A Living Remembrance

September 11th means many things to many people. It's been written about, reflected upon and spoken of to the point where you almost think nobody has anything novel to add. And maybe so. But why let it stop you? My parents' generation has November 22, 1963, my grandparents' generation has December 7, 1941. Days that live in infamy. Days we will forever regurgitate to whoever will listen, "When it happened, I was..."

On this day, we think of the victims and their families. We think of those brave first responders. We think of the thousands of soldiers who have served their country, especially those who have been laid to rest. One of my oldest and dearest friends, a veteran, was asked to give a speech today at Kutztown University and the key message of this speech was to enlighten the younger generation and remind the rest of what sort of camaraderie was born on that day. How in the weeks that followed, American flags and yellow ribbons were everywhere and why that matters. In one horrific instant, we were all baptized into being wholly American. That vigorous sentiment faded as the months went on. (There's much more to his speech than this but my aim is not to simply repeat his oration). Now, granted, not everyone is or was for war. I'm not saying every red blooded American hopped into a deuce and a half, waved Old Glory and belted out the Star Spangled Banner and there's naturally a shit ton of dissension that went into the mix. But if memory serves, we were all a little more decent to each other when it happened and nobody in their right mind was happy about their country being under attack or about the loss of innocent lives.

Spread from my high school scrapbook.

Each year, we remember. And each year, we reflect. It shouldn't just be an annual thing. If we could harness a bit of that fellowship that we found 13 years ago on a day to day basis, we'd be better for it. Time and again as a nation, we've paid in blood. We say "never forget" and yet, we kind of do. At least for most of the year. Such staggering loss is worthy of justice in daily remembrance.

Lamentably, in the beginning of my senior year of high school, I remember looking at my classmates who didn't stand up for the Pledge of Allegiance and thinking, I wish something would make these assholes have an appreciation. Soon enough, something did happen and at heavy cost. I don't think anyone sat down during the pledge from September 12th until graduation day.

On this day, I feel the best way to honor those who fell (aside from attending one of the many and meaningful memorial services) is to live. Take your kid to the playground. Go fishing with your dad. Give your wife a flower. Volunteer. Be kind to a stranger. Make an awesome dinner. Call an old friend. Recapture a bit of the decency we were all forged into. Get off Facebook and make the day matter. Look at it as one more day you have that somebody else doesn't. What would they do with today? Honor them by remembering and honor them by living.

The Spirit of a Hometown Holiday

The 4th of July is my Christmas. Don't get me wrong, I love Christmas, but the glittering electricity of July 4th is indelibly emblazoned in my spirit. For while anticipating Santa Claus inevitably faded with time, the promise that Uncle Sam would come in the morning never did.

Getting down to it, there are a handful of compelling factors. Family military history (which naturally lends to draping yourself in Old Glory and belting out The Star Spangled Banner) the perks of being a cop's kid in a relatively small town (premium seating for fireworks), youth in and of itself but largely and for the most part- my hometown. Southampton.

All right, so we don't get all Colonial glitzy like Doylestown but by God, we've got spirit. There is just something about the giddiness on July 3rd, waiting to wake up in the splendor of hot morning sunshine and head to the Southampton Days Parade. You grab yourself some McDonald's on 2nd Street Pike because that is THE 4th of July breakfast of champions and then await the merriment. As little kids, we'd plop ourselves down in the grass right in front of McDonald's, not bothering to go very far after our "Big Breakfast" meals. As I grew older, my participation in the parade itself began to evolve. Marching with the Girl Scouts, riding my bike bedecked in patriotic ribbons, riding my go-cart and then the pinnacle, championing the route in dad's 1943 armored half track.  There is just something about standing at a quad 50 caliber machine gun mount, a giant American flag waving in the rush before you as an antique military vehicle roars down the road. It. Is. Liberty. There were years of piling 6 or 7 friends on the back and dressing up in various themes. In years we didn't utilized the half track, I settled for the 1946 Willy's jeep which dad painstakingly restored (individually sandblasting and painting every nut and bolt) to replicate my grandfather's jeep from WWII. Dad, being a retired police officer knew scores of people along the parade route, would turn when someone shouted out, "Yo, Lt.!", take ribbing from former badge bearing colleagues and shout out witty zingers to civilians. I'd wave like some Goddamn regal mayor to friends, acquaintances and strangers alike. We were both in our glory. And today, it would appear the sour kraut didn't fall very far from the table because my toddler conducted herself in the exact same manner.

