When it comes to writing, I’ve always done my best in the fall. I try to block out my summers with fun . . . although I just went to Urgent Care two days in a row after never having been in my life for separate injuries, the first to the thumb on my right hand, the second for the middle finger on my left that made it tricky to type and have that FUN I just spoke of . . . more about that later.
Before the afore mentioned injuries, I was working on my next thriller, BAD THINGS, which I plan on completing this fall. I’ve already settled into my writing station with my computer, my paper tablet where I write notes down in longhand about what’s in every chapter, a cup of decaf coffee – yes, I decaffeinated years ago, which leaves me open to napping in the middle of a sentence and interesting results on the computer screen – and my Kindle. The weather’s changing, but I still get a morning walk in and it’s the best time of year for clearing my head. That change of scent in the air. You can almost smell the cold coming. The brown and gold and red leaves. No, wait, that red was the blood spurting from my finger injury that made my thirty-eight year old daughter scream, “MOM!” and gave me a jolt, too, at how fast it ran down my hand though I said calmly, “It’s okay,” and wrapped a paper towel around my finger and then another and another and well, back to Urgent Care . . . more about that later.
So autumn . . . it really is the best time to write. (I can still feel a teensy pain from my middle finger as I pen this.) Recently my husband moved from his office and is working from home now, too. It’s so nice for us to be together and enjoy our days sitting on the deck and communicating our thoughts. Actually, I have a tendency to stare at him and wonder if forty-two years of marriage is maybe long enough. Can we really share communal space 24/7 and survive? I guess time will tell. But he was the one who drove me to Urgent Care for the thumb injury where I jammed a splinter under my nail to the quick and the Urgent Care staff weren’t certain they would be able to get it out. They did manage to, with my daughter aiming the light directly onto the end of my thumb so the doctor could get the tweezers in and drag that miserable splinter out. I didn’t scream when it released but I jumped a foot and every muscle in my body contracted. I had bravely and possibly foolishly decided to have the splinter removed without a deadening agent. My husband was in the waiting room, pacing. It sounds like he was worried but he does that at home, too, above my head as I’m writing in the room below him. It’s just his way. Pure bliss.
My daughter and her family had been spending a good portion of August with us in Oregon as she lives in southern California. I had purchased a round loaf of blue cheese and onion bread from the local bakery. Delicious. But after that first thumb-splinter incident, I wasn’t as good with my right hand. Nevertheless, I persevered and got out the bread knife and started sawing against the rather slippery left edge and well . . . bread knife, flesh, blood, my daughter’s scream . . . off to Urgent Care the second time and the same doctor suggesting maybe I should try not to come back again.
I am now in my writing station, ready to get back to BAD THINGS. I’ve put the injuries of summer aside and am now deep into my story or thinking ahead to Thanksgiving. My daughter wants to work with me on the meal this year, using my mother’s recipes. Can’t wait. I’m thinking of buying another blue cheese onion roll for the occasion. Maybe smearing a little ketchup on it. What do you think?
“Nancy Bush always delivers edge-of-your-seat suspense!” —Lisa Jackson, New York Times bestselling author
Hatred Leads To Obsession . . .
It’s taken time for the plan to unfold, years spent waiting, watching, hating. . . . And after the first victim, the killing gets easier and easier . . .
Obsession Leads To Jealousy . . .
The Crissmans, owners of Crissman & Wolfe department store, were once one of Portland’s most powerful families. There’s still enough fortune left to sow mistrust between Lucy, her bohemian sister Layla, their brother Lyle, and his grasping wife Kate. When a charity event at the Crissman Lodge ends in a fatal poisoning, Lucy becomes a prime suspect. But the truth is even more twisted, and Lucy can’t be sure which of her family is being targeted . . . or who to fear.
And Jealousy Leads To Murder . . .
Renowned defense attorney Dallas Denton has been hired to clear Lucy’s name, unaware of the secret that ties them together or of the deep cracks in the Crissman legacy. Someone is ready to eliminate every obstacle to get what they most covet, and prove that envy runs deeper than blood . . .