Hi, folks!

I'm reposting a piece from my other blog - Murder*by*4 - so that you might hop on over to see how you can win a copy of Tremolo! This is a great blog run by four writers, and I'd love for you to meet them.

Stop by if you can!

Aaron

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Contest: Win an Autographed Book!

Welcome to the first contest sponsored by Murder*by*4 – we plan to give things away regularly, so stop by often for details!

In honor of our 1000th visitor, we’re offering an autographed copy of Tremolo by Aaron Paul Lazar. Read more about this fantastic story here.

To enter, we’re sending you on a sleuth hunt...

The Game

Sleuth: To spy, watch, observe, or inquire secretlyYou are a sleuth, and your mission is to gather information on four suspects and/or their accomplices. You have the names, you have the addresses – a little digging, and you’ll have the answers you need to close this case.

The Clues*

Marta Stephens pulls the strings behind the scenes in the life of one Detective Sam Harper. We’re not sure what drives this guy, but we think it has something to do with his mother. What did she do for a living? Poke around Marta’s site here: http://www.martastephens-author.com/*

Aaron Lazar’s multi-faceted involvement in the arts is surprisingly complex, extending to both written and photographic evidence. We know he controls at least two accomplices. One goes by the name of Gus LeGarde. Who is the other one? Find out here: http://www.legardemysteries.com/*

Kim Smith partners with a feisty woman named Shannon Wallace. Plans are in place to blow their cover sky-high this fall, but for now, we have only names. One known accomplice, Dwayne Brown, frequents a certain joint in South Lake, Mississippi. What’s the name of that place? Further investigation here: http://www.mkimsmith.com/*

S. W. Vaughn is charged with aiding and abetting the kidnapping and possible torture of one Gabriel Morgan. Multiple contacts are necessary for this operation, and Vaughn has learned another language in order to coordinate various groups. What language is it? Check for an answer here: http://www.swvaughn.com/

The Rules

1. Hunt down the answers to the four questions regarding the Murder*by*4 crew. The answers can be found on each authors’ website (links provided).

2. E-mail your answers to Marta Stephens with the subject "MB4 Contest Entry". Include your name and e-mail address. We’ll contact the winner to request a physical mailing address.

3. Entries must be received by April 14, 2008. Winner will be chosen in a random drawing from all correct entries.Good luck, everyone!

Hi, folks!

I haven't posted in a while, 'cause life went a little crazy on the home front. Two of my three daughters and my grandsons all moved out over the past month. They're close by, and we see them often, so it's not as traumatic as I feared. Even though we do miss them, sometimes dreadfully. My wife keeps mournfully talking about getting a new kitten or puppy.

It's been just nutso around here! I've been helping them move their furniture and get organized in their new digs, plus cleaning, painting, wallpapering, and trying to get our old place back in shape after years of kid and puppy wear.

Anyway, I wrote this piece for the Gather Writing Essential, and also will post it on the new blog, murder by 4. Check it out if you have the time!

In advance - I hope you can forgive the self promotional tome that follows - it's still hard for me to "toot my own horn," so to speak, even though I know it's a very necessary part of being an author. (wry smile) Thanks and have a lovely weekend!

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Virtual Book Tour Update for Tremolo: cry of the loon

For any of you who have written books and are considering a virtual book tour - go for it! But don't think it's easy. Far from it!

I'm still breathing hard, trying to keep up with the tour for Tremolo: cry of the loon, recently released by Twilight Times Books.

Shelley Glodowski, senior reviewer for Midwest Book Review, says of Tremolo: "It's easy to see that Aaron Paul Lazar loves to write, as his style is lilting and beautiful. He weaves childhood memories of the lakes of Maine into a stylized whodunit that is original and breathtaking."

And Bob Williams, of Compulsivereader.com, wrote, "Tremolo is a monument to the enduring values of love, integrity, and bravery and has all the signs of persistent endurance."

I love those quotes. They make me feel validated as a writer, especially in the days when confidence flounders. But you know, good reviews aren't all you need to sell books. You need constant exposure, and a virtual book tour is a good way to exponentially increase your internet presence.

The tour sure has taken a toll on my "real" writing time. I don't think I've written more than three chapters in my new book (#13) in over a month. That's very odd for me, as I usually like to write a chapter a day.

And answering all those interview questions and keeping up with the comments on everyone's blogs is time consuming. But that's okay. Like I said before, "nobody ever bought a book they haven't heard about." So targeted promotion is a fundamental part of this business, and it's frequently necessary to funnel ones energies into another branch of the field.One little problem is that I received so much interest from folks to host the tour that it stretched from December through March. Phew. But it's been a blast! And now, as we round the corner into the last few days of February, I'm gearing up for the March group, which promises to be very exciting!
Here's a list of the tour stops to date - I've included links for those of you who might want to swing by and say hi to the hosts, or to comment on the reviews/interviews.

Lesia Valentine hosted the debut book tour with a great review and interview. Here's a quote: "This book is so cool I could eat it like ice cream. I felt like rolling down a hill in a big refrigerator box when I read it, and you will too, because Tremolo by Aaron Paul Lazar, is a nostalgic and adventurous romp through summer camp." Isn't she a great writer?

Debbie G. Deb wrote a lyrical review and asked me some interesting questions about my deepest fears. Feel free to add your own questions if you'd like to comment. Here's an excerpt from her review: "Aaron Lazar's first line in Tremolo, immediately transported me from my couch potato perch into danger, mystery and adventure. Young Gus, caretaker and protector of his grandfather's boat desperately pulls on the oars in an attempt to reach the safety of the shore before the thick fog descends. You hear the wooden paddles creak, and the lake slosh, and feel the fear as the three young friends hear a motorboat bear down on them. In that initial scene the reader loses real time and enters Gus Legarde's childhood, never to be disappointed."

Jane Corn, on Gather (of course!), blogspot, Amazon, Digg, and Associated Content.Jane asked some unique questions and posted a great review of Tremolo here. "This novel set off powerful waves of memories and pure nostalgia in me. I remembered those days when the Beatles were popular and Beatlemania was in full swing, when John Kennedy and Martin Luther King were well-known and children spent summers outside, not in front of video games.

"Mayra Calvani - on the Dark Phantom Review, Blog Critics, and Gather. Mayra posted a wonderful series of questions and also gave me a chance to list a synopsis of all twelve books. Some are available now (http://www.legardemysteries.com/) and some are in the works. But it was fun to list them all together in one spot. ;o)

Elizabeth Evans ("Bob" or "Bobbi" for short) on Gather.com here and again, here.It's amazing how unleashing others' creativity can open up a whole new way to review a book. Bob's cats and dog helped out with this one, which was hilarious! I loved getting to know Ophelia, Sophie, and Tuck even better than before. They are a great crew and keep their Mistress on her toes!

Flit , posted this lovely review, right smack dab in the middle of her insane college schedule. I don't know how she does it, but she wrote a great review. "Tremolo, like the other books I've read by Aaron Lazar, is a fast paced, easy, and enjoyable read. The characters are well-developed and very real, and consistently portrayed throughout the novels. And most importantly, of course, they are characters that it is easy to care about. You'll want to keep turning the pages because you will want to know what happens to them next."

April H conducted a long interview in two segments on Gather.com.
First half of interview
Second half of interview

She also posted excerpts from Tremolo: cry of the loon, all week as teasers to the reading community. Thanks, April!

Beverly McClure asked some interesting interview questions in this post on Gather, too.
Interview You can find out all about my "favorite" stuff in this one - including what time period I'd like to live in, if given the choice. LOL!

Beryl Singleton Bissell posted a new interview this week - and she asked some of the most stirring questions of all.

One final tip for those of you writers who might be planning a tour - it's okay to plagiarize yourself and repeat similar answers on repeat interview questions! You don't have to beat yourself up to be clever each time, trying to top your own answers to "Why do you write?" or "When did you start writing?"

