Not Another Mystery Novel
an excerpt

Not Another Mystery Novel
(Recipes for dishes marked with a * appear at the end)

Chapter 1

It was a dark and stormy night...
She hit the backspace key exactly thirty-three times.
"Too Snoopy-ish."

Once upon a time...
Backspace nineteen times.
"Geez, I need to stop reading the kids' fairy tales." Emily sat alone in the tiny room at the back of her house. She couldn't call it an office, really, for it held so much more than the computer and desk. Her sewing machine, ironing board and a small television took up a lot of space.

Sighing, she minimized the document and hit the internet shortcut. Perhaps a bit of blogging was necessary to get her creative juices flowing.

***********************************************************************************
Em's Blog, October 11, 2007
I tried to start my novel again today. Phailed. Miserably. Perhaps I'll just wait for the November 1 start of NaNoWriMo and just bang out a bunch of crap. I figure that if I get enough stuff down on paper, so-to-speak, it will eventually become something. Anything. Why is it so hard?

The kids are back into the swing of the new school schedule and now my mornings are freed up. I should be able to accomplish something other than the Eternal Search for the Meaning of Dust Bunnies.
***********************************************************************************

She looked at the red numbers on the digital clock, more out of habit than curiosity, then turned back to her computer. She banged out the week's grocery list, added items to her already crammed calendar and replied to a couple emails. Anything to avoid writing.

