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

 

We are most pleased to have Gianetta back with us today.

Her latest novel is now available and she’s going to share the good news with you.

She’s been a guest before and if you missed her previous visit, please go HERE.

Read on, my friends.

  

Gianetta has spent most of her life, like her protagonist Vivien, as a technical writer and librarian. She grew up in the heady tech boom of Silicon Valley, but for the last twenty years has lived a more peaceful existence in South Yorkshire, England with her British husband and two or more cats. She plays various musical instruments and enjoys watching Hollywood musicals as well as doing an annual rewatch of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and she hopes one day to be able to afford a seat close enough to the stage to be spit on by Jonathan Groff.

 

Title: Dug to Death: A Vivien Brandt Mystery

 

 

Synopsis:

“Wicked stepmother” wasn’t something Vivien wanted on her resume (or her CV).

But six months after moving from California to join her British husband in a quiet Yorkshire village, Vivien and her cat Sydney are confronted with a volatile 24-year-old stepdaughter and the sparks start to fly.

It certainly doesn’t help when they join a local protest and a dead body turns up.

Once again Vivien must work with her enterprising neighbors to solve a murder and clear her family’s name, which isn’t easy when you’re surrounded by those who “’ear all, see all, and say nought”!

 

The Story Behind the Story:

This sequel to Moved to Murder was already outlined before I finished the first Vivien Brandt mystery, Moved to Murder, and was inspired by various events in the local press (although not the murder or the corruption parts). While the first book is about Vivien’s culture shock directly after moving to Yorkshire, this one is more about adjusting to her new family situation and her burgeoning career.

Because I was fictionalizing actual events, it was also an adventure in what could and couldn’t be said without alienating my local audience, so we’ll see how that goes!

The writing itself flowed better this second time around, but it also required more research into the functioning of local British politics, the archeology of South Yorkshire, and issues related to step-families; research which I enjoyed immensely. You can take the librarian out of the library, but…

I hope everyone enjoys the result.

Website: Please go HERE.

A question before you go, Gianetta:

Scribbler: What has been the most enjoyable about your writing journey? The least enjoyable?

Gianetta: I love love love the plot creation and the writing, working out the puzzle of how the murder happens, how it is solved, and where there are red herrings (and how the story will involve the cat, of course!). This is why I decided to spent my retirement not really retiring, because I enjoy what I’m doing so much.

But as with most of us introverted author types, the marketing isn’t something I look forward to (except when people like Allan make it so easy and I don’t have to put makeup on or comb my hair). Going to book fairs and working out ads and effective keywords, etc., are just not what floats my particular boat. It would be ever so lovely if people the world over would simply recognize my genius and wait with bated breath to purchase my next work of art. 😉





An Excerpt from : Dug to Death: A Vivien Brandt Mystery

 

“Wait until you hear what I learned today from the archeologists,” Sara said.

“Ah, yes,” said Geoffrey. “You had lunch with the young man leading the dig, eh?”

“Keith,” she confirmed.

“And he was helpful?”

“Not so much, to tell the truth. But I also got to talk to two of the women working with him, Lucy and Phoebe, when we went back to the dig after lunch, and they were more forthcoming, especially after Keith left to run an errand.”

Vivien quirked an eyebrow at her stepdaughter. “What was wrong with Keith?” she wanted to know.

“Frankly, I think Keith is hiding something. When it came down to it, he didn’t really want to talk about the dig at all. He avoided my questions, claiming he wanted to know more about me instead.”

“Maybe he was just being polite? Trying to put you at ease?”

“No, it was definitely avoidance. I don’t think it was about getting into my knickers. At least, not entirely.”

“Sara!” her father protested, but his daughter just grinned.

“So, what did the other two tell you?” Vivien wanted to know.

“They confirmed my doubts about Keith, as a matter of fact. They said he’s been very secretive about his findings in that one trench, he won’t allow anyone else to work it, and that he’s always still there when they leave. He’s logged some minor pot shards in the official record, but nothing major, nothing to justify his suspicious behavior.”

“Maybe he’s on the developer’s payroll and wants to hide some important find so the project isn’t delayed, or cancelled, even,” Vivien hypothesized.

