I couldn’t believe, after one four star rating (Mystery Montage,) and another four star rating (Crime Montage), I finally accomplished the best rating for my short story collection Confetti, a collection of Cozy Crimes! I don’t think as authors we realize what book, what story, what sentence, what word, will grab a reader, reviewer, friend, or neighbor. All our stories are in some way leaps of faith that our hearts and minds and imagination will be presented so someone out there will smile and say, “Hey, this was a great read.”

The Review:

“Oh, just delightful! This book, generally, does not take itself too seriously. It is a collection of short stories, all tied together by the commission, contemplation, connivance or conundrum of murder. The problem of such a collection is to make the characters different from one story to the next. Patricia L. Morin speaks with different voices as her characters, mostly in the first person, involve themselves or are involved in homicide.

“When an intellectual college student has oxygen starvation amnesia, she talks in short clipped sentences, giving the impression that longer thoughts are just too much for her to manage. When a stoner has a run-in with a Good Samaritan, he is under the influence and his lack of coherent thought prevents him from recognizing the truth of his predicament. An elderly man contemplates his life and marriage, striving to find a reason to continue one or the other. A successful stock trader is forced by the murder of her sister to examine her own motivations and desires.

“There is more, however, to character development and tone than sentence structure alone and the author successfully creates, in a very short time and with quick strokes, enough of each character to allow the reader to picture and fill in the rest. There is just enough description for a short story, with such phrases as ‘eyes of ice’ or ‘he had a twinkle in the corner of his crinkled eyes.’ These would make good short plays, each about one-quarter to one-half hour long. Most of them have a clever twist or ending, often unexpected, usually foreshadowed for the amateur sleuths among us. The book is not clinically gory so the characterizations are not lost in the awful details. I liked the book: it is easy reading, and I found myself laughing at the twists and admiring the writer’s craft.”

—Ralph Peterson, San Francisco Book Review
Click here to read published book review

We’ve been settling in on the upper West Side now for over a month. I was commissioned to write a play for a new producer–the contract won’t let me announce it yet.   I am also working on a play reading in SF on August 4th, and perfecting the comedy short play, “Till the End” about Jo’s Survival Instinct who tries to talk him out of committing suicide. If any of you are in SF, come to Tides Theater, Monday at 7. My play, with several others, will be read. That doesn’t mean it will be produced, even though I’ll bring some props. The actors will simply read it, and the audience will share ideas about how and why they liked it, or otherwise. AND … I’m finishing up a Noir mystery novel, Moloch and the Angel, and close to being done. Whew.

But I thought I would share some of the pictures I took of NY. Really, these photos are sooooo NY.  They are mostly snippets of a long two-hour walk through the park. A carnival in the middle of a park seemed odd to me. Tayya, our lab/ getting some educated vibes from Robert Burns. Then there’s the frustrated Mime.

  men playing chess

Collecting coins, and using the echo of the tunnel to attract customers.

 

The famous Carousel where no two families spoke the same language.So many rides through Central Park, for so many years.

The famous Dakota apartment where John Lennon lived and died. Each apartment very unique in structure and design. Mommy and baby classes near our apartment.Flowers and birds plant themselves anywhere they can survive. Brooklyn Bridge picture we bought.Famous taxi street, 42nd picture.Near the lake where people row boats. And finally, a bright end to a bright day.

Hope you enjoyed the show, folks.

We finally reached New York and our old homestead. Grand View is a village saddled in between Nyack, NY and Piermont, NY. It has 125 homes with some very famous people. Our home, now painted all white, was once lilac (main color), black cherry, burgundy, and white. people stayed in our cottage for a respite or to find themselves, a segue way of sorts. LamaTuptin Gyatso, a friend of the Dali Lama, stayed there for several weeks. He didn’t want to leave after coming to the birthday celebration of the Dali Lama July 4th many years ago. Two houses down lives the writer Thomas Burger, famous in the 70’s, and wrote “Little Big Horn,” later staring Al Pachino, “Neighbors” later staring Bill Murray and others (based on his life in Snedens Landing in Piermont where many movie stars lived.Most of the house faces the Hudson River and the other floors are below the street. Then we have, about fifteen houses south, Toni Morrison’s .homeAcross the street from us was William Stanley Wyatt, born in Grand View, (died 1962–son lives there)painter and sculpture, who created the bronze statue outside of St John the Divine church in NYC, atlas obscura.Up about a mile south from our home was the home of William Hurt, now moved.Down into Nyack, a mile north, we have director Johnathan Demi, and then there is Helen Hayes old house that was bought by Rosie O’Donold, who found privacy and issue, planting the huge hedges, then moving.  Hope you enjoyed some of the pictures from the old hood. We loved noting all the changes in the area, and reminiscing about the “good old days”.

