Don’t Mess With Mrs. Sedgewick has now gone through a copy editor and then I have gone through it approving or disapproving the corrections. What a job. The guy that formats my books has done so and loaded the draft version to Amazon Kindle. It has yet to have the cover made. When that is completed it will be live. I will send out an email, blog and promote my new release. it is quite an undertaking, but writing is the joy of my life, but a bigger joy is knowing the story is read.
The young man who broke out my granddaughter’s car window and rifled through the inside of her car, came back and apologized and asked what it cost to have the window replaced. The next day he showed up again. This time with the $210. His debt is paid. I wish him luck in dealing with addiction.
Today is the day I turn over my new manuscript, Don’t Mess With Mrs Sedgewick, to the copy editor. It is now out of my hands and I will try not to stew about it. It’s like giving away your thoughts for two years. Publication is getting closer.
Two nights ago, well after dark, our two big dogs in the back yard set off an alarm as if the devil himself was prowling the alley. I went to the back door to see why and to tell the dogs to shut-up. There was a guy with one of those forehead flashlights lit up holding what looked like a baseball bat over the top of another one huddled on the ground. The guy yelled, “Call 911. Just caught this guy breaking the window out of your car.” The crusty old neighbor man’s voice. Whew. I hustled right back inside and dialed 911 and reported what happening. I then went out to see what Charlie had caught and to tell him that officers were on their way.
A young, around twentyish, kid looked up at me through my chain link fence. “Don’t call the police, I can’t get in trouble.”
“Too late. They on their way.” I then asked him, “What is wrong with you. You just broke out the window on a car that belongs to a gal with three little kids.”
Three patrol cars promptly arrived and one of the officers asked whose car it was and I told him my granddaughter’s and that I’d go wake her up.
When the officer asked her if she had given the guy on the ground permission to get in her car she said no and yes she’d sign a complaint. The officer then asked if she had something valuable in the car.
“No,” she said. “All I have is baby wipes, pullups and sunscreen.” Loved her answer.
I’m telling all this to lead up to the next morning. I was in charge of my two and four year old little great grandsons. I caught the baby on a chair pushed up against the kitchen cabinets playing with my landline telephone. I could hear it ringing someone on the other end. I snatched it away and pushed end call. I no more than hung it up and it rang. Umm? It was the 911 operator saying she just got a hang up call from this number. I explained that my little grandson had been playing with the phone. She talked for a bit and then said she tell the officers. Umm? About ten minutes later, I heard a knocking on my front door. Then another louder knock. I scooped up the two-year-old and carried him to answer the door. A kind officer was standing there ready to protect us. Good grief. I explained I had called 911 the night before and the little guy I was holding must have hit the redial button on the phone.
I looked down. A pair of toy handcuffs were held tightly in his pudgy fists. Oh good grief. “Yep, we’re playing sheriff. We like the guys in blue.”
The officer told the boys to mind their grandma and left.
Happy Fourth of July. Here are a few snaps of how part of my family celebrated this year. We gathered at my daughter’s home along the Clark Fork River. Lots of laughter, stories, fishing, four wheeling and food.
Amazon Best Sellers Rank:#4 Free in Kindle Store (See Top 100 Free in Kindle Store)
- #1 in Kindle Store> Kindle eBooks > Literature & Fiction > Contemporary Fiction > Women’s Fiction
- #1 in Kindle Store> Kindle eBooks > Literature & Fiction > Women’s Fiction > Mystery, Thriller & Suspense
Maternal Harbor is free on Kindle June 19-20, 2016. Good time to get a fast-paced thriller for a summers day.
Teagan O’Riley is pregnant and alone when she meets three single mothers at an OB clinic. A few weeks later, two of them are dead and the third is close on Teagan’s heels, intent on a campaign of twisted murder and insanity. Teagan cannot risk entrusting the three infants to the police with her finger prints all over one crime scene and her foot print smeared into blood at another. She flees with the babies to a wilderness cabin belonging to her lost love’s grandmother, but is even this remote location safe?
I downloaded a graphic art design program and am trying to figure out how to use it. It appears I have a lot to learn. but here is a sample of getting my covers side-by-side. The blurb is way too big. Back to the drawing board.
I found this new three star review of Maternal Harbor on Goodreads this morning. Thank you Mr. Wetherington for a thoughtful, kind review.
I realized that, without really meaning to, the vast majority of authors I’ve been reading over the last several months have been male. Now there’s nothing wrong with male authors, but I woke up to the fact that I needed some gender variety in my reading and Ms. Martin, in the sample I read, seemed like a good choice.
And she was, especially with how she portrayed the female characters, which is another reason I chose this book; the story revolved around women. I wanted to read someone who could realistically write from a feminine viewpoint; who could accurately reflect women’s feelings (something I don’t think male writers can usually do, at least not all that well); and who could capture the way that women interact with each other. On all these points, Ms. Martin came through in a fantastic way.
This morning I loaded my golf clubs, golf purse, health bar, bottle of water, pocket change and me into the trusty Subaru to drive 18 miles to play golf on a wonderful sunny spring day in Montana. Perfect. I even admired my new golf bag I bought at the end of last season. I turned the car key to start the engine and nothing made any kind of a sound. Deader that a door nail. What the heck? I called AAA and waited an hour for them to show up, well past the tee time, the nice guy gave it a jump and told me I needed a new battery. Oh goody. I drove to the nearest shop and had one installed. That’s recounts the blip.
Now the payoff. The day was still sunny, the grass in the back green and lush and tall. As I mowed, these cute little tulip faces said hello. They are the first of the tulips to bloom this year. I also found time to word smith some on my novel in progress. I discovered a zillion uses of the word step. They’re gone and the sentences are clearer. Can’t decide if this is a blip or a payoff.
What a nice surprise when I received this is a 5 Star review by Bookzilla on my novel, Ratham Creek.
By Bookzilla on March 18, 2016
Compelling story of family blood feuds, government failures and trying to survive. This story is a realistic look at life for generations of mountain people trying to keep the family ties strong. Holding on to family homesteads fighting loss of work, income and steadily increasing taxes.
The characters are believable with realistic dialogue. Not all questions are answered. The ending is more a solution than a cliff-hanger.
Butch frowned at his brother. He was getting too close to something he shouldn’t be saying. “Your new haircut looks like sh@@. Feels like I’m sitting next to a freaking teenager.”
Toad tightened his grip of the steering wheel. “Doesn’t hurt to stay modern. The barber called it a mullet cut and it’s dang sure better than that dirt wad you have hanging down your back.”
He managed to fall asleep at daybreak, but fitfully, seeing bullets breaking glass all over, feeling the heart-wrenching fear that one of the bullets would kill, reliving the feeling of water in a foxhole in Nam, and hearing something plop in the water—snake or grenade? Just like now, the threat was real. But how dangerous? Snake bite could be treated, blown off body parts couldn’t be. The wrong decision could last for generations to come in these mountains.
Just once, I’d like to know what that boy’s thinking, Ross thought. But he isn’t a boy anymore. Twenty-one going on twelve.