Feisty Females of the Early 20th Century

It's just a month now until the 12th Molly Murphy novel comes out. It's called The Family Way and it deals with the meaning of family on many levels (as well as being a really suspenseful mystery).

So to build up to March 5, I'm doing a series of blogs on the real Molly Murphys of the ealy 20th Century--women who defied all odds and did amazing things. And today I'm starting with the real life investigators.

So many people have said to me that Molly couldn't possible do the things I have her do. No woman at that time could be a detective. Aha--well I love to prove them wrong. My first true life example is Isabella Goodwin. Mrs Goodwin was a police matron in New York City, married to a policeman who died. The police department started using her for under cover surveillance and she proved to be so good at it that she became a fully fledged police detective, the first of two women detectives on the squad at that time. I've seen her uniform at the police museum in New York. How anybody could run after crooks with that high neck, tiny waist, tight sleeves I've no idea!  But I was so impressed with her that she comes into several of my books.

My other shining example of what a woman could do at that time is NELLIE BLY  Born Elizabeth Jane Cochran to a working class family she came to the attention of a newspaper editor when she wrote a scathing rebuttal to a letter in the Philadelphia newspaper. He hired her first to write a column then he started sending her out to do investigative reporting. When she was sent to Mexico to cover the election there she was a little too probing into corruption and had to be whisked home to save her life.

Back home she moved to the New York World. She became famous for beating Jules Vernes fictional Around the World in 80 days. She did it in 72 and reported it all to her newspaper who saw their circulation soar as a result. Other remarkable feats: she got herself committed to an insane asylum to report on the terrible conditions there, also had herself arrested so that she could report on the conditions in the women's prison. She was so well respected as a reporter that she was the only woman reporting back from the front in WWI.

Helpless females? I don't think so.

The Hotel Enigma

I've just returned from a book tour to promote my new Lady Georgie novel, The Twelve Clues of Christmas. After a week of staying in some very snooty hotels, I am left puzzled about certain things, downright grouchy about others.
.

1. Why does anyone actually need thirty four pillows on the bed? It seems the more expensive the hotel, the more pillows you get.  And I throw all of them onto a chair except one

2. Why does a hotel that charges several hundred dollars a night put really cheap toilet paper in the bathroom? I can afford Charmin double thick. Surely they can too.It would be suitable if they had designer TP maybe with the hotel crest embossed into it. But I'd be content with something thick enough that it doesn't break to pieces when I try to tear it off.

3. Why can't faucets in hotel bathrooms all work the same way? Why does it take me half an hour to figure out how to turn on the shower, and get hit in the face with icy water in the proecess?

4. Aren't hotel bedrooms supposed to be restful places? Then why put scary pictures on walls, strange pieces of artwork on tables. All I want to do is sleep, not admire art, and a large image of a faceless man staring down at me is not going to help.

5. How can anyone charge fifteen dollars for a continental breakfast without blushing with guilt?  I agree that one has to pay a cook to prepare something, but one croissant and tea surely don't take much preparing, apart from putting it onto a plate.

6.And on the subject of food--why this need to come up with strange, new, untried combinations of flavor. I don't actually want pork cheeks with scallops, or anything with organic striped figs. After a long day grilled cheese and tomato soup sounds good to me.

Do you have any pet hotel beefs? Have you ever found the perfect hotel?

Tour Update

 Book Tour For The Twelve Clues of Christmas,  Day 5. Today I'm in Seattle, having come from hot Houston to cold and wet. It was quite a jolt to the system and I had to rush out and find some warm tights. This afternoon the weather improved and the sun tried to break through the clouds. I had finished my noon time event at The Seattle Mystery Bookstore and the various drive-by signings so I escaped to the waterfront and stood on a dock watching the ferries glide across black water. It was very peaceful and just the sort of spiritual charge I needed in the middle of a busy schedule.

Now I have to put on my "famous author" clothes again and go out to another event at Third Place Books. And in the morning I have to be up early to appear on a Seattle TV show. I'm supposed to recreate an old English Christmas in the studio. I'm bringing crackers and the props to play silly games. The producer wanted me to make sausage rolls in front of the camera, but I could forsee too many potential disasters there and am having a local tea shop make them instead.

I met two lovely ladies today--one had driven to see me all the way from Spokane, that's five hours, and the other was recovering from a serious illness and told me what a comfort my audio books had been to her. It's moments like that that make the long lonely months of writing all worthwhile.