Being a Southampton native you have, at one point in your life or another, a fondness for the fair. You go with a pack of unruly friends, ride the rides, get that super sugary lemonade, yell out, "Bingo, Bingo, Bingo!" and probably try your best to win some prize or another be it an inflatable AK47, a fuzzy bear or that hook-up you've been pining for. Once again, I look back on an evolution of sorts. I started out hocking baked goods with the Girl Scouts until bored of this, I wandered over to the Boy Scout's dunk booth and asked to be put in. I was 8 years old. Thinking it adorable and not wanting to disappoint a fellow scout, they obliged. Year after year I came back until finally I was a stacked teenager with a surly sailor mouth who could trash talk a grown man into making an infuriating dash for the dunk tank to give me the throttling I probably deserved. Those were the days.

Fireworks, BBQ, family, friends, beer, laughter, shenanigans, off roading adventures where you pray to the Lord above you don't flip over and break your neck. Blasting "Proud To Be An American" (God Bless The U.S.A) as loud as possible and not bothering to conceal the fact that you're tearing up. But more than all those cherished things, it's the spirit of the men who took a stand and generations thereafter of those who fought and died to preserve our hard fought liberty. Even with all the hoopla of being in the parade, my favorite part of it is seeing an old veteran seated along the side of the pike, waving to him and shouting out a, "Thank you, sir!" and today, I felt a swell of maternal pride when my two year old echoed my actions from the back of the jeep.

Yup. This is my holiday. This is our holiday. God Bless America and Happy 4th of July!

Come On Baby Light My Fire

*My favorite promotion: Cold as a Wedge is FREE May 8th-10th! 

Admittedly, when it comes to working on the next J.D. (kinda the slang used around the house) I've been stuck in neutral. Not so much the dreaded writer's block, so much as, well, life. Put enough spinning plates in the air, odds are one is going to slow down or slip off. And, J.D. drew the short straw on that one. Things have finally calmed down a bit around here (birthdays passed, 150th reenactment for the Battle of the Wilderness has come and gone and instead of sewing I can focus on this century).

Last night Cold as a Wedge became available for free for a couple days and over 250 copies were downloaded within the first 8 hours. It climbed to #916 in the free Kindle store and #13 among police procedurals. In less than a day, this comes close to trumping one of the best promotional periods I've ever run. So... super f'n thrilled about that! For me, it's always about people connecting to J.D. (or Rick cuz, c'mon, who doesn't love Rick?) and settling down in Southaven. I love reading books by Kate White and Ellen Crosby. The Bailey Weggins and The Wine Country Mystery series (respectively) are my favorites. It's because I absolutely fall in step with the characters. Even though J.D. is an acquired taste, that's always my hope for a reader. If you've never checked out either author, I highly recommend doing so. Great reads!

Yesterday, I finally found myself back in Southaven and I've gotta admit, it felt great. I really wanted to crack open a beer after I put the kid to bed and keep the momentum going but if you've ever spent the day with an incredibly enthusiastic toddler... once they're in bed the only momentum you have left is hurling you towards sleep. That said, the ball is back to rolling and even though the next book in the series focuses on a different criminal element, it's still brimming with everything you loved about the first book! Wish I could say the goal is a late summer release because it would be a fabulous beach read but realistically, we're looking at another autumn debut!

Follow me on Twitter to stay apprised- or at least mildly entertained!

Happy Valentine's Day, Here's Two Feet of Snow

So, our fair county is about to get slammed... once again. A frigid behemoth is hurling its way toward us and everyone is all aflutter with delightful chaos. Rightfully so, I guess, after many of us went a pretty substantial length of time last week without power after the ice storm. Honestly, I kinda live for this shit. I was brought up on several mottos but two that stick out the most often and happen to be the most relevant here, "Improvise, adapt and overcome." and "Be prepared." Words to live by. Words to pass onto the next generation, if they can pry their senses away from their iPhones for half a second. (I sound like I'm 75 but I'm totally guilty of that myself. Trying to curb the habit.)

Initially, I'd planned a freebie day for Cold as a Wedge for Valentine's Day. That can be a real annoying day for folks depending on their current romantic situation. I figure, why not let J.D. be someone's valentine? And hey, there's plenty of female distraction if J.D.'s not your type. The free day will still be happening on Valentine's Day (and on the 15th if you're 14th is, let's say, a violation of expectations) but with the approach of what is prophesied to be another real bitch of a storm- Cold as a Wedge will be free on Thursday, February 13th as well.

So for those snowed in tomorrow and looking for something fun to occupy your mind- you can get Cold as a Wedge for free on Amazon. Solidarity! And for those of the mind that Valentine's Day can take a flying leap, I got ya covered for Friday.

In other news... Copacabana is totally playing on the 70's Music Choice channel right now.

New Excerpt From Cold as a Wedge!

