Monthly Archives: June 2012

Nidrani’s tunics and pants

Nidrani's tunics and pants

Calypso St Barth deep v neck shirt
$125 – calypsostbarth.com

Diane von Furstenberg caftan tunic
$104 – my-wardrobe.com

Hale Bob low top
£60 – julesb.co.uk

Summer top
£150 – themoonandmars.co.uk

Caftan tunic
150 AUD – forevernew.com.au

Striped shirt
$233 – matchesfashion.com

Vix snakeskin shirt
$185 – net-a-porter.com

Matthew Williamson caftan tunic
$451 – stylebop.com

Reiss caftan top
$115 – reissonline.com

Aqua tailored pants
$108 – asos.com

Loose pants
€59 – bsbfashion.com

By Malene Birger highwaisted pants
£185 – bymalenebirger.com

Green harem pants
$35 – romwe.com

DKNY silk drawstring pants
£185 – harveynichols.com

By Malene Birger highwaisted pants
£185 – bymalenebirger.com

Rag & bone highwaisted pants
$247 – matchesfashion.com

Maison Martin Margiela loose pants
£93 – farfetch.com

Wide leg pants
359 PLN – jackpotshop.com

“Relocated” has a cover!

Cover of "Relocated," forthcoming from MuseItUp Publishing

 

 

Check out the cool cover for my novel, “Relocated,” coming soon from MuseItUp publishing.

Back Cover:

On planet Aleyne, a teenage boy foils a terrorist plot, only to discover an unexpected cost.

When fourteen-year-old Keth’s Dad is transferred to planet Aleyne, he doesn’t know what to expect. Certainly not that Dad grew up here and that he studied and work with Ardaval, a noted Aleyni scholar. Keth discovers he’s developped psi, illegal in the Terran Federation,  and he flees to Ardaval, only to learn later that the Aleyni is his grandfather. When Keth’s friend’s father, Mazos, is kidnapped by the terrorists, Keth tries to free him but is captured himself. Will he succeed in freeing them both and catching the terrorists, and what will be the cost if he does?

http://museituppublishing.com/bookCstore2/index.php?page=shop.product_details&product_id=345&flypage=flypage.tpl&pop=1&option=com_virtuemart&Itemid=1&vmcchk=1&Itemid=1

Interview with Heather Haven

Heather Haven speaks out!


Cover

Tell us something about yourself

Born and raised in southern Florida when alligators roamed the streets, possibly even before the Mesozoic dinosaurs came into being. The first book I can remember reading was Uncle Remus. Maybe on a stone tablet, can’t remember. I do know that’s when I was six or seven. It’s been a love affair that has never waned. I went to college on a costume scholarship and studied drama. Ultimately, I went to NYC to become an actress, but I absolutely hated it. I hated the life of an actor. It wasn’t for me. All that traveling! Living out of a suitcase! Who needs it? However, I loved writing. I could sit in a room and write for hours, send characters to the far corners of the room and not have to leave my chair. To make money, I worked in advertising for a while, wrote short stories, one-act plays, and ad copy for humorous ads, and acts for performers. I didn’t tackle writing a book until I came to California.


How long have you been writing?

The first thing I did was write lyrics to music that didn’t have any. I was about eleven years old. I probably started seriously writing in my late twenties. I won’t say how many decades that is, but check with the question above for the time period.

How did you get your start?

Give a kid an education, encourage them to be themselves, to learn and grow and then stand back. That’s what did it for me.

What got you interested in writing mysteries?

At age nine, I was brought to the public library and encouraged to check out a book. I checked out Nancy Drew and the Secret of the Old Clock. My life was changed forever. I not only fell in love with reading, big time, I fell in love with mysteries.

How do you feel your work in theater and television has influenced your writing?

You are a sum total of everything you do. Being in the theatre, studying the classics, performing the classics, that’s how you learn what has been created by the greats. Then you get to do your stuff, which is not so great. But those fine eternal masterpieces are something to strive for, to be devoutly wished for. You read their stories and some of the greatest artist struggled like nobody’s business to get where they did. Make no mistake, I don’t have that kind of talent, but I’ve worked hard, practiced hard, and not given up when it gets tough. Do what you love to the best of your ability.

What’s your writing style?

I have no idea. Funny? Let’s go for that.

Do you have a writing routine?

I do. I get up every morning and am writing by 8 am. I try to be done around 11 or noon.

Who are some of your favorite mystery writers? What do you like about them?

Women: Agatha Christie, the Grand Dame of them all. Dorothy Sayers, Sue Grafton, Janet Evanovitch. Men: Erle Stanley Gardner, Rex Stout, Raymond chandler, Steig Larsson…wait, wait I have to stop. I’m starting to hyperventilate. I know I’ve forgotten some wonderful writers.

What are you working on now?

I am writing a new series called Persephone Cole and… (fill in the blank with whatever holiday it is). So far, I’ve got Persephone Cole and Halloween, Colder than a Witch’s Mitt and Persephone Cole and the Christmas Killings Conundrum. Both will be out soon.

