebook/dp/B00ACOGFOE/ref=sr_1_16?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1477598973&sr=1-16&keywords=lost+witness&refinements=p_n_feature_browse-bin%3A618073011

Where I Get My Ideas - The Real Story Behind the Fiction

There’s one question I hear all the time. “Where Do You Get Your Ideas?” or “When or how or why did you become a writer?” Here’s the real scoop.

I always wanted to be a writer but first I was a dreamer and a reader. My taste tended toward great adventures and romance: War and Peace, Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, Little Women, Gone With The Wind, and mysteries with Nancy Drew, or the dashing heroes spun by Frank Yerby and Sidney Sheldon. I yearned to escape into those worlds. Every night when I went to bed, I dreamed up a story to be continued the next night. There would be previews first, a taste of what was to come.

I read books on writing, attended university classes, and workshops. One suggestion repeated over and over was to write what you know. Great. I didn’t know anything. I wasn’t happy with my life and I didn’t want to grow up to be normal like my almost invisible parents and their friends. I didn’t want what other kids seem to want: school, jobs, marriage, kids. That wasn’t for me. Since I was going to be a writer, I must experience adventure and romance so I could write about them and understand life.

That’s how I met my six husbands. That’s how I got to ride on the back of a motorcycle and participate in a documentary with the Hell’s Angels. It’s why I chose a bus ride to Canada to see a motorcycle race instead of staying in college. It’s why I became a go-go dancer to support myself and my daughter.

Okay, to explain, I have to go back to the beginning. I was born in 1942 in North Dakota at the home of my maternal grandparents. My mother was staying at her childhood home until my father got out of the service. He was stationed on an army base in Tennessee. My maternal grandmother was a force of nature not unlike a tornado. She turned their home into a boarding house to supplement the income my grandfather made as a mason. Her word was law and no one dared to go against her. My mother rebelled. I don’t know the circumstances of why we left, I was just a baby, but she took me and hitchhiked from North Dakota to Los Angeles and to the home of my father’s parents. She endured terrible hardships on the way.

I never knew my mother very well but I’m sure I got my rebellious streak from her. I do remember the Quonset hut the army provided where we lived when my father came home. Unfortunately, my mother got sick with cancer and we spent the last year of her life at my paternal grandparents’ home. I still remember the morning she died. I always went with both grandparents to the Lutheran church on Sundays. This Sunday only my grandfather took me. Even though I was only five, I knew already what I’d find when we got home. Soon afterward, my father left on business to San Francisco. When he returned three years later, he brought me a new mother.

Some of my happiest childhood memories were the years I spent with my paternal grandparents. Both were good, sturdy, Norwegians. My grandfather was born in Norway and wrote a book about his adventures as a fisherman in the fjords. My grandmother was always either cooking, sewing, crocheting, or knitting. I remember sitting with her in the sewing room listening to The Shadow or The Green Horner on the radio while she sewed my clothes.

I had one friend in the neighborhood my age. Vida's beautiful chestnut hair fell past her shoulders in corkscrew curls. Next to her I felt like an awkward colt. Her mother had also died young and she lived with her grandmother. Her father had remarried, but Vida refused to go live with them.

My father chose my new mother because her mother had died young and she had hated her stepmother. So my father thought she would understand me. But I never got the chance to know her or like her before she was forced on me as “my mother.” My father thought he’d fixed our family and we would live happily ever after. We all knew that wouldn’t happen.

I dreamed of living on the Left Bank of Paris and attending the Sorbonne. I would travel through Europe on a motorcycle with a typewriter in the sidecar and earn my living as a writer, like Gertrude Stein and Ernest Hemingway and Scott Fitzgerald.

Sadly, I never got to Europe. Spent six months in Mexico, though. Almost got to Canada.

I did want to go to college. My aim was for a small liberal arts college. My parents vetoed that idea right away. Too close to Camp Pendleton. My parents picked a Lutheran college in Tacoma, Washington where there were relatives to watch over me and I could stay with an aunt.

