Maggie is on the Amazing Authors Tour

My moment in the sun as part of the #amazingeventauthors mini-blog tour!

When the water is muddy, you can't tell what's coming downstream, what's under your boat, or where the channel is. Muddy Waters are trouble with a capital T.

In my romantic suspense, Muddy Waters, both Roxie and Sloan are awash with troubles and can't see the future. Both know what they want, but attaining those goals seems insurmountable.

Here's the book blurb:

Roxie Whitaker is struggling to make her grandmother’s real estate business a success. When her coastal home is burglarized, her rosy worldview dims. Atlanta security expert Sloan Harding distracts her from her troubles, but is Mossy Bog’s former bad boy serious about her?

Never one to shy away from trouble, Sloan is determined to find his alleged missing inheritance. Sparks fly as he enters into a business arrangement with Roxie to oversee the restoration of his childhood home. With her help, Sloan resurrects old secrets while a dangerous predator stalks them.

With passion and danger muddying the waters, will love see the light of day?

Available in digital or print format:

Kindle   Wild Rose Press and Amazon     Barnes_and_Noble

Here's an excerpt from the book:

“The lost Harding fortune did have a point of origin," Sloan said. “There was no money banked when my grandfather died. My father insisted granddad hid it from him, and from there the story grew.

“No one else believed my father’s drunken ramblings. Granddad wasn’t a rich man, and he could have had unknown expenses that burnt through his savings. But two things keep me from dismissing this outright.

“First, my father was so sure he’d been scammed. He didn’t hold fast to many things, but he never wavered on this. Second, if there’s any chance at all that my grandfather hid any money, it’s mine to find.”

“That’s why you didn’t sell the house before?” Roxie’s blue green eyes regarded Sloan expectantly. “Because you needed to come home to find the truth? To uphold your granddad’s good name?”

There she went again, putting words in his mouth. He wasn’t a saint. He was a Harding. “I don’t need the money. My company is doing fine. I have questions about the past, that’s all.”

“Questions? What kind of questions?”

Why wouldn’t she let the subject drop? Did she expect him to admit his father had been crazy? Or that he harbored serious doubts about his granddad’s sanity? What sane man hid his estate from his heir?

And if said heir searched for the missing money, was he crazy too?

No way was he admitting all that. 

*     *     *     *

Be sure and visit Patsy's blog tomorrow. Here's her link:
http://plparker.blogspot.com/2012/01/patsys-amazing-author-blog-tour.html  

There will be a giveaway on the last day of the blog mini-tour, and the ebook of Muddy Waters is up for grabs. The question from this blog is: What is Sloan determined to find?
      *  *  *  *

Maggie Toussaint

romance and mystery author

www.maggietoussaint.com

Coming in March:
Death, Island Style .. a little fun, a little sun, and a dead body in the surf
Murder in the Buff ... secrets at the nudist colony lead to murder

Cousin Sister

Family trees have unique branches

Last night while we were out and about, we chanced to meet up with my cousin Sister. She has a "real" name, but family members have always called her Sister, because that's what her three brothers called her while we were all growing up. So even though she isn't my sister (she's my first cousin), I call her Sister, too.

This got me to thinking about family names. Besides my cousin Sister, I had an Aunt Bubba, and Bubba is usually a nickname for a male.

We have lots of Bigs and Littles in our family. Big Hunter, Little Hunter, "Savannah" Hunter, and now Baby Hunter. When I named my oldest daughter after my best friend Suzanne, we got Big and Little Suzanne. In an odd twist of fate, Big Suzanne is married to Little Hunter, though their sizes and weights are the opposite of their descriptors.

We have two family members that went by initials: T.P. and T.C. Both men had Thomas as their first name, so you might think we had a family aversion to the name Tom, but T.C.'s daughter named her son for him, and he goes by the "first" name of Tom Crawford.

Oh! I nearly forgot this one. Another first cousin was a second child. She grew up hearing her sister Gay saying the word "Mama" for their mom. So Little Syb called their mom "Gay's Mama."

