Hi, ya’ll. I’m Romance author Min Edwards and I’m a misplaced Texan. I was raised in the Texas Panhandle in an oil refinery company town. I think most of those have disappeared now, but it was an interesting place to grow up. I left that oil refinery behind as soon as my high school diploma was in my hot little hands and journeyed off to college, Texas Tech University, married, and also left as soon as that BA degree in Anthropology was mine… didn’t even wait for the ceremony. I then spent a few years, eleven to be exact, in far-flung places, the Philippines, London, Cuba (Guantanamo Bay), London again, Maine, then back to Texas for the next few decades. During that time I went back to school—I seem to be a perpetual student—and received an MA in Anthropology from The University of Texas at Austin. In 2011 I got a wild hair up my… well you know where… and left all my friends, family and the vibrancy of Austin, and moved lock, stock and barrel—and there were a lot of barrels—to the upper coast of Maine. So far up that I’m even several hours east of Bar Harbor! I…

Hi, everyone! I’m Katherine Fleet, and I’m so excited to be here on Fresh Fiction today. I’m the debut author of THE SECRET TO LETTING GO from Entangled Teen. It’s a YA contemporary set in a fictional town on the Gulf Coast of Florida during that magical summer after high school graduation where the whole world is out there waiting for you. It’s the story of two teens – Clover, a mysterious girl who shows up in town steeped in secrets and fears, and Daniel, a boy who’s drawn into her troubled world despite his better judgment. Life keeps throwing them together, but their secrets keep them apart. Ultimately, it’s a story about living through tragedy and learning to forgive your self. As it’s “Suspense Day” here on Fresh Fiction, I was asked to write about suspense. My first thoughts were about thrillers and murder mysteries and how these possibly applied to my writing, but then I looked up the definition of suspense. It’s “a state or feeling of excited or anxious uncertainty about what may happen.” Hmmm…I’ve felt this frequently when watching shows like Downton Abbey or reading books like THE HELP. Yet, neither of these has any serial…

Did your favorite movie of 2015 make the Academy’s list for best picture? Are you still trying to figure out if THE REVENANT is relevant? Want to win some cool prizes and talk about your favorite Oscar Awards picks? Join Gwen as she shares the stage with Candace Havens of KSCS and Preston Barta of Fresh Fiction TV for an Oscar panel at the Magnolia Theater in Uptown Dallas. Not only can you hear about their picks for the big categories, but you can also win prizes from West Village shops like Village Burger Bar and Mi Cocina. The panel is free for everyone, so bring all your friends! More Information    

I sometimes jest that if ever I get arrested I’m sure to be thought a professional criminal because I have so many aliases: Mary P. Kuhfeld, Mary Monica Pulver, Monica Ferris, Margaret Frazer, Margaret Shaftesbury. I try always to carry some of my bookmarks with me because they list my various names and the names of the books I’ve written under those pseudonyms. Why do authors sometimes have more than one name? Usually it’s because they are writing more than one type of book. I have written police procedurals, medieval mysteries and needlework mysteries. It’s unkind to fool a fan of my sweet needlework cozies into buying something a little harsher set in fifteenth century England. Hence, Monica Ferris and Margaret Frazer. So why do I write different kinds of stories? I suppose it’s like not always eating the same thing for dinner. I like chicken, but sometimes I want ham. Or perhaps it’s because I’ve come across a big chunk of information that gives me a gangbuster idea for a story, but it’s well outside the usual vein I’ve been mining. Or sometimes the vein is exhausted and I’m digging for something new. One way I keep my needlework…

My parents gave me a long brown wig for my seventh birthday. It’s unclear how they knew that this would be an awesome present for a second grader, but I remember being delighted beyond my wildest dreams. One summer day, while my mom and dad were lounging out back of our house, I dressed up in my yellow dance leotard, a yellow, pink, and light blue maxi skirt, the long wig, and my mom’s oversized sunglasses and then went out back to join them. I was surprised by how hard they laughed. Throughout my growing-up years, costumes came and went. Sometimes they were in the form of inherited clothes from a great grandparent that were inappropriate for every day but possible for Halloween (a long, full black skirt with layers of netting underneath—perfect for a witch costume, a pair of baggy men’s pants from the forties—perfect for a hobo). Sometimes they were styles that went out of fashion but were relegated to the box of paint clothes (a pair of denim bell bottoms that were printed with seashells). Sometimes they were items made by my mom (a blue and white checkered dress inspired by Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz)….

