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Showing posts with label Shotgun Wedding Bells. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Shotgun Wedding Bells. Show all posts
Saturday, February 14, 2015
Happy Valentine's Day! (I'm Feeling the Love!)
Monday, February 9, 2015
Crafts to Do When the Weather Outside Is Frightful
By Joanna Campbell
Slan
Snow, snow, snow. The weather report sounds like a broken
record. As I write this, the Boston area is bracing for yet another blizzard-like blast,
adding more flakes to the growing mountains of white fluff.
Even though I now live in Florida, I remember those winter days "up yonder" when we could get out
the front door because the snow was piled up high. I can still hear the sound of a snow shovel scraping the concrete of our walk. My nose prickles to the smell of the diesel fumes that wafted
over the neighborhood as husbands vroom-vroomed from behind their snow blowers.
And I'll never forget how my son would send up a cheer at the words, "Snow day!" Meanwhile, I would groan,
wondering, "How am I going to keep him busy?"
So I used these memories in my newest book—Shotgun,
Wedding, Bells—to create a scene where Kiki Lowenstein's children are going stir-crazy, thanks to days of inclement weather.
Because Kiki has a criminal to track down, her good friend Laurel helps
out by babysitting Anya Lowenstein (age 13) and Erik Detweiler (age 5). Laurel
is a kid at heart, so she comes up with these terrific ideas for indoor fun:
1. Snow candy – You need good, clean snow
for this. So the badder the weather, the gooder the treat! Scoop up enough to
fill a cake pan. Stir together ¼ C. butter to 1 C. maple syrup in a sturdy pot.
Bring to a boil, watching constantly. (This is a job for grown-ups, of course!)
After it bubbles for six minutes, pour it over the snow. The candy will harden.
Once it is cool, break it into pieces and enjoy. Alternately, you can use ½ C.
honey and ¼ C. brown sugar for your mix.
2. Newspaper sailboats – Grab some
newspapers out of your recycling bin. Or grab some paper out of your printer. I
could explain it, but instead, go here http://www.wikihow.com/Make-a-Paper-Boat
and follow the directions! Now fill a bath tub with warm water and sail your
boat.
3. Fashion show – Throw open your closet
doors and invite the kids to play dress up. Be sure to take lots and lots of
photos.
4. Catalog memory album -- If you're like Kiki, you get a zillion mail order catalogs every week. Since the US Postal Service will keep delivering, no matter what the weather deals us, here's a jiffy way to have fun with those catalogs. (You can also use a magazine in a pinch.) Start with one that isn't too thick, preferably one with a staple holding in the pages. Glue pages together in sets of two or three to make stronger, less flexible pages. Now cover the pages with scrapbook paper--and use those pages as the base for your layouts! This is perfect for kids because there's a lot of activity, but it doesn't need to be precise. They can use a glue stick to add photos, words, or even images they like.
5. Pistachio nut boats (miniatures) -- Going nuts? Why not put those shells to good use? You'll need shells, paper, toothpicks, glue, scissors, markers, acrylic paint and a brush, and buttons. Begin by painting the outside of your boat. (Tip: Tape a piece of masking tape sticky side up to your work surface to hold the shells down.) Now snap your toothpicks in half and paint them. While those pieces are drying, work on your sails. Snip off a corner of your piece of paper so that you have a triangle about 3/4 inch on the longest side--this will be your sail. (Play with these! They should vary according to the size of your empty shell.) Use your markers to add stripes to the sail. Glue the long edge of your sail to your toothpick. Glue the toothpick to the hull of your boat (the painted shell), and finally glue the sailboat to a button or a small piece of balsa wood.
6. Curl up and read as a family -- Your children will be more likely to read if they see you doing it! Need a good book? Send an email to my assistant Sally Lippert at SALFL27@att.net and she'll "gift" you a copy of Ink, Red, Dead for your e-reader.
7. Plan for better weather--or more of the same! I suggest you pre-order a copy of Shotgun,
Wedding, Bells, so you have something fun to look forward to. When
the book is released on Valentine's Day, you'll get a special treat—along with
this e-book comes a second e-book, your free copy of Tear Down and Die (the
first book in my new Cara Mia Delgatto Mystery Series with 48 five-star reviews
on Amazon).
Meanwhile,
stay safe and stay warm!
Your friend,
Joanna
PS Just in case the link to Shotgun, Wedding, Bells doesn't work, try this:
Thursday, January 29, 2015
An Excerpt from Shotgun, Wedding, Bells
(Book
#11 in the Kiki Lowenstein Mystery Series)
By
Joanna
Campbell Slan
Chapter 1
Our wedding day dawned like a scene from a fairy
tale. Frozen rain coated the freshly fallen snow. The glassy surface glistened
like a million tiny diamonds. Icicles hanging from the eaves of our house
formed natural prisms, casting rainbows across the blanket of white. Sunlight
transformed the long dead banks of mums into mounds, like glittering pillows
under a white duvet. The scene before us was beautiful, but treacherously
slick. This overnight winter storm had paralyzed travel throughout the St.