I love answering the questions no matter what, especially when I get to talk about my characters in the LeGarde or Moore Mystery series. ;o)

So - if you're not sick to death of reading about me and my characters at this point, pick a few stops along the way to visit. And remember, if you love to put the virtual pen to paper - write like the wind!

***

Next stops on the tour include posts by Marci Baun (Wild Child Publishing), Marta Stephens, Kim Smith, and the lovely Patry Francis, author of The Liar's Diary.

Hello, friends and writers!

Last week I was hit with a sudden impulse to share a copy of the second Gus LeGarde book, entitled Upstaged.

We've spoken a fair amount about Double Forte', the founding book in the series, and Tremolo, the newly released "flashback to the sixties" literary mystery in which Gus and his friends are children. But we rarely talk about Upstaged, the theatrical mystery where the local drama club gets to produce a musical Gus wrote in his college days, while they battle a psychotic saboteur who lurks backstage. It's a fun ride - and of course, the book features plenty of lush nature vignettes, family meals, and the usual LeGarde backdrops against the mounting tension of evil that plays behind the scenes.

That's a photoshopped image of my wife, Dale, on a park bench on the Boston Commons, probably right around 1969, when Gus "wrote" the musical. We were probably waiting for a Rolling Stones concert, I can't remember which event it was. Anyway, Gus's Musical, "Spirit Me Away," features a flower child who's lost in many senses of the word. I had to change Dale's hair color (it's dark auburn) to match the character, and photoshopped the background to look like a stage set. ;o) This whole idea of Gus's musical sparked another another book, tentatively entitled Portamento, which describes this part of Gus and Elsbeth's youth while they were in Boston at the conservatory.

Anyway, after an invigorating walk on a local dirt road on a crisp snowy day, I chose "Why I love winter" as the contest theme. There were no rules, no word limits, and no direction, other than the suggested subject. For those of you who dislike winter, I suggested you make something up! LOL.

We received numerous amazing entries - many of which may be read in my column at the Gather.com Saturday Writing Essential. Bob Evans (aka Elizabeth) wrote a lovely poem sharing her passion for nature and walks in the woods. Wilma M. remembered how much she loved snowstorm walks, especially at night. Trudy spoke with nostalgia, missing snowy winters since she moved to California, but reveling in the beauty of her current surroundings. I spoke of a winter gift by a friend of ready-to-bloom forsythia buds, and Debbie G. recalled her grandmother's forsthia with fondness.

Dale C., a Viet Nam veteran, told us how his take on snow and winter changed after he returned from the war, and amazed us with tales of snow creatures and castles he formed in his driveway, providing untold pleasures in the cold and giving neighbors and passersby unexpected delight. I truly loved his entry, as did many Gather folks.

Wiaka shared her passion for life and God with awareness of the miracle of the snowy blanket He provides to cover and nurture the spring flowers growing beneath. She told us that winter is her favorite time due to the purity of the snowy scenes that highlight the tenderness of God's love. This was a new angle - and it resonated with me.

Behind the scenes, I received more entries that were too large for posting to the comments section. Lorraine L. sent "Snow Falling in Baghdad," a touching piece about children across the globe and a young underprivileged child named Travonti. It was a heartwarming piece full of love and wonder.

Ravi Bedi, the accomplished painter and artist extraordinaire, sent a photo essay reminding us of the less privileged folks in his country and the hardships they bear with such courage. I loved his words and photos, and urge you to take a look.

Thank you all for the amazing outpouring of articles and memories. I loved each and every one, and for those of you who simply visited and commented, thank you for stopping by.

Now it's time to announce the winner. It was a hard decision, but I fell in love with this piece by Pat F., entitled, "Into the Woods." She's posted it here, but I have permission to reprint it below.

Into The Woods
by Patricia Fowler

The way a crow

Shook down on me

The dust of snow

From a hemlock tree

Has given my heart

A change of mood

And saved some part

Of a day I had rued.

