Have a Marlis Day!

My old publisher, SterlingHouse, who published my first books: three Margo Brown mysteries from 1999-2004, called me. “Sorry, but we aren’t going to print any more of your mysteries,” they told me. After all, they’d had a good run and I did write them ten or so years ago. They reverted the rights back to me. Several author friends told me the same had happened to them. It happens; old books go out of print. Only the new titles are being printed. Printed book sales are down. Millions are reading eBooks now. ”Send them to Amazon.com;” they said, ”they’ll make them into eBooks.” Cool, I thought. After all, ebooks are outselling print books everywhere.  One thing, they told me. You have to produce  new covers, since the other ones belong to the old publisher, who won’t be getting any credit for these books anymore. (By the way, this has nothing to do with my Bailey’s Chase novels, which are published by Echelon Press. They are still available in print and eBook formats.)

So, I called my old art teacher/friend Middy Burns and asked her to design a new cover for The Curriculum Murders, the most recent Margo Brown episode. It had to be just such and such a size. She and her student, Travis Wood, put their heads together and came up with the new cover.

So if you didn’t get a chance to read this book first time around, you can read it now on your Kindle or Nook. Oh, I also updated it, did a little editing, tightened it up a bit, and hopefully improved it. It’s a story about a school where two murders have happened on the same day as homecoming, for two years in a row. And homecoming is coming up soon! Only teacher/sleuth Margo Brown and her zany sidekick, Roxie, suspect foul play. You can read how Margo and Roxie race against time to stop a killer with his own lethal lesson plan.  And you can do it for only $2.99 if you click on this link: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=The+Curriculum+Murders+by+Marlis+Day

Thanks for reading my blog!  Hugs, Marlis

New eBook Cover

The old movie theater in our town is where I saw my first movie, we had our first date, and where we took our children to their first movie. Since then, it’s been vacant, a church, and is now setting up for laser tag & miniature golf.

I loved it when my parents took us to the movies, especially the Disney films. However, when it was a grown-up  movie, I had trouble staying awake. My head nodded, my eyes blurred, and I zonked out. After all, it was way past my bedtime. Once when I was just about to fall asleep, my father leaned over and whispered, “You better stay awake. If you go to sleep, we’ll just leave you here.” Horrified, I totally believed him and spent the rest of the movie devising ways to keep myself awake. Always the prankster, I imagine my dad peeked at me and laughingly told his buddies the next day how I’d swung my feet, popped myself on the forehead, and tried to hold my eyes open. Waking up in a cold, dark theater in the middle of the night was my worst nightmare. I envisioned myself wandering around the empty seats and living for days on stale popcorn and water from the fountain. I imagined my parents meeting friends on the street later and this conversation:

“How ya doing?”  “Fine, how about you?” “All good.” “Say, I see your two boys there; I thought you had a girl.” “No, just the two boys now.” “Hmm. I thought there was a girl, sorta between the boys?” “Ohhh, you must mean Marlis.” “Yes, Marlis. That was her name. I do remember her- fiesty little girl.” “Well, Marlis isn’t with us anymore.” “Oh, that’s too bad…what was it? Polio?” “Oh no, not polio. She fell asleep at the movies.” “Oh, I see. Well, you can’t have that, now can you?” “No, we couldn’t abide with that.” “Well, you have a nice day.”  “Thanks, you too. Say hello to the missus.” “Will do.”

I was pleased when we started going to the drive-in theaters, because the car always came home. I could fall asleep and no one cared. After all, we always went on “Buck Night,”so we all got in for a dollar and no money was wasted by a kid falling asleep.

On the first day my mother walked me to kindergarten. I was checked by a nurse, declared sound, and given this KGN Health Award. Mom must have thought it important, since she saved it for me along with my kindergarten workbook and first valentines. I keep them in my cedar chest and visit them every few years, inhaling the pungent cedar and recalling the distant memories. I sometimes wonder what will happen to them when I’m gone. Maybe a sentimental grandchild will claim them. I hope so.

I remember children sitting at long wooden tables, where we colored and printed our names. We played circle games, sang, and recited nursery rhymes. But mostly, I remember Miss Jane. I thought she was a big woman, but I guess everyone appears big when you’re three feet tall. She wore wire-rimmed glasses and silvery-gray hair pulled back into a loose bun. She had soft hands and always smelled like spring flowers.

