The Story Behind the Story with Gianetta Murray of Great Britain.

 

Let’s welcome Gianetta to the Scribbler.

This is not her first visit. You may remember her from an earlier post when she shared the inspiration for her short story in the Spring Path anthology. If you missed it, please go HERE.

Read on my friends.

 

 

Gianetta Murray has worked as a technical writer and librarian for over 40 years in the US and the UK. She grew up in California and moved to South Yorkshire in 2005 after marrying a Brit. Netta enjoys Hollywood musicals, touring stately homes, and playing the ukelele. She is owned by two cats.

 

Title: Moved to Murder: A Vivien Brandt Mystery

                                                                            



Synopsis: Vivien has spent decades dreaming about a life in England as an interior designer. Thanks to her marriage to second husband Geoffrey, her dreams are finally coming true and she and her cat Sydney are the newest inhabitants of a cozy South Yorkshire village.

But as Vivien meets the locals, she finds she has a lot to learn about her new home. Especially after she discovers a body in it.

Now she must work with neighbor Hayley and a mistrustful police inspector to uncover the village’s secrets and find a killer. It seems when the chips (crisps?) are down, the only common language between America and Britain…is murder.

The Story Behind the Story:

I’ve always loved mysteries, and read all the classics—Christie, Tey, Marsh—as I was growing up. I gravitated toward the cozy genre because (a) no animals are harmed; (b) I don’t have to know a whole lot about police procedure; (c) I get to add some humor; and (d) there’s a sense of fair play and justice about them.

As a California expat living in Yorkshire myself, it only seemed natural to give my protagonist the same challenges and experiences I’d already faced and knew very well. One of the advantages to starting a writing career later in life and is that you have a lot of life experience to write about!

So two years ago I packed in my job managing a university library and sat down to write. In addition to Moved to Murder, I’ve also published a collection of humorous paranormal stories and contributed to multiple literary anthologies, including the Paths series so well known to your readers. 😊

I’m currently working on the second book in the Vivien Brandt series, Dug to Death, and I already have a cracking plot in mind for the third, Shipped to Slaughter.

Website: Please go HERE.

A question before you go, Gianetta:

Scribbler: What is the ideal spot for you when you write your stories? Music in the background or quiet. Coffee or tequila? Messy or neat?

Gianetta: My husband still has a paying job, so he usually gets the home office and I’m relegated to the dining room table. He’s taken a bit of a sabbatical, though, so I’ve tossed him out of the office! I work in silence and like a neat space, but I do have a view of the back garden and the various neighborhood cats stalking birds (or each other). And I love to start the afternoon with a hot cup of chai tea.



An Excerpt from Moved to Murder, Chapter 1.

Wordsworth, Mary Queen of Scots, Churchill, Jack the Ripper.

Vivien Brandt simply adored all things British. The love affair started when she saw Upstairs, Downstairs at the impressionable age of ten and blossomed steadily over the years, fueled by daydreams about what her life would be like in the country she cherished.

Now her dreams were finally coming true.

Vivien wiped the last streaks off the front window and stepped back to enjoy the sight of her new home, a two-story redbrick situated in the South Yorkshire village of Nether Chatby. It was absolutely perfect and she sighed with happiness.

No one had been surprised when she announced she was moving to England. They only wondered that it had taken her so long. But a moderately successful career, marriage, and the love of friends and family had all provided valid excuses for her inertia.

Instead, she survived for decades on mere glimpses of Britain, making the long flight over whenever she could save up enough money and vacation time, starting with her first trip after college graduation. She’d been thrilled to find the country exceeded the promise of her beloved Victorian dramas. The gardens were stunning, the food wasn’t nearly as bad as rumored, and she suspected plumbing had greatly improved since the nineteenth century. She enjoyed being called “ginger” instead of “redhead”, although she considered herself more titian-haired, like Nancy Drew.

When Charlie, her charmingly irresponsible first husband, arrived in her life, the dream came dangerously close to being suffocated. But after his gambling addiction finally put an end to their twelve-year marriage, Vivien began to rebuild her bank account and revived thoughts of moving to London, where she hoped her Silicon Valley tech-writing experience might snag her a job. She’d been exploring interior design—even taking night classes—but knew there wasn’t a living to be made as a novice in a brand-new country.

So she continued to work at increasingly unfulfilling jobs, saving and planning for the future, and relied on visits across The Pond to keep the dream alive.

Pulling her thoughts back to the present, Vivien noted the ivy growing up the left corner of the house to curl ever so gracefully around an upstairs window frame. She’d either need a very tall ladder or a regular gardener to keep it in check, but it looked so lovely and…well…British. Visiting Americans would be impressed by the house, especially the ones naive enough to believe Geoffrey’s sardonic assurances that Shakespeare once slept there. Vivien found most of her friends couldn’t name the countries that made up the United Kingdom, much less which century gave birth to the greatest-ever English playwright. She’d given up trying to explain devolved parliaments, or why Andy Murray was British when he won a tennis grand slam and Scottish when he lost.

She shivered in her short-sleeved shirt and black jeans, clothing that would have been appropriate at this time of year in her native California, but which was unequal to the chill of northern England in October. A few houses up the road a door slammed and she watched a tow-headed teenager dressed entirely in black stalk away from her toward the village center, his body stiff and his fists clenched. Probably disgusted with his parents, she mused with a wry smile. Some rites of passage were universal and she suspected teen rebellion was one of them.

Her gaze landed on the house next door, with its dark windows and empty driveway. No one had come or gone since she and Geoffrey had moved in a couple of days ago, but there was no To Let or For Sale sign, so she assumed the owners were simply on vacation. Or holiday, as they said here.

Or maybe they’re all lying dead inside and we won’t know until the smell escapes. Vivien chuckled at her overactive imagination. She really needed to stop reading so many murder mysteries.

Thank you for being our guest this week, Gianetta. We wish you continued success with your stories.

And another special thank you to all our visitors and readers.