-Robert Frost

I'm just sitting here by the kitchen window. And loving it. How often do I just let go of what I should be doing and do what I want to do? Which right now is no more than to watch my birds.
There's a flurry of activity at the feeder. It happens every day about this time. I guess my little friends want to eat before they get all tucked in for the night. I wiggle my toes in my pink fuzzy socks and smile-pure contentment. I haven't done anything really constructive all day. If only I could shake this guilt.
My son, in true teenage form, has slept away most of this day- a hangover from mid terms I suppose. I hear him coming. I try to look like I am busy at something.
He gallops down the stairs-two by two. Our old house shakes and shivers. I can almost hear it moan, "Ow! Take it easy! These bones can't take that!" He's oblivious.
"Mom. What are you doing today?"
"Me? Oh, I don't know. The usual. Some bills. Email. Laundry, always laundry." I lie. I mean, c'mon, look at the pile there. "And if I feel really industrious, I might go to the grocery store." Why am I compelled to look so ....so busy? "Want me to pick up a couple of movies for the rest of our snow day?"
"No. I want to go down to Hyla Brook. The Frost Farm. I want to reconcile myself with him. I want to know what Robert Frost is about." He really says this stuff-reconcile with Robert Frost. I have to smile.
"But it's Hyla freezing out there! Why now?"
"I've been reading Ezra Pound."
"I know I should know who he is, but..."
"Mom! C'mon! He friggin' discovered Robert Frost in London! He also edited the Wasteland for T.S. Eliot. He's a poet and an essayist. C'mon, Mom."
Okay. I'm shrinking a bit. Well, a lot. So I really sit up and listen.
"I never really thought I liked Frost but the more I read him, I don't know, I just want to understand him. I love his quote, 'I had a lover's quarrel with the world' and, oh, about free verse, which he hated, he wrote, 'It's like playing tennis with the net down'." He laughs. "I like that."
He's seventeen. He likes to think against the stream. I like that.
Suddenly, I want to read more Frost. And Ezra. And Rimbaud, whoever the hell he is. Alex is a little high- minded. He thinks Frost is too simple. He doesn't know that simple things can be the most true. The most thunderous.
"C'mon let's go see Hyla Brook," he says. "Maybe I'll see the light".
How can I get in the way of that? Maybe this cold-ass trek will help him to see that light.
So, unlike me, I pull on boots. And layer upon layer of heavy wool and fleece. Against the best advice of every lazy fiber in my body, I move from the comfort of my easy chair and accept this venture into the woods.
We drive the two miles or so to Frost's farm. How many times a week do I whiz by this landmark with only the slightest ripple of regard for this man; this man who could spin philosophical gold from a field of new- mown hay?
For about the thousandth time, I subject Alex to my recitation of 'Stopping By Woods On a Snowy Evening.' I am reminded what a delight it is to recite by heart-the words tumble out so effortlessly.
I learned this musical poem when I attended Pinkerton Academy, my high school, where Frost taught English to my grandfather. I think every kid in Derry can recite it; a sort of rite of passage here in this New Hampshire town.
I took Latin in the same wainscoted room, with its mad high windows, where Frost taught English. There was a stone bust of Frost on the mantle, but I doubt I ever gave it a glance. I was probably too busy being coy for a boy behind my sheets of ironed hair. Coy for a boy-as close as I'd get to poetry back then. And yet he reads Baudelaire.
The steep pitched roof of the white farmhouse is in view. As I slow to make the turn into the gravel driveway, a big red truck is on my tail. The guy is beeping and gesturing at me, apparently oblivious to our poetic quest on this winter afternoon. Another harried soul-I muse-who should park that big red monster and take a walk on this farm; let his soul get quiet for awhile.
Despite all my waxing on about quiet souls, it's damn hard to get out of our warm car and step into the biting winter wind. It really bites, that's not just a word that people toss around up here. I wonder if it'll do to just get a book of Frost and read it here-from the warmth of this space. After all, the vibes are all around us-it could work.
But Alex is already out, impatient for me to get my act together. He stamps his feet against the cold, and cups his gloves to his face. The steam blows over the tops of his gloved fingertips like a waterfall-he's bullish to get going. "MOM! C'MON!"
"Oh, all right!" I open the car door and slowly roll out, about as gracefully as a refrigerator with mittens and a hat.
He flies ahead of me on the frozen path. Oddly, I notice his right foot turns out a bit- as I warily trudge- lest I turn my own. I follow my guide. Wait. When did his shoulders get so broad?
He's rambling aloud to me, or the trees, about Frost and Rimbaud, and Shakespeare and Oscar Wilde. He reads like a demon and can quote from the books by heart. I envy him his easy access to all that brilliance of thought. All the connections he makes, at his tender age. I was just being coy with that boy when I was seventeen.
To my happy surprise, the path running along the rock wall to the woods is relatively bare. Mashed maple leaves paint a long reddish stripe to the woods beyond the field where we are headed. There are guideposts all along the path-but no guide-so one must only guess at the merit of each stopping place.
"See that stand of birches over there? I wonder if that's why they want us to stop here-right at this point." The white birches stand alone, in a clump, their papery white trunks so starkly outlined against the gray woods. Beautiful.
"Alex. Stop! Maybe Bobby wrote 'Birches' after standing here. Right here!" I say with no small touch of real wonder. "Maybe he was feeding his chickens or setting his cow out to pasture on a cold January day just like this one! And he spied that same stand of birches. Well, I guess they would have been a lot smaller then." Reality bites, like this wind.
He looks back over his shoulder and rolls his eyes.
Undaunted, I continue, " 'Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells, shattering and avalanching on the snow crust-such heaps of broken glass to sweep away, you'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen...the inner dome of heaven'...I love that."
"I know, Mom; one of your favorites." But he just keeps walking and my faith in his soulfulness wanes a bit.
The path is not so bare now, and we lift our legs higher to clear each step in the deepening snow. My legs are starting to feel like logs- and yet I feel a strange exuberance- an excitement to be here- in this field where Frost once wandered; where some of his most beautiful thoughts may have crystallized.
I wonder. Did he run back to that old white farm house to write them all down? Or did they linger-perfect-in his memory until he could settle in by the fire at night and put pen to paper?
"Number 15! Alex! A stone wall! Maybe this is 'The Mending Wall' ! I burst into near song " 'Something there is that doesn't love a wall'..."
I realize mid- soliloquy that I forgot the rest. He doesn't turn to check my progress. As I watch his back, there is only the steam of his breath as he gently scoffs, "Sure, Mom. It was that wall that he was writing about- of all the rock walls in New England."
He's really outpacing me know. I have to yell. "Or maybe it's these woods we should be contemplating. 'Whose woods these are, I think I know...' "
"MOM! PLEASE! Once a day is enough on that one!"
Just over my head a branch overhanging the path rattles its dead leaves at me. It is Frost- I am sure, whispering to only me: "Keep your faith in uncertain things."
"Where is this brook, anyway?" my ungrateful guide hollers back.
"Oh, I don't know, up there a ways. That's all I remember."
Ten paces apart, we each duck in succession, as we pass under an airy green arch of pines into the woods. The path turns sharply south. The going underfoot is decidedly more treacherous here- the ice so hard and slick- like walking on corrugated glass.
A walking stick would do me well right about now. I try to wrestle a downed sapling from the snow and ice- but it will not be taken from its snow white bed. Not today.
"If only I had a son a lit-tle more aware of his mother in need. I should have raised that kid better," I grumble.
I hear the wind again but this time it's not a whisper. It blows high aloft in these barren treetops, their branches clicking. I call ahead. I make him stop. He turns and scowls, clearly annoyed with my demanding pleas. This is tough work- turning him on to Frost's stomping grounds.
"Aleeeexxx! Listen! What does that sound like to you?" He must recognize the telltale elongated pronunciation of his name- and so he obliges with a reply.
"I don't capture sound, Mom. I like images and feelings."
Well, excuse me.
He crunches on. I push. Like some maniacal soul guide, I am trying to tune him in-like I do when we go just about anywhere. "Alex. Look at the beautiful wrought iron gates and fences (when in Charleston). Just look at the WORK in those! Alex! Smell that eucalyptus! Amazing how it perfumes the fog! (when in The Muir Woods outside of San Francisco).
I mean, really! What are his books worth if he doesn't GET this? I think that I am even annoying myself, now, but that doesn't stop me. Momma's on a mission: depth of soul training. Not for the faint of heart.
"C'mon! What does it sound like?"
"Okay. An ocean." He trudges on without stopping to pause in my reverie.
"That's perfect! Waves rolling in and out of the treetops!" I feel satisfied, somehow. How does he stand me?
"So do you see it, yet?" Puff. Puff. Please let that damn brook show itself soon. I am fat-running out of steam here, Hyla.
"It's right here!" he barks impatiently.
"Well, why didn't you celebrate a little- so I'd know that you found it?" I quicken my step half wanting this nature walk done. I can't feel anything from the knees down. I come up over this tiny crest in the path, and there she is: Hyla Brook.
I last saw her about fifteen years ago in spring. Winter has laid her even more beautiful still. She is the epitome of what every brook should be-just wide enough that you could almost jump across -if you took a running leap. She meanders-that lovely word that should belong only to brooks in New England-she meanders; downhill through the snowy mounds-and the brittle gray hardwoods and the spike-needled pines-like a black satin ribbon curving beneath our feet.
Alex is standing on the tiny arched bridge and puts out his hand to give his old Mom a hoist. We peer down through the crystal clear ice. There under the ice- boulders and leaves seem to be frozen in mid air-as though the freeze happened in an instant as they tumbled downstream.
We gingerly turn in place- balancing there on the bridge-like bundled music box ballerinas-I wary of slipping.
There's a spot-a place where the ice is somehow open- and the water bubbles to the surface. It even gurgles; a tiny fountain offering us a musical interlude here deep in these woods. Like it could be any more perfect. Right here. Right now.
"Alex. I am so glad that you made me come out here today-it's so beautiful!" And to my frozen surprise-I really mean it.
Whenever I find myself in a place like this-so perfect-I try to memorize it. I close my eyes and open them. Close my eyes and open them -to see if my mind's eye picture matches. It does.
"Alex. Just see this."
"I see it," he assures me.
I wonder-in my controlling soul guide kind of way-if he really does. I fear he hasn't caught it at all. The way the snow sparkles where the land rises but is softly gray in the hollows. The way the slanting afternoon sun is split by the trees-and the trees' shadows-long black stripes across this expanse of snow. No footprints mar the soft focus of trees, rocks and snow.
I am in one of those moods: fairly agog with the beauty, like I have never seen it quite like this before.
I pop out of my reverie as a blast of cold air blows up under my coat.
He stands there with his hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunched against the cold. He doesn't seem agog to me. Perhaps these woods-the quiet beauty-Frost's simple deep style- are lost to him. I guess that he prefers the dramatic complexity of French poets-whose long convoluted passages just make me tired.
I breathe in. Savor the stillness-and then slowly turn-step off the bridge-and start the crunch back home. The freeze line has climbed to my hips.
"C'mon, Alex. We better head back. I'm really getting cold! We still have that walk through the snowfield to tackle."
Seconds pass and no footsteps crunch behind. As I turn, I see him there on the little bridge with that silly woolen hat pulled down around his ears. He bends on one knee and gently scoops a handful of icy water from the bubbly font. He lets it drain from his palm and then rubs his fingers against his thumb, somehow saving the essence of here.
And then he gains on me-which ain't a hard thing to do- and is ahead of me again. I won't say I have witnessed that tender act.
And then-here in the icy woods-he turns and shows me a stone.
"Mom! Look. Look what I got-from Hyla Brook." He opens his gloved hand and reveals a small stone, brownish green with an orange splotch- like an eye.
"It's the first thing my fingers touched".
My chest warms. Just then, a sudden gust rattles the hemlock branch, arching over our heads. A mist of glistening snow fills the air. I gasp, and squint at the stone through the whiteness. The snow settles on its face. In the fractured light, the eye seems to wink.