I also had an aunt named Tootsie.

I've laid a portion of my family tree out there for you. Care to share about the "different" names of your family? A free download to one lucky commentor. The prize drawing will be on Friday afternoon, so it's not too late to post.

Maggie Toussaint

Coming in March:
Death, Island Style - a little sun, a little fun, a dead guy in the surf
Murder in the Buff - murder blooms in the nudists' organic garden

What's your favorite pen?

Are you particular about what you write with? I've discovered the world is divided into two kinds of people: Pen People and Other People. If you're like me, you're a pen person.

When I first began writing books, I did it the old-fashioned way by writing the words on the page. There's something so satisfying about forming the words with your hands. To this day, when I get stuck on a scene, I'll take pen and pad in hand and plunk down on the sunporch until I get it right.

Let's talk pens.

I like a pen that glides across a page. A good pen shouldn't require you to mash the point into the page to get a result. A good pen allows the ink to flow in a smooth manner, no globs or goobers. I had a few mistakes with felt tip pens when I stopped to think. I'd look down and there'd be a dark spot obliterating a key point I'd already conjured from the story ether.

A good pen is lightweight. Coming out of a quality assurance background where I had to sign my name hundreds of times a day, I learned that a heavy pen will wear you out. For me, lightweight is best.

I have small hands, so I like the shaft to be just right. Not too fat, not too skinny. And not too froufrou with feathers or bobble heads on top.

Medium point works best for me, because using a fine point means I need my reading glasses.

And I like a comfy grip. Not too squishy, but indented a little bit here and there.

I get bored with black ink too. I like a good blue and a red, and I've been known to sport a dark green or a deep purple as well. I prefer the contrast of darker inks.

So what's your fav? Gel pens? Sharpies? Pentels? Bics? Papermates?

Do you like the clip-on part? Do you care if the point is retractable? Inquiring minds want to know!!!

Maggie Toussaint
coming in March: Death, Island Style and Murder in the Buff

Santa of the Waters

© Margaret Toussaint 2011

 

A night before Christmas, I sank in my bed,

Too tired to sleep, and plum full of dread.
Our stockings were borrowed, our tree from the yard,
Presents we had none, times were too hard.

The kids knew the story, but still they believed

A miracle or two, an angel they conceived,
Would brighten their morning with gifts galore
But we had each other, though I wished it was more.

When a ruckus arose, a dozen dogs barking,

Had someone mistaken my lawn for free parking?
I tromped to the window full ready to blow
Gun by the bed, and bat by the do’.

The moon on high water, it sparkled and glistened,

Casting the marsh into high definition.
My eyes were a-blinking, the sight was so odd
Was that a Ryals, a Thomas, a Todd?

 A strange-looking trawler, a jolly round man,

With eight nimble helpers, all with deep tans.
I opened the door, my stomach full churning,
“Bubba, go home, you’ve made a wrong turning.”

My plea was ignored, an anchor plunked down,

Troubled, I grabbed my bat, and I frowned.
“No need for that stick,” said the old tar.
“We heard of your plight, we’ve come from afar.”

The voice was familiar, but who could he be,

An uncle, a cousin, a grand pappy?
Dressed in white boots, red cap and blue jeans,
He looked like a worker, not sparkly and clean.

His helpers they scurried and ran in my house.

“My kids!” I yelped, then felt like a louse,
For under the tree were presents a-plenty,
The stockings were plumped and smelling all minty.

I turned and saw clearly the man I’d called “Bubba”

Who glowed with good cheer. I lost it and blubbered,
“Thank you so much, my kids and I bless you.”
“We’re ever so grateful for all that you do.”

A smile creased his face, he nodded his head.

His helpers they beamed and turned quite red.
A laugh filled the air, one deep from the belly
Good cheer rolled along, a fish full of jelly.

“Your kids believed and that was enough,

To fill our ship with all this good stuff.”
I nodded and babbled, despite my intention
To hold it together, I just have to mention.