The front door banged shut and she heard the clatter of three pairs of feet on the entry floor.
"Mom, we're home!" Ah, her little angels.
"I'll be right there," she snapped off the monitor and pushed the rickety desk chair in.
Her eldest daughter was just adding her own jacket and schoolbooks to a growing pile on the dining room table.
"Stop right there," Emily demanded. "Each of you pick up your jacket and hang it on your own peg. Take your books to the kitchen table. Now."
There was a chorus of sighs and "ohhh mom" as they performed these simple tasks. Why did she have to remind them each and every day? Bill Cosby was right - kids were brain damaged.
Emily gathered the ingredients to make peanut butter sandwiches while her kids took their places around the kitchen table. She watched them through her eyelashes as her head bent under the task she could almost do in her sleep.
"Mom, Julie said she read that Prince William might be coming to America sometime soon."
Emily mentally rolled her eyes at her eldest's best friend's latest "dish" on the famous prince. Ever since the poor kid lost his mother, he'd constantly been in the news and Julie and Kinsey had hung on every word. They read every post in an online royalty forum. They scoured the internet for information. Emily felt certain that most of it was conjecture out of pure boredom but she let it slide. And the only thing that truly drove her crazy about her daughter was the girl's constant use of the word "like." In fact, she said it so much and with such emphasis, that Emily imagined it to be spelled "Lyke." Emily smiled at Kinsey and murmured something to let the preteen know she was indeed paying attention. Still. Kinsey had been born 12 years previously and Emily, the ever-eternal mystery novel fan had convinced her husband to let her name the baby after her favorite sleuth Kinsey Millhone. Dave reluctantly agreed, for at the time he was just simply overcome with emotion at the new little Sanders they were bringing home. As she grew, Kins lived up to her namesake for she was feisty and stubborn and determined to live her young life the way she wanted. Her long dark blonde hair was always neatly combed and her baby face was quickly slimming to that of a lovely young pre-teen.
Two years later, along came Stephanie. Named after Stephanie Plum, Janet Evanovich's bounty hunter wannabe, the chubby little girl matched the tenacity of the famous fictional bounty hunter. She followed Kins everywhere trying to be part of the group. And she probably would be accepted, excepting the fact that everywhere she went, she sang. Any little ditty would do, she just had to be singing. And each day she dressed herself in purposely mismatched socks. "Mommy, I don't want people to think I'm a comformonist or something," her hands on hips. Emily actually looked forward to seeing the combination each day. Stephanie still carried a lot of her baby fat, but it looked cute on her so far. Em hoped it wouldn't become a source of concern on Steph's part. As opposed to her sister's desire for really long hair, Steph couldn't be bothered with all the necessary combing, moussing, shampooing, and conditioning that went along with it; instead she kept her hair just above her shoulders, the waves making it just unruly enough to give the girl a wild-eyed look about her. It quite often snagged on branches of the tree in the backyard, which was Steph's favorite hiding place.
And yet another two years later brought Jonah. Named after J.A. Jance's hard willed but soft hearted detective J.P. Beaumont, Jonah was the strong, silent ball-playing type. Jonah created his own little world and crawled right into it, probably to escape the older sisters who so regularly tried to get him to join in their little girl games. Although the boy's name was Jonah David, Emily still found herself calling him JP, much to her husband's dismay. Jonah never threw anything away, just stuck it in a pocket till he got to his room, then hid it away in one of his many secret places. Shoeboxes, wooden boxes, pillowcases, cottage cheese containers, even a half-broken wastebasket had pride of place in the back of his closet, chock full of who-knew-what. And Emily never pried. Jonah was a gentle soul, very aware of others' feelings. Em would have to watch him over the years, for certain times of the year brought a moodiness that was not usual for a child of eight. However, doctors' visits had shown nothing out of the norm so far.
Emily planted a half of a peanut butter sandwich and some grapes in front of each child, pouring glasses of milk to accompany them. She reflected on her three children and the unusual origination of their names. She'd been thrilled several years before when J.A. Jance had spoken at the Salem Library. Emily and her best friend Jane had eagerly attended, then had their books signed afterwards. She hoped that spmeday her children would understand the significance of their names and how special their mother had felt in choosing them.
"I got a B on my spelling test today," Steph tore into her sandwich while swinging her feet back and forth under the table.
"I played shortstop today," Jonah mumbled. Emily knew the boy craved the pitcher's mound but hadn't yet been deemed talented enough to be placed in that position.
"Maybe next time, JP," Em ruffled his hair as she looked over his shoulder at the third grade math worksheet peeking out from under his plate. It already had a peanut butter smear on it.
Amidst much noise the sandwiches were eaten, the milk was downed and the homework was completed. Only then did Em allow the television to be turned on. True to form, Steph tuned into cartoons. Kinsey hit the internet to stalk a prince. Jonah went outside in search of Agatha, the family dog. Agatha was a four-year-old yellow lab who firmly believed that her place was in anyone's lap, all 65 lbs. of her. She had the heart of an angel, though, and was truly a member of the family. The kids rarely balked at having to take care of her, while other chores were met with choruses of oh mommmm, and the ever popular do I have to?
Em sighed and turned back to the refrigerator to work on dinner. Apricot Pork Roast * was on the menu for the night. Ever the bargain hunter, she'd found a great cut of pork on special the other day at her local Winco. Now, she rubbed it well with spices and let it sear in the pan while gathering her vegetables. Turnips, onions and carrots were peeled and chopped and tossed in a pot with the seared pork and a diced red pepper. Adding a bit of white wine, chicken broth and apricot jam, she set it on the burner to slow cook for a couple hours. She had become adept at baking bread over the years. She ran very warm water into a cup with yeast and sugar then let it sit while she tossed some flour and salt in a bowl. Pouring the water and yeast mixture into the flour she swirled it around with her fingers, kneading it until it was a glossy, firm ball. She set it aside to rise in the warm kitchen and hit the laundry room for some sorting and folding. These chores were mindless and allowed her imagination to roam. In the middle of loading the washer, ideas came to mind. She ran to her computer and spent the next few minutes outlining her thoughts. Her fingers danced over the keys and soon she had a good six hundred words set. And, the beginning of a decent story. Emily grinned and sat back to admire her work.

"Mom! Jonah won't give me the remote."
"Hush, little baby, don't say a word, Mama's going to buy you a mockingbird. And if that mockingbird don't sing, Mama's going to buy you a diamond ring," Steph sang as she wandered around the house.
So much for that moment's muse, Emily thought as she went to referee.