Today is Patry Francis's Day. She's undergone chemo for an aggressive form of cancer, and is battling hard. The prognosis is good, thank God.

More than 300 authors and literary industry folks are devoting today to promote Patry's fantastic book. See my review, below.

Title: The Liar’s DiaryAuthor: Patry Francis
Publisher: Dutton
Publisher's Address: 375 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014
ISBN-10: 0525949909
ISBN-13: 978-0525949909
Price: $16.47
Publisher phone number and/or website address: http://www.penguin.com/
Author’s website: http://www.patryfrancis.com/index2.htm
Author’s blog: http://simplywait.blogspot.com/

The Liar’s Diary

by Patry Francis
Review by Aaron Paul Lazar

The Liar’s Diary, a psychological suspense novel by debut author Patry Francis, should be tooled in fragrant red leather with gilt edges, and placed on your bookshelf in a place of honor.

Be forewarned. When you buy it, allow for an uninterrupted block of time. Forget sleep. The lure of The Liar’s Diary is strong, for it will call your name incessantly, and your dreams will be filled with Ms. Francis’s characters long after you’ve reached the end of this riveting new work.

Full of subtle, twisting truths that bob and weave in a surf of lies, The Liar’s Diary is like a fragile raft on a swelling sea of denial. Carefully selected truths are masterfully revealed as we are thrust into the life of high school secretary Jeanne Cross. The raft soars higher – just enough to almost peer over the whitecaps. Jeanne glimpses half-truths so disturbing she retreats into the safety of her compulsively ordered life. Disoriented and in psychological turmoil, we twist and weave in yet another direction beside her, constantly on edge and guessing until the final page.

Jeanne strives to be the dutiful wife, mother, housekeeper, nurturer, and employee. But we quickly learn her perfect life is built on a severely cracked foundation. Gavin Cross, the debonair doctor husband, is a controlling father who bullies his son, feeding an explosive eating disorder that sends Jamie Cross to chocolate for relief. Scenarios of mockery escalate, with full blame for Jamie’s lack of academic success laid squarely at Jeanne’s feet. In her picture perfect house, we soon discover a supremely unhappy woman who lives in suburban hell, trying to defend her beloved son and keep peace in the dysfunctional family.

Enter Ali Mather, the new music teacher at Jeanne’s school who flounces into Jeanne’s staid world of responsibility with flowing strawberry blond hair, fragrant perfumes, and tight jeans, enticing the high school boys and male teachers, and providing hours of juicy gossip for the rest of the staff. Ali, flamboyant, passionate, and unabashedly sexy, is the antithesis of sedate, controlled Jeanne. Yet, through a circumstance not fully understood, Jeanne is drawn to Ali like a powerful narcotic.

Ali, married to George Mather, a most perfect husband, has issues of her own. Unresolved childhood traumas send her into the arms of two men in Jeanne’s town, shocking the quiet community. George, strangely forgiving and still madly in love with his philandering wife, cuts a figure of loving forgiveness. As Ali embraces her hedonistic experiences, including an affair with the school shop teacher half her age, Jeanne reacts with simultaneous repulsion and fascination.

But someone is stalking Ali, entering her home and leaving subtle reminders of their presence. Is it one of her lovers? A student? A jealous wife? Her music is desecrated, personal items disappear, but the police don’t take her seriously. Jeanne struggles to help her friend overcome her fears and abandoned relationships, just when Ali’s diary disappears and people start to die.

The story twists into another realm, shocking the reader multiple times, surging higher now with dark half-truths. Jeanne’s son is accused of ungodly crimes, and it’s up to her to uncover the facts. She must discover who’s lying, in order to save her son.

Patry Francis is a gifted deep thinker who knows people and paints them well.
Her writing style is engaging and smooth going down – like a big bowl of lime sherbet. First time novelists often try too hard, peppering their prose with ostentatious adverbs and adjectives. But Ms. Francis’s writing focuses on the compelling story as the movie plays in your head with a clever appreciation of the craft.

I highly recommend The Liar’s Diary to anyone who enjoys a good suspense, mystery, or psychological thriller.

Thank you to everyone who voted for Tremolo: cry of the loon, in the mystery category. We placed #7, in the top ten!

Thanks again!

Aaron

Tombstones ands Toes

Hello friends,

I hope your holidays were splendid and that if you are writers, you were able to write glorious pages of prose or poetry to satisfy that deep craving in your writers' soul.

Over the holidays I was blessed. In between the two hiccups at the ER that were all (thankfully) resolved and the stomach bug that layed us low for days - there were long hours of pure bliss. Among other things, like enjoying the whole family (daughter Melanie joined us, with her dog, Toby ;o)) playing with my grandsons, cooking feasts, playing Scrabble by the fire, and finishing the final polishes on my next two books (Mazurka and Healey's Cave), I was able to enjoy many long walks in the cold refreshing air of Upstate New York.

Walking has been a great stress release and my recent passion over the past years, especially since I got over my summer-long bout with asthma, and since my mother-in-law's recent heart attack. I'm resolved to continue the walks and eat even more fresh veggies and fruit to help my heart stay healthy. I have a lot of people that depend on me, so I need to work hard to assure a healthy body. Of course I take the camera with me each time, and even if there are no perfect photo ops on the walk, I'm ready!


We'd recently been avoiding the Greenway and much of Letchworth State Park because of hunting season. When the snow got too deep for hiking, we were able to do some great cross country skiing, that is, until the warmer weather ruined all the trails. But over the Christmas/New Years holiday we stuck close to home and walked local country roads.
I walked four miles round trip to the local graveyard on several days, looking for the headstone of the man who built my antique home in 1811. The old place needs tons of work, but I've always been fascinated with the idea of Dr. John and Mary Hunt, the first occupants of my home.


Doctor Hunt lived to be 91 - but some of his grandaughters died young, like poor little Deborah (1 year old) and Nancy (20 years old.)

We did have a few frosty mornings with fresh snow. Here are some shots of sugar coated thistles.



Gordie and Julian (my 4 and 5 year old grandsons) were excellent companions over the eleven days of freedom I enjoyed. Here's a photo Gordie took of me (he LOVES photography!), and one I took of him.

Yours, truly.

Gordie

See the little smudges on his cheeks? He tried to wash them off, but it didn't work too well. ;o)

After most of the week passed, I started to notice severe pain in my left foot (where the fourth toe from the right meets the joint) and a heel spur reactivated after ten years on my right foot. I'd been ignoring the pain in the left foot for months, hoping to God it would just heal on its own. Most of the time, especially at work on the concrete floors, I'd walk with my leather Clark's and it would sound like this: Ow, step. Ow, step. Ow, step. Now, with the new heel spur, it sounds like Ow, Ow. Ow, Ow. Ow, Ow.

I finally got to the doctor, who educated me. Big time. He told me one needs to change walking shoes every 300 miles. Did you ever hear that?? I hadn't. Seemed pretty extravagent, but then I started researching it and found that sneakers do lose their ability to support your feet after so many steps. He XRayed the left foot for stress fractures or a bone bruise (I didn't hear back yesterday, so I assumed it was okay), and told me to buy new sneakers and not to stop walking! Man, was I glad to hear that. I truly feared being laid up and not being able to have those soul cleansing expeditions.

But today, the Saturday after New Years Day, Allison and I walked the Greenway for the first time in months. It was a little snowy, but beautiful. The sun rose, then gave way to clouds. But we walked for two hours, about five and a half miles. Sure, the feet hurt a bit when I was done, but we got outside, were able to breathe fresh, clean air, and talked up a storm in the process. Those bonding times with my daughter are special to me, and I'm so glad I didn't have to stop. ;o)

Before I go, here is a photo of Hunt Hill Road, a few minutes from my house and named for the man who built our home in 1811.

Enjoy the rest of your weekend, and stay in touch!