I met my first husband when I was selling Christmas cards door to door through Junior Achievement. I was seventeen. Mark was 27, working on his motorcycle with his bohemian, poetry writer, motorcycle rider, friends, and he bought a box of Xmas cards from me even though he was Jewish. 

I was in love. He was the exact opposite of my parents. They were horrified and refused to let me see him. I ran away two weeks before my eighteenth birthday when I was supposed to be going to Washington for college. Mark hid me out with the leader of the Hell’s Angels. They only agreed because he could fix their bikes when they broke down. They kept me in a back room, where no one was allowed in, and told Mark that I couldn’t stay long. They were naturally nervous and didn’t want to get caught with an underage runaway. I didn’t want them in trouble so I went home and told my parents I was ready to go to college. My stepmother took me shopping and bought me a new college wardrobe.

I never did go to that Lutheran college after all. I arrived to stay with a cousin who would be attending same college. A week before classes were to start, Mark told me he had a race in Canada. I told my aunt that I had to leave to see him race, but then I'd be back and be a good girl and attend college. Please don’t tell my father. I got on a bus, got as far as Seattle and got cold feet. I got back to my aunt’s house and as I feared she had called my father. Sorry for me, my bags were packed, tuition refunded, and I was put on a bus back to Los Angeles and given a room at the YWCA.

I married Mark on the way to a motorcycle race when I was nineteen. I went to all his races, which were run on the same race tracks as the car races, which made it twice as exciting. Some time later he was invited to participate in a documentary with the Hell’s Angels. I rode on the back of Mark's Vincent Black Shadow. Mark had the required chain around his waist to ward off aggressive truck drivers. 

I left Mark one year later and my father arranged to get the marriage annulled. Shortly afterward, when I turned twenty-one, I met Husband No. 2.

Johnny was fifty and looked like Kurt Douglas or Burt Lancaster. He was the character out of the Frank Yerby and Sidney Shelton books. He was exciting and different. He’d been a hard hat diver and demolitions expert and freelanced for the oil companies. He knew movie stars, was friends with John Wayne, and even got to be an extra on one of his films, Red River. He’d been around the world many times. One time in France, an Arab once shot at him six times and missed. Johnny was half-Apache and could drink like no other I’ve seen and still walk straight. I met him in a Santa Monica bar. He was recuperating from a fall off a three story building and had fractured both feet. 

I move in with him and rubbed his feet and nursed him for three years until he could walk without a limp. We lived in Mexico for six months, New York City for a summer, several cities in Florida, then New Jersey. We changed our name a few times also. That’s when I figured out that his ex-wife’s Sicilian brother was in the Mafia, and was hunting him.

He delivered our daughter in a car while we were living in in the Florida Keys. We were too far from a hospital. My little girl was six months old when we left Johnny and moved to Philadelphia.

I supported my daughter by working as a medical secretary, a waitress, and a go-go dancer. The Flawed Dance became the fictionalized version of those years in the late sixties. In fiction I could be the heroine who fought the bad guys, infiltrated the mob and saved a couple of lives. Writing was therapeutic and helped me to understand those times in hindsight.

I met Husband No. 3, a bartender who gave me my wonderful son. After a rocky five years with that husband, I took my son and we left and moved back to California.

Husband No. 4 was a Hawaiian chef who took me to Hawaii where I met his wonderful family and later gave birth to my beautiful youngest daughter.  No. 4 wasn’t so wonderful. He stabbed a leader in the Mexican Mafia and we had to run for our lives and hide for a while. 

Two husbands followed after I moved to Texas. One was for convenience. The other went to prison for killing a guy in a bar fight. I decided no more marriages. I had my fill of adventure and romance. From then on, I would just write about them.

So you think that after all these experiences I would have all the material I needed to write. I had enough characters running through my head to turn any of them into whoever I wanted them to be. 

Now I watch my children and grandchildren make the same kind of mistakes and I know I can’t help them. I know they wouldn't listen to me as I wouldn't listen to my parents. But at the same time I learn from them. They introduced me to troubled teens, runaways, parents struggling with their children, and making painful decisions. 