Tomorrow afternoon I'll be in Portland, first at Murder by the Book and then at Powells in the evening. Then I'm going home. Yipee.

Book Tour, The Ups and Downs.

Rhys checking in from on the road, promoting my new book The Twelve Clues of Christmas. If it's Saturday it must be Houston.
The event in Scottsdale at Poisoned Pen was fabulous with a big audience who loved playing the English party games, pulling crackers and trying the cake and shortbread. Fellow mystery writers Dana Stabenow and Jen McKinley were sweet enough to come and cheer me on, as was super-librarian/blogger Lesa Holstein.

So that was the good part of the tour so far. The bad part was yesterday's flight, that I almost missed. I arrived at the airport one and a half hours before the flight. Stood in a line for half an hour to drop off my bag, then stood in the TSA line for FORTY FIVE MINUTES. The line snaked around the terminal while two agents checked documents. When I was about to cut the line, pleading that I was about to miss my flight they brought out more TSA people and it speeded up. Ridiculous.

I remember flying when it was fun and relaxing. Now it is a royal pain, if you'll pardon the terminology :) Then on the flight I had a real Lady Georgie moment. For those of you who don't know my heroine, she tends to be clumsy and have embarrassing accidents. Well..... on the plane I opened the cream for my coffee and it shot straight at my dark blue blazer. Lots of desperate rubbing and I think it's going to be okay.

Today I speak at one of my favorite stores: Murder by the Book in Houston. Hope to see some of you there. And tomorrow on to Seattle. Complete itinerary on my website.
And today I'm blogging at www.freshfiction.com

Upstairs, Downstairs

Are you addicted to the new Upstairs,Downstairs as much as you were to Downton Abbey? Me neither. I wonder why, as the story is just as much soap opera. Maybe it's just that the house is smaller, and the people are correspondingly smaller. Nobody to compare with the nobility of Robert, Earl of Grantham, or Lady Mary Crawley. Or maybe it's just that I remember the original series so fondly. That seemed to have real drama and pathos without being sleazy or reverting to shock value. I remember the episode when Lady Marjorie falls in love with a young officer, but it's just left as a romance that can never be. She doesn't leap into bed with him. And the heart-stretching triangle at the battle front in WWI when James is wounded and his cousin Georgina is his nurse, desperately in love with him, and his wife Hazel goes out to France to bring him home. Those were dramas that really moved me. The dramas in this series seem sensational or small and petty.

Am I just older and wiser now or is this series part of the new school of writing that has to go for blockbuster all the time? Or maybe it's the time frame that's different. Life in the 1930s had definitely changed for the aristocracy. Servants were no longer so subservient to their masters. Uncomfortable movements like the Black Shirts were permeating all levels of society.

Ah well. Only two months to the next Downton season. I know it's already out in England but I'm being good and not emailing relatives to ask what is happening.

And another snippet: my own new Lady Gerogie novel, THE TWELVE CLUES OF CHRISTMAS, which features quite a bit of upstairs/downstairs action in a lovely old manor house, will be in stores and on Amazon and Barnes and Noble.com tomorrow. Much more fun that the election, I promise you!

Sneak Preview of The Twelve Clues of Christmas, part 3

I hope you enjoyed sneak peeks one and two.
Did I mention that the book includes a compendium of Christmas recipes, games, traditions?
English villages are definitely strange and have plenty of weird customs. This village is among the stranger ones...

Here is sneak peek number  three... Enjoy.

The Twelve Clues of Christmas. Sneak Preview 3.

  As we came out of the gates and into the village we noticed several groups of villagers, standing in tight knots, talking animatedly. A cluster of men outside the pub glanced furtively in our direction, then went back to their chatter. There was something unnerving about this, a tension in the air as if something was being plotted. Bunty didn’t seem to notice there was anything odd in their behavior.

            “So here’s the sum total of Tiddleton-Under-Lovey,” she said. “One pub, two shops, one school, one church on the green and a few cottages.”

            “What about that nicer house beside the school? I asked. “Is that where the schoolmaster lives?”

            “Oh no, he has a cottage on the Widdecombe road. That house belongs to the Missess ffrench-Finch. Three elderly sisters who have lived there all their lives. Their father left them quite well off and they never married. We used to call them the Three Weird Sisters and spy on them when we were growing up. You’ll meet them over Christmas, I’m sure. Mummy always invites them to Christmas lunch.”