- Aaron
http://www.legardemysteries.com/
http://www.mooremysteries.com/
http://www.aaronlazar.blogspot.com/

Hello, folks,

I hope this lovely Saturday finds you well and able to enjoy some quality time with family and if you're a writer, with your keyboard!

I want to share a letter I wrote to Dean Koontz. And yes, I actually mailed it, along with a "thank you for the inspiration" copy of Tremolo.

I can hear you now.

"What? You actually wrote to one of the most successful, amazing, astounding, prolific writers ever to grace the planet? Are you nuts? Why would he read a letter from you? He gets 20,000 pieces of snail mail a year. And that number is growing!"

I know, I know. It's rather crazy. But I just finished reading the third book in the Odd Thomas series, Brother Odd, and I felt compelled to share my reactions with the author. I know how much it means to me when my readers send me their "book reports," or feedback of any type. I revel in it. And so, why hold back just because this man is a monument to writers everywhere?
Besides, he might still get that same thrill once in a while, like we do, when someone picks up on a passage of which we're particularly proud.

I've copied the letter below, minus a few lines that referred to plot surprises. Don't want to be a plot spoiler now, do I?

While we're at it, why don't you share some of your favorite writers with us? Tell us how they inspired you in your own life or writing.

So, dear friends, remember to take pleasure in the little things - whether it's a tiny petal on a cinguefoil flower, the crest of frost on your window, or the sparkle of love in an old woman's eye. And if you're writers, write like the wind!

Aaron
****

December 5, 2007

Mr. Dean Koontz
PO Box 9529
Newport Beach, California 92658

Dear Mr. Koontz,

Last night during a grueling bout of insomnia, I reached for my copy of Brother Odd. With my flickering flashlight, I took great comfort in joining Oddie in his race to save the children of St. Bartholomew's. I delighted in the reappearance of Elvis with his quirky outfits and antics, and loved getting to know the monks, sisters, and children. The repartée between the Russian and Odd was stylish and witty - it floored me!

I'd been savoring this book as a treat each night, for your dedication to the craft brings such joy. After all, who else speaks of "light buttering the walls," or "shadows oiling the corners." God, I loved those passages, replete with perfectly chosen verbs and lovely imagery. Pure enchantment. The scene painting was profoundly enjoyable - what a fantastic setting for Odd's third adventure! I couldn't stop reading, even though I wanted to stretch it out to enjoy every single sentence.

Two hours later, still wide awake, I lay in bed with a monster smile plastered on my face. Uncontrollable. Recurrent. Unfading.

I'd finished the book, and continued to imagine the scene between Odd and Jacob (one of the most important and wonderful characters you've ever drawn, no pun intended!) You tore into my heart with that one, especially when Jacob laid his head against Odd's shoulder. So priceless, so moving, so... Koontz. Thank you for that unforgettable moment.

Flossie won my heart, too. What a lovely, tragic, brave and unforgettable child. Anyone who loves dogs that much couldn't help but become a favorite, even with the bit part she played. ;o)
The short but sweet visit with Ozzie was comforting, as well, because I'd missed him.

Anyway, I realize you receive over 20,000 pieces of mail each year, and probably read feedback like this ‘til you want to scream. But as a writer, I never tire of the "book reports" my readers send me. Each time they say they "couldn't put it down," or "stayed up all night to finish it," or "gave it to their mom to read," I experience that tingle of validation that keeps me going.

With that in mind, I decided to write once again to connect and thank you from the bottom of my heart for writing Brother Odd.

As a token of my deep respect and gratitude, I've enclosed a copy of my latest book, Tremolo: cry of the loon, a coming of age mystery set in Maine in 1964. Midwest Book Review recently honored me by writing, "...his style is lilting and beautiful. He weaves childhood memories of the lakes of Maine into a stylized whodunit that is original and breathtaking."

I'm not including this as a ploy to get you to read it, promote it, or help me in my career.

I know I will get there with hard work and persistence. And I will. I'll never give up, and I'll never stop writing, even if it's just for my own therapy and to satisfy that daily craving to create.

Rather, I am giving you Tremolo because it's the only way I know to thank you - it's such an integral part of me, it's my way of bowing down to your great talent and once again, from the bottom of my heart, thanking you for the Odd Thomas series.

Warmest regards from an avid student of your work,

Aaron Paul Lazar

http://www.legardemysteries.com/
http://www.mooremysteries.com/
http://www.aaronlazar.blogspot.com/
http://www.aplazar.gather.com/

Aaron Lazar at School #7, reading to fourth graders on National Reading Day. These children were a true delight - beautiful and bright, and they LOVED to read!

Hello, friends.

My life has been replete with one-two punches. Actually, it's usually one-two-three. You know the old saying, "trouble comes in threes?" Well, sometimes I'm relieved when it stops at three!
It's par for the course, as I'm sure it is in your lives, as well.

This week was no exception - but it sure was a rough one. And I was reminded of the power of writing as therapy and distraction. Such a wonder. And I thanked God for it, once again.

It started out with my wife's MS. Another exacerbation, a really bad one this time. Mind you, she hadn't suffered massive flareups except a few times a year for the past ten. The Avonex was working, doing its job of reducing the severity and frequency of exacerbations. But over the past year they have come closer together and with increased intensity. New symptoms, both mental and physical, have plagued her until it seems as if there is never going to be a reprieve.

So, the wintry week started out with the knowledge that we're going to have to change therapies. There are three current interferon type treatments used now, and we're going to switch to another called Copaxone. It requires one shot a day, as opposed to the weekly Avonex shot, but if it helps, it'll be worth it.

You'd think this would be a simple thing, right?

After three days of playing telephone tag, we finally connected with the doctor, and discovered we have to fill out a form (paper form, not even online), mail it in, and get "registered." What? Yes, registered to use this new treatment. Then a nurse has to come to the house to retrain her on the injections, even though she was already trained.

Okay, so we took yet another deep breath and prepared to wait.

Then the phone died.

Both the downstairs and upstairs. And I couldn't find my glasses to try to figure out what tiny little wires had come undone. We switched over to our cell phones, because what happened next made the week's usual troubles pale in comparison.

My mother-in-law, who lives in an addition on our home, is a sweet and loving woman. I adore her, she is a blessing to our home, and she drives my wife and daughter everywhere, helping me stay at work (an hour away) for the more mundane local appointments, etc. Apparently the day before Thanksgiving, when she was expecting her son and his family to arrive any minute, she felt some pain in her chest. And it rose to her jaw a bit. And her arms hurt a little.

What?

Yup. The alarm bells are ringing now, aren't they? Call 911!

She didn't. She thought it was probably heartburn, and let it go. And she's an old Yankee stoic who avoids the doctors at all costs and doesn't even like to take an Advil if she can tough out the pain.

Then it happened a few more times. After Thanksgiving. She felt so tired, but couldn't figure it out. Must be that darned anemia. Must eat more meat, she thought.

When I got wind of this I told her she needed to be seen immediately. She promised, and the next day they discovered she'd had a heart attack. Or two. Or three.

We rushed her to the ER, a battery of tests were run, and it was determined that she needed an angiogram. Probably had a blockage in one of her arteries.

By the way, when all this was happening, our microwave died and the water well pump switch kept misbehaving. The kindly repair man from down the street (bless his heart, he's 88 years old and still working!), tried to fix it a few times and ordered us a whole new tank and pump, since the old one was ready to go. So during this whole week we either had no water, or had to run downcellar to reset the switch. Mind you, when my wife's MS is bad, she can't walk reliably.

I spent the evening with my mother-in-law at the hospital, while they stabilized her and prepped her for the angiogram by thinning her blood. Which caused uncontrollable bodily functions I won't detail here, but that humiliated the poor dear. She is a very private person. I helped her through it, and she got through the night.

The next day, after much waiting, they transported her via ambulance to one of the best heart hospitals in the country, Rochester General. Within an hour of her arrival, she was in the cath lab and on the table.