In the game, she pulled me against her soft middle, my nose pressed into the fabric of her dress. She wrapped her arms around me and whispered, “Who is speaking, Marlis? Now listen carefully – it’s one of your classmates.”  Once more the chosen child recited the proper words, but I didn’t care who it was, I just loved being held close to Miss Jane’s bosomy softness, inhaling her sweet fragrance. After some coaxing, I’d mutter “Donnie? Jerry? Woody? PR?” I think I missed on purpose; I loved being in Miss Jane’s warm embrace.  In my family, the women showed affection with a swift peck on the cheek, and the men showed no affection at all. In retrospect, maybe it was my first hug and I wanted it to last forever.  For a few blissful minutes the universe was just Miss Jane and me. After a while, my teacher would gently turn me around. “Oh look, Marlis, it’s Austin!” I’d return to my place among the other children, filled with peace, and love, and all the sweetness of Miss Jane. The only picture I have is this one I clipped years ago from a newspaper honoring the teachers of yester-years in our town.

To this day, I’m a hugger. I hug my family, friends, and even my dog. I’ve been known to hug strangers at bookfairs when they speak kindly of my books.  Somehow, I think it all started with Miss Jane. May God bless the Miss Janes of the world.

I wonder what our five grandchildren will remember about coming to Gram’s and Gramps’ house for Christmas. I’m pretty certain they’ll remember the twinkling tree surrounded by a pile of brightly wrapped presents and stockings stuffed with small surprises. They’ll remember running and playing with their cousins and urging the adults to finish dinner, so they could open their gifts. They’ll probably recall the fancy cookies and candies, but forget the lovely table decorations and Christmas ham. Part of me believes they’ll always remember how Gram read Clement Moore’s famous Twas the Night Before Christmas before the first gift was opened. I’ve done it every year and the older girls recite it from memory as I read. The little ones listen, bright-eyed and eager for the unfolding magic.

But most of all, I hope they remember going to church on Christmas Eve, singing carols, lighting small candles, and their spectacular united glow in the darkened church.  And how we lit the Christ candle on the dinner table and remembered the baby Jesus in the manger before the table blessing.

I pray their childhood Christmas memories fill them with an essence of family and love. After all, God’s mighty gift to us was all about His family and His love.

Happy New Year and may “God bless us every one!”

Sandy and I taught on the 7th grade team for many years. She taught science while I taught language arts. If I had a question, I went to Sandy; she always knew the answer. Her quirky sense of humor kept me laughing on days when the system failed us and our students. A great lover of mysteries, she introduced me to her favorite authors and soon I loved them too. After immersing myself in the mystery genre, I decided to write one of my own, set in our school. Heaven only knows schools are loaded with means, motives, and opportunities for  murder. After settling on a plot, I developed Margo Brown, teacher and amateur sleuth. Of course, Margo needed a partner in crime solving and I wanted her to be like Sandy. I asked her if I could model Margo’s sidekick, Roxie, after her. She agreed and Roxie became real to me. She had that same raspy voice and West Virginia drawl as Sandy. She also loved science, paranormal activities, dinosaurs, sci-fi movies, bizarre outfits and jewelry. Nothing scared Roxie and she was ready to battle the toughest enemy, twice saving Margo’s life during their daring and sometimes zany investigations.

When Why Johnny Died was published, followed by Death of a Hoosier Schoolmaster and The Curriculum Murders, I visited libraries and bookstores all over the country in shameless self-promotion. Readers invariably commented on how they enjoyed Roxie. I explained there really was a Roxie, but her name was Sandy. One book club asked if I could bring Roxie along when they took me to dinner. I invited her, but she declined and had me convey the fact that she was very shy. (Imagine me rolling my eyes here.)

We retired on the same day and since then have met once a month for a day of shopping and lunch. During these times, we buy new clothes, browse antique shops, flea markets, used clothing stores, eat a lovely lunch, and end up at Wal-Mart where she makes me sniff every new candle scent. I always drive and Sandy always pushes the cart. I look forward to these long days with her, days when we laugh easily and often.

Today Sandy battles a fierce enemy, a disease so dastardly I won’t pen its name. After surgery and aggressive chemo we thought the dragon had died, but it returned mandating more surgery and chemo treatments. Through all this, Sandy keeps her sense of humor and positive outlook on life. I visit her and take books, ice cream, and pickled beets (her favorite.) I look forward to spring when her treatments will be complete and we can resume our monthly adventures.

My daughter has always been creative, but with her busy work schedule and shuffling her kids off to games and practices, I was surprised when she decided to start a home baking business. First she made cupcakes, custom designed for parties and showers. Then she decided to try her hand at cake pops. I had never heard of cake pops but am now a big fan.

She crumbles cake, then stirs in icing. She rolls this mixture into balls, chills, inserts sticks, dips in chocolate, lets cool, then decorates. How awesome. Although I’m showing you her Halloween pops, she can design them for any season or party. Everything is edible, but the best part of all is that they taste exactly like Hostess Ding-Dongs.

Imagine the eyes of children and adults when she displayed about fifty of these into a pumpkin at a church supper. So, if you need any special, hand-made goodies, let me know and I’ll introduce you to my talented daughter.