I’d heard of this gifter, he was no imposter,

This angler of note, this Santa of the Waters.
Master of shrimp and crab and fishes,
Best friend to children and their dear wishes.

He called to his helpers in a rich baritone,

Their names so familiar, a rosetta stone:
Come Mack and Howell, come Saul and Peter
On Henry and Darwin, on Billy and Hunter.

Snapping their fingers in Vic Waters style,

The tar and his buds, they danced a sea mile.
Diesels they rumbled, the nets how they swayed,
As they departed, they gave serenade.

“McIntosh County, a jewel so splendid,
A people so nice, highlander descended.
Your rivers are pure, your hearts are true,
Merry Christmas to y’all, a hearty wahoo.”

Maggie "Margaret" Toussaint
(as seen in the Dec. 22, 2011 issue of The Darien News)

PW review is a mag Christmas gift

fab new cover quote from
Publisher's Weekly

I kept wondering what I would get myself for Christmas this year. I'm oh-so-tempted to buy a little here and there as I'm working down my Christmas list, but this year I'd held back. Then  Publisher's Weekly surprised me with a great review.

I was anxious about this book, my first mystery not in my popular Cleopatra Jones series. Would the reviewers like it as much as my other titles? Would it tank, and there'd never be another Maggie Toussaint cozy sold? So many things go through your head when you send a book out into the world, almost like putting your child on the school bus for the first time.

Anyway, if my "gift" of a review for Death, Island Style from Publisher's Weekly is a portent of things to come, I think I can relax and let go.

My publisher was so pleased with the review that the cover was changed to incorporate the new PW quote" "exciting whodunit."

Here's their entire review:

Widow MaryBeth Cashour, a former Maryland resident, makes a fresh start on the tiny coastal island of Sandy Shores, Ga., after the mysterious drowning death of her husband and her mother’s death from cancer in this exciting whodunit from Toussaint (In for a Penny). Running a souvenir and gift shop gives MaryBeth purpose, income, and a good reason to tackle crafting and shelling. When she discovers a dead body bobbing along the seashore, the police are suspicious of a newcomer with so much death in her recent past. When the corpse is linked to MaryBeth’s former life, the heat really turns up. Fortunately, there’s also heat from a handsome pharmacist in a neighboring storefront. MaryBeth realizes that if she’s ever going to drop off the police radar, she’ll have to figure out some things for herself.

Permalink: http://www.publishersweekly.com/978-1-4328-2566-9 (978-1-4328-2566-9)

gingerbread cookies
are a family favorite

I haven't figured out how to wrap this one up and put it under my tree, so I'm glad to have the Mudpies blog to showcase this wonderful gift. My publisher notified me that Death, Island Style would also release in large print, so that's two gifts in one!

To read the first Chapter of Death, Island Style, visit the Bookshelf page of my site, www.maggietoussaint.com.

Death, Island Style by Maggie Toussaint.

Five Star, $25.95 (262p) ISBN 978-1-4328-2566-9

Available March 9, 2012 from all online and bricks and mortar vendors

Wishing everyone the merriest Christmas ever!

Maggie Toussaint

A bit of holiday cheer
on my door

Puzzle People

You've seen them. They sit there for hours on end, fingering the edge of a piece of cardboard and oblivious to the world around them. Or perhaps they're sitting in a busy airport, pen in hand and inking letters into a black and white grid.

Puzzle people. They're a unique breed of determined, methodical individuals who know that sticking with something all the way to the end nets a grand reward. Oftentimes, jigsaw puzzlers start with the easy part, assembling the framework, then they work inward either by shape or color recognition or image alignment. Be forewarned though, looking at the box may be considered cheating by some serious puzzlers.

DIDJA KNOW: Jigsaw puzzles of the same size and series from the same manufacturer often have identical cuts and piece shapes.

In today's high tech world, assembling a jigsaw puzzle (or a crossword puzzle or a Suduko) may seem archaic and unimportant, but the activity has diehard enthusiasts and now the medical community is onboard singing the praises of puzzles.