The cardiologist told me ahead of time that she would likely need a stent and angioplasty. But there was a slight chance that she'd need open heart surgery. The expectation was that the procedure should take no more than 45 minutes and that we'd know within the hour.

My poor wife stayed home to worry (she still couldn't walk reliably) and I waited with my laptop and cell phone, trying to keep my wife's two brothers (who lived far away), my three daughters, and my wife appraised of the situation. It was a cell phone nightmare, but surprisingly, my battery held up and that part actually functioned.

Thank God for my laptop. I'd been alternating between reading Dean Koontz's Brother Odd (such an inspiration to all writers!) and working on my twelfth book during the long waits by her bedside. But now I needed it more than ever. This was the turning point. I knew the risks were high for an elderly woman in her eighties. And what if...

I did okay for the first forty-five minutes.

I wrote two chapters, blinded myself to my swelling fears and allowed myself to be taken into Sam Moore's life. Poor Sam. He'd lost a loved one and was traveling back in time through the power of the green marble to try to fix it.

I kept thinking how I'd fix things if I'd had the chance. Would've got her to the hosptial sooner had I known. Would've taken her right up to this hospital yesterday, had I known. Woulda. Coulda. Shoulda. You know the thoughts.

An hour passed and I started to panic. An hour and a half. The cell phone they'd assigned to me didn't ring. I kept checking it to see if it was dead. Hoping she hadn't had a sudden complication. Wondering how they'd tell me if she did. Would a doctor come out, instead of calling?

I plunged back into my story, wrote what felt like good stuff, once again amazed at the therapeutic powers of the process. Somewhat distracted and able to breathe, I kept going and punched out another chapter. Life and death dramas occured around me in that waiting room, and each time a family's cell phone rang, we all jumped.

After almost two hours, the phone rang. The nurse asked if the doctor had called me yet, and was suddenly full of apologies because he had forgotten me. My mother-in-law was fine. The doctor called and said that she'd been about to have a massive attack. Two arteries were blocked 80 and 90%. But they'd successfully cleaned them out and successfully put a stent in one.
I brought her home yesterday in a raging snowstorm, but she's resting comfortably in her own bed. Winter is definately here now, which is okay by me. And we're so greatful for this early Christmas present. We still have our dear lady, and it looks like she's going to be just fine.

The new pump is in, but we still have no water, and we're starting to run out of the supply in the tub that we use to flush the toilets. Our kindly repair man was here until 8:00 last night, trying to figure out an unexpected new problem. I sent him home and told him to get some rest, that things would seem clearer in the morning.

Regardless, the mechanical problems will resolve eventually, and life will go on. And maybe we'll be able to think about putting up our Christmas lights this weekend. ;o)

I think I'll go write a chapter. I need another dose of therapy.

- Aaron

PS If you would like personally autographed copies of Double Forte' , Upstaged, or Tremolo, I'm running a special this month. All three books signed and mailed to you for fifty bucks, ten off the usual price. Email me at aaron . lazar @ yahoo.com (minus the spaces) for details.

Title: Silenced Cry
Author: Marta Stephens
Publisher: BeWrite Books
Publisher's Address: 32 Bryn Road South,Wigan, Lancaster, WN4 8QR
ISBN number: 978-1-905202-72-0
Price: $15.50
Publisher phone number and/or website address: www.bewrite.net

Review by Aaron Paul Lazar
Author of the LeGarde Mystery Series


Heads up, mystery lovers. There’s a new crime writer in town, and her name is Marta Stephens.
Stephens’ debut novel, Silenced Cry, is supremely addictive, propelling readers into the action from page one and corkscrewing through a wild ride of corruption, abuse, and villainy.

When Detective Sam Harper’s partner, Frank Gillies, gets a peculiar tip about a drug-related suspect holed up in a local bar, they hurry to apprehend him. The bust goes terribly wrong, and in one heart-pounding moment awash with bizarre twists, the suspect and Gillies end up dead in a rain-soaked alley.

Riddled with guilt and facing an increasing number of unanswered questions about Gillies’ past, Sam tries to move forward, but becomes exasperated when he’s placed with a new partner who hails from a corrupt precinct. In spite of their rocky start, Harper and Mann learn to tolerate each other. Their first case calls them to a construction site to investigate remains found in a sealed up wall. Horrified, they discover the remains belong to that of a baby girl – killed when she was only days old.

The cold case consumes Harper, who digs into the past with persistence and unparalleled drive. Strange connections with his and Gillies’ past pop up. Walt Harper, Sam’s father and an ex-cop familiar with the suspects, grows distant and secretive.

What is Walt hiding from his son? And could it possibly relate to Sam’s partner’s death? The answers lie embedded in a complex maze that will shock and satisfy the most assiduous crime mystery buff.

Stephens writes with a consummate skill. She’s serious about her craft, and it shows. Tight suspense, perfectly chosen verbs, natural and innovative beats, and authentic dialog propel this work to a level far beyond those works commonly found on the best sellers list. Stephens’ writing soars with focused intensity and her characters are real – they hurt, they fall in love, they suffer angst and explode with anger.

Stephen’s second book in the Sam Harper series promises thrills and intrigue matched only by Silenced Cry. This reviewer will be first in line for his much-anticipated copy.

***

Aaron Paul Lazar resides in Upstate New York with his wife, three daughters, two grandsons, mother-in-law, dog, and four cats. After writing in the early morning hours, he works as an electrophotographic engineer at Kodak, in Rochester, New York. Additional passions include vegetable, fruit, and flower gardening; preparing large family feasts; photographing his family, gardens, and the breathtakingly beautiful Genesee Valley; cross-country skiing across the rolling hills; playing a distinctly amateur level of piano, and spending “time” with the French Impressionists whenever possible. Although he adored raising his three delightful daughters, Mr. Lazar finds grandfathering his “two little buddies” to be one of the finest experiences of his life.

Double Forté is the founding book of the LeGarde Mystery series and was released in November, 2004. Upstaged followed in October, 2005. His third, Tremolo: cry of the loon, was released via Twilight Times Books in November 2007. Mr. Lazar is currently working on his twelfth book, For Keeps. The first book of his paranormal mystery series, Moore Mysteries, will be released in early 2008, followed closely by Mazurka, the next book in the LeGarde mystery series. He is a regular columnist for FMAM (Futures Mystery Anthology Magazine), Mysteryfiction.net and has been published in Great Mystery and Suspense magazine and the Absolute Write Newsletter. Contact him at: aaron.lazar@yahoo.com, visit his blog at aaronlazar.blogspot.com, or stop by his websites at http://www.legardemysteries.com/ and http://www.mooremysteries.com/.

-New review for Tremolo by scholar/reviewer Bob Williams-

Reviewed by Bob Williams

Tremolo: cry of the loon by Aaron Paul Lazar
Twilight Times Books 2006, ISBN 1-933353-08-2, 223 pages, $18.95

This is the third book in the Gus LeGarde series of mystery novels. Unlike the other books, it takes place when Gus was a boy of eleven and he and the twins, Elsbeth and Siegfried Marggrander, vacation at a Maine resort run by Gus’s grandparents. Lazar has drawn heavily on this material in his other books and in this one he proves what a rich source it is.

As Gus and the twins return home from a boating accident, they encounter a young girl, bleeding from a blow to her mouth, and pursued by a drunken man whom they assume to be her father. The search for the missing girl, Sharon Adamski, runs through the story, in some ways its dominant thread but not the one that most occupies the reader.

The real attraction of the book is – and this quality it shares with the other Gus LeGarde books – the charm of the author and the opportunity for the reader to share in a gracious life built on warm relations with family and friends. The joys of the table and the love of music and the appreciation of the quiet joys of reading embrace an ideal but not impossible world. Lazar has added other strains to this medley. An occupant of one cabin is the mysterious Miss Jones, in reality Rose Kennedy seeking a quiet retreat where she can mourn the death of her son, shot down by an assassin in Dallas. She and young Gus become friends and it is he who rescues her cat Ivanhoe, frightened by a burglar.