            “And what about the pub?” I asked, looking at the sign swinging in the chill morning breeze. “The Hag and Hounds? What’s that about?”

            “Local history.” Bunty grinned. “We had a local witch you know. Back in the seventeen hundreds. They wanted to catch her and bring her to trial, but she escaped onto the moor. They chased her to the top of Lovey Tor with a pack of hounds and then burned her at the stake. We have a festival to celebrate it every New Year’s Eve. You’ll be able to see just how primitive we are down here in Devon.  This way.”

Countdown to Christmas? Surely not yet...

I don't know about you but I am seriously miffed when I see Christmas items appearing in the stores at the end of August (the moment the back to school sale is over). Isn't this overkill? How can Christmas have any magic at all if we're bombarded with Silent Night and leaping reindeer all through the fall? I remember my childhood Christmases as magic because they just appeared in the middle of dreary winter. Suddenly there were toys and crackers in the stores, turkeys at the butcher shop, children singing carols on street corners. We bought the Christmas tree on Christmas eve and took it home to decorate that evening. Dark evenings suddenly twinkled with lights. There were good smells in the kitchens. A wonderful sense of hope and anticipation grew inside me. It couldn't be long now! This makes me sound as if I'm a contemporary of Dickens but this was really how it was in an Engish village until recently.

However, now I find I'm joining the enemy and talking about Christmas in October. Actually I'm talking about a book, called THE TWELVE CLUES OF CHRISTMAS, by a fabulous, outstandingly marvelous author called Rhys Bowen (known to be modest as well as a great writer :) and it will be in stores on November 6. Not that anybody will notice because November 6 is election day!
I hope on November 7 that people will feel like celebrating with a good book or licking their wounds by curling up with a good book and will then rush out to buy it.

So I thought I'd start my own little countdown to the launch of the book by posting some sneak previews from the book. The first one is tomorrow. Let me know what you think.

It's that Time of Year Again!

I've just enjoyed a great week on Rhys's Pieces, with almost 700 visitors on the best day. So I've been checking past stats and interestingly enough the post with the most views was last year's Halloween blog about why people like to be scared.

Halloween is, of course, a Celtic festival. It was the time when the veil between our world and Otherworld was lifted, when spirits, ghouls, and all manner of horrid things passed into our world for one night. Thus the wearing of scary masks and dressing up as ghosts and monsters was to make the creatures from beyond think that we were one of them and thus not try to grab us and take us back with them.

So I wonder if Halloween is part of our collective psyche, like being attracted to the smell of wood smoke and the fear of the dark (and spiders in my case). Some part of us remembers sitting around a camp fire generations ago, feeling safe and protected while one of the group told a scary story.  My children and grandchildren certainly have enjoyed transforming themselves into frightening things. Sweet little Mary Clare, aged 6, apparently told the other kids in her class that she was really a vampire, making them all terrified of her. The teacher complained to my daughter who made her promise not to do it again. "So promise mommy you won't tell anyone you're a vampire again," my daughter said. Mary Clare gave her a sweet smile. "Okay, mommy," she said. Then she went to school the next day and told them that she wasn't a vampire.... she was really a werewolf!

I have to admit that it's fun dressing up and being someone else for a while, but my costumes usually are of the harmless variety. Last year I was my character Lady Georgiana and John was an aging seducer from the Thirties. And this year I've written a special Halloween story featuring Lady Georgie. It's called Masked Ball at Broxley Manor--an extravaganza involving royalty and at least one gate-crasher. You can find it on Amazon or Barnes and Noble to put you in the Halloween spirit.

Big Week for Bowen

I'm sorry if I've been silent on the blogging front for a week. I had a double deadline to complete by October 1 and I'm delighted to say that I sent off both items this weekend. One was the new Lady Georgie novel, called HEIRS AND GRACES. The other was a Molly Murphy e-story to come out next February ahead of the new Molly book. And that story is called THE FACE IN THE MIRROR. It was rather scary to see it already listed on Amazon when I hadn't even written it. But now it's done and I'm pleased with it.

So I'm already to enjoy my big week ahead. First tomorrow, October 2nd sees the launch of a new Lady Georgie e-story on Amazon, BarnesandNoble.com and everywhere e-books are sold. It's a prequel to her career as Her Royal Spyness and it takes place at a Halloween masked ball at a stately home with all the elements we love about the Georgie books--a repulsive prince, a masked stranger, danger, political intrigue and a very naive young woman. Please be warned that it is not a whole novel. It's a fun story.

