Lea Wait here, adding to what’s become a week of announcements. Although Kaitlyn Dunnett (aka Kathy Lynn Emerson) made a spectacular announcement Monday, as it turned out, I’d planned to make an announcement this week, too.
I’m excited to announce that in 2014 I’ll have three books published.
In the first quarter of the year Islandport Press, a wonderful small press in Maine, will publish UNCERTAIN GLORY, the fifth of my historical novels for young people aged 8-14 set in Wiscasset, Maine. Set in April of 1861, UNCERTAIN GLORY focuses on a boy — Joe Wood — who really did publish a newspaper in Wiscasset, on his friend Charlie Farrar, who dreams of excitement far from Maine, and on Nell Gramercy, a 12-year-old traveling spiritualist whose life is not as glamorous as it appears. As with my other historical novels set in Wiscasset, most of what happens in the book actually took place in this small seaport town during the first two weeks of the Civil War.
The seventh in my Shadows Antique Print Mystery Series: SHADOWS ON A MAINE CHRISTMAS will be published in the fourth quarter of next year, taking Maggie back to Maine. But this Christmas someone is afraid auld acquaintances won’t be forgot, and long-hidden secrets will be revealed. That fear results in attempts at blackmail, murder … and Will’s Aunt Nettie and her elderly friends are in the middle of it all. It may be a Merry Christmas. But who will be alive to see in a Happy New Year?
And there’s more.
Perhaps most exciting, I’ve just signed a three-book contract with Kensington Press for a new series, set in Haven Harbor, Maine. The theme of the series will be needlepoint, but there won’t be a craft shop in sight. Tentatively called TIME’s TWISTED THREADS, the first in the series is scheduled for publication in the fourth quarter of 2014. Here’s a sneak peak at the beginning of that first book, introducing protagonist Angie Curtis:
The day had already been the sort you want to drown in a dry martini or a bubble bath. Preferably both. And that was before I heard Gram’s voice, loud and clear as always, coming from my “missed messages.”
“Angel, it’s time to come home. They’ve found your mama.”
No one in Arizona called me “Angel.”
I stared across the small room I’d called home for the past ten years at the stained needlepoint cushion squashed into the corner of the couch. The couch had come from Goodwill. The cushion had come from Gram. It was her last gift before I’d lit out and left the shores of Maine and the comforts of Haven Harbor.
She’d embroidered it in the sea blues and pine grees she knew I loved. And she’d done it quickly, in simple basket weave and continental stitching. But in the middle of the design, instead of the lobster or lighthouse or puffin that was usually the center of a pillow designed for the tourist trade, Gram’d embroidered her phone number.
Large. Complete with 207 area code.
Men who’d come and gone in my life had kidded me about it. “What’s that? So you won’t forget to call home?”
I’d laughed. I’d known that wasn’t why she’d stitched the number there, even though I’d also known I hadn’t called home half as often as I should have.
The number was there in case I was sick, or worse, and police searching my apartment needed to find my next of kin.
Gram wanted to be found. She hadn’t wanted to lose me, as she had Mama.
I pulled my duffel out of the closet and started packing. Wally could find someone else to sit surveillance on Mrs. Juanita Simpson.
Mama had been found. Gram was right. It was time to go home.