Internet Chapter


          Guest Author
              July-August 2004



Shirley Ann Gandy

author of Remember White Meidilands



  • Book Giveaway
  • Interview
  • Bio
  • Reviews
  • Website: www.sagworld.com
  • Contact Shirley: drgandy@sinc-ic.org
  • Lynn Kinnaman of the internet chapter interviews Shirley:

    Shirley A. Gandy SinC-IC:
    How did you start writing?

    SHIRLEY:
    Long before I was a published author, I was a published songwriter/recording artist raising two sons as a single mother before it was stylish. When my sons left home I got serious about writing “words without music” and went back to college because I didn’t want my name on bad writing. After over sixteen years of writing short stories, articles, columns and publishing three nonfiction books, I decided to write a novel.


    SinC-IC:
    Why did you choose to write mysteries?

    SHIRLEY:
    Actually, I didn’t set out to write mysteries. I just started writing and that’s what it turned out to be.


    SinC-IC:
    Briefly summarize the plot or the plot inspiration for your latest work:

    SHIRLEY:
    The idea for Remember White Meidilands came from someone else's dream, which has nothing to do with the actual plot and is no where in the story. Crazy, huh? I like to write about family, people helping each other - bring readers almost to tears, then make them laugh. The story centers around a woman who escapes an abusive situation in Chicago, flees to a close knit community in the Tennessee’s Smoky Mountains where she is abducted, dumped in the woods, develops amnesia, and takes up with a homeless woman who’s headed to Florida for the winter. The man who helped her is left with her four-year-old son, so he calls his P.I. friend and the whole community gets involved in this page turner filled with everything from inspiration, high morals, family values and local history, to a very touching and surprising ending. Readers say they laugh, then need a hanky. That’s basically what I was shooting for, because that’s the way life is - laugh, cry, love, hate, get over it, move on.


    SinC-IC:
    Any interesting or unusual thing happen during the development of this work?

    SHIRLEY:
    Two things come to mind. I learned that I love to write mysteries. And, by the time I had finished the book, I realized I had a series on my hands. The characters are simply too lovable, too real, too alive to let them die with one story.


    SinC-IC:
    What is your writing process (outline, research, index cards, software)?

    SHIRLEY:
    I’m a research fanatic. To make a story real, I analyze fiction settings, characters, killings, law, history, etc. I don’t outline a story before hand. I might as I go along so I can keep up with who did what to who and when, and in what chapter. Basically, I go with an idea and once I start writing the story comes from thin air and the characters drop in out of the blue. I keep a “players” file with a complete physical, mental, psychological description of my characters - age, height, gender, hair, eye color, thoughts, habits, what they did ten years ago, what kind of car they drive, etc. Would a female tote a Colt .45, or a Jennings .38 revolver? Could a compulsive personality have a certain habit? A controlled person probably wouldn’t have a messy house. That sort of thing. Research gets even deeper as the characters selected as locals bring history into the mix. Did it really happen that way? Was history wrong? Some resound with a big yes on that one. Their grandpa was there and he said it didn’t happen that way! Research turns up some very interesting stuff.


    SinC-IC:
    How do you discipline yourself and schedule your writing?

    SHIRLEY:
    That’s never been an issue. My problem is making myself do something else. Like, did I eat today?


    SinC-IC:
    How do you handle rejection?

    SHIRLEY:
    Rejection doesn’t bother me. It’s a learning tool and can mean several things. First, it’s merely someone’s opinion. Another person might love it. However, if a piece were to get several rejections, I’d analyze the writing until I was satisfied, make sure it was targeted to the right market, and send it out again.


    SinC-IC:
    What’s the one thing you couldn’t do without in order to write?

    SHIRLEY:
    My computer, which has WordPerfect with a good speller/thesaurus. And, my set of World Book Encyclopedias. Oops! You said ‘one thing.’ Anyway, it would be hard to go back to using a pencil and dictionary.


    SinC-IC:
    Do you have someone who critiques your work?

    SHIRLEY:
    No. I'm my worst critic. Acquisitions editors see my writing first. However, I orally run my stories by my sons, who are experts in law, guns, hunting, computers, etc. You name it, they've done it. If they don’t know about it, they know someone who does. They just love giving Mama advice! I'm a very lucky gal.


    SinC-IC:
    Do you have an agent? Any comments about that?

    SHIRLEY:
    No. At this point I can't see why I need one.


    SinC-IC:
    What was the best writing advice you’ve received?

    SHIRLEY:
    My mother framed a letter I wrote to her on Mother's Day when I was sixteen. Raised on a farm, we were poor, and a letter praising her enormous sacrifice for me was the only present I could afford that year. She said it was the most wonderful present she ever received. That's pretty darn good advice. And, two college professors: One said I had a natural writing talent and should never stop, no matter what. The other said my dialogue and humor was so good he wanted to join the conversation. "Write lots of dialogue and humor. I've never read better."


