Connie Archer | Hearing Voices

When a local woman is poisoned at a pagan ritual in the woods, Lucky Jamieson’s grandfather, Jack, who provided the herbs for the gathering, is suspected of making a terrible mistake. The following day, a dead man is found floating in a creek just outside of town, his face unrecognizable. Is he a stranger or Lucky’s best friend’s estranged brother? Lucky is certain both deaths are murder. Can she find the connection and clear her grandfather’s name before more victims fall prey to a killer?

I hear voices . . . voices of my characters, that is. They’re all clamoring in my head, telling me what they think, how they feel, what they want. I have to shake my head to remind myself they are all figments of my imagination. Or are they? Do we create more than we know, more than we ever imagine, when we write stories and invent characters to people those stories?

I recently received an email from a fan of the Soup Lover’s Mystery series. She had attended an author panel and wrote a very kind note. She remarked how much she enjoyed listening to authors talk about future plans for their characters, characters, she said, “. . . that readers think of as friends.”

Her note struck a chord. I know when I pick up the next long-awaited book in a series, I feel the exact same way – that I’m about to embark on an exciting adventure with an old friend -- [fill in the blank here] – Caitlyn Tierney or V.I Warshawski or Kinsey Millhone. I was suddenly humbled and wondered if perhaps readers also think of the denizens of the By the Spoonful Soup Shop and the residents of Snowflake, Vermont as friends with whom they can share an adventure.

Do we, as authors, lose sight of that? Do we become too concerned with the next story line, the next plot point, the next sale, the next review, losing touch with the fact that we are entertainers who provide escape, adventure or comfort to our readers? After all, we most likely remember more about our favorite characters’ lives and histories than we do some of our friends and acquaintances in the real world.

Each choice an author makes will outline that fictional life path, and we, as authors, must stay true to the characters we’ve created, no matter what flaws they may possess or what crimes they become involved with. Will Jack Jamieson, Lucky’s grandfather, survive and thrive past the ripe old age of 86? Will Sophie and Sage create a successful future together? Could the village’s librarian have once dispatched her husband years before? And does Hank Northcross harbor a deep dark secret that threatens his present life?

We must cherish our characters. If we don’t, how can we expect our readers to connect with them and love them as well, even if some of them are the ones we love to hate?

So yes, I listen to those voices. They’re important. Our characters take on a life of their own and authors must listen. Are they any less real as friends because they exist only between the covers of a book? I don’t think so.

Wait . . . they’re speaking to me again. I need to hear what they have to say . . .

About LADLE TO THE GRAVE

By the Spoonful is Snowflake, Vermont’s most popular soup shop, but owner Lucky Jamieson doesn’t have any time to enjoy her success—she’s too busy trying to keep a lid on false accusations against her loved ones…

It’s almost May, and some of the local ladies have organized a pagan celebration in the woods to welcome spring. But the evening goes terribly wrong when one of the attendees winds up dead, apparently poisoned by an herbal concoction prepared by Lucky’s grandfather, Jack.

Lucky’s sure her grandfather could not have made such a tragic mistake. But before she can clear him of suspicion, her best friend, Sophie, is diverted from planning her wedding to By the Spoonful chef Sage DuBois when she finds a dead man floating in the creek on her property. Now it’s up to Lucky to get both Sophie and Jack out of hot water before a killer stirs up more trouble…

About Connie Archer

Connie Archer was born and grew up in New England, ice skating on neighborhood ponds, clamming on the beach at Cape Cod and skiing in Vermont. As a schoolgirl, she spent several years wading through Caesar’s Gallic War journals and the twelve books of the Aeneid. During her summers she performed in a children’s theater troupe that traveled the suburbs of Boston, mounting productions in parks and children’s hospitals. After majoring in biology in college, she did an about face and earned a degree in English literature. Since then she’s worked at many different jobs — laboratory technician, cocktail waitress, medical secretary, and dinner theatre actress, to name just a few.

Connie lives in Los Angeles with her family and a cat named Basil.