Sara nodded. “It could be that. But he doesn’t seem worried about the rest of them finding anything, which you’d think he would be if that’s his concern.”

“Hmm, true,” Geoffrey added. “So maybe it’s something he’s already found and wants to keep to himself?”

“Also possible. Although any ambitious archeologist would be happy to be associated with a major find. But one thing’s for sure, if he’s found something that would stop the dig, he doesn’t seem inclined to give it up.”

“Well then,” said Vivien, “we may have to have another talk with Mr. Myers tomorrow to try and find out what’s going on.”

“Leave it to me,” Sara responded. “I think I know how to make him talk.”

“Nothing involving torture, Sara. Or the sacrifice of your good name,” her father cautioned.

She looked at him with wide eyes and fluttered her lashes for emphasis. “Why, Daddy, how could you think I’d stoop to such levels?” she teased.

“Hmph,” Geoffrey responded. “Just be careful, please.”

Sara rose and started to clear the dishes from the table. “I’ll clean up, and then I’m going to the coven meeting with Tabitha. I told her I was interested in the rituals from an anthropological point of view, and she said she’d let me observe.”

“Are you thinking of becoming a Wiccan practitioner?” asked Vivien.

Sara shrugged. “It’s more about being a good anthropologist than a blessed-wanna-be.”

Vivien laughed as they all cleared the table together before Sara waved goodbye and left her father and stepmother to an evening of rewatching The X-Files. Geoffrey had a thing for Scully, and Vivien occasionally indulged him without admitting she found a young Fox Mulder equally easy on the eyes. After three episodes they found themselves exhausted from trusting no one and retired.

When the phone rang just after midnight and Sara told them she was being held at the police station under suspicion of murder, Vivien was glad her stepdaughter couldn’t see the “I told her so!” look on Geoffrey’s face.

 

 

This novel sounds like a winner, Gianetta. Thanks for being our guest this week. We wish you continued success with your stories. 

 

Thank you to all our visitors and readers.

Feel free to leave a comment below.

We’d love to hear from you.

The Story Behind the Story with Author Chantal MacDonald of Moncton, NB, Canada.

 

We are more than happy to have Chantal back as our guest this week.

She has a new book out and it is generating a lot of interest. The Scribbler is most fortunate to have her share the good news with you.

She’s been with us before and if you missed her visit please go HERE.

Read on, my friends.

  

A teacher by trade, Chantal MacDonald began pursuing a writing career with the first book in the Sadie Jones Series. She has a Master of Arts in English Literature from the University of Ottawa and has spent over fifteen years teaching students in both virtual and brick and mortar classrooms. Passionate about loving people, Chantal volunteers on her church frontline team and mom’s group. In addition to the Sadie Jones Series, she has released two picture books. One about a clever lobster from Prince Edward Island—Lester the Lobster and the Great Escape—and the other about an ordinary lobster who paints her shell blue to feel special—Lorraine the Lobster Feels Blue. Chantal is a married mom to three young children, an amateur baker, and a resident of Moncton, New Brunswick, where she enjoys copious amounts of seafood.

 

Title: A Promise on the Windy Shores

 

Synopsis:

Sometimes the journey home is the hardest one of all.

After ten months in Mwanza, Tanzania, Sadie Jones returns to her hometown of Lunenburg, Nova Scotia, carrying more than just souvenirs. She brings home questions, heartache, and the weight of uncertainty of where she truly belongs. When devastating news from Africa arrives shortly after her return, Sadie’s emotions unravel, and she’s forced to confront the ache of loss and the struggle to move forward.

Navigating decisions about school, starting a new job, and her growing romance with Tom Carter, Sadie finds herself caught between who she was, who she is, and who she longs to become. While grief once again threatens to overwhelm Sadie’s hope, gentle whispers remind her of something deeper: God’s promises still hold.

As her heart wrestles and heals, Sadie must decide what it means to move forward—into love, into purpose, and into the fullness of who she was created to be.

A heartfelt story of grief, love, and becoming, A Promise on the Windy Shores is for anyone learning to trust again—even when the winds of life blow you into an all too familiar storm.

