by Lynne | Feb 15, 2016 | Uncategorized
Several readers have asked me when my next book will be out. Here’s an update.
Book 5 is titled Time Lapse and it takes place during Victorian times in London and involves the Jack the Ripper murders. With significant twists and turns and, I hope, a shocking ending.
The modern characters include digital photographer, Maggie Thornhill and her best friend, Rosie, a golden retriever. Frank Mead is the smart but surly homicide lieutenant. Add to the mix, Winston Cain, an FBI agent brought into the case because the crimes cross international borders.
The historical characters started their antics during the Civil War (in Time Exposure) and the villains who got away with treason and murder in the 1860s are now alive and well in the 1880s–committing still more heinous crimes.
Time Lapse is currently in the St. Martin’s Press writing competition, Malice Domestic. St. Martin’s generally selects traditional “Whodunits” and even though my books don’t seem to fit that criteria, I was, indeed, a finalist several years ago for The Triangle Murders. In fact, a judge called me, very excited to nominate it.
One of the problems with writing non-traditional mysteries, as my agent once told me, is that publishers don’t know how to market them. Are they history, mystery, technology, science, what? In any case, Time Lapse will not be published before late spring, early summer.
In the meantime, I have started work on a sixth mystery. In this one, I return to World War II and the Nazis. The historic story takes place in Berlin from 1933 to 1945. This time the connection is not art, but music. The rough premise is that, through a number of deviation gyrations, a German musician steals the musical compositions of a Jewish musician. The repercussions are felt generations later amidst murder and mayhem in New York City. The working title: The Final Note.
In the modern story of The Final Note, Maggie Thornhill must figure out how to authenticate music rather than art, as she did in Deadly Provenance. I have to figure it out first, so now, back to research!
Ideas welcome.
by Lynne | Feb 8, 2016 | Uncategorized
I’ve been asked how I come up with ideas for my mysteries. Maybe this will surprise you, but I start with the backdrop, by which I mean the setting for the book. Since I’m into mysteries that take place in the past, I have myriad choices and I develop my plot around the place or places I want to write about.
To help me decide on a place, I scout around for real life events, crimes, tragedies, disasters that happened in those places at different times in history. This helps me settle on a time period. For instance, being a native New Yorker, I always wanted to write about early NYC history. Maybe turn of the 20th century when immigrants were flowing into Ellis Island by the thousands. The Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire and the tragic deaths of 146 workers, mostly women, immediately drew me in. The tragedy itself, the stories behind the women’s lives and the horrible injustice of it all made it the perfect backdrop for a mystery.
Plus, the atmosphere of the time became paramount. The wretched tenements and sweat shops, the little pleasure these young women had, trying to help support their families, and the fight for better working conditions made it a perfect milieu for murder.
Guess who? Guess where?
I set another novel during World War II in both Washington, D.C. and France. As a museum professional I was intrigued with the many stories appearing in the news almost weekly about Nazi confiscated art. So, yes, more wrongs to be righted. Plus, I loved both locales and wanted to do research on location.
I lived for a number of years in New England. Not surprising, my most recent book is set in a small town in Massachusetts, a town infamous for prejudice and scandal. Salem, home of the 1692 witch trials. Could I ask for a place more dark and sinister with grim events of real history? Truly a great backdrop with lots of atmosphere.
Books that stand out in my mind have a setting that I personally find intriguing. Stories set in cold places like Sweden or Iceland, even Minnesota. Or just the opposite: books set in the Louisiana bayous or the humid south. Extreme weather conjures up atmosphere and along with that, characters who must deal with these extremes.
Big cities, mean streets, small, rural towns, exotic lands, different cultures and languages. What kind of backdrop do you enjoy reading . . . or writing about?
by Lynne | Feb 1, 2016 | Uncategorized
This is my second blog on this subject and I have substituted new reviews for the ones in the original piece.
Every so often I visit my book pages on Amazon to see if any new reviews have come in. Some of the initial reviews were family and friends, of course, so I knew they’d be pretty positive. But when the new reader reviews started coming in, I was fascinated. Some were funny, some not so.
Just as in writing a book, writing a review reveals a glimpse into the writer’s true identity — on which side of the political aisle s/he stands. How s/he feels about love, hate, money, ethnicity, religion, values and much more. I learned something from all of them so I decided to share a few with you.
TIME EXPOSURE 5 stars: “Excellent Story! This was a fascinating book. I literally couldn’t put it down. I had seen movies about Booth, but none of them impressed me. This book did. I loved the twists and turns. It was well written with no errors at all. It kept me reading it until I finished.”