Then on Wednesday I set off for Ann Arbor, MI to be part of the 20th anniversary celebration of one of my favorite bookstores AUNT AGATHA'S. I've been welcomed at that store for all 15 years of my writing career and I'm so thrilled they are still flourishing when so many others have gone under. I'll be interviewing the owner on my other blog (www.jungleredwriters.com) on Wednesday. And by the way, I'll be hosting Jungle Reds all this week so do come on over and see what fun things we're discussing--like whether we can kill in real life, and whether we believe in love at first sight.

On Thursday I go on to Cleveland where the world mystery convention, called Bouchercon, is being held. Again I'll be joining my Jungle Red sisters for a fun mystery version of Family Feud, then moderating a panel called ACROSS THE POND with such stellar Brits as Val MacDermid and Stuart Neville.

I'll try to take pix and keep you updated on the inside scoop of mysterydom. All the dirty details! So stay tuned.

Sunday Sneak Peek

I made good progress in the walking department this week. I can now get around using a cane and can go down stairs using the cane and the bannister. So I'm now more hopeful that I'll be back to normal soon. I realized that I have missed shopping for six weeks. May go crazy at Chicos!

Anyway, the new Lady Georgie book is progressing nicely and here's a sneak peek at what I was writing this week. If you don't like any spoilers, please don't read!

Eventually I must have fallen asleep and I awoke to a wild morning with clouds racing across a sky heavy with the promise of rain. The fire was already burning merrily in my grate, having been lit by an unseen, unheard housemaid, but the prospect outside was so unappealing that I lay under the covers until Queenie eventually arrived with my tea.

            “Sorry miss. It’s so bloomin’ dark that I overslept again,” she said. “Shall I run you a bath? And what will you be wearing?”

            “My kilt again with a jumper, I think, and yes, please do run me a bath.”

            The clock in the great central foyer was chiming nine as I made my way down to the breakfast room. My nanny back in Scotland would say that I was heading down the slippery slope getting up at such a late hour. The three sisters were sitting together at one end of the table, but there was no sign of the others.  They nodded to me as I came in, then went back to devouring kidneys. I must say they all had healthy appetites.

            “Beastly day,” Edwina said at last. “Serve Cedric right for bringing down the architect chappy for his wretched amphitheater. I hope they both get soaked to the skin.”

            “I can’t think what the boy was thinking,” Princess Charlotte said. “Hordes of people tramping over the estate. Not a moment of privacy. Didn’t you try to talk him out of it, Edwina?”

            “Of course I did, but he wouldn’t listen. I’m utterly appalled by the whole thing, especially by his callous attitude toward those cottages. People have lived there for generations—our estate people and he simply couldn’t care a fig. I don’t know how I could have raised such a selfish son. His father would give him a good talking to if he were alive.”

            “Maybe we should have summoned his father during the séance last night,” Virginia suggested.

            “I don’t wish to hear any more about that séance,” Edwina said. “News of it has quite upset the servants. In fact—“ she broke off at the sound of an anguished wail. “Now what?” she demanded. Far off we could hear what sounded like a hysterical outburst.

            “You see what I mean, Charlotte?” Edwina said. “You’ve got them all frightened.”

            We sat there, poised as in a tableau until we heard the sound of feet running in our direction. Elsie, the head parlormaid came bursting into the breakfast room. “’Beg pardon, Your Grace, “ she said.

            “What is it, Elsie?” Edwina had risen to her feet. “Who is making that ridiculous noise?”

            “It’s Lady Irene’s maid, Your Grace. She says she can’t wake Lady Irene.”

My Life as a Bush

No, not George W, Laura, Jeb or Jenna. I mean the type that grows in the ground. A shrub. A plant.
I have become a bush--low growing and inanimate.
Let me explain.
For those of you who have been following this, you'll know that I broke my pelvis ten days ago and can only get to doctor's visits and therapy in a wheelchair. And everything I've read about being confined to a wheelchair is true.
1. People don't look at you. I was wheeled past the hot tub with three friends sitting in it and not one of them noticed me.
2.People talk to your caregiver, not you, as if there is something wrong with your mental process, not your legs.
3.And the most recent one--people treat you like an inanimate object. I was parked outside my health club where I had been swimming, waiting for John to drive the car up to the front entrance, when a group of people came out. I was parked beside a shrub in a tub. They stood around me, within a distance I'd normally see as an infringement of personal space, and talked over me, across me, as if I too was growing in a tub.
I find all this fascinating and I'm going to read up on it. I'm also taking notes and have to use a wheelchair bound character in a future book. Think of what she could overhear and observe!