From them and for them I write my Niki Alexander mystery series. Niki is an ex-cop turned counselor for a teen shelter. She is the champion of the runaways, the throwaways, the ones looking for a different life, seeking adventure and excitement. She knows the dangers they face and she is there for them. 

In the first book, Less Dead, Niki has to find an abandoned teenager, who might have witnessed a murder, before the murderer finds her. Lost Witness deals with a lost little boy caught in the center of a drug ring involving two brothers and the border between Texas and Mexico. Both books are available as e-books, print, and audio, and can be found on Amazon, iTunes and Audible.

The third book in the Niki Alexander series is A Matter of Revenge and is due to be released in September from Black Opal Books. This time Niki is faced with two pre-teen, runaway streets kids who have taken on as their mission to destroy a dangerous pedophile ring. More to come as the launch date approaches.

Love to read your comments. 

http://lauraelvebak.com

The Flawed Dance

After five years of being the traveling companion and lover of a secretive man thirty years her senior, Erin Matthews fears his increasing paranoia. At age twenty-two, Erin escapes to a new city, determined to survive with her limited skills and experience. She cannot run, however, from the dark act that facilitated her escape. Making one bad decision after another, she lands in the Philadelphia demimonde world of entertainers, hustlers, and thugs. But will her newly learned skills, native intelligence, and honed instincts be enough to keep her alive until she gains the redemption and forgiveness she seeks?

I knew I was taking a risk, but I had no idea how much trouble it could cause me…

I couldn’t hide forever so I lathered more makeup on my face, hoped the darkness and smoke below would hide any traces left by Charley’s fist. I left the empty dressing room and went downstairs. Nothing seemed different. Trixie was on stage. A few eyes were on her, but as usual most of the men were either drinking, masturbating, smoking, or all of the above. Yet, for me everything had changed. I lingered at the bottom step and looked for Charley. If I saw him, I would have Joe arrest the bastard.

I sat by myself in a corner under the stage, thinking what I needed was a stiff drink. Joe was busy with a group at the other end of the bar. While I waited for him to notice me, I kept busy imagining Charley behind bars. I knew that wouldn’t happen. Not to Tony Corelli’s partner. Corelli knew judges. He’d proven that with my case.

Tony wouldn’t let anything interfere with his plans for Atlantic City. He made that plain enough. He was in trouble and I was the oil that would grease the kinks to smooth sailing. Once he found out I willingly went upstairs with Charley, he’d say I deserved whatever I got. He might even look at the incident as a betrayal. I’d gone behind his back and possibly made Charley a threat to his plans. How stupid could a girl get?

Joe noticed me after about five minutes. His eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened.

“Charley Rossino stormed out of here like the devil himself was after him. Never knew he could move so fast.” He leaned closer. “Did he do that to you?”

“Let it go, Joe.”

“No way,” he said. “That asshole hit you. You can’t hide the bruises with makeup.”

The Flawed Dance has a Home!

After years of writing, editing, and submitted to numerous agents and editors, The Flawed Dance has been accepted by Black Opal Books a publisher approved by both Mystery Writers of America and the International Thriller Writers. It proves the adage, Never Give Up.

I never gave up. The story of Flawed Dance is close to my heart. It tells the story of a young woman, Erin, who runs from her much older lover. For the past few years she has been his companion and lover while he has been on the run from the Mob. Arriving in Philadelphia with ten dollars, knowing no one, even her new roommate, the brother of the man who drove her, she must learn to survive while constantly looking over her shoulder.

The Flawed Dance takes place during the late sixties amidst racial unrest, Vietnam, and rebellion. Grateful for the help from her new roommate, an older black man who takes her in sight unseen, she works several jobs to get her independence. The most lucrative is go-go dancing. Saving another dancer from being almost killed, she has a run in an ex-mob enforcer turned club owner. The encounter leads to a confrontation with the past she tried so hard to flee from.

Taken from a page in my own past, The Flawed Dance has been and still is a work of love and self-discovery, but for the readers it is foremost a suspense thriller with plenty of action, conflict and sex to keep the pages turning.