TIME EXPOSURE 4 stars: “Kennedy has the knack. This was another fun read…a little over-the-top plot wise but it’s an arguable sequence of events and given the constancy of greed and political corruption I found myself sympathetic to the story. The conclusion is less compelling but I do recommend this one. Lots of Civil War info.”
I’m bummed the reader didn’t like the conclusion. This was a real twist . . . or so I thought. Ah well.
DEADLY PROVENANCE 5 stars: “An author who can capture a period in time as well as Rockwell does on canvas. An intriguing display of mystery and perhaps many ways to look at a long held opinion of a time where nothing was sacred.”
I’d love more of these, wouldn’t you? Honest, I don’t know this person. But I’d like to.
DEADLY PROVENANCE 3 stars: “Art Crime and WW2 Easy fun read…. Detectives and art are always an interesting combination, add ww2 to the mix and it’s a hit.”
What made it three rather than 4 stars?
PURE LIES 2 stars: “Not up to Kennedy’s usual standards. This rework of the Salem Witch Trials is heavy-handed and much too long. I saw the ending coming from mid-book — too bad. I’m a fan of Deadly Provenance. This one …not so much.”
I really appreciate comments like this. It’s honest and she says why she rated it low.
PURE LIES 5 stars: “There are two stories in this book – I definitely recommend it – especially for book club folks. I also think it should be made into a movie. Lynne does her research and picks her subject matter carefully. Greed, real estate values, hysterical young, bored maidens and corrupt (Puritan Clergy) men formulated this tragic, true historical period and got away with it for years. Does this sound familiar? History does repeat itself, which needs to be told.”
It’s obvious to me the reader read this book carefully and culled out some of the important motivations for the witch trials. Thank you!
THE TRIANGLE MURDERS 5 stars: “A puzzle within a puzzle. I very much enjoyed Kennedy’s historical fiction with two murders tied 100 years apart to an actual historic event: the Triangle Factory fire of 1911. I am looking forward to reading more books from this author. Her thorough research and engaging story kept me reading faster and faster. An ingenious plot pulled off extraordinarily well.”
I love the “puzzle within a puzzle!” I’m also pleased that the reader felt I had done my research.
I urge you to check out your own book reviews from time to time. What did you learn? Share them with us.
by Lynne | Jan 26, 2016 | Uncategorized
As a writer of historical mysteries, I try to remain loyal to the details of the historical period I’m portraying. I use real settings with real characters, then insert fictitious characters with fictitious events to create the mystery.
Staying true to the facts of the historical period is fairly straightforward . . . until those facts change. You may wonder how historical facts can change. After all, they happened in the past and they’ve been documented. But historical facts can be altered based on new research and evidence.
So, what’s a writer to do? Case in point. My novel, Pure Lies, begins with a prologue in 1692, Salem, Massachusetts, where several witches are about to be hung. It was initially believed that they were hung from a tree atop Gallows Hill. In the last few weeks, we’ve come to learn that the hangings took place, not at the top of the hill, but at the bottom, on something called Proctor’s Ledge. Oh well, you think. Top, bottom, so what? Proctor’s Ledge is now the site of a Walgreens pharmacy. (Methinks there’s marketing opportunity here at Halloween!)
Interestingly enough, this actual site was pinpointed nearly a century ago, but research was lost to time and replaced by legends and misconceptions. Eventually the top of Gallows Hill became the “factual place of the hangings.” If I had known, might I have written the hangings onto the Ledge? Maybe. The location is not nearly as romantic as the hanging tree at the top of Gallows Hill.
There have been other examples of history changing over time. For centuries we believed Pluto to be our outermost planet. Now it’s been downgraded to a dwarf planet and is one of 40 other dwarf planets. A bit of a disappointment for Planet 9.
One transformation that particularly bothered me was the reclassification of the most iconic of dinosaurs, the Brontosaurus, or “thunder lizard.” Since 1903, the scientific community has believed that the genus Brontosaurus was really the Apatosaurus. Now, after serious research, paleontologists provide conclusive evidence that the Brontosaurus is distinct from the Apatosaurus and has been reinstated as its own unique genus. Yippee!
And then there’s the case of the 15th century king, Richard III, whose portrayal in both English history and English literature has created ongoing debate. It was long thought that he died in ignominy and was buried in a crude grave in an unknown location. However, in 2012, archaeologists discovered his remains under a parking lot (not a Walgreens) and through forensic analysis learned that he suffered 11 injuries at or near the time of his death, indicating he died in battle. More to come, no doubt, as further analysis is done.
