A Blog for Readers and Writers of Mystery, Crime, and Suspense Fiction
I wanted to write about friendship because it’s the word that I most associate with Miss Demeanors. These women are not only marvelous writers, but they are also marvelous human beings. I’ve lost count of the number of times someone has shared a kind thought or helpful piece of advice. I really can’t imagine the past two years without them.
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Cathi Stoler–a three time finalist & winner of the 2015 Derringer for Best Short Story, Cathi serves on the board of NYC Chapter of Sisters in Crime NY, and is a member Mystery Writers of America & International Thriller Writers–is a busy woman. Her second Nick Donahue adventure, Out of Time, releases soon and is my excuse to catch up with her to ask a few questions.
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I didn’t think I’d be writing these words. Yet, here I am—with a tear in my eye—saying goodbye. This has been a really hard decision to make. This past June, I was elected president of the New York Chapter of Sisters in Crime. As much as I wanted to believe that I could serve as the new president and give this blog my 100%, I finally had to admit that there are only so many hours in the day, and I need to spend some of them sleeping. (Seriously, I can be an incredible grouch.)
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Michele My recent trip to Ireland taught me that what happened to my great-grandparents is far more relevant than I realized. It almost seems to me if there is a cumulative DNA factor that continues from generation to generation. (I’ve since learned from Alexia about “epigenetics.” It’s a good thing there’s a doctor in the Miss Demeanors’ house.)
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I arrived early at the Cobh Heritage Center, eager to meet Christy Keating, the resident genealogist, but oddly nervous. It was a sunny Sunday morning and I knew this was my last chance to connect to my grandmother’s ancestors. Nanna had been my rock as a child, the person who I now realize is largely responsible for who I am today.
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I left Cloonbulban, Ireland filled with emotions that surprised me. I hadn’t expected to feel the strong connection to my paternal grandmother that materialized when I stood on the soil she had once toiled.
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We began traversing Ireland’s Wild Atlantic Way, the Celtic version of the wild, wild west, in Kinsale after being brushed by Lorenzo, a rare hurricane that felt more like a familiar Nor’easter to two Massachusetts coastal residents. The Wild Atlantic Way felt magnificently large and bold, while also vaguely familiar. Wild waves splashed on enormous rock formations against a canvas of rugged mountains and placid pastures dotted with sheep and cows. With no agenda, my husband drove us into a maze of quiet contentment. We stayed in Dingle and Doolin, sailed to the Aran Islands, drank Guinness and ate fish ‘n chips. We discovered sticky pudding and vowed to test it wherever it appeared on a menu.
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Anyone who follows me on social media could not possibly have escaped that I recently spent two weeks in Ireland. At the risk of making you all dive under the covers screaming, “Enough,” I plan to spend this week blogging about the stories stirring within us and their sources.
Writers are frequently asked where they get their stories. Author Hallie Ephron is particularly adept at pointing to the source of her latest book (Careful What You Wish For), which has to do with a couple on different sides of the Marie Kondo wave. Another came from a house where she went to a yard sale.