     Excerpt from Chapter 2 of Cold as a Wedge

     The sun was just creeping up over the horizon in Southaven as J.D. and Rick arrived back at the station around 6:00am. Located on Main Street, it was a humble brick building nestled beside the fire house, not far from the center of town. When they pulled into the parking lot it looked like a typical sleepy Saturday morning. There were only a handful of vehicles but one looked out of place. It didn't belong to any of the personnel at the station.
     "That's a 1967 Pontiac GTO," J.D. observed, his mouth practically watering. "400 inch V8 engine, four barrel carburetor."
     "What are you, Kelley's Blue Book?" Rick teased. J.D. grinned as he threw the truck into park. They got out and strode over to the entrance of the police station. As they did, the door to the Gulf Turquoise GTO opened and a spry young woman appeared. She wore snug bell bottoms and a green sweater vest pulled over a cream colored blouse. Her russet hair, kissed with the faintest whispers of gold was tied back, the wavy remainder of which resting below her slender shoulders. Lively green eyes sparkled as they settled on J.D. He'd seen her before. Up at the courthouse in Durhamburg.
     "Detectives," she greeted them eagerly. "What can you tell me about the body you discovered at Leedom Park last night?" Kit Kelly. She was a reporter for The County Courier. And a damn tenacious one.
     "You'll have to wait for the night log," J.D. informed her. She sashayed into their path, barring them from proceeding.
     "Was it male?" she begged. "Female? Do you suspect foul play?"
     "How did you even hear about it?" Rick balked.
     "I have my sources," she returned demurely.
     "Scanner," J.D. tossed glibly to Rick. He gave Kit a teasing smirk. "Boy, you people really are-" He stopped himself, remembering how he learned the hard way not to mouth off to reporters, even in jest. "We'll provide you with the log just as soon as it's prepared, Miss Kelly."
     "Detective Reiter," Kit Kelly was not about to take no for an answer. Catching his hazel eyes, a genuine smile bubbled to her face. "Surely you can give me something of a head start before the rest of the... what word were you tempted to use- vultures, perhaps- show up?"
     J.D. sidestepped the savvy journalist. "Sorry." J.D. shrugged. Rick followed suit and the two darted into the station, leaving Kit in the parking lot. Once inside, they were greeted by Opal VanArtsdalen, radio room dispatcher and mother of Charlie VanArtsdalen. Her beehive hairdo, a fancy relic from the previous decade was neatly arranged in its raven splendor. Both J.D. and Rick were surprised to see her there so early on a Saturday morning. She sprang up from her desk as soon as she heard them come in.
     "Charlie called me," she told them, reading their expressions. "I figured you were going to need an extra hand today. Coffee is already brewing, Rick. Put on a fresh pot, just for you."
     "Thanks Opal." Rick smiled. "You're an angel."
     "That Kuhn boy," Opal put her hand to her chest and rolled her eyes behind her silver horn rimmed glasses, "that poor thing." She lowered her voice. "You two don't actually think he did anything wrong, do you? Officer Walsh took to questioning him and I thought the little dear would just about faint." Walsh was one of the seasoned older guys who didn't pussyfoot around.
     "He still here?" J.D. asked.
     Opal shook her head. "Walsh took him home around five. I thought that boy was going to cry when Walsh talked about confiscating his little bag of mulch for evidence."
     "Bark."
     "Pardon?" Opal gasped.
     "It wasn't mulch," J.D. chuckled. "It was bark."
     "Oh." Opal shook her head dismissively and waved her hand. "Anyway, the chief is here for the briefing, as well as the officers coming on duty for day work. Charlie is finishing up writing his report."
     "Did he find anything else?" Rick wanted to know.
     "You'll have to ask him, detective," she clucked. "I'm his mama, not his secretary. Go on now, get your coffee." She shooed them on. In an age of nepotism, Opal VanArtsdalen of 'old Southaven stock', did her best to have Charlie stand on his own two feet. She knew it was difficult for some of the senior officers to take him seriously, since he'd sat on their knees when he was a boy. At least it wasn't the case with those in their late twenties like Reiter and McKendrick.