West Cork has long been considered one of the most beautiful parts of Ireland, with its rolling hills, prehistoric monuments, herds of grazing cattle and flocks of sheep, and rocky coastline with a scattering of fishing villages. Plenty of people from other countries have bought vacation homes there, to enjoy the peace and quiet. But there are some outsiders who have been attracted by the rambling coastline for centuries: first pirates, and now international smugglers. I would never have known until I introduced myself to a police sergeant in Skibbereen, who was not what I would have expected: not only does he have 35 years of experience at different postings throughout the country, but he’s smart, charming, and funny, and he’s also a genealogist and historian. I couldn’t have found a better advisor for the County Cork mysteries. He was the one who told me about the smuggling. Actually he first told me about one case that happened several years ago, that sounded like a comedy of errors (the smugglers put the wrong kind of fuel in their boat?), but there are other, more recent cases. And we’re talking hundreds of millions of euros in smuggled drugs (and liquor, and…

Fresh Pick for Sunday, February 21st, 2016 is FIND HER by Lisa Gardner About FIND HER Flora Dane is a victim. Seven years ago, carefree college student Flora was kidnapped while on spring break. For 472 days, Flora learned just how much one person can endure. Flora Dane is a survivor. Miraculously alive after her ordeal, Flora has spent the past five years reacquainting herself with the rhythms of normal life, working with her FBI victim advocate, Samuel Keynes. She has a mother who’s never stopped loving her, a brother who is scared of the person she’s become, and a bedroom wall covered with photos of other girls who’ve never made it home. Flora Dane is reckless. . . . or is she? When Boston detective D. D. Warren is called to the scene of a crime—a dead man and the bound, naked woman who killed him—she learns that Flora has tangled with three other suspects since her return to society. Is Flora a victim or a vigilante? And with her firsthand knowledge of criminal behavior, could she hold the key to rescuing a missing college student whose abduction has rocked Boston? When Flora herself disappears, D.D. realizes a far…

What could be more romantic than Italy? The hush of a gondola plying the waters of a Venetian canal, the painted beauty of the countryside around Florence, the walled cities of Sienna and San Gimignano… For your Valentine month treat, I offer up a quartet of historical fiction that explores the art, craft, excitement and intrigue of Venice, Florence and Sienna. Enjoy! Progressing chronologically, we begin with THE TOWERS OF TUSCANY by Carol M Cram. In this story set in the beautiful walled city of fourteenth-century San Gimignano, Sofia secretly trains as a painter in her father’s workshop. But women cannot paint openly, and turning her back on her talent, she takes refuge in a traditional marriage. When her father is killed in a tragic accident, despairing of the husband who has come to despise her for not producing a son, Sofia flees to Siena, disguises herself as a boy, and returns to painting. There, her work attracts the attention of a compellingly attractive noble patron—whose growing interest in both her art and the artist force her into a desperate choice. Full of interesting detail about art and the city, Cram paints a vivid picture of early Renaissance Siena. About…

There are a lot of fiction books out there with angels. So how was I to stand out in the pack? Have you ever read a novel that claims to be about angels, but it’s really just plain ole’ everyday humans with wings stuck to their backs? I’ve encountered plenty of those. When I set out to write The Books of Raziel series, I knew one thing: my angels and demons had to be different. Really different. My book series is gothic fantasy, so the setting became the key to how my angels would be portrayed. Everything about them had to be otherworldly and at least mildly unsettling. Real angels throughout religious history have typically inspired people with fear despite their beauty. That was a key detail I wanted to weave into my own work. The angels and demons in ARCHON, COVENANT, and ANGELUS have very human emotions and feelings, but they are also above us. They work on their own set of morals. They can be cruel and capricious by our human standards. And the usual notions of good and evil don’t apply. Many of the angels in these books are weighed down by their own sins. There are…

I write contemporary romances. To be exact, I write lighthearted contemporary romances with a humorous edge. Yes, there’s always a serious thread tucked inside my plot, but most readers know me for my humor and sarcasm. But about a year-and-a-half ago I had this image that wouldn’t escape me. I kept picturing these kids—a younger boy, a slightly older girl—living in this abandoned house I remembered from my years growing up on the Arkansas/Oklahoma border. About halfway between the Arkansas border and Tulsa, there is this house on the south side of the highway. It’s a beautiful house…now. But when I was younger it sat empty and unfinished, staying that way for a decade, maybe two. Unused rusty cranes and bulldozers flanked each side and became covered in cobwebs. Mounds of fresh dirt slowly sprouted weeds…eventually trees. Even though the house had the potential to be gorgeous, everything about it used to scare me. Every time we drove past—which generally averaged to be two or three times a year—I would stare at it. Hold my breath. Think up creepy little scenarios about what might be occurring in that gigantic, deteriorating house. I never forgot those stories. And so I kept…