CLOSE UP ON PROMOTION

One day about a month ago, I was steadily working on the third Niki Alexander book. I was not thinking primarily about promotion, although in the back of my mind, I knew promotion was part of the business. First, I had to have a book to promote. In my mind, that involved getting the third book completed and sold. Or my standalone bought and produced.

Meanwhile, I needed to reissue my first two Niki Alexander books after getting my rights reverted back to me from my publisher. I knew this would also take time. A wonderful artist was recommended by Jeffrey Marks, who moderates the Mystery Must Advertise Yahoo Group. Patty G. Henderson designed the new covers for both books. Hitch, who often offers good advice on the same Yahoo Group, has a business called Booknook.biz. I hired her to format both books to sell as e-books in all venues. Both Patty and Hitch are very reasonably priced and their work is outstanding.

I discovered ACX (Audiobook Creative Exchange) at ThrillerFest, a conference in New York put on by the International Thriller Writers. Through ACX I found a narrator and soon both books were in production and would soon be released on Audible, iTunes and Amazon as audiobooks.

Also during the time, I was trying to sell my standalone noir/thriller/suspense/women’s fiction (or whatever met the agent/publisher’s needs).

With all that going on, I didn't think about promotion. Too early. Then, out of the blue, I listened to a voice mail on my land-line  Anthony Holmes, of Close-Up Talk Radio, said I was one of three authors chosen to be interviewed for global promotion. He said their research department had read my books and were very impressed. If I passed their initial interview, I would be spotlighted in the month of March and will receive huge promotion and marketing support. The author (me) would be interviewed four weeks in a row. Two by Doug Llewelyn (formerly the host of the People’s Court), and two by Jim Masters of PBS.

This was quite a production. Anthony called me every day. He did a pre-interview. The script writer called to get my background or life story. The only matter of concern was my website. They were right. My website was put up in 2008 and hasn't been updated since. Anthony said they would need to put their website guru to work on it and the result would sell thousands of books. Also, they were interested in my screenplay that had been twice optioned in 2000. All this sounded fantastic. I sent them the script and finally agreed to let their webmaster redo my website.

They said I was chosen over the other two writers on the strength of my initial interview. I was thrilled and flattered. My website was getting a fresh new look. They did a press release and sent me a copy along with their clipping list of 101 news outlets they were sending with the caption: “Close-Up Talk Radio spotlights author Laura Elvebak.” These went to all the major news outlets in the United States as well as International news. They sent me a list of questions they plan to ask so I would be prepared ahead of the schedule interviews and Tips For A Professional Radio Interview.

I spent most of my time preparing by getting the e-books on Amazon, the audiobooks narrated, reviewed and online. I needed print books in hand, because of all the talks I would be giving. I gave the first two Niki Alexander books a final re-edit and went to Createspace. The process was easier than I expected and when I received the proofs from UPS, I was thrilled with the result and ordered copies. I was then prepared for the call from Houston Writers Guild. They wanted me to speak for an hour at the April Workshop. I agreed and could sell books..

The first two interviews with Doug Llewelyn had a rocky start. I had been sick with the crud all week, but I struggled through the first interview. In about the middle, there was some interference on the line. Toward the end I had a coughing spell that lasted too long. A disaster. However, the second interview went very well and both of us were pleased with the result.

By the time the first interview with Jim Masters rolled along, I was more prepared and more at ease. I was completely well by that time and the interview went by so fast that even Jim remarked how it seemed like ten minutes instead of thirty. We have since become Facebook and Twitter friends. The next and last interview is Thursday, April 4, again with Jim Masters.

The result is nebulous. It’s too early to tell by sales results. On the pro side, I had print copies of the books and the audio and e-books were available. The problem I see is timing. The books I’m promoting, after all, were first published in 2008 and 2009, and I haven’t finished the third book yet. I’m still trying to sell my standalone. So no new book to promote yet, but I have pre-promoted both books by including them in the interviews.