 

The Story Behind the Story:

This book has been the culmination of almost six years of work. When I first had the dream to write a novel, I knew where I wanted my main character—Sadie Jones—to start, and I knew where I wanted her to end. What I did not know was everything in between. I originally thought that I would be able to conclude this series in three books, but it has turned into four.

As a “pantser” (a writer who tends to let the story lead over story mapping), I have been surprised at some of the places that my characters led me. It has been both a struggle and a joy to let the writing be a process of discovery.

With this book, in particular, it has required an enormous amount of research. The first third of the novel is set in Africa. It was important to me to be as accurate as possible to the culture and the locale. Since I had never visited the city that is used in my novel, I relied heavily on the information and anecdotes provided for me from a dear friend who lives in Mwanza.

I have been stretched by the process of writing this book—and the entire series for that matter. The writer who has emerged at the end of A Promise on the Windy Shores is a far cry from the woman who picked up a computer in 2020 with glossy-eyed aspirations to write a book. I cannot wait to see what I learn and how I grow from my next project.

 

Chantal’s Website: please go HERE.

A question for you Chantal:

Scribbler: What has been the most enjoyable about your writing journey? The least enjoyable?

Chantal: The most enjoyable part of the writing journey has easily been sharing these stories with others. When you spend so much time in these fabricated worlds, the characters and their problems become a part of you. Watching others become invested in these characters and love them the way that I do has brought me so much joy.

The least enjoyable part has been the struggle to maintain accuracy and consistency throughout my books (and series). Over time the details get fuzzy. It’s hard to remember what colour eyes someone had, or what their middle name was, or even the layout of a specific home. But these are the details that readers (especially those who reread) will catch. I did not want any inconsistencies to pull my readers out of the story so it required keeping notes or rereading my previous works to ensure that I kept the storyline true to what had been previously written.

An Excerpt from A Promise on the Windy Shores:

Sadie Jones had just finished showering when the power flickered, buzzed, and dimmed before the room went dark. Silence replaced the familiar hum of electricity inside the modest African home—a common occurrence, yet one that Sadie still found frustrating. She stood with a towel wrapped around her small frame, water dripping from her body onto the concrete floor, and peered through the dusty windowpane over the bathroom sink. Sadie felt grateful the morning sun was beginning to crest over Mwanza—a major port city in the southeast African country of Tanzania. At least in the daylight she would be able to see her way around.

Third time this week, she thought. Glad I was able to finish my shower. Looks like it will be fruit for breakfast.

Checking the clock on the wall, Sadie knew that if she did not leave in the next fifteen minutes, she would be late to meet up with her team for their forty-five minute trip to the village health centre. She threw on a t-shirt and a billowy skirt that hung to her ankles without much care as to whether or not the outfit matched. Her life was now about function over fashion. Looking in the mirror, she ran her fingers through her damp auburn curls. She would have to let it air dry today. Flipping her head upside down, Sadie wrapped a silk bandanna tightly around her head to hold the curls in place. Her roommate, Sasha, had taught her the trick and the bandanna had been a gift from a local woman working with the organization.

The apartment was tiny, yet cozy. Sasha was still sleeping in a room behind the closed door off the kitchen. She was about ten years older than Sadie, native to Mwanza, and worked nights as a medical aid. Sasha had graciously agreed to host Sadie on a temporary basis partly because Sasha believed in the mission of the organization and partly because she needed the extra money.

Sadie threw a few necessities in a canvas bag and tossed it over her shoulder before stepping outside onto the concrete step in front of her temporary home. The morning dew clung to the leaves of the mango tree, which was casting a shadow across the front walk. A soft breeze fluttered her skirt, bringing some relief from the heat and humidity that was already causing her to perspire, even at this early hour. Thankfully, the region was in a rainy season, which meant some form of precipitation was inevitable.

Scanning the road, Sadie saw no sign of her ride. She checked her watch to make sure she had not misread the clock.

African time, she thought with a sigh. It was a common occurrence, yet one that she still struggled to internalize. The relaxed approach to arrivals, start times, and departures was something that had been an adjustment for Sadie. Being a type A recovering perfectionist, Sadie spent the first couple months of her time in Mwanza trying to make everything move faster—meetings, projects, social gatherings. But, as had been pointed out to her on multiple occasions by the locals, things happened when they happened. She could no more change an entire culture than she could stop the sun.