A Gift of Time

So here I am unable to move for a month and already feeling cooped up and impatient. I'm essentially an outdoor girl and even when I'm writing I tend to get up, wander round the garden and come back refreshed. But I've decided to stay entirely positive and see the good in this experience.

How many times have I said that I'd love to have a reading orgy or finally master water color or finish that sweater I started knitting. Or even do the big jigsaw my daughter bought me last year. Well, now I can. It's just a question of finding a chair I can sit comfortably in for more than fifteen minutes. I read an old Agatha Christie yesterday--one of the few that I couldn't remember whodunit. And I didn't remember until the end so that was good.

Now I've decided that I'll work my way through all the old Mary Stewarts. I used to love those books. They took me to exotic places and the female in jeopardy part was so real and fun that I identified with it. I wonder if they have them on Kindle. About to look. I think Wildfire at Midnight or Madam Will You Talk were my favorites. How about you?

And any other comfort books to recommend? I've read the Alexander McCall Smiths. What I really want is some Rhys Bowen books that I haven't read! A new Lady Georgie please.

The Best Laid Plans

So much for my updates from Malice Domestic convention! It wasn't that I was partying so hard that I had no time. I actually missed the entire convention due to an accident on the first evening. I went out to dinner with a group of friends. We were given a big table at the back of the restaurant and I dakidn't realize it was up a step from the rest of the room. At the end of the meal I decided to use the rest room before we walked back to the hotel. I turned from my chair and stepped out into nothing. I went down like a tree onto brown ceramic tile. There was no kind of stripe or indication at the edge of the step which was tile like the rest of the room.

I was taken in a taxi back to the hotel and then it was determined I should go to the emergency room. It was my first experience of being in an ambulance and such cute paramedics too, but I was hurting too much to enjoy the experience. Three friends from dinner--Carolyn Hart, Eve Sandstrom and Jan Giles--came with me and spent the next seven hours with me in the emergency room, chatting to me and keeping up my spirits. I can't say enough how wonderful they were.

Less praise for the emergency room. It didn't seem busy but it took over an hour each time between doctor visits, e-rays, CT scan and all the while I was lying on a very hard gurney. It even took an hour and a half before I got an ice pack and then only because Carolyn made a fuss.

End result was that I have broken a bone in my pelvis. It is in place and the only cure is time. At close to five o'clock in the morning we arrived back at the hotel. The staff there (Hyatt Bethesda) were fantastic. I can't say enough about their kindness and willingness. The bell man who pushed my wheelchair up to my room telephoned the next day to see how I was getting along. The hotel sent up flowers and a lovely note. How rare is such attention these days.

I also can't say enough about the kindness of my roommate, Carolyn Hart, and of Eve and Jan, and so many other mystery writing friends at the convention. They kept up my spirits, came to visit and looked after me so well. As you can imagine I was worried about how I'd get home from Maryland as I couldn't put any weight on my left leg. Then I remembered that we have emergency medical evacuation insurance (taken out in case we got sick somewhere exotic) but it worked equally well in the USA. The next day a nurse arrived for me with limo to the airport and then she accompanied me home, first class, with a limo at the other end.  So given the circumstances it could not have been better managed.

The next morning I learned that I had won the Agatha Award for NAUGHTY IN NICE. I rather think the sympathy vote had something to do with it, but I promise not to go to extreme measures to win any awards in the future!

So now I'm home in my own bed and already thinking impatiently about starting my next book. I have at least a month ahead of me not being able to move, so why not get a head start. I've already got a great idea for Georgie's next adventure!

I'll keep you updated on my progress.

Good News and Hitting the Road.

As most of you must know by now, my 11th Molly Murphy novel came out on March 13th. Eleven must be a charm because yesterday I learned that it had made the New York Times bestseller list. As you can imagine I am over the moon at this news. So often I have come close and now I have finally made it.
Was it the great cover? The atmospheric title? All the work I do in social media these days? Probably a combination of all three. I don't care how I did it. I made it. Yipee! Do a happy dance with me.