History is a dynamic and ever-changing discipline. As a novelist, fortunately, I can invoke artistic license and save myself the trouble of re-writing my books to conform to changing history. Whew.
by Lynne | Jan 18, 2016 | Uncategorized
Last week’s blog introduced the prologue to Pure Lies, and gave you a sampling of the historical section of the book. This week in Chapter 1, I begin the modern story line. In both instances I introduce the key characters, the backdrop and settings, and a smidgen of the mystery to come. You’ll easily see the connection between past and present and, hopefully, will be tempted by that connection to turn the page. However, how do tragic events in 1692 place people in jeopardy in 2006? You’ll have to read on.
As always, ideas welcome.
Chapter 1
Washington, D.C., December 15, 2006
Professor Ernie Parks gulped down the last dregs of tepid coffee and grimaced. He turned back to the pile of books and papers on his desk and the opened tome before him, Witchcraft in Salem Village, by Winfield Nevins, 1892. He’d had a hell of a time getting the copy. A friend who owned a used bookshop managed to snag this classic somehow. . . for a steep price. But, Parks thought, it was worth every penny. Fascinating. A Victorian view of sorcery in the colonies. From prudes to Puritans. Ha.
He leaned back in his beat-up swivel chair and gazed without seeing at the jumble of books and journals stuffed into old wooden bookcases, more stacks of the same rising in every corner of the room like crooked skyscrapers. Not an inch of wall space remained to display his degrees or articles of acclaim. The sole ornamentation in the office sat on his desk: a photograph of his wife and young son. His son. Jesse. Now two years dead. Whenever his thoughts drifted in that direction he spurred himself to action. Anything but dwell on Jesse. He strode over to the window and looked out at the campus square. Snow had begun to fall and the flakes twisted and spun in a whirlwind of white. The ground was already covered, so much prettier than the brown grass and gray concrete six stories below.
Those righteous Puritan pricks, he mused. Oh, they were clever. But he was on to them. More than three hundred years later, the truth would come to light. And Ernie Parks, history professor ordinaire, would be famous. An academic star featured at conferences and colloquia around the world. A poor black kid from the slums of the District would change history. Yes.
As if in a blink daylight faded. He returned to his desk and switched on the small lamp. A glance at the wall clock near the door told him he had wasted twenty minutes daydreaming — it was already five o’clock. Doris wouldn’t be expecting him for at least an hour. Right now she’d be sailing through the front door of their tiny house, tossing legal briefs on the hall table and hustling up some dinner without changing out of her courtroom suit. The professor smiled as he thought of his wife of ten years. Parks still wondered how such a beauty could end up with a homely guy like him. Doris always said he had panache. He grinned. She’d be proud of him now.
Without warning, his eyes began to blur and he realized suddenly how tired he felt. Not just a normal tired from teaching and research all day, but bone-weary tired. His fingers felt numb. So did his toes. He stretched his arms and shook his hands, thinking they’d fallen asleep. But the tingle started to crawl through his body, up his calves to his thighs, which tensed in spasms, then up his spine. Parks pushed himself to his feet but his legs wouldn’t support him.
“What the hell?” he murmured, as his body sank back into the chair with a will of its own.
His eyes began to close and at that moment he knew. He watched his hand reach for the coffee mug as if in time-lapse images, stutter-motion. The mug tipped over and a small rivulet of grainy liquid pooled on the desk. Parks lowered his head on his arms as the world went black.
The door to the office opened with a tiny squeak, the only sound in the building. The intruder knew that every year at this time, faculty and staff of the Georgetown University History Department got together to celebrate the holidays. No one would return to the campus that day.
The intruder hesitated a moment then closed the door softly and turned off the light. Professor Parks’ office appeared dark to the outside world, just like the other offices in the History and Economics Building.
But wispy moonlight filtered into the room providing enough light for the mission. Snow –fell heavily beyond the window and the visitor unlatched and raised it. Cold air whistled in. He slapped Parks’ face and it brought no response. Good, oblivion. He propped the professor up in his chair and swung it over to the computer. Using gloved fingers, he cleared the screen and opened a new Word document. Then, manipulating Parks’ fingers to press the keys, he typed the message.
Doris – I’m sorry, but I miss him too much.
The intruder nodded at the words. He left Parks slumped in his chair while he grabbed the coffee mug off the desk and wiped the spill with a handkerchief. Tucking both the cloth and mug in his overcoat pocket, he looked around to see what might have been missed.