 

Buy the book HERE.

 

You might enjoy these also:

 

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

 

Thank you to all our visitors and readers.

Feel free to leave a comment below.

We’d love to hear from you.

The Story Behind the Story with Sean Paul Bedell of Halifax, NS, Canada.

 Let’s welcome Sean back! 

A true gentleman and a talented author, we are most keen to have him return to tell us about his new novel.

He’s been with us before and if you missed his visit, please go HERE.

Read on. My friends.

 

 

Author of the novel Somewhere There’s Music, Sean Paul Bedell has been writing and publishing for more than 30 years. A longtime paramedic and captain with the fire service, he lives with his wife Lisa and their golden retriever, Maggie (Margaret Atwood), in Dartmouth, Nova Scotia.

 

Title: Shoebox

 

Synopsis:

In this gritty and emotional exploration of the human condition, a dedicated paramedic, Steve Lewis, faces the devastating aftermath of a fatal collision that casts a dark shadow over his once-passionate commitment to saving lives. Plagued by guilt and grief, he finds his career, family, and very existence hanging in the balance as he navigates the complexities of trauma both personal and professional. As Steve grapples with the high stakes of his job amidst the scrutiny of a community that admires yet questions him, each life he saves rekindles his passion for his work, reminding him of the profound connections he can forge through compassion and care. A compelling and visceral journey of personal redemption and triumph over adversity, Shoebox explores the human spirit's capacity for healing.

 

The Story Behind the Story:

Two things drove me to write Shoebox. First, readers of my first novel, Somewhere There’s Music, frequently told me they liked the paramedic-ambulance-first responder angles in that story. Also I had a bunch of paramedic stories – sad, funny, poignant – from my own career as a paramedic. I worked ambulance for many years in the Halifax-Dartmouth area and along Nova Scotia’s Eastern Shore. As I wrote Shoebox, experiences that my fellow crew-mates and I had shaped some of the anecdotes in the book. Overall though, Shoebox is a story of redemption after tragedy, and the healing that hope offers.

 

Website: please go HERE.

Scribbler: Who was your favourite author, or story, growing up, Sean?

Sean: Growing up, I read everything I could. When I was twelve, my mother gave me a boxed set of classics. I immersed myself in those books. Exciting, exotic worlds enchanted me. My favourites were Treasure Island and Robinson Crusoe.

An Excerpt from: Shoebox

Chapter One 

My ambulance was based at University Station, the oldest f ire station in Halifax. In the year I worked there, I’d seen the sandstone building’s interior walls transform from frost-caked blocks in the winter to oven-like bricks in the summer. A brass pole that connected the firefighters’ sleeping quarters to the bays downstairs was cordoned off now, out of service. Two of the old-timers at the station still polished it every week so it gleamed when the sun hit it through the arched windows. If I ever did use it, to speed up my time getting to my ambulance, I’d look like that serpent, curled fetus-like around the pole. I’d pop out at the other end into the truck bays, freshly born to dispense miracles everywhere, sent out into the chaotic world to save lives. I would be one with the image emblazoned in the blue, six-pointed star of life crest on my ambulance, the same image embroidered on the shoulder flashes of my uniform shirt. Instead, to get to my ambulance, I’d bound down the narrow staircase that had three twists, each with a tiny landing. Legend said the staircase was designed during the days of horse drawn fire apparatus. The tight turns prevented the horses from climbing up the stairs. I didn’t care about blocking horses but wanted to get to my ambulance without breaking my neck or knocking myself out.

 

University Station was smack in the centre of downtown, a hotbed of the wildest calls a crew of medics could get dis patched to. It was at the crossroads of the wealth of Halifax’s South End and the grit and despair of its downtown. Calls were either dramatic or mundane. They ranged from stints fighting with newly liberated drunken university students out of sight of their parents for the first time; to the breathing or heart problems of the old, rich elites; to the homeless and addicted who had skidded here from across the province and toted their demons with them. I worked with Fletch—Gideon Fletcher. He was a tall medic with a tidy grey beard. His deliberate, erudite manner of speaking, along with his appearance, made him seem like a mis placed professor from one of the city’s universities.