It is no accident that the villains in Lazar’s books are villains without redemption. Like a figure from Elizabethan drama or opera they will not only stop at nothing, they will joyfully add gratuitous evil deeds beyond what any reader could expect. It is as if the existence of unqualified malevolence in others is the cost of Gus’s idyllic world, a kind of restoration of balances. Brigit Marggrander, mother of the twins, was the victim of the camps in Germany during World War II. This is another strong statement of the evil that exists in the outer world beyond the charmed circle of the LeGarde family and friends.

Lazar cleverly involves the story with To Kill a Mockingbird, a movie that Gus sees with his parents and which they all find overwhelming. It is a brilliant choice for it is a parallel with the LeGarde circle and the circumstances of Tremolo.

This – if the world is at all just – should be the break-through book for Aaron Paul Lazar. He has served his apprenticeship with two excellent works, but Tremolo reaches far beyond these and is a monument to the enduring values of love, integrity and bravery. Experimental writing is fun but charm and honesty and high ideals have staying power. Tremolo has all the signs of persistent endurance.

***
About the Reviewer: Bob Williams is retired and lives in a small town with his wife, dogs and a cat. He has been collecting books all his life, and has done freelance writing, mostly on classical music. His principal interests are James Joyce, Jane Austen and Homer. His writings, two books and a number of short articles on Joyce, can be accessed at: http://www.grand-teton.com/service/Persons_Places

Hello, friends!

Now that Tremolo: cry of the loon is out, I'm seeking candidates to host my Virtual Book Tour, or Blog Tour during the months of January and February, 2008.

What's a Virtual Book Tour, you might ask? Well, it's basically a succession of reviews and/or interviews or articles posted by a reader during a specific time period. A good example is Beryl Singleton Bissell's Blog Tour. For ten weeks, friends/readers/reviewers hosted Beryl's book, The Scent of God. It was so much fun, and I was honored to be a small part of it. (see a sample, here.)

What does "hosting" mean? (I know, it can all be very confusing!) A Blog Tour host usually reads the book, writes a review and/or interview questions, and posts the resultant said review/interview on their blog. Don't have a blog? Not a problem. You can simply post an article on your website, Gather, or any other social networking site.

If you think you'd like to: 1) Read Tremolo 2) Write a review or 3) Formulate some interview questions for me, then contact me through Gather mail with "Tremolo Tour" in the subject line so I don't miss your note. Or, email me at aaron . lazar @yahoo.com (minus the spaces.)

If you're accepted as a Virtual Book Tour Host (I have only eight slots, but am willing to expand it if it makes sense), I will send you a free copy of Tremolo. If you've already purchased it, you'll receive another copy to give away or save. ;o) We'll choose a week that works for you. And the formula above is not cast in stone - you might choose to do a live chat, or simply write about the book, or feature some other clever way to help spread the word about Tremolo. You send me the interview questions in advance of the tour, and I'll return the answers to you in time for you to post them during your week.

Suggestions for reviews: Write a bit about the story and your reaction to it. But don't reveal key secrets, such as the identity of the lady in mourning, or who the villain is, or what happens to poor Sharon Adamski, the missing girl. This sounds pretty obvious, but sometimes folks don't realize they've revealed too much. They call these "story spoilers," and we don't want to spoil the story for anyone, of course!

Sound easy? It is! It does take a little time, but it's also a good way for you to get more traffic to your site, since I'll write a weekly article directing folks to your blog/article, and folks often follow the tour from blog to blog. It's great for networking, too!

Usually there are comments that come with your posting/blog entry, and I will visit to answer all of them during the week. That's why I chose a week for each event - to give time for the free exchange of comments!

Take care, my friends. And for those of you who love to write, remember to write like the wind!

Aaron

A few weeks ago, I spent a day with a Kodak video crew who interviewed and filmed me wandering about the Fingerlakes and Genesee Valley regions of Upstate NY, in prep for a clip that will appear on their http://www.printambassador.com/ website in a few weeks. They're going to giveaway ten free copies of Tremolo:cry of the loon for ten straight weeks, so I'll be sure to let you know when it starts!

It was odd being in front of all those cameras instead of behind a keyboard, but I have to admit I secretly enjoyed having a captive audience who wanted to hear about my life's passion: writing! Once I get started gushing about my characters, stories, and readers, it's hard to stop me. Oh well. That's just the way I am. ;o)

Maybe next week I'll tell you a little bit about Gus LeGarde, the protagonist of my first series? But that can wait for another day.

We spent October 9th touring the area near my home, and I shared the gorgeous locales that continue to inspire the my novels with the crew who kept me company all day. They filmed me walking along the foggy shore of Conesus Lake, reading from Tremolo, typing on my laptop perched on the edge of Letchworth Gorge (!), and interviewed in front of the fire at the historic Big Tree Inn in Geneseo, NY. Plus, they captured what I'm sure will be breathtaking footage of the lush area and the college town.

I won't spoil the final video that will be available soon by revealing too much, but I thought I'd share a few photos and the interview questions I answered while we finished up at The Big Tree Inn in Geneseo, the restaurant that inspired the scene in Upstaged where Gus and Camille dine at The Elderberry Inn.

It poured first thing in the morning, and we feared it would all be a washout. But shortly thereafter - amidst plenty of mysterious fog - the sun finally came out.

There was a lone boat in the distance in the fog - rather appropriate, since Tremolo: cry of the loon (the new release coming Nov. 15th) opens with a similar scene.

Tim, Tom, and Jonathan, my videographers and producer.

One of the many spectacular views of Letchworth State Park, "the grand canyon of the East." This is not unlike the scene Gus LeGarde describes when he discovered his first wife, Elsbeth, lying at the base of the cliffs - four years before the action starts in Double Forte'. Poor Elsbeth. When the book opens, Gus believes she jumped to her death. But life isn't quite so simple in East Goodland, NY, now. Is it?

***

Okay, let's move on. Here are the questions I answered for the video clip. The actual video will only be 3-4 minutes long, so you won't hear more than 10 percent in sound bytes when it airs.

Kodak: Are there ways in which designing presses helps you write mysteries, and vice versa?

Aaron: At first thought, you might imagine that there could be NO connection between engineering and writing. After all, electrophotographic engineering involves the science behind the digital presses we design and manufacture at NexPress, the physics behind the toner, developer, imaging cylinders, and the hardware that work together to deliver prints. One might be hard put to understand how such work - data, science, formulas, and hardware - could be even remotely related to writing. But when I'm on a project, whether it's the development of a new toner to meet incredibly stringent standards, or solving a complex system problem, there's always a mystery that needs to be solved. It's that challenge, that incredibly exciting contest, that gets my blood pumping. And its a similar excitement that courses through my veins when I'm reading or writing a mystery, trying to solve it, absorbing or creating clues, and imagining "whodunnit."

Of course, no matter what one's profession, there's always human drama in real life to stimulate a writer's emotions and imagination. My colleagues have experienced appalling trials, and these traumas spark fears.

What would I do if I lost either of my baby grandsons? How would I deal with the sudden death of my wife? What if I experienced a life changing heart attack? How would I handle it if one of my daughters was being abused, or was in danger?

Those are the fibers that make up the cloth of every day life. As in news stories, they generate a germ of an idea that may blossom and grow into a storyline or an entire book Most of the themes I've used had come from my own life, but the influences of those around me cannot be denied.

Kodak: Why do you write mysteries as opposed some other genre?

Aaron: It's common wisdom that you should "write what you read."
I've always been a fan of mysteries, and used to devour them as a child. My parents would bring home boxes of books from auctions, and I'd be happily lost for weeks in series like The Hardy Boys. I graduated to books by Agatha Christie, Rex Stout, and Helen McInnes in the years that followed. As time went on, I progressed to my current favorite novelists, including John D. MacDonald, James Patterson, Dick Francis, Clive Cussler, Laurie R. King, Lillian Jackson Braun, Peter Mayle, Dean Koontz, Stephen King, and Tony Hillerman.

