Maggie Pill Mysteries

(Thanks to reader Margaret who sent this darling pic of her cat Murphy with Sleuth Sisters Book #2)   I recently read a post where a woman said she re-reads books at bedtime because knowing what happened makes it unlikely she'll be kept awake by the story. A woman who bought my book at an author signing told me she reads the last chapter first, so she knows if the rest of the book is worth reading. In times of stress, my sister re-read favorite books as a way of comforting herself. They were usually romances, because one of the requirements is a "happily ever after" ending. Reading fiction serves many purposes in our lives. There's enlightenment, vicarious adventure, understanding of other times, places, and peoples, and, like the examples above, comfort, intellectual stimulation, and sleepiness.  Often I see lists of "MUST READ" books, and the implications of the NYT , Oprah, and other best-seller lists is "Here are the books you should be reading.&quo

If this were a typical day, I might have called my sister and talked about nothing for a half hour. She knew I love my husband, so I could gripe for a while about his foibles and she wouldn't judge. She was patient with my stories, which tend to weave a bunch of asides in as I struggle toward the main point. She shared my negative optimism about life: It isn't perfect, but it's what we've got. Instead of calling, I might have driven the 30 miles to her house so we could go out to lunch. Or we might have sat on her porch, sipped tea, and relived our childhood. Those things were typical, but they're impossible now, since my sister died suddenly at sixty-three. There are positives here. She often said she didn't want to linger into old age, and we agreed that a quick death is better than a slow decline. (Hence the deer suit in the Sleuth Sisters stories.) We'd been out together the day she died, and her last words to me were how much fun it was, doing n

The title reference is to a Shel Silverstein poem, but it applies to books sometimes, too. An author I read and enjoy, Tim Hallinan, explained in a recent book that he'd killed off a bunch of characters because there were just too many for readers (and Tim) to keep track of. Well, that's nice for him, but he doesn't write cozies. You can't just kill off people readers know well in a cozy. It isn't done. Consider the Sleuth Sisters. There are the sisters, of course: Barb, Faye, and Retta. Each has a love interest: Barb has police chief Rory Neuencamp, Faye has husband Dale, and Retta has recently been seen with FBI agent Lars Johannsen. Two sisters have pets: Faye has Buddy and Retta has Styx, and they really are characters. Then there's Faye's irascible mother-in-law, Harriet. There's Gabe, the lovable lunk who thinks he's a detective, and his girlfriend Mindy. And in the last book readers met two of Faye's sons, Cramer and Bill (who's

When I go places to promote my books, I usually begin with an introduction to the Sleuth Sisters , explaining that Barb and Faye start a detective agency but don't want Retta involved because she's so very bossy. Audiences get a kick out of Barb's penchant for secretly correcting grammatical errors around her home town. S ome who've read the books tell me what a sweetie Faye is, and a few have confessed that though they didn't like Retta at first, she's become tolerable because her strengths contribute to the agency's success. What's most rewarding about talking to audiences about the books is that women tend to compare their own sibling relationships to my characters' situation. "I have a sister who--" or "There are four of us and--" and interestingly enough, "I'm the bossy one in my family. I'm Retta." They see their own families in the Sleuth Sisters, and they try to decide which sister they're mos