    SinC-IC:
    What’s the worst?

    SHIRLEY:
    A teacher who had never been south of the Mason Dixon was trying to tell me, a southern born and raised gal, who had never been north of the Dixon, how to write southern slang. I made her so mad I thought I’d flunk the class, or be dropped out altogether. Quite the contrary. I gained her respect, as well as that of the entire class, and wound up getting an A+ on the short story - which contained the southern slang the way I wrote it. Which brings up some advice: don’t compromise your writing when you know you’re right.


    SinC-IC:
    What’s the best book you’ve read about writing?

    SHIRLEY:
    For fiction writers, without a doubt: Guide to Fiction Writing, by Phyllis A. Whitney.


    SinC-IC:
    What advice do you have for beginning authors?

    SHIRLEY:
    If you don’t love to write, find another career because writing is not the glamourous life it’s made out to be. It’s hard work and finding a good publisher is harder. Even if you have natural writing talent, to be successful you must hone your craft, pay your dues, never stop learning. Instead of “wanting to be a writer,” you must “want to write.” I don’t mean to be negative, but beginners with stars in their eyes, who get in the business to become rich and famous usually fall by the wayside.


    SinC-IC:
    Is there anything else you'd like to tell us?

    SHIRLEY:
    Only that I hope something I’ve said has helped, or at least entertained other writers and readers. This has been a pleasure. It’s great to be a Sister in Crime and in the Internet Chapter.


    Shirley's Bio:
    Before I became an author, I was an entertainer, pianist, singer, and published songwriter living in Nashville, TN, entertaining throughout the USA and Europe. After leaving the entertainment industry I returned to college and started publishing short stories, columns, and worked as editor and columnist for six years. I'm currently compiling a collection of short stories, and writing a novel based on facts about survival and recovery of a young man of twenty-four, whose two brain aneurisms and surgery left him crippled and unable to speak. His story needs to be told and he can’t do it. I'm also laying tracks for a CD of some of my songs. I hold a B.A., B. PHIL.., and PH.D. I have traveled extensively in Europe, the Caribbean, Australia, Mexico, and the continental USA, including Alaska, where I lived for six years. I currently live in east Tennessee.



    SHIRLEY'S PUBLISHING CREDITS:

    BOOKS:

    Woman’s Life On A Southern Tobacco Farm (The Story of Sallie Mae Taylor-1893-1976) (ISBN 0-7734-9337-9), biography, 150 pages, The Edwin Mellen Press, 1993. Entered into the National Women’s Role of Honor and placed in research libraries around the world.
    Family Favorites, a 94 page recipe book(companion to Woman’s Life On A Southern Tobacco Farm), 1996.
    Closing Down The American Base At Adak, Alaska (The Social and Psychological Trauma of Relocating Military Families)(ISBN 0-7734-8557-0), The Edwin Mellen Press, 1997, placed in research libraries around the world.
    Remember White Meidilands (ISBN 1-4137-0182-5), a Soda Creek Mystery, Publish America, 2003, placed in local libraries, receiving five star reviews at online bookstores; Chosen as February 2004 Book of the month by Llano County, TX library discussion group.
    Hound Dog Charlie, the second Soda Creek Mystery, to be released 2004-2005

    OTHER PUBLISHING CREDITS:
    "Nickel" (short story, Good Old Days, 1989)
    Monthly Column (Ptarmigan Ptimes Newspaper, Adak, AK, from 1990 to 1991)
    "Each Of Adak’s Many Clouds Has a Silver Lining" (Adak Magazine, Special Edition, 1990)
    "A Little Bit Of Heaven in East Tennessee" (Tellico Plains Mountain Press, Newspaper, 1995)
    Many Articles as Columnist/Editor/Contributor (Writer’s World Magazine, 1990 to 1996)
    "A Golden Anniversary" (Home Life Magazine, 1991)
    "An Abused Girl Changed My Perspective" (Home Life Magazine, 1992)
    (And many others)

    AWARDS:
    “On Becoming Rebecca,” winner of Writer’s Open Forum, 1992 short story contest.
    “I Bathed Mama’s Flowers,” winner of the Black Hills Branch of the National League of American Pen Women, 1993 short story contest.




    This month's featured book giveaway:
    FROM THE BACK COVER:
    What would you do if you were a petite blond living in an old car with a homeless woman and didn't know who you were or how you got there? How would you feel if you rescued a friend from a bad situation, took her to your home in Tennessee's Smoky Mountains, and she disappeared, leaving her four-year-old in your care?

    In this electrifying tale that sweeps across three states, Zack Cole's faith in God and humanity is renewed when he and the small community of Soda Creek, Tennessee leaves no stone unturned and no prayer unprayed to rescue his friend and their beloved citizen, Abby Crowley.