The third book in the Alvarez Family Murder Mystery series just came out. Can you tell us something about it?
Gladly!! They are such fun to write! I love this family, even the cat! Here’s the blurb:

Lee Alvarez’ ex-husband, Nick — a man she divorced with joy in her heart and a gun in her hand – sprints back in her life only to disappear again. She’d love to leave it at that, but could he be responsible for the recent death of her cousin, who keeled over at the finish line of a half-marathon in front of hundreds of spectators? As PI for the family run business, Discretionary Inquiries, Lee follows the clues to Vegas, where she joins forces with Shoshone PI, Flint Tall Trees. Together they uncover a multi-million dollar betting syndicate, a tacky lounge lizard act, and a list of past but very dead runners, plus future ones to off. At the top of the ‘future’ list is the love of her life, Gurn Hanson. Hoping to force the culprits out in the open, Gurn and Lee’s brother, Richard, vow to run San Francisco’s famous Palace to Palace footrace in only a few days. Can Lee keep the two men she loves from hitting the finish line as dead as her cousin? With more at stake than she ever dreamed possible, Lee is in a battle against time to stop the Alvarez Family’s 12K race with death.

Where can readers buy your book?
Buy page for Death Runs in the Family: http://tinyurl.com/87fbjn3

Where can readers find you on the web?

Heather@HeatherHavenStories.com

http://www.heatherhavenstories.com/

Heather’s blog at: http://tinyurl.com/4nensnp

http://www.facebook.com

Twitter@HeatherHaven

Twitter@PILeeAlvarez

Any last words?

I love writing. It is such everlasting fun. And thanks for having me!!

Check out Heather’s new book, “Death in the Family”

Lee Alvarez’ ex-husband, Nick — a man she divorced with joy in her heart and a gun in her hand – sprints back in her life only to disappear again. She’d love to leave it at that, but could he be responsible for the recent death of her cousin, who keeled over at the finish line of a half-marathon in front of hundreds of spectators? As PI for the family run business, Discretionary Inquiries, Lee follows the clues to Vegas, where she joins forces with Shoshone PI, Flint Tall Trees. Together they uncover a multi-million dollar betting syndicate, a tacky lounge lizard act, and a list of past but very dead runners, plus future ones to off. At the top of the ‘future’ list is the love of her life, Gurn Hanson. Hoping to force the culprits out in the open, Gurn and Lee’s brother, Richard, vow to run San Francisco’s famous Palace to Palace footrace in only a few days. Can Lee keep the two men she loves from hitting the finish line as dead as her cousin? With more at stake than she ever dreamed possible, Lee is in a battle against time to stop the Alvarez Family’s 12K race with death.

And check out this excerpt

Chapter Seven

I Don’t Know Who’s the Bigger Idiot

Without much conversation, we jostled Nick out of the room and down the stairs. As a precaution, we used the back exit, Flint flinging boxes of DVDs every which way so fast, the clerk only managed one “hey” before we were out the door. The exit led to a narrow back alley filled with garbage, trash, and more small scurrying animals that should be calling the SPCA to complain about the conditions under which they’re forced to live.

While Flint went to bring the car to the side of the alley, I waited in the shadows next to Nick and pulled out the Glock. The irony of the situation hit me like a double charge on a credit card bill for shoes not only too tight to wear but last year’s style.

On the left, a disgusting dumpster; on the right, an even more disgusting ex-husband. And me stuck in the middle as usual—a reluctant PI if ever there was one.

Rather than inhaling the stench of fly-ridden garbage, I’d really rather be sniffing out dastardly doings of computer sabotage or thievery, in particular, long after said dastardly deeds have gone down. It’s my idea of a good job, especially when I get to zip off whenever I want and have a great lunch.

The part I like best—besides the food—is sitting at a highly polished, recently vacated mahogany desk in an air-conditioned office, sifting through the rubble of high-tech deceit and betrayal. I like gathering enough evidence to point a manicured fingernail at the culprit and shout j’accuse! Backlit by enough briefs, memos, emails, and other telltale papers, the culprit is mine. That is a real high.

This was a real low. But I had to think about Stephen. My cousin was dead, and Nick knew something about it. Hell, maybe he even had something to do with it. And, of course, there were the cats. If Nick was in any way responsible, I might do him in myself and save whatever goons there may be the trouble.

All these things were flitting through my mind when Nick—the stupid idiot—made a lunge for my gun, muttering he could take better care of himself than I could. Sometimes an ex-marine, like an ex-husband, needs to get over himself.

One of the first lessons you learn as a PI is to not to carry a gun if you’re going to let anybody take it away from you. All the years I’ve been carrying, ten to be exact, people have taken all sorts of things from me—including my virtue—but never my gun.

So when Nick came at me, my knee went up fast, strong, and accurate. Ex dropped to the ground in a fetal position. God only knows what else was lying there with him, but I left him on the dirt, anyway. He was busy moaning while I cocked the Glock and gave a 360-degree spin, prepared to do whatever was necessary to keep the jerk safe. At least, for the moment.

Fortunately, no one showed up except a passing rat or two, excluding the one I stood over. After what felt like a lifetime, I saw Flint’s headlights, although I’m sure it didn’t take him more than three minutes to get there. I helped Nick up. He limped to the car, and Flint, bless him, raised an eyebrow over Nick’s condition but didn’t say a word. What a guy.

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