What a surprise to see Meadowlark Lemon at the KY Book Fair in Frankfort last weekend. He was polite, well-dressed, and soft spoken. Nothing like the clowning, noisy superstar who played with the Harlem Globetrotters when I was a kid. He’s written a book, Trust Your Next Shot,  about his remarkable life, and people stood in line for a signed copy. My husband asked him if he played college ball. He said, ”I didn’t have time – I went from high school to the Globetrotters.” I stood in awe of this gentle man who entertained millions with his antics and basketball skills.

As usual, one of my favorite authors, Ann B. Ross, was there with her “Miss Julia” books. I’ve read and loved all of her books except the newest one, which I’ll download on my Kindle. She’s always so gracious and modest about her writing. If you haven’t read any of her books, you’ve missed a lot of fun.

As I meandered past the tables of the 180 authors and their books, I was pleased to see Kim Edwards with her new book, The Lake of Dreams. My book club read and enjoyed her first book, The Memory Keeper’s Daughter. I bought one of her new books and am reading it now.

I finally made my way to my table and signed over sixty books for youngsters like Emily from Frankfort. I told her she reminded me of Sparky Bailey, one of the main characters in the novels. My table mate was Judy Spegal, a retired teacher and first-time author from Kentucky. We had a lovely day together, meeting people and signing books. When she left, she kissed my cheek. I love that southern hospitality.

Ben & His Mom

I met Ben and his mom at the Printers’ Row Book Expo in Chicago in June. Two weeks ago, they invited me to visit Ben’s school in Western Springs, IL. It took us six hours to make the drive, but it was well worth the effort. This quaint suburb of Chicago is one of the loveliest towns I’ve ever visited. A commuter train runs down the middle of  Main Street in this cozy community of 12,ooo.  We drove down street after tree-lined street of stately two-story homes complete with friendly front porches and wide, shaded front lawns. Perhaps the sunshine on the colorful treetops lent the heavenly glow to the town.

After checking into our hotel, we followed the walking trail through the park, where the townspeople picnic and watch their children play baseball, soccer, football, and ice hockey. Within walking distance of our hotel, we dined at one of the best seafood restaurants in the world. It reminded me of being on a cruise ship.

The next day Ben and his mom met me at the front door of the school and introduced me to the librarian, who assembled the third, fourth, and fifth graders into the auditorium. I talked to the children about my writing, their writing, favorite books in general, and the importance of reading. The fifth grade teachers had been reading The Secret of Bailey’s Chase aloud, so the older students had questions for me when I visited their rooms. Immediately after school, the annual book fair began and I was invited to read from my books. I signed books for many young readers that day, and I don’t know when I’ve ever met such polite and articulate children. I’m already receiving emails as they read my books, and I welcome and answer them all. I hope they know how smitten I am with them and their heavenly town.

 We moved to the farm for the summer following my first birthday in March. I have no memories of my first pet, this little blind chicken, but I clearly remember what happened soon after this picture was taken:  the day I understood language. It was there during that summer, so I must have been 14-16 months old. My brother, Johnny, and I were playing in the  yard and came to a fence. I couldn’t climb it and he said, “I’ll help you, sissy.” My heart soared. I understood what he said for the first time. I still remember the thrill I felt the day I understood language. I know some of you won’t believe this, but from that day on, I recorded memories. I haven’t researched what linguists declare to be true, but I know from my own experience that language is a gift and comes to young children all at once – not one word at a time. None of us could be placed in Russia or China and 18 months later suddenly understand everything people around us were saying, but it happens to toddlers. Ask parents of any eighteen-month-old child and they will affirm, “He/she can’t talk yet, but understands everything we say.” They will go on to explain how when discussing a ride in the car, the child will pick up her jacket, or find his shoes. Or run to the window if you  mention a squirrel at the bird feeder. Speech comes later, maybe at two or two and a half, but memories begin when we understand what those around us say.

In the fall we moved back to town. I still couldn’t talk but have many memories of those early days. I clearly remember the day this second picture was taken. Mom had taken Johnny and me to a photographer’s studio. He was three and I was seventeen months old. (Mom dated the picture on the back.) The photographer instructed Johnny to put his arm around me and he protested. “No, I don’t want to,” he wailed. There was a scene and I recall feeling hurt that he didn’t want to put his arm around me and wondered why. As the picture shows, he finally succumbed either to dire threats or bribes. No one considered my tiny self-esteem being injured by his rejection and I couldn’t articulate it yet. Mom said my first speech was very “Dutchy” and I stamped my foot in frustration when she couldn’t understand me. Everyone agrees I’ve  made up for my early lack of speech, but when I think about it  I’m still overwhelmed by the gift of language. It’s nothing short of a miracle and it happened to all of us.