And tomorrow I set off on an intensive three days speaking and signing around Southern California with my good friend Cara Black. Cara has a new Aimee Leduc novel out, called Murder at the Lanterne Rouge.  If you haven't read Cara's books yet--they are all set in Paris and are so wonderfully suspenseful as well as taking the reader to the different arondissements of Paris.. This one is set in Paris's Chinatown, which is fun because my last year's Molly book, now a brand new paperback, was set in New York's Chinatown, so we'll have a lot ot talk about.

It's always more fun to do a book tour with a fellow author. For one thing she can navigate for me as I find my way across LA to Thousand Oaks, Tustin, Redondo Beach, downtown LA,, Huntington Beach, Paasadena again, speaking at 6 bookstores. Then back up Highway 5 to speak the next night in San Francisco. It's a whirwind tour with little time to breathe and I would love to see some friendly faces if you live in the area.

I'll blog along the way if I can find time and let you know anything fun/strange/exciting that happens to us. Our strangest so far was speaking together at a nudist colony. I believe all events this weekend are to be clothed, but one never knows!

10 Fun Things to Do for St. Paddy's Day

1. Dye your hair green.

2. Do Riverdance while waiting for the bus or around the supermarket

3. Sing Oh Danny Boy at the metro station, and put a hat in front of you. It will pay for the green beer.

4. Change your name to O'Rosenblum, O'Garcia or O'Demetriov.

5. Read Finnegan's Wake out loud. Try to make sense of it.

6. Visit every Irish pub in town and order a Perrier.

7.Go to every Irish pub in town wearing orange and then claim you're a Giant's supporter when they try to knock you to a pulp.

8: Go up to the most attractive man/woman you meet and say "Kiss me, I'm Irish." See if they believe you.

9: Go to confession for the stupid numbers 1-8

10. And if none of the above appeal to you, then order a copy of the new Molly Murphy book, HUSH NOW, DON'T YOU CRY. It's a better way to spend your time than any of the others and far less dangerous!

Small Blessings

Since it's Thanksgiving week and nobody will have much time to think about anything except turkey and pumpkin pies, I thought I'd concentrate on the small things that make life worth living. Obviously I'm thankful for health and family but this is a good time to reflect on what really makes me happy.

Here are some of the things I've come up with:
A roaring fire on a cold winter night, and a hot chocolate and a cat on my lap... and a good book.
A long hot bath with a citrus scented scrub.
The sound of splashing water on a summer's day.
The sound of children playing in water on a summer's day.
Time to watch the clouds floating by or a good sunset.
An evening walk with time to talk.
Hiking with my friends.
Laughter around the table.

And you know what? None of those things cost a penny (apart from the hot water in the bath) How strange our society has become that we equate happiness with spending (buy Mom a Lexus for Christmas) .
My sisters at Jungle Red Writers are going to be talking about gratitude later this week and suggested starting a gratitude journal. I think that's a fine idea. So I'll start right now. I'm grateful that I'm sitting with my patio door open and warm sun streaming in and that my fingers all work properly to type, and that I have so many online friends who communicate with me and enjoy my posts.

Life is good, friends. Make the most of it. Make every moment special. We are the only species on earth who doesn't live in the moment, but worries about the future and broods over the past.

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving, won't you, and if you have time, then share your list of small blessings.

Busy, Busy....

Did you ever have one of those days when you have so much to do that you don't know where to start?
I have one today, and instead of doing any of those pressing things, I'm writing my blog.

Later today I have friends arriving from England. That means making their bed, cleaning their room and making it look welcoming. Also cleaning my kitchen, making sure my husband hasn't left his papers all over the rest of the house, buying enough food and cooking a meal that can be served cold if their flight gets in late.

At the same time I need to prepare for my book tour which starts on Saturday (if you'd like to attend one of my signings please check my website, http://www.rhysbowen.com/, and if you'd like a signed book, but can't make it to one of the signings, you can call one of those stores in advance and I'll be happy to personalize a book for you.  Everywhere I'm going will be HOT so how does one look cool, calm and collected when the temperature in all the places will be over 100? Not easy. And I'm supposed to post about the upcoming tour on all the right sites.  (On a side note, those of you who followed last year's tour will be intersted to know that I've been put in the same hotel in Houston that had the portrait of an Afghan tribesman in my shower, making me feel I should shower in a burka. I wonder if I'll get the same room... or rather The Splendida Suite as it was called? Stay tuned)

And it's my week to be host at http://www.jungleredwriters.com/ so I've had to make sure my posts will be up and running for the days when I'll be on the road.