DIDJA KNOW: Working on a puzzle stimulates your brain. Some say it may even ward off Alzheimer's, a memory impairing disease.

I'm one of them. A puzzler, I mean, though I probably have my share of memory issues. There's nothing I like better than seeing how something fits together. I've never been much of a take-aparter, but I dearly love putting together a puzzle. I couldn't imagine starting my day without a Sudoku number puzzle. I usually tackle the crossword puzzle for lunch. In the evenings, I engage my brain with whodunits in books or on TV.


At a mystery conference I once roomed with a woman who loved doing Sudoko puzzles on a handheld device, and she was always trying to best her former times. That's serious puzzling.

With aging relatives, I've been in and out of nursing homes over the last three years. I can recognize a puzzle person on sight. And the cool thing is, they recognize me right back. No introductions are necessary. You just slip into a chair and pick up a puzzle piece and you share in a wonderful fellowship.

If only everything in life were so easy!

Maggie Toussaint
Death, Island Style coming in February

PS ARE YOU A PUZZLER? Be sure and leave a comment about the kind of puzzles you enjoy or tell me if your relatives enjoy puzzles. I'd love to hear from you!

Droopy Drawers is a hot topic

no droopy drawers here!

I heard the term "droopy drawers news" over the weekend, and it sparked a fun memory. Way back when, probably in the stone ages, I knew someone who called another person "Annabel Droopy Drawers." (For those not from the south, "Drawers" is the refined expression for the modest underpants of my childhood and earlier.)

a droopy drawers face

 I always thought the expression meant that Ann didn't have enough padding to fill out her drawers, but now I have reason to doubt that as the sole interpretation. In the context of "droopy drawers" news, I believe the term is also used to indicate sadness. (And in hindsight, this gal didn't always have a sunny outlook.)

Certainly if I had droopy drawers, I'd be sad. Nothing worse than elastic failure, but I suppose in this day and age of ladies wearing slacks most of the time, having your underpants fall off isn't so much to be feared. However droopy drawers under slacks would certainly be an annoyance and that would make me sad and maybe a bit crazy. (Trust me, I won't even allow a tag under my clothes. This sort of undergarment irritant would make me as neurotic as TV detective Monk.)

this is a good way to get
droopy drawers

The Urban Dictionary cites these definitions of droopy drawers. 1) a woman with excessively limp buttocks; 2) a person who has a load of sand and other oceanic debris in their drawers; and 3) pulling someone else's pants down to cause embarassment. (wow - I thought this last one used to be called pantsing. Shows how out of touch I am!)

We've all seen these droopy drawers

Imagine my surprise to find there are droopy drawers laws in Florida and even my home state of Georgia that relate to anti-sagging. Fortunately for senior citizens, this isn't a law against aging, but a protest over those lowslung pants that mostly teenage boys wear. BTW, how do they keep those pants up? I worry that placing a cell phone in my pants pocket will make them too heavy to stay up, and my pants are firmly in place. I would hate to have really low pants like that and sneeze. Yikes!

According to a Wikipedia entry, sagging pants as a wardrobe choice is believed to have originated from the prison system, where prisoners weren't allowed to have belts for fear they'd hurt themselves or others. Once hip hop artists popularized the fad, it has since become a statement of independence and freedom. Who'd a thunk?

My suggestion to fight droopy drawers moods?
Get out and get going.
The dog and fella are kinda nice too

I think the term "droopy drawers" is an older experession, hailing from my parent's generation or earlier. I found a list of nearly 2,000 cliches online assembled by Steve Lautenschlager, and the word "droopy" was not found in the entire list. I guess there isn't a category for a walking cliche.

Hopefully, all of us are gearing up for family and fellowship with the advent of the holidays, so put away your "droopy drawers" faces and start getting into the holiday spirit!

Maggie Toussaint

ps - do you have a cliche you overuse? do you say things like an apple a day keeps the doctor away, the early bird gets the worm, or the pot calling the kettle black? I'd love to hear your take on cliches today.