Louis area. All the salt and sand we’d tossed down on the walkways hadn’t done
much good.
Our friend Detective Stan Hadcho guided me along the
flagstones, by means of a good grip on my elbow. He escorted me from the back
door of our house to the gazebo. As we walked, Leighton Haversham, our former
landlord and dear friend, snapped photos so I could make a memory album. That’s
what I do. I'm a scrapbooker and owner of a store called Time in a Bottle.
At the stairs to the gazebo, I stared up into the
smiling faces of the people so dear to me: my newly adopted son, Erik; my
daughter, Anya; Erik’s aunt, Lorraine Lauber; our nanny, Bronwyn Macavity; my
fiancé, Detective Chandler Louis Detweiler; and of course, our animal friends,
my dog Gracie and Lorraine’s dog Paolo. They’d all stood there patiently in the
cold, waiting for me to arrive. Detweiler reached down to take my gloved hand so
I could step up and join him. His eyes were warm with emotion, and his gaze was
steady. Moist clouds of exhalations floated around all our faces, forming
gossamer veils of moisture. As we turned to face Lorraine, who would be
conducting the ceremony, Detweiler wrapped an arm around my waist.
Correction: A small portion of my waist.
At eight-and-a-half months pregnant, I’m the size of
the Goodyear Blimp. Or at least that’s how it feels.
But Detweiler loves me. I’m carrying our baby, and
our other two children are happy and healthy. Even though the overnight storm
was keeping much of our extended family from joining us today, our wedding
would be a joyous event.
Detweiler’s shoulder brushing up against mine, so
strong and solid, augured a good start to the rest of our lives. We stood
side-by-side, exactly the way we intended to go through life, as friends and
lovers.
"Not too bad for a wedding thrown
together in forty-eight hours," he whispered in my ear as Lorraine (aka
“Aunt Lori”) opened her prayer book. There was a chuckle in his voice.
I tried not to giggle. Although I have been dreaming
about marrying Detweiler ever since I met him nearly three years ago, this day
was a long time coming. Even though I kept telling myself that a ceremony was
only a formality, deep down I really wanted to wear a wedding band again—as long
as it was his! The legalities of our relationship might not matter much to
Detweiler and me, but they could matter terribly to our two kids and to the
baby who was kicking imaginary field goals inside me. I’d learned the hard way
that the legal system can be your best friend and your worst enemy.
Initially I'd planned for us to get
married in the gap between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Detweiler and I had even
talked about flying our whole family to Las Vegas and visiting the wedding
chapel inside a Denny’s. The kids would have loved that combination, wedding
bells and pancakes. But my friend Clancy Whitehead reminded me, "You're
eight months along. They don't allow women that pregnant on a plane."
Oops.
Who
knew?
So I'd tabled that project, and made a
notation on my calendar to revisit our wedding plans after December 25th.
I would have hurried through the holiday season and put the idea out of my
head, except for something unsettling that happened to my son.
My sisters, Amanda and Catherine, had
asked if they could spend a Saturday baking cookies with my kids. Of course, I
said yes. Anya and Erik were delighted. From the big smiles on their faces,
they’d had a wonderful time.
“Look, Mama Kiki,” said Erik, as he offered up a
small shopping bag. Inside were two shoeboxes and two Pringles cans filled with
yummy treats.
“I’ve got one too.” Anya grinned at me. “We’ll have
plenty to share with Aunt Lori and Leighton.”
After thanking my sisters profusely, I hustled my children out to the
car.
My mouth began to water as we were
pulling away from the curb of the rental house my sisters share with my mother.
The car’s interior smelled wonderfully of butter, sugar, and vanilla. Now and
then, I caught a whiff of cinnamon.
Sometimes playing chauffeur is a drag, but there’s
an undeniable magic that happens when you’re looking out the front window and
your children are in the back seat. Remember Arthur Godfrey? How he said that
kids say the darnedest things? Something about car rides encourages that.
Especially longish car rides.
We were merging onto the heavy traffic on Highway 40
when Erik explained to me that because Detweiler and I weren't married, our new
baby would be a "littermate."
"A littermate?" I adjusted my
rearview mirror so I could look at him. My son’s solemn face stared back at me.
His chocolate brown eyes, his mocha-colored skin, and his red hair testified to
his biracial heritage. He might not be the child of my womb, but he's certainly
the child of my heart. From the moment I set eyes on him, I fell in love with
that little boy.
"A littermate? I don't understand
what you mean, sweetie.”
Anya rolled her eyes and explained,
"He means i-l-l-e-g-i-t-i-m-a-t-e."
It took me a while to put those
letters into a word. When I did, I nearly drove off the road. "Uh, Erik,
honey? Who was talking to you about the baby being a ...littermate?"