Kodak: What's the feeling when you think of people actually holding a book in their hands which you've written, sitting with it, holding it, turning the pages, reading the printed words?

Aaron: The feeling is rather humbling and most phenomenal. To think of someone sitting in their living room, inhaling the sights and sounds and emotions I've painted on the printed page, fills me with an indescribable sense of joy and... a little bit of nervousness, too. My readers could be in Australia, or Iceland. Africa or Dallas. On a boat or in a plane. In bed or by the fireplace. Anywhere. Any time. Reading my words. My words... my characters, in the hands of folks I've never met. It gives me goosebumps. My parallel universe is suddenly out there, exposed, being absorbed by someone else. It's a little bit scary, but it can also be validating when they ask for more. That's the best part!

Kodak: Ebooks haven't really caught on. Do you think it's because of that whole tactile experience - holding the book, turning the pages?

Aaron: Ebooks are a great value that open up a world of publishing to thousands of authors whose work might not be available through other means, and some folks just love them. However, the majority of my readers have told me they want print books. They want to hold the book in their hands, turn the pages, feel the accompanying sense of "progress" that comes with it, and be able to put the book on their shelf when they're done. They want to save it for their children, and know it's going to be there in a hundred years.

I feel the same way. I like to carry a book in my back pocket or briefcase, sit out in the sun without worrying about the sun glaring off a screen, or having to tote around a heavy laptop or ebook reader. I especially love the feeling of holding the book in my hands when I finish a great read. It feels like a more personal connection with the author, without electronic ads popping up in the background. I turn the book around in my hands and "savor" the look and feel of it when I'm done. It becomes like an old friend, and the experience is only completed after I place it on my favorite bookshelf. Plus I especially love it when I can get the author to sign the flyleaf.
Kodak: Print has obviously played a big part in your life. Could you expand on that?

Print has opened up the whole world to me, allowing me to connect with my readers in a way that wouldn't be possible otherwise. That's what it's all about - the connections. The people I've met at book signings or through email have been astounding. And oftentimes, there are moments that just floor me.

Take for example the case of Jamie, a very successful young entrepreneur, who contacted me after reading Double Forté. He told me Gus LeGarde had "shown him that cooking a pot of stew, reading a stack of books and watching the Bambi movie with the ‘little ones' in our lives is more important that studying statements, proformus, and packing for the next business trip." He said, "I feel as though Gus, through your words, is actually slowing me down a little bit. Tonight, because of your book, I spent a little extra time while tucking them in. reading an extra bedtime story, and rocking the little one in her bedroom for ten minutes or so." His feedback warmed my heart. Even though I write mysteries, Gus is a diehard family man, and the books are filled with warm moments between him and his grandson, for example. If just one of my books causes just one of my readers to spend more time with their children...that's more than enough for me.

Kodak: What do you think it means to be an ambassador for print? And how do you think that role, for you or anyone, will continue to drive the future of print?

Aaron: Being an ambassador for print means to engage, motivate, and inspire readers. By creating a mystery series that grabs readers who want to learn more about the characters, to delve into their past and future, to dig deeper into the mysteries and come back for more - that seems to inspire them to read more, and that means more printing.

And if my humble words can influence one single reader, like Jamie, then that is the most satisfying and validating part of the whole process. Let's face it, print is here to stay. And along with all the other authors on this planet, I'm honored to be a small part of that process.


***


The photo at the top of this article was taken after a long long day of being "on" and having to look and sound like a witty author. It's hard to do for a rather simple guy like me. But I made it, and even though you can tell I was ready to drop, my daughter wanted to take a shot of me when it was all over. ;o)

Thanks, Allison!

Thanks for stopping by - and remember, for those of you who love to do so, write like the wind!

Aaron Paul Lazar

http://www.legardemysteries.com/

I've been busy trying to catch up with promised reviews - here's another that will hook you from page one - a superbly written mystery by Jack Maeby.

- Aaron

Title: The Thorazine Mirrorball
Author: Jack Maeby
Publisher: Wild Child Publishing
Publisher's Address: P.O. Box 4897, Culver City, CA 90231-4897
ISBN number: 1-93406966-3
Price: $5.95
Publisher phone number and/or website address: www.wildchildpublishing.com

The Thorazine Mirrorball
by Jack Maeby
Review by Aaron Paul Lazar
Author of the LeGarde Mystery Series


Jimmy Mack isn’t crazy.

Well, at least not now. After two years of debilitating depression and forced exile in an asylum, characterized by chunks of memory loss and high doses of heavy meds, the twenty-one-year old rhythm and blues piano player is finally back.

Assigned a room in a halfway house in Albany in 1972, Jimmy reconnects with his old music buddies and lands a lucrative gig in the Adirondacks. All goes well, until a group of thugs nearly drive him off the road and people around him start dying, jeopardizing Jimmy’s already fragile mental state.

The young man, frazzled with nerves, is smitten by every pretty woman who crosses his path, particularly singer Yvonne Marshall, with her caramel skin and velvet voice. The woman oozes sex-appeal, creating a trail of shuddering men in her wake.

From one fast-paced scene to another, this book moves. Maeby also displays a deep musical insight, with perception that reflect his history as a band member with acts such as The Neville Brothers, Etta James, and Carly Simon, as well as his accomplishments and awards for his compositions in the film and musical fields. Yet within the action, there are also moments of poignant poetry couched in Maeby’s words.

“It was the opening movement of a dance done by demons, the prelude to panic, and then to darkness. If the feeling had sound, it would be an atonal moan in the bass register, accompanied by brittle, frenetic percussion. I knew it as the insistent, cruel pulse of anxiety.”

Jack Maeby has created a superb thriller in this taut and colorful novel. Characters jump from the page–such as Shorty, the irascible record shop owner who becomes inadvertently involved in a shady music business deal. Each of Maeby’s characters tremble with life; their natural dialogue is easy to swallow. The prose flows effortlessly, with none of the forced literary faux pas often made by first time novelists. There is no excess here, each word is precisely placed and potent. It is clear that in addition to his innate talent, this writer has done his homework.

The Thorazine Mirrorball is highly recommended for all lovers of mystery/suspense, music, or crime novels. The only question remaining is this: when will Mr. Maeby produce his next jewel?


***

Aaron Paul Lazar resides in Upstate New York with his wife, three daughters, two grandsons, mother-in-law, dog, and four cats. After writing in the early morning hours, he works as an electrophotographic engineer at Kodak, in Rochester, New York. Additional passions include vegetable, fruit, and flower gardening; preparing large family feasts; photographing his family, gardens, and the breathtakingly beautiful Genesee Valley; cross-country skiing across the rolling hills; playing a distinctly amateur level of piano, and spending “time” with the French Impressionists whenever possible. Although he adored raising his three delightful daughters, Mr. Lazar finds grandfathering his “two little buddies” to be one of the finest experiences of his life.

Double Forté is the founding book of the LeGarde Mystery series and was released in January, 2005. Upstaged followed in October, 2005. His third, Tremolo: cry of the loon, is scheduled for release via Twilight Times Books under the Paladin Timeless Imprint November 15, 2007. Mr. Lazar is currently working on his twelfth book, For Keeps. The first book of his paranormal mystery series, Moore Mysteries, will be released in May 2008, followed in June 2008 by Mazurka, the next book in the LeGarde mystery series. He is a regular columnist for FMAM (Futures Mystery Anthology Magazine), Mysteryfiction.net and has been published in Great Mystery and Suspense magazine and the Absolute Write Newsletter. Contact him at: aaron.lazar@yahoo.com, visit his blog at aaronlazar.blogspot.com, or stop by his websites at http://www.legardemysteries.com/ and http://www.mooremysteries.com/.