Then, home to 84th and Amsterdam.

Till next time.

Our Road Trip from San Francisco to New York City: a 3,200 mile excursion with Tayya, our 8   year-old Lab/Australian Cattle Dog,

And Coral, our 5 year-old Betta fish.Strapped in for safety for all of five miles, then the water sloshed, and the bowl wound up secured on the front floor in front of me. You should have seen the looks when I carried the fish into the hotels.

On the way to Sacramento, we road through Donner Pass–some history there (plane crashed many years ago and people ate people to survive). Of course Larry, my husband, had to ask me if I was hungry.

Then on to Utah, and the city with the cleanest street and calmest feel, Salt Lake City.  Larry had to buy a Duncan Donuts coffee, his favorite, and a fond memory from his New York City days.

Beautiful views leaving the city. See the salt mound in the second picture?

We loved Denver. We were so filled with the city, we forgot to take more pictures! However, we did visit the car show, and decided that since we move so much, we would buy one of these. The motorcycles fit on the back. Of course, we’d have to travel more north with that plow!

Although Larry truly would have preferred one of these two cars. 🙂

Wyoming is one of my favorite states.The winds howled and the gust exceeded forty miles an hour, with fingers threatening to touch land.

Stopping for meals at different ‘home-down” restaurants, we came across this very different cocktail recipe in Idaho Falls, a college town where half of the town seemed to be inhabited by all 35,000 students of the university. Young bloods all over the city! The sunset … well ….

I thought I would love Chicago. But between the cold weather, overpowering high buildings all in rows blocking the sky, and lack of beauty, I felt disappointed. My theatres were dark as most are on Mondays and Tuesdays, but

luckily, the Art Institute of Chicago had a French Impressionism show with pieces we had never seen! Yay!

We stayed at the Hilton, and instead of heading out to a fine-dining restaurant, we eased into comfortable chairs, ate way too many nuts, and toasted the falling snow–that the denizens cursed, yet again.Across from the street there stood a park with a lone rider.

Onward to home … pictures … tomorrow

 

 

 

 

Last we left the Gumby’s crew, Gumby dove into the pool where he had previously retrieved a plastic purse. He had remembered seeing the filtering system nozzle somewhat ajar, and wanted to inspect it. (At this point, I didn’t have a clue what Gumby would find. At first I thought a weapon, but what good would that do the story, especially jammed in the nozzle? The filter nozzle was too small for anything useful. Then I pondered a disk, hidden with spy information. But really, spy stuff is really not “in” right now. How about a drone sensor and a list of those to be murdered? Nah, didn’t feel right. That’s international stuff. I wanted to keep it lighter, unhappy person to unhappy person. Well, then maybe he finds nothing. I didn’t like that either. Time to end this story. Gumby would have to stretch his abilities and find the biggest clue of all, if not the motive.) He unscrews the nozzle and carries it with him to the surface, massive amount of water now running through the drain.