"Grandma Collins," he said.
My mother. That paragon of parenthood.
I gritted my teeth. “That figures.”
Although she didn’t know it, my Mom had just moved one step closer to an
apartment in assisted living. Mom didn’t know it, but the rental house was
going up for sale. My sisters and I had several meetings, trying to decide how
to cope with our aging parent. In the end, we decided to wait until after the
holidays were over.
Calling my child "illegitimate"
marked a new low, even for her.
I told myself to shrug it off. To
consider the source. But Anya turned her denim blue eyes on me and said,
"She's right, Mom."
"Don't worry," I said.
"Detweiler and I still have plenty of time to tie the knot."
Two hours later, the contractions
started.
<< To Be Continued >>
Pre-order Your Copy Today!
Friday, December 19, 2014
Excerpt from Shotgun, Wedding, Bells (Kiki Lowenstein #11)
Excerpt from
SHOTGUN, WEDDING, BELLS
(Book #11 in the Kiki Lowenstein
Mystery Series)
By Joanna Campbell Slan
Chapter
1
Detective
Chandler Louis Detweiler took my hand and helped me up the last step of the
gazebo. Standing side-by-side, we faced the minister, our friend Lorraine. I
loved feeling of his shoulder against mine, strong and solid, a reminder of the
way we intended to live our lives.
"Not
too bad for a wedding thrown together in forty-eight hours," he whispered
in my ear.
He was
right. I hadn't had much time to plan our wedding, although I had been planning
to marry Chad Detweiler ever since I met him nearly three years ago. I kept
telling myself that the ceremony was only a formality, but deep down, I wanted
to wear a wedding band again. And even if the marriage didn't matter to us—to
Detweiler and me—it mattered terribly to our two kids, and to the baby who
would make his appearance less than a month from now.
In
fact, one could argue that we'd hurried to the chapel because of the bump in my
belly. Initially I'd planned to start working on a ceremony immediately after
Christmas, because business would slow down in my retail store. Detweiler and I
had even talked about flying our whole family to Las Vegas, until my friend
Clancy Whitehead shook her head and said, "Uh, you're eight months along.
They don't allow people that pregnant on a plane."
Oops.
Who knew?
So
I'd tabled the whole project, noted it in my calendar for revisiting after
December 25, and I would have put the idea out of my head, except for something
Erik said.
Have
you ever noticed that when riding in the back seat of the car, kids come up
with the darnedest things? After I picked five-year-old Erik and his sister,
thirteen-year-old Anya, up from the house that my sisters share with my mother,
he explained to me that because Detweiler and I weren't married, our son would
be a "littermate."
"A
littermate?" I glanced back in the rearview mirror. Erik's solemn face
stared at me. His chocolate brown eyes, his mocha-colored skin, and his red
hair a testimony to his biracial beginnings. He might not be the child of my
womb, but he's certainly the child of my heart. I adore that little boy.
"I
don't understand what you mean, sweetie," I said to him.
Anya
turned from her seat on the passenger side, she rolled her eyes and explained,
"He means i-l-l-e-g-i-t-i-m-a-t-e."
It
took me a while to put those letters into a world. When I did, I almost drove
off the road. "Uh, Erik, honey? Who was talking to you about the baby
being a ...littermate?"
"Grandma
Collins," he said.
"That
figures."
My
mother. That paragon of parenthood.
I
gritted my teeth. That did it. My Mom moved one step closer to an apartment in
assisted living. In fact, the only problem with putting her there immediately
was financial. Because she'd only recently transferred her assets to my sister,
Amanda, any facility that accepted her could access her savings. My sister had
been begging my mother for years to transfer her money into Amanda's name. My
mother would respond by getting angry and saying, "I'm perfectly capable
of handling my own finances. How do I know you won't steal me blind?"
Over
the past year, Mom's physical and mental health had declined dramatically. The
three of us siblings—Catharine, Amanda and I—talked at least once a week about
what to do next. Not only was Mom meaner than a water moccasin with a sunburned
belly, she'd also fallen twice. My sister Catherine ran out for a carton of
milk and came back to a fire in the kitchen. Mom had turned on the oven and
forgotten about it.
A
peculiar smell emanated from my mother's room. Amanda took her out for lunch,
while Catherine and I investigated. We found a small pumpkin shoved in the back
of her closet. Since Halloween was nearly three months ago, the pumpkin had not
fared well.
In
the area of personal hygiene, Mom was also slipping, fast.
But
this calling my child "illegitmate" marked a new low, even for her.
I
told myself to shrug it off. To consider the source. But Anya turned her denim
blue eyes on me and said, "She's right, Mom."
"Don't
worry," I said. "Detweiler and I still have plenty of time to tie the
knot."
Two
hours later, the contractions started.
~To Be Continued~
Shotgun,
Wedding, Bells will be available for pre-order early
January 2015.
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