Okay, now you’re wondering about the real downside.  First, a question to all of you. How much are you willing to spend on promotion? How big of a risk are you willing to take? Was this no more than a scam? I had to fork over $5000.00 for everything but the website. Their webmaster, whom they pushed on me, cost $3500.00. In my head, I could just about justify spending $5,000 on promotion, but I know I could have a comparable or better website for a fraction of what I paid this guy. The website looks good, but more is needed. Question is, was it worth the money? Now I’m out $8500. Was it worth it? I recently saw an article on Writer Beware Blogs written as a Solicitation Alert for Close-Up Talk Radio. They described all the steps I went through. They called it a scam.

I know I’m an impulse buyer. I’m probably naïve about some things. If I didn't happen to have the money at the time, I wouldn't have a story to write. But I would still have money. Now I’m just hoping I get enough future book sales to eventually recover what I spent. So again, I put the question to you. How much would you pay for promotion? 

A Fresh Start

When I decided to get the rights back on my two published mysteries, Less Dead and Lost Witness, I had no idea what I was in for. I wanted a fresh, new beginning to my books, with new life and a new cover. But that wasn't my original idea.

It all started when I attended Thriller Fest last year, put on by the International Thriller Writers. Because my books were published, I became a member. Thriller Fest is like no other conference. Huge! Starts out with Craft Fest, where the top thriller writers give advice and impart their knowledge and writing expertise. Next comes Agent Fest where 60 or so agents await your three-minute spiel intended to capture their attention and thrust you into the rarefied region of published authors. Of course, rare is the operative word here.

Next comes Thriller Fest with the varied panels on every subject you can name if it concerns books and writing. I always seem to get on a panel that has to do with sex. Don't ask me why. However, this time the topic was promoting e-books. Now, of course, both my books were already available as e-books and I worked at promotion - maybe not as hard as I should, but a writer has to write. Right?

However, I have digressed. While I was attending Thriller Fest, I met the representatives of ACX, the full name of which is Audiobook Creation Exchange. They told me I could turn my books into an audio recording and be published on Audible, Amazon and iTunes. I know about Audible since I joined years ago and always have 6-8 audio books on my MP3 player. I listen while driving. This way I can read two books at a time - a paper book or e-book and an audio book.

I investigated further when I came home after the conference. The process is fairly simple and straightforward. I questioned my publisher, L&L Dreamspell, on whether I had the audio rights. They said I did. What I found out later is I had to have all the rights reverted to me. I like my publisher, but the three-year contract on both had expired and I hadn't made any money with them. Therefore, I followed the instructions on the written contract and had all rights reverted back to me.

Nothing is simple, as I am finding out. Actually, I found that out years ago, but I'm constantly reminded of the fact. Nothing is simple. I had both my books, but to get them back on Amazon as e-books, they had to be reformatted. Also, I needed new covers. This is not my area of expertise. I write and let someone else do the other stuff.

I checked around, did my due diligence, and discovered Booknook.biz for the formatting and Patty G. Henderson to do the covers.. Yes, everything takes time and money, but the price was reasonable and the timing worked out better than I expected.

So now that they are e-books again with the new look, I have placed them on ACX and hope to have a narrator soon. I had hoped they would be narrated and out for Christmas, but even having Less Dead ready by Christmas is pushing my luck. My narrator would have to be not only great but fast. But I reach for the moon and take no for an answer. And that is enough cliches for this writing.  

A New Look at Teen Shelters

In the Niki Alexander mystery series, Niki is a counselor for a teen shelter. In Houston we have Covenant House.  As part of my research in 2007 when I was writing the first of the series, Less Dead, I visited the shelter and was taken on a tour by one of the counselors. I also knew some kids who spent a few days there. Covenant House became the model for Open Palms, the fictional shelter. More more information, I spent one evening interviewing kids at the street church across from the shelter. That evening was the inspiration for Lost Witness and much that I witnessed is included in the book.

Recently, Covenant House had open house with an invitation to take a tour. Naturally, I wanted to see if it had changed since my research in 2007. It had. I was amazed at the change.