Once on the surface, Officer Blue awaited his return. The Officer gaped at Gumby, and Vim and Vigor, with Pokey, watched over his shoulder as he disassembled the filter. To all their surprise, (and mine when I thought of it,) was a laminated, hand painted, portrait of a panther. “I know that panther!” Gumby shouted. And on the photo was a a dollar amount and a short note. $3,000 for the mold of the sculpture. Aha, Officer Blue and the others yelled. Now, all we have to do is count the money! The officer, not concerned about crime scene evidence being touched–even though the money was soaking wet– unraveled the roll of hundreds, and sure enough, the amount totaled $3,100!  “She was going to pay for the mold of the un-famous panther! But why would someone kill her for this mold, and why did she hide the photo before she drowned?” Gumby asked. Vim hopped around like a Jack rabbit. “I know, I know! Call on me, I know!” The officer pointed to Vim. “Because, well it’s obvious, because the panther was going to become famous, and the murderer wanted more than $3,000, and not just a hundred bucks.” Vim smiled his widest smile. Vigor shook his head back and forth contemplating the option.  “I think the extra money was for her to get home,” Pokey suggested, “and maybe even have dinner along the way.”    “Well,” Officer Blue said, “We have a dilemma. I’ll take all the evidence back with me and we’ll go through it piece by piece.” He pocketed the picture and the money. Pokey, not liking what she saw said, “Have you ever been to this house before officer?”    “No, I haven’t,”  Officer Blue proclaimed. Siren could be heard around the corner. “A aha!” Gumby yelled. “We got you!”  “Oh! I was right! It’s police officer!”     “No, but close Pokey. You gave me the idea! It was the security person that protected this house that could get back in easily without a key, and that probably heard that the lady here was going to buy that mold for $3,000 bucks. I called the police right after you did!” Gumby turned to the fake Officer Blue. “i called and checked on this house after seeing the security sticker on the window. Nice try, but you’re going to end up in jail.”   Officer Blue ran to the gate where he was met with the police. Gumby was thrilled! He had the most exciting day of his life! “Pokey,” he said affirmatively, “I know what I’m going to be!”  “A detective? You did so well on this case, and look at you … you’re thrilled.”  “No, Pokey, I’m going to be a travel agent. I’ll be damned if I’m going into pools to retrieve dead bodies and hold my breath trying to find evidence. I’m going to be a travel agent.” Gumby was thrilled with his decision. It enlivened him. He invited the crew out for a drink to celebrate the end of the caper the beginning of being a travel agent career.                                                                                         Gumby loved being a travel agent!                                                 

PS… When I saw the picture of Gumby with the panther, I had my answer. Thanks to Peter Schmidt’s photos of Gumby on their vacation, and lots of other places—––

Next: We go back to the serious, the psychological, the lonely and “The Art of Being Alone.”

Last we left Gumby and his friends, he was swimmingin a pool toward a dead body with something moving under it. Vim ran and hid behind Vigor who stood near the edge of the pool in case Gumby needed help. Pokey squinted at the body in the pool after she called 911.

Gumby stayed still until a black shadow surfaced next to the body. A black plastic purse! It must be filled with air. Gumby swam to the body, and pulled her to the side of the pool by her suit jacket, the coat floating off of her body. Creeped-out Gumby jumped out of the pool, and stood next to Pokey waiting for the police. “Should we take the purse out of the water?” Gumby asked Pokey as if she knew what to do. “No, let the police do that.” They all glanced at the purse as it sunk to the bottom of the pool. “Well the police are going to have to dive in for that,” Gumby said. “So much for going for a swim.” He felt down again. Nothing seemed to be going right. Now, all he wanted was a drink and a smoke.

(Gotta do something with that purse, I thought)

Pokey inspected the body, and Vigor helped her turn it over so that the eyes face stared up at them. They gasped! Pokey moved aside so Gumby could see. Around her neck was a blue blotch of bruising. She was strangled! (I knew there had to be some clue on the body since there was no blood.) She was murdered! (yep, murder mystery) They all jumped back a step as if she would come alive.

Pokey trotted over to the house and twisted all the doors knobs. Locked. The gate was locked and the house was locked. Maybe there were keys in her purse? “Go get her purse, Gumby,” Pokey nudged, “Maybe there is a clue in there. We can help the police. Aren’t you curious? I am.” Vim ran around the pool. “Me, too! Me, too!” he shouted as Vigor nodded. “Go get it,” Vigor added. Gumby sighed, but had to admit he was also wondering about what secrets the purse held. “Okay.” He jumped in the pool and enjoyed the splash of cool water on his green skin. He dove to the bottom and grabbed the purse. No sooner did he pull himself out of the pool, Pokey snatched the pocketbook, opened it, and turned it upside down letting the contents fall onto the cement walk along the pool. What fell out of the purse as the police sirens could be heard approaching?

(Gotta go and figure the rest of this out. No, I don’t know what happens yet.)

Tune in ….

 

Someone name Peter Schmidt photographed his travels with his little green companion, Gumby, to Florida. I guess Gumby could work as a travel guide. Maybe not.

