Is This Really a Road Not Taken? by Rolynn Anderson

Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

Ever wonder if you are leading or following?  As much as I want to take up my machete and hack a path through a jungle of overgrowth, I have to wonder if some trailblazer got there before me and I’m merely retracing an old route.  Emerson speaks of risk and originality; I worry I’m a retread.

A banal example: My husband and I have ripped out the carpet in our entire house, replaced by gorgeous (and expensive!) wood floors.  My husband is skeptical of this move, not just because of the expense.  He likes the feel of carpet under his feet, even if those feet leave trails on carpet that appear only weeks after the new stuff is installed.  I hate that about carpet, along with the general difficulty of keeping carpet clean.  How do you keep little critters out of the pile?  Is it even possible?

The house looks gorgeous, like something out of an interior design magazine.  But it looked pretty before, too.  Now, think.  You ever watch those house renovation or house hunter shows on TV?  Note how the house built in 1930 is fully carpeted, but the sales person gleefully lifts the carpet from a tack strip and says to the potential buyer, “It’s got wood floors!  Aren’t you lucky?”

An entire population took the wood ‘trail’ in 1930.  Millions decided to tread the all-carpet path in 1960.  Here in 2015, wood rules.  And don’t get me started on tile, granite and/or Caesar stone for kitchen counters.

As much as I want to be a trailblazer as writer, spouse, friend, gardener, golfer and interior designer, I have a sneaking feeling that I’m the follower...not the leader Emerson had in mind.

All that being said, not many writers have set a double murder mystery in Petersburg, Alaska.  I hope.  Take a look at my last novel, LIE CATCHERS:

Here are the Amazon and Wild Rose Press buy sites:

http://amzn.com/B00HJDS1LG

http://www.wildrosepublishing.com/maincatalog_v151/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=235_236&products_id=5607

WHAT DO YOU GET WHEN A TLINGIT MARRIES A NORWEGIAN? by ROLYNN ANDERSON

Pilgrims and American Natives…the subject for November’s blogs.  I want to talk about what happened to Norwegian immigrants to the U.S. when they settled on Mitkof Island, Alaska, where Tlingit natives ruled.

Young men from Norway, mostly crofters, as close to servants as we can imagine, yearned for land of their own or, at the very least, a way to make money so they could buy fishing boats.  While some of their brothers trudged on to the gold fields of Alaska, a good many settled in Petersburg, Alaska, on the northern end of Mitkof Island at the tip of Wrangell Narrows.  Their advantage?  The LeConte Glacier offered free ice for their fish, enough ice to preserve their catch for boat trips south.  In fact, this group of fishermen, homesick for Norway, established a Little Norway in Petersburg.  Some of the men married Tlingit women; today, their progeny are called ‘Tlingwegians.’

I cherish my Scandinavian heritage and revel in the fact I have a town full of Skjellums (my maiden name) in Vaaga, Norway.  So when I cruised to Petersburg, Alaska, to find a town full of Norwegians, I experienced a mini-homecoming…and decided to set a novel in this sweet fishing town.

Get ready for LIE CATCHERS, published by Wild Rose Press in early 2014.  It’s a double murder mystery with a dose of paranormal in the plot.  You won’t believe the trouble a ‘Tlingwegian’ can get into!

While you’re waiting, check out my other books on http://www.rolynnanderson.com  

THIS SUSPENSE WRITER LACKS PATIENCE by Rolynn Anderson

“Good comes to those who wait.”  Really?

I’m a failure at waiting.  Matter of fact, I’ve become more impatient with age.  Does that make me bad, or at the very least, am I missing a few benefits in life?

Example #1: I failed at carpooling.  I couldn’t wait for other riders without stressing and ruining the beginning of my day.

Example #2: I need to hear back on important e-mail quickly or my imagination runs amok in a negative direction.

Example #3:  When a boat problem arises (like recently, when 150 gallons of our drinking water got contaminated by salt water), I can't sleep until we solve the mystery.

I need action…and fast!  That’s probably why I became a suspense writer.  I control the plot, delivering events at a pace that usually defies reality. My reader and I like it that way.  If too much time passes with yinning, yanging and angsting, I go nuts.  Let me design the next harrowing activity, now!

Could it be that authors of contemporary are more patient than those of us who write suspense?  

I introduce you to Jan Solvang, immersed in the complex plot of SWOON, of the Funeral Planner Series.  She is definitely not patient.

“Don't miss SWOON by Rolynn Anderson! If you like an interesting cast of characters, a heavy dose of mystery and a lot of fabulous surprises, you'll be happily turning pages late into the night.ˮ

~ Brenda Novak, NYT and USA Bestselling Author of WHEN LIGHTNING STRIKES

Her dead clients won’t rest in peace.

When the dead tell tales, Jan Solvang’s first reaction is to RUN!  But then she gets caught up in their mysteries.