The biggest change was the age group. Back 2007, young teens were allowed to stay there. Now the accepted age is 18-21. The reason for this, I was told, was to protect the younger kids from possible preditors who might sell them drugs or pimp them or use them sexually. 

Young kids who find their way off the street to Covenant House are not turned away, however. They can be visited by a staff nurse, can take a shower, get some clothes, some food, and talk to a counselor. They are encouraged to call their parents and work out a solution so they can return home.  Sometimes this isn't possible because of severe abuse or neglect at home. In that case, CPA is called in and they are taken to another shelter for children. 

Covenant House has counselors trained in drug abuse, anger management, sexual abuse. They have a nursing staff. The older teens can attend school, get their GED, learn a trade, write a resume and get recommended for jobs. Before they can do this, however, they will have to stay at the shelter for six months to get clean of drugs and go through counseling before they can go through the Rite of Passage and attend their college.

They don't have a 100% success rate. Who does? These young people have had to struggle with abuse and/or neglect, have nowhere else to go. They are offered a chance. Some will succeed. Others will fail. But it offers hope and a life beyond what they had before.

Open Palms will continue in my Niki Alexander books that started with Less Dead and Lost Witness. I'm in the process of writing the third in the series. Open Palms will still open its arms to teens regardless of age and Niki will continue the fight to protect them, teach them skills and see that no harm comes to them.

Sleuthfest -A New Experience

I'd heard about Sleuthfest, the Florida chapter of MWA's annual conference, for years - how wonderful it was, how generous and kind to other writers. So this year I decided to go, and you know what? It was wonderful. Everything everyone said about it was right. But the best part was connecting with dear friends and meeting new ones.

Yes, the panels were informative, funny, entertaining and educational. My own panel on publicizing ebooks drew a good crowd, which emphasized how popular ebooks were these days in an ever evolving world of publishing. My own books, Less Dead and Lost Witness, were published by a small press who simultaneously put them both in print and in ebook format. How do I publicize ebooks? Social network and word of mouth, much the same as the print edition.

Sleuthfest wouldn't have been the same if my friend Anita wasn't there. She always makes me feel included and her vibrant laugh is infectious. We're Reed's Rowdy Redheads - that would be Reed Farrel Coleman, who is unfailingly engaging, warm, encouraging, and funny, even when he is under deadline and in pain from a shoulder injury.

We met new friends, too. Micki and Dave Browning, retired cops from California now living the good life, traveling and enjoying each other. Micky is a very talented writer who will soon be discovered. Of that I have no doubt. Deborah was another new friend. We met her at the Saturday luncheon and her bubbly personality won us over.

The panels I attended were great, and I've ordered ten others that I missed.

Elaine Viets, moderator (one of the best for being funny and keeping everyone on track), Charlaine Harris, Brendan Dubois, Toni LP Kelner, Chris Grabenstein and Dana Cameron.

Fun for all Saturday night at Agents and Editors Cocktail Party. That's Jeffrey Deaver on the end Chris
Grabenstein at the microphone.

Don Bruns, Reed Farrel Coleman and Michael Haskins.  And the winner is...

These are only a few of the highlights.The live auction with Chris Grabenstein, Donna Andrews and Hank Phillippi Ryan was a tremendous success. Two winners pledged $1000 for a chance to meet Nicole Resciniti, agent with The Seymour Agency in New York. The auctioneers did a terrific job - kept us laughing and never let up until they squeezed every bit of money out of the audience.

To top off the conference, Heather Graham's The Slushpile entertained us at The House of Blues with her wacky band of misfits.

I didn't sell any books at the conference, but I met a lovely lady on the plane on the way, Jan Yates, who loves cat mysteries. I emailed her the name of Leann Sweeney and Dean James (writing under Miranda James) for their wonderful cat books.

At the airport coming home, I sold two books. One each to two gentlemen who sat with Anita and me for lunch. When they found out we were writers, they wanted to see our books. I happened to have ten copies of Lost Witness with me. They each bought one. One man worked for Chevron in Louisiana and the other was an ex-cop from Oakland, CA. That made the conference complete.