During the holidays, I thought about Gumby rarely, I must confess. I started to wonder if I had picked the right character for my next short story. I can’t imagine why now, but at the time in Santa Barbara, I felt a zing in my imagination, and said, “Gumby could be the ONE. Noodle some ideas around in your head and see what pops.” Nothing popped. In fact, Gumby fizzled. Gumby, Gumby, Gumby. Judy, Judy, Judy. Character. Imagination. Plot. Imagination.

Gumby went to Florida. Stood by a palm tree. No coconuts hit him. He pointed out the swimming pool. No one kicked him in. He swam at the beach (or kissed the sand), and didn’t drowned. He rested in a beach chair to get some sun and a deep, deep forest-green color. No one sat on him. What next?

A symbol of what I should do with my idea of a short story involving Gumby?

No! This is the beginning of how a short story forms. Anything goes, until something hits and whala! Maybe I have to look more into the heart of the character. It can’t be fun being so small and green, not to mention not even being alive. There is no heart in this character. Now I have to create the heart.

I’ll have to noddle this some more, maybe even get Pokey involved. Pokey was a horse, his friend. Pokey is female, well, I don’t know that for sure. But in my story, Pokey will be a female. She’ll be fun and feisty and full of herself, and an energy that introduces his boring world to vim and vigor. Hey, I can make them characters! Vim and Vigor are twins. Parents of twins often do that … like Janet and Joan … Peter and Paul … it’s a shred of believable reality that we can pull into the story. Yeah, I like it. I’m feeling invigorated again. Okay, so Vim will be impulsive, not thinking things through before acting, a bit weak when it comes to confrontation, but fun. Vigor will be the essence of the action, the strength, the grounding rod for Vim. So now we have Gumby, and Pokey (his best friend and one of his few), who acquaints Gumby to Vim and Vigor.

Gotta get Gumby out of the travel business … get his head out of the sand, and into something much more exciting.

Onward …

 

Walking down State Street in Santa Barbara, a desire to write another short story nagged my imagination. I had begun another novel, a dark psychological novel that subdued me for weeks. I needed a breath of fresh air, and my imagination needed to explore another short-story avenue. Can’t stay submerged in one writing arena for too long, I get anxious, restless to wander.

I studied items in the Fine Arts Museum shop window: books, jewelery, posters, toys, models of sculptures. Yes, a full window. Maybe I should write about something I see in the store, I thought. That would be new. Although I’m never lost for ideas, I wanted to write something different than my usual mystery. I wanted to practice writing something “out-of-the-box” for me. Although I tend to be very diverse, and many a critique has felt less than positive about the multiplicity, I wanted to stretch myself–like an artist does when doing a series of pieces and studying dimensionality.

I then decided I would take pictures of the items that most caught my eye, pick one to write about, and take you along for the ride.

Here they are as I photographed them: (Which one do you think I chose?)

One of my favorite cartoons as a young kid.

 

Love robots (Robbie the Robot being my first from Lost In Space.)

Psychologically who doesn’t feel this way at times?

Oh so pretty.

Photography makes the picture. Love it.

Ah, that gruesome side of humanity, the darkness, the depth, and the dead.

I came home and downloaded the pictures. I studied them and how I felt about each of them. Where did the story lie? I decided right-off that it wasn’t in the pretty dress … didn’t tickle my fancy enough. And “The Scream”–too psychological for me. Easier to write, not out-of-the-box enough for a wayward story. Beard and photography … I would save that for a later date. The front-cover picture unfolded its own story, and I wanted nothing to suggest the person, profession, or timeline of the tale. Darkness, depth, depression, and death–all in my new book–needed to get away from that. Okay, I was left with the robot, and the cartoon. Which would be the hardest to write? I had already imagined and started notes for “The Archivist”, A sci-fi story that takes place in the distant future. But I had stopped it dead in it’s over-worded tracks. Hmm, yes, I went with Gumby. I haven’t the foggiest clue where the Gunby team will take me, but we’re meandering the road together headed into a new light. I’ll need to noodle it around in my brain, in fits and starts, day and night, pieces floating through an untouched abyss until they meet and form.

To be continued … dreams, ideas, and characters