Running Out of Ideas!

 

Good Morning to You!

Hope this Blog entry finds you well and happy this fine February morning?!

I was fishing around this week for new ideas for blogging. I mean, I have written so many now over the years I'm beginning to get a little thin on ideas. So I thought, perhaps it's time to ask the internet?

What are good topics to Blog about as a writer?

Some okay ideas popped up. Things like writing a poem for your readers, which I've done on occasion. 

Or share the worst day of your life, which didn't seem at all like fun. And write a to-do list which seemed even more boring! I know nothing about how to plan an event like a book signing, though I probably should. Yikes, don't tell my publisher about that one, please.

I know I get sick of having to self-promote and I imagine readers find it a bit boring as well, so what does that leave. Yes, I do promote other authors, of course. So in the end I decided to ask the readers. What topics interest you?

In the meantime, I'm going to use one of my mystery stories, a few chapters at a time, as a way to share with all of you. A novella I wrote two years ago on spec that has never been published before but has been edited. I will say it had a tongue-in-cheek tone that I quite enjoyed when I wrote the story. So without further ado, here we go!

PS. Wishing you a lovely February!

January Bain, Storyteller

                                                       A Scholarly Murder

Tales From The Script

Chapter One

Wellington Crescent, Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada 1953

I shared a conspiratorial wink with my favorite Mona Lisa painting hanging over the mantelpiece, a knife gripped in my left hand.

“Cake, darling?”

Silence greeted my inquiry. The dinning room table was littered with Pierce’s hobby, black-and-white crime scene photos that I dare say Ansel Adams would not approve of. A ghoulish interest of my own as well, though I preferred the evidence kept in the den and out of sight at mealtimes, even if these particular murders were decades old and had occurred in another country.

“That’s exactly the type of inattention that helped Marie Antoinette lose her head,” I said.

Pierce glanced at me with eyes that lived up to his name though at the moment a twinge of merriment softened those pearly-grays. “If King Louis had had the sense to have a mistress, like most of his ilk in the day, she’d have likely caught the blade before the much-abused royal did. Might even have saved her life.”

“Are you saying having a mistress can save lives?” I held the knife poised midair, about to cut into the decadent chocolate fudge cake made from an old family recipe…with the generous addition of a delightful new ingredient.

“No, just stating the obvious. Of course, it was more the fault of the guard in the dungeons of the Conciergerie prison not having any qualms about accepting a bribe and then not doing what he was paid for. No honor in that.” He shook his head at the offer of cake. “I prefer vanilla. Why has Dorothy made chocolate?”

“True, I don’t think any prisoner has gone to their death more politely. I recall that she apologized for stepping on her executioner’s foot. I’d have made a fuss or given a rousing speech, I think.” I raised the knife higher in a grand gesture to illustrate my point.

“Perhaps,” he said, with a hint of Mona’s smile gracing his lips. “You do have a flair for the dramatic, Claire.”

“Remember the Anderson case and the wrangling over the insurance money? Dramatic doesn’t cover it.” I set the knife aside and picked up my coffee cup, eying my husband of three years over the brim, enjoying the stimulating fragrance that rose from the cup almost as much as the conversation. “Handy that you proved the doctor’s collusion. That was one monster the world can well do without.”

“If Doctor Seward hadn’t wanted to be caught, he shouldn’t have made so many house calls that ended in sudden death. He got so sure of himself he became sloppy.” It was Pierce’s turn to purse his lips, waving at the series of crime photographs. “I still come to the same conclusions every time, though I lean a little heavier toward Aaron Kosminski, the demon barber, what with his psychological profile fitting the escalating crimes and his later confinement in the asylum. But there are a handful of suspects that cannot be ruled out either and likely never will be. Too much time has passed.”

“Why are we revisiting a crime from eighteen eighty-eight again? Not like we don’t have enough cold cases to examine right here in Canada. How about the disappearance of Marion McDowell? A classic Lovers Lane mystery, not to mention there’s all that lovely fraud involved with the feeding of false leads by a reporter.”

I nodded at him over another sip of my coffee, glancing at the cake. It was my own undertaking, rare in a household run by the iron fist of Dorothy, or Dot as she like to be called, ever reminding anyone within earshot she was ‘always on the dot’ with her punctuality. A woman I had inherited when I’d married Pierce. Indispensable, on most occasions. Compromise is called for if a female wants to have a professional career, and my cross to bear was letting her run the show. Most of the time.

“The Sherlock Holmes Society is meeting tonight and insists on revisiting the case once a year. I thought I’d spare you the time involved by refreshing the facts for the two of us.”

“Thank you, darling. I’m beginning to find that old case beyond nauseating. And could we pack up the photos? Before Dorothy comes in to clear the table? You know how she gets.”

“Yes, and remind her I prefer vanilla.”

I frowned, squinting at the damning photos. “Remind her yourself.”

Silence.

He blinked first.

“You know, I think I might like to try a piece of that cake after all. It seems I’ve developed a hankering for chocolate.”

“Wise choice, darling.”