 

Fletch stocked a bird feeder so he could watch chickadees and jays from the window upstairs in our quarters. Once, when we were coding to a call from Graham’s Grove to downtown Dartmouth, Fletch jammed up the brakes by Sullivan’s Pond to let a mother duck and her ducklings cross the road. A lot of medics would have roared through with a trail of feathers behind them; they would have plowed through anything to get to the call to save the day. That call past the duck pond turned out to be anything but an emergency. Fletch was down to earth, wise, kind, and didn’t take any bullshit.

 

Buy the book HERE.

This one too, maybe?

 

I’m looking forward to reading your new book, Sean. Thanks for being our guest this week.

We wish you continued success with your writing. 

Thank you to all our visitors and readers.

Feel free to leave a comment below.

We’d love to hear from you.

The Story Behind the Story with Author Chuck Bowie of Fredericton, NB, Canada.

 

Good news! Chuck is back with a new book!

 

He’s been a popular guest on the Scribbler many times and it pleases us to have him return.

If you missed the previous visit, please go HERE.

I’m a fan of his stories and I’m sure you will be too.

Read on, my friends.

 

 

Chuck is both a writer and an author, with fourteen books/novels published and one just underway. Chuck has recently settled into exclusively writing mysteries: Suspense-Thrillers and Cozy Mysteries. All of his books are well-reviewed, and he has sat on the boards of the Writers’ Federation of NB, The Writers’ Union of Canada, is a Fellow of the Kingsbrae International Residency for the Arts, as well as being acknowledged as a member of the Miramichi Literary Trail.

His thriller series chronicles the adventures of Donovan, an international thief for hire, while his cozy series (written as Alexa Bowie) follows the adventures of the owner of an arts and culture centre as Emma solves the crimes that swirl around her centre: The Old Manse.

Chuck lives in Fredericton as well as beside Miramichi Bay. Thriller number Six, Lost in London is now available, with Number Seven underway.

 

Title: Death Between the Cays, an Old Manse Mystery

 

Synopsis: 

The Problem, the Secret, the Decision.

Emma’s friend Thom delivers a luxury cruiser from Canada to the Bahamas, whereupon he promptly disappears. His employer hires Emma to go to the Caribbean to find him. Thom, however, left his girlfriend Sophie behind in the midst of a Christmas tiff, so…has he been abducted, or has he merely cut off communication with everyone?

During the voyage south a secret emergers: the boat may be used for an illegal, very profitable purpose. Now Thom knows this secret, but is subsequently kidnapped for his troubles. Thom has this information, but cannot share it. Meanwhile, Emma must risk her life, navigating the beautiful but dangerous Caribbean waters in search of her missing friend. Will she find him? Will she fall prey to the dark side of the sandy beaches, blue sky, and waters?

 

The Story Behind the Story: 

I’ve written a story—a series, really—about a small town and the wonderful, eccentric people who inhabit the tight-knit community. With the unfolding of each plotline, we come to know our heroine, Emma, but also get to know (and love) the characters that bring the town to life.

So, when a beloved character leaves town and disappears, everyone is naturally worried about him and want to help. Emma must leave her home at the most inconvenient time of the year: Christmas, but as the British say, ‘Needs must.’ I do add a separate narrative arc set in the town: it is an Old Manse Mystery, right?

 

Please go HERE.

Chuck is also present on FaceBook/Insta, as well as on Threads.

Scribbler: Who was your favourite author, or story, growing up?

Chuck: As an introvert, I read many, many books growing up. I took to series, early on, starting with L. Frank Baum (Wizard of Oz) and Trixie Beldon, and then on to Rex Stout and JR Tolkien. More recently, I’ve fallen in love with the Edinburgh mystery writer Kate Atkinson. Her writing is brilliant, convoluted, hilarious (at times) yet quite dark. She’s the best.

An Excerpt from Death Between the Cays:

 

* * *

“I’ve got a surprise.” Bobby’s face carried a smirk. “Back at the boat.”