And the day I return I'm hosting a launch party at Book Passage in Corte Madera, my local store. Which means planning French food and champagne to be ready. Help. Going a little bit crazy.
Now I know those of you who are working mothers will be sniffing at this and saying, "That's nothing. Stop whining." and you're right. When I had four kids who had to get to morning swim practice by siz a.m. I had four lunches to make at five a.m. Then a day of writing and then in the car from three to six as they did swimming, gymnastics, plays, dance, soccer... you name it. In those days I really was running from dawn to dusk. But I'm out of the habit so this feels like a lot to me.

Those of you who have bought and read Naughty in Nice--thank you. Please make sure you enter my contest...details on the previous post and on my website. And if you liked the book I'd really appreciate your posting a review on Amazon.com. There is one truly terrible review up at the moment and it shows up first!

Okay, back to work.

French Feast Memories

Returning to French food today and to some memorable meals I've had in France. When I was sixteen I went to stay with a French family. Usually the meals were simple in the extreme: a green bean salad with olive oil and bread for lunch. A thin slice of steak cooked in butter.
 However while I was there they had family from Corsica visiting and Maman cooked a special lunch. To describe this as lunch is an understatement, except that it started at one o'clock. The first course was a whole lobster each, accompanied by champagne. Then followe a pate, duck in a very rich sauce, a salad, a gateau sinfully dripping with cream and liqueur and then a cheese board. Every course was accompanied by a different wine. The meal went on until five o'clock. I had grown up on simple school food and maybe a sip of wine at Christmas and this was all way too much for me. That evening I was extremely sick.
But it did show me that when the French go to town on food, they REALLY go to town.

Was Chanel a spy?

This snippet of news that was sent to me yesterday could hardly be more timely for the launch of Naughty in Nice:

A new book suggests that Coco Chanel was used as a German spy during WWII (code name Westminster , after the Duke of Westminster, who was her pre-war lover)
Several friends sent me the link and asked if I knew about this.
Absolutely, and what's more I'm dying to write about it.  It's too bad my series is only up to 1934 and I can't really skip ahead to the war yet.
But what I already knew was that Coco became the mistress of a German officer during the war. He had her write to her old business partner, Vera Bate Lombardi, who was living in Italy, having married Lombardi and wanting to be with him. The letter said that Chanel was reviving her fashion house and wanted Vera to come and help her. In fact the letter was to lure Vera to Paris any way she could. Once there she would be threatened and intimidated by the Gestapo until she agreed to be sent to England to work on Winston Churchill, who was a friend. There was even some hint that they wanted her to assassinate him.

Now you can see why I'm dying to use the story some time.  Chanel was the ultimate survivor. She came from nothing, an orphanage after being abandoned by her parents, and used one rich man after another to achieve what she wanted. The fact that she was prepared to use her dearest friend in this way showed how little regard she had for people.

A more cheerful subject tomorrow, I hope.
It's Dayd 12 of my month of French Fun and Facts, leading up to the release of Naughty in Nice on September 6th.

Pastry to Die For

Day 8 in my month of French Fun, leading up to the grand release of Naughty in Nice on Sept 6,
and I thought it was time for some favorite recipes.

I absolutely love French pastries. Lock me in a boulangerie or patiserie and I would die happy. But I also love French savory pastries--quiches and onion tarts and the like.

What's more, good savory patry (called Pate brisee) is really easy to make.
For one tart shell take
1 and a quarter cups all purpose flour
pinch of salt
7 tablespoons cold butter
3 tablespoons iced water

1.combine flour and salt in food processor. Cut the cold butter into slices, add to flour and process until mixture turns pale yellow, like cornmeal
2. Gradually add water through feed tube while processing with short pulses. Dought should hold together when pressed between fingers.
3. Wrap dough in plastic film and refridgerate at least half an hour.

4. Spread flour on wooden board, rub rolling pin with flour, then roll out from center until you have a thin sheet big enough to fit over pie plate.

The secret is making sure butter is cold, water is iced and YOU DON"T OVERPROCESS.

This can be baked blind, using dried beans as filler for quiches or filled for turnovers.

Tomorrow I'll give you my favorite quiche recipe.

Bon appetit!

Rhys