Satisfied, he took hold of Parks’ arm and hoisted him out of the chair. Hugging Parks around the waist, he half dragged, half carried the unconscious man to the window. He leaned him against the windowsill and took one last look outside. The Quad was devoid of life and the newly fallen snow smothered sound like thick fur earmuffs.
The intruder clutched the professor’s shoulders and turned him. Facing Parks’ back, he shoved the man out the window to the pavement six stories below. The body seemed to float in slow motion. Even when it slammed into the ground, the effect seemed softly surreal.
For a moment the intruder felt panic, a burning in his throat, an ache in his gut. Too late now. But nothing stirred and an eerie silence filled the void. How could someone die so violently and the world not notice? He stared as the body bled out onto the silvery fleece. Its position, arms and legs outstretched at odd angles, reminded him of a child’s angel in the snow. A bloody black angel.
The killer spun around abruptly, rushed to the bathroom and spewed up his last meal.
December 16
Maggie Thornhill pressed the elevator button for the tenth time. She eyed the door to the staircase but had no intention of walking up six flights to the top floor. The lift arrived and Maggie entered, pressed six, and tapped her foot in agitation. Finally, the doors opened and as she stepped out, a man flew into her, knocking her bag off her shoulder. Contents went careening across the tile floor.
“Shit,” she muttered and dropped to her knees.
“Maggie?”
She looked up. “Frank?”
“Damn, I’m sorry.” He knelt to help her collect. “Lotta crap in here.” He handed her a squeezy ball that looked like the planet Earth.
“Yeah, well hello to you too.”
They both stood.
“What are you doing here?” she said.
“You mean, what’s a philistine like me doing in the history building of Georgetown?”
She scrunched her face, then turned to the commotion down the hall. Her heart lurched at the sight of yellow tape and a swarm of crime team investigators. She knew the sight well since she often worked with the police as a digital analyst.
“What’s going on?” she said. “God, that’s not Phillip Ambrose’s office, is it?”
He narrowed his eyes. “You know Ambrose?”
“I have an appointment with him,” she glanced at her watch, “in two minutes.”
“No, that’s not his office.” Lieutenant Frank Mead pointed to another door down the hall. “That is.”
“Whose office is that?”
“Dr. Ernest Parks.”
“What? No. Oh no. What happened?”
“Did you know Dr. Parks?”
“You said ‘did.’”
“What?”
“You said ‘did I, not do I’, past tense.”
“Yeah, that’s right,” Mead said, pulling out a roll of Tums and popping a few.
“He’s dead?”
Mead crunched.
She did a spin and slapped at her leg. “God Almighty.”
“Back to my question, did you know him?”
“No, but I was going to. He was to be one of my advisors on this dissertation.”
“Finally going for the Ph.D., eh?”
She sighed, leaned against the wall. “Yeah. Coursework is all done. Just had to complete the final project.”
“Which is?”
“Oh, Frank, it was so perfect. Howard Roth, the History Chair, finagled this for me, not an easy thing, seeing as the documents are so valuable, and he was able to pull the strings with Boston Historical Society and it was so –.”
“Perfect, yeah, right. So what’s the project?”
“I’m going to digitize all the Salem documents from 1692, you know, so they’ll be in electronic form and last forever. Preserving the past, so to speak and –”
“Salem, as in Salem witches?”
She grabbed his roll of Tums from his hand and popped a few.
“Agita?” he asked.
“And more if this project is kaput.” She pushed her fingers through her wild mop of hair. “Frank, what happened to Dr. Parks?”
He hesitated, looked around. “He was found dead, six stories beneath his window last night.”
“He jumped out of his window?”
“Maybe.”
Maggie opened her mouth, closed it. They looked at each other.
“You’re homicide.”
“Bingo.” Frank waved his hands. “No, hold on. We don’t know what happened yet, so don’t go making assumptions.”
“Have you talked to Dr. Ambrose yet?”
“Yup. Just leaving. You meeting him?”
She nodded.
“Well, he’s a bit shaken so don’t be surprised if he cancels. Said he was going to visit Mrs. Parks. Guess they’re long-time friends.”
Maggie didn’t know what to say. She picked up her bag that was sitting beside her on the floor and started moving toward Ambrose’s office. She hadn’t even met the man and she was dreading this meeting.
“Frank, would you let me know what happens?”
He chomped on his Tums. Then he nodded and headed toward the crime scene.