          “I was hoping it would be food, but those two men loitering outside of your boat are painting a different picture. They are staring at us as if we are expected. Bobby, are they expecting us?”

          “Absolutely. Remember how I tried to tell you about our project, and how it will make us rich? These guys are gonna explain it in such a way that no one could refuse, or want to. We’ll have a sit-down in a minute, so prepare to get excited. Please give them a chance to wow you, okay?”

          Thom was about to say ‘I already told you I’m out,’ but they had already reached the boat. The men shook hands without taking off their sunglasses, and Bobby was halfway up the gangplank before Thom could even say hello.

          The three men followed Bobby onto the boat, and they sat on the bench seats in front of the transom. The first thing out of anyone’s mouth came from the stockier of the two strangers. He spoke with a French accent, and he had that weathered face borne of many years under the tropical sun. The man directed his words to Bobby. “You told him about moving some product?”

          Thom stood up. “No, Bobby told me nothing, and that’s because I am going home on the first flight I can catch. I can’t help you gentlemen out, since something has come up and I can’t stay. Please don’t say anything, so we can easily forget we ever met.”

          The stocky man with the French accent looked over to his partner. The partner’s eyes were locked on to Bobby’s (Thom presumed this was taking place, since the sunglasses had not dropped). And Bobby stared goggle-eyed at Thom, silently begging him to change his words.

          Thom did not change his words.

          Both men remained inscrutable. Bobby’s level of discomfiture rose with every heartbeat. Thom stood, waiting. What else could he do? He knew that this little bit of knowledge they shared might already be dangerous, and the next moment might very well rest in Bobby’s hands. Eventually—Thom realized he had been holding his breath—Bobby spoke.

          “Look, guys,” his voice was in sell mode, persuasive and low, “Tommy here is just along for the ride, you know, one last trip on the boat he loves. He says he’s not interested in making a few bucks. He’s got girl trouble, and that’s all he can think of.”

          Thom felt himself nodding, desperately willing his face to look as placid and not quite as knowledgeable as a two-year-old heifer.

          “Look. Tommy and me, we’ll head over to Moore’s Island and I’ll join you guys tomorrow, okay?”

          The stocky man spoke in a lighter tone, easing the pressure. “That works.  Listen Bobby, we have to go now, but before we do, can we have a word? In private?”

          Thom was quick to nod. “I’ll just head back to the beach. Can’t get enough of that, right?” He turned and left before anyone else had a chance to say a word. I’ll just go see if Edward is gone. I never did get his phone number. By the time he got back to the shoreline, though, both Edward and his boat and motor had vacated the beach. He spied an outbound ferry rounding the end of the long wharf, a boat attached by a rope. Ah. There he goes. I hope I’ll see him before I return home.

          Thom sat on a patch of sand to ponder his possible dilemma. If I go back to the boat (where my passport is sitting in a bag with my possessions), those two gangsters just might kill me on the spot. And since my so-called new friend Bobby is in thick with them, I now have to re-think my relationship with him. Do I cut and run with just my wallet, or do I take them at their word and part ways after Bobby and I have dinner this evening? He wouldn’t hurt me, would he? And it’s not as if those two guys in sunglasses are coming over with us.

          With that being said, though, what do you suppose they want transported? In the olden days, it would have been rum-running, using boats like that gaff-rig schooner, The Bluenose. Nowadays they’d use a cruiser like mine (well, she was mine) to haul maybe drugs, or cash for laundering, or worse. What’s worse than drugs? Either way, the less I know about it, the better. He stared up in the general direction of the sun, squinting. He was sweating, and it may have been the sun, but the issue might also be found a mere hundred yards away. It was time to get back to the boat and begin the hundred-and-forty mile trip over to Moore’s Island, check into the resort and book a flight home. The shine had definitely worn off his tropical vacation and it was time to leave.

Buy the book HERE.

To catch up on Donavan's latest caper, please go HERE.

 

  

Thank you Chuck for being our guest once more. We wish you continued success with your writing. 

And a BIG thank you to all our visitors and readers.

Feel free to leave a comment below.

We’d love to hear from you.