Jan’s a boutique funeral planner, new to risk, hired to bury a missing woman and memorialize an infamous man.  Yet when she digs for clues to write their eulogies, she disturbs family secrets and unmasks killers.

Roman Keller, hard-driving documentary writer, is in complete control of his life and his stories, until he falls for Jan, a woman who trusts her dog, her faint-dreams, and her instincts more than she trusts him.

Can they make the sacrifices necessary to cement their relationship or will the mayhem caused by the dead ruin their second chance at love?  

The Most Scariest Prologue from Resort to Murder

By Glenys O'Connell @GlenysOConnell

I write romantic suspense and mysteries and sometimes I read what I've written, and wonder just what's going on in my head.

I mean, writing about murders, no matter how light the touch...well, as Linda The Librarian said after reading one of my books: "You know, I'm worried about how you do your research. It's so real. Perhaps we need to do regular head counts on all your family members, just to be sure you're not testing this stuff hands on..."

Oh, yes, that's so funny. Really.

The lawyers told me to deny, deny, deny...

Ooops, did I say that out loud?  No, No - I don't try out my scary scenes on anyone. Honest.
 
But I do wonder about the state of my mind, that I find these scenes generally easy to imagine. And then I scare myself by reading them. Go figure.


Resort to Murder is set in the City of Leeds and on the beautiful Yorkshire coastline in the UK, a traditional spot for holidaymakers since  Victorian times and earlier. I've always thought that resorts and fairgrounds, where people come to have fun, are the perfect spot for a little murder. You only have to look at the effect a holiday in Rome had on these friends (or is that ex-friends?) 
 
 And then there's the ones that throw off all their inhibitions while on vacation...
 

So, I hope you'll read  the excerpt from Resort to Murder. It's a bit of a shocker,with a twist in its tail.....

Then tell me what you think. I mean, am I a bit, er, to use a term we professionals use, nutzoid, too? Surely not!
 
Read on - I have to warn you that this scene made me stay away from fun fairs for a long, long time......

The warm summer evening was thickening into night, and at the newly opened FunLand Pleasure Center crowds of visitors were making their way to the main gates and home. The carnival atmosphere of the new resort had left them tired but exhilarated.

 During the day the resort had been brimming with families and excited young children, but at night there was a different crowd, teenagers with a sprinkling of older folk. Many were coming from the country'n'western concert at the main hall and wore bright costumes, the English interpretation of American cowboy attire.

A striking blonde woman stood out from the rest. Her short red dress and strappy high-heeled sandals emphasized her leggy good looks, and few men in the crowd passed her by without a second glance. Her looks elicited some malicious comments from the women, which made their men folk laugh even as they indulged in brief fantasies of what they imagined this woman could offer.

None more so than the handsome man who lounged against a gatepost, his eyes taking in every line of the woman as she approached him.

 "Waiting for someone, honey?" She drawled her practiced pick-up line. She was a working girl and even though the evening had been a good time in her time off, she wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to make a few pounds – especially not with a hunk like this. And he had that needy look she knew only too well………

"I think I've been waiting for you, love – probably most of my life," he replied, his tone matching her lazy drawl.

"Well, then, I guess we're two lucky people." She smiled up at him as she slipped her arm through his and they strolled together through the gates. As they reached the beach down the flower-bordered path of a small park, she slipped out of her spike-heeled shoes so that she could walk more easily on the sand. It was a calculatedly sexy move, affording the man a good look at her shapely thighs as she balanced herself against him to slip off first one shoe, then the other. He laughed good-naturedly as he steadied her, and took her elbow to guide her towards the sheltering privacy of some rocks. The only sounds were the muttering rhythm of the North Sea and the intermittent sounds of laughter and car horns from the resort on the cliffs above. 

In the shadows, sure they were alone, he dropped tiny kisses on her hair and the tip of her nose, and she responded happily pressing herself against him. The strap of her red dress slipped from her shoulder and he kissed the space it left, his lips moving down her skin until he captured her breast in his mouth.

She groaned softly in her throat, her busy fingers opening the buttons of his soft white shirt so that her lips could graze his chest. So far she hadn't mentioned business, but this one was attractive enough to interest her anyway.  She figured he was probably experienced enough to know what she was about so she gave herself up to the pleasure of his kisses.

When his hands began to wander over her lush body, she matched him move for move, finally pulling him down onto the cooling sand beside her and whispering in his ear: "Shall I take you high, baby?"

"Oh, I think you'll take me high, all right, I think the ultimate high…" His voice was thick, his mouth against her neck as she threw back her head and laughed in delight.

But the laughter was short-lived. For the same bright moonbeams that lit her eyes to gold also flashed silver on the terrible blade that arced down towards her throat.

"The ultimate high," he moaned against her threshing body.

Resort to Murder is published by The Wild Rose Press. You can see it here on Amazon or click here for another excerpt and more details on my web page.