     J.D and Rick located Charlie and learned that the canvas in the neighborhood nearest the park turned up nothing. Even further up on Sugar Maple Drive, no one saw or heard anything. That was understandable, as the creek was completely out of view from there. Nothing out of the ordinary was discovered at the scene and unfortunately, the murderous hunk of minerals remained at large. J.D. took point on briefing the officers and Rick meticulously prepared the morning log for the press. The only information he released was that the body of a seventeen year old female was discovered in the creek at Leedom Park late last night. He deliberately left out names and intimate details in order to ensure the success of the investigation. He'd been thoroughly trained in the art of communicating particulars to the press and knew what to withhold. Keeping the exact location of the body unknown could prove crucial to the investigation and publishing the names of witnesses was just plain careless.
     By 7:30am everyone was up to speed, the log had been given to the press and Charlie was sent out to develop the film of the crime scene photos. J.D. and Rick had been waiting in their office for Mac and Slim. Office was a generous term. Glorified broom closet would be a more accurate description. There was barely enough room for two regulation sized desks side by side with a narrow walkway in between. Each desk had a rolling chair behind it and a stationary metal chair before it. On the wall behind J.D.'s desk was a twelve by eighteen black and white poster of Buckwheat from The Little Rascals, mouth agape in surprise, signature hair jutting out in an erratic afro. J.D. had taped a speech bubble next to Buckwheat's mouth saying, 'Oh dit! Here tums da tief!'
     To the untrained eye, his desk preached organized chaos but there was a place for everything and everything in its place, and if you attempted to threaten that order, you'd be dealt with- severely. Rick's desk was neat and orderly with a navy blue Upper Southaven Township Police Department mug perched on the edge, perpetually stocked with black pens.
     Seated behind his desk, J.D. reached into his pocket and extracted a pack of Pall Mall cigarettes with no filter. He fished one out and stuck the end in his mouth. With a flick of his thumb, the Zippo sparked to life and he lit the cigarette. With it hanging by his lips, he spoke to Rick.
     "That Kuhn kid," he inhaled, then puffed a cloud of smoke above his desk, "just to be sure, we oughta ascertain whether he had any connection to Pamela Cornell."
     "You don't really think he did it, do you?" Rick laughed. He leaned back and rested his elbow on the arm of his chair.
     "Not especially, no." J.D. took another drag. "I didn't get a guilty read from him but it'd be foolish not to follow up on it."
     Rick jotted down a note. "Sounds reasonable."
     "You hungry?" J.D. solicited.
     "Starving," Rick replied, tossing his pen down on a stack of papers.
     "Come on." J.D. grabbed his keys. "Let's go to Lottie's for a quick bite, then head over to Donna Wilson's house. We'll take the Plymouth. That way if Mac and Slim need to get in touch, Opal can radio us."
     "Right." Rick pushed off the floor and wheeled back in his chair. When they walked out into the cool morning air, J.D. half expected to see Kit Kelly still milling around outside the station for a better line than what they put out, but the light blue GTO was nowhere in sight.

For the rest of Cold as a Wedge click here and get it for $0.99! 

Rewiring

One of my New Year's resolutions (how delightfully cliche, right?) was to read more. Whoa! Make that a double! Also, get back into working out (oh the humanity) and- get less wrapped up in the negatively charged bile that is found in abundance on social media. So like most of you, I'm sure, it's January 10th- a whopping 10 days into 2014 and I'm still at it. I've found it's been not only easy but enjoyable and the effects are evident.

As part of my new routine, I've taken to reading Small Graces by Kent Nerburn each day. It's perfect for the busy life- short passages with meaningful messages. Maybe not exactly what you would expect to find on my reading list given the shall we say... "colorfulness" of my writing style. But, aren't we all a little surprisingly varied? What I like about this particular book is directly in its title. Small Graces. In a life where quite frankly, it's incredibly easy to get swallowed up in the nonsense and bullshit of every day- it's refreshing to have a lifeline that draws you into a simplistic and healthy way of thinking that leaves you with a sense of, well, grace.

It's a little ungrateful of me to bash all social media. After all, it's the vehicle for my series but let's be honest- how many tweets or posts have you read in the last 24 hours that made you put on your disgusted face and quietly or not so quietly proclaim the author to be a complete asshole? It gets a little dicey out there, kids. So, find a refresh button. Mine is almost shamefully short uplifting literature and yoga (abbreviated as it may be). Find some grace, pass it on but remember how to find it again later.

Feel free to follow me on Twitter. Rare are my catty tweets, many are my promotions (sorry) and hopefully, I'll get you to crack a half smile now and again.

K.H

Hometown Fiction

During a recent promotion, one of Southampton's (yes, hampton, not haven) finest made some astute observations about the cover art for Cold as a Wedge. He was right on. The badge, the case, the gun- even the initials. It tickled the hell out of me. Why? Because I like the way police officers think. I like that no matter how long they've been at it, the good ones have still got it. Even my old man, out of the game for longer than I'd care to say, still has that eye, that spark. Those gears? Always turning. There's something fascinating, alluring and comforting about that sort of thing.

Cold as a Wedge has a basis in reality. While it's not "biographical", people, like the aforementioned lawman will no doubt pick up on the patches of truth in the pages. There's not only the glimpses of one's hometown, but of police work as it used to be. I might not have been cat'n around in the 70's, but the time period in the story most definitely draws me back to a different, more comfortable time.

I'm happy to say that readers outside of Bucks County have been enjoying the first book in the J.D. Reiter Mysteries and of course I'm pleased that locals are getting in on the action too!

Happy reading!

 K.H