    Grab your hanky and prepare to stay up all night during the worst ice storm in history, an attempted hanging, and a gun-shot killing with unforgettable characters who'll touch you heart and become friends you'll want to visit in the next Soda Creek novel.

    After a successful music career and writing three nonfiction books, Shirley Ann Gandy, Ph. D., entertains us as well on the written page as she did on stage with her first dynamic novel, Remember White Meidilands. She lives in the Tennessee Mountains near her two sons.

    To be entered in Shirley's drawing for a free copy, send her an email through her Sisters in Crime-Internet Chapter email, drgandy@sinc-ic.org
    Shiley will select a winner from the e-mails, but she’d really love for you to visit her site, sign her guest book, and enter more contests she will have featured there from time to time.
    title




    spark Contact Shirley through her website at http://www.sagworld.com
    or through the internet chapter drgandy@sinc-ic.org

    Excerpt from Remember White Meidilands:

    Chapter One

    Life was unfair. Most of the time. The exact moment she made that conclusion was unclear. It was a long time ago. Probably after one of her attempts to escape, or when she was forced to return defeated and ashamed. There was a way out. She just hadn’t found it. But, then, he wasn’t bad all the time.

    She pulled the two-wheel cart down the Chicago sidewalk, a trip she had made so many times she could almost find the store with her eyes closed. Thump, thump. The wheels bounced in rhythm. Her private hour. Time for plotting escape. Time for dreaming of a better life.

    She enjoyed the first part of the trip. Pulling home a cart full of groceries beneath the July sun hanging at mid-afternoon would drain her energy. Her baby-blue, cotton dress would be damp with sweat, her sandals would be gritty, and she would be wondering how it would feel to own a car. Useless ponder, of course, a luxury she couldn’t afford. Muse that brought to mind a scolding from Sister Evelyn at the orphanage when she had hitchhiked as a teenager.

    "I know it was raining, you didn’t have taxi fare and the driver was friendly. Count your blessings, young lady. You were lucky this time," Sister Evelyn had said. "You must never get in a car with a stranger. When will you learn to obey?"

    Obey. Obey. Fifteen hail-Mary’s. Ten toilets. Seven days of silence. On her sixteenth birthday she was forgiven. She received an umbrella and a small purse for taxi fare.

    One girl, who didn’t learn to obey, wasn’t so lucky. She hitchhiked and never returned. Sister Evelyn said the person who picked her up did awful things to her. All the girls joined hands in a circle and pledged to never hitchhike, never talk to strangers.

    Be a good girl. Obey. Obey. She knew all about that. First the nuns. Then a boss. Later a controlling husband. Now, she was obeying for Sammy, the only good in her life. Someday she would be free and wouldn’t obey anybody.

    With her cart folded and placed under her grocery buggy, she walked up and down the isles comparing prices and labels until her shopping list was complete.

    Seeing a long line of buggies was at the counter, she paused at the magazine rack where a man with a neatly trimmed beard was reading a Louis L'Amour paperback. His blue baseball cap with a white B on the front was pushed back showing his black curls. Hazel-green eyes peeked over metal-rimmed shades sitting low on his straight nose. He smiled at her without showing his teeth. She squatted and fumbled through magazines on the lower rack, observing the man from the bottom up. Long, slender legs ran up from blue Converse sneakers to cut-off jeans that hung around his flat belly where a blue, sleeveless t-shirt was partly tucked in. He wore a two-toned Rolex and a gold and black college ring. Hmm. Dressed like a hobo. Expensive jewelry. Could be a thief, a drug lord, or an undercover agent. Her imagination was running wild as usual. She stood up, pushed her buggy to the counter and unloaded her groceries.

    She read the cash register tape, counted money out on the counter. A quarter short.

    "I thought I had another quarter." She dumped the contents of her purse on the counter, searching for change. The regular cashier would let it slide until tomorrow.

    "Where's Janet?"

    The new cashier shrugged.

    "Here, let me." The bearded man gave the cashier a quarter.

    "That’s okay. I'll just put something back." She stuffed her belongings back in her purse and sat a can of soup on the counter. "It’s too hot for soup anyway."

    "This could happen to anyone." The man put the can of soup back in her sack.

    "Thanks," she said, embarrassed.

    "No problem." He went to the end of the line and by the time he had made his purchase, she was gone. He had seen her in the market before, but didn’t have a chance to get acquainted. Maybe he would see her on his next trip to Chicago.

    Zack Cole preferred quiet country living to city life and a busy schedule only magnified his need for isolation. That’s why he had carefully picked and trained trustworthy, top-notch managers for his offices in Chicago, Atlanta, and Dallas. From his Tennessee mountain home, he supervised his companies using high-tech computers and phone systems. When city meetings were absolutely necessary, he avoided downtown high-rise hotels with gyms and twenty-four/seven room service. He stayed in small motels on the edge of town where he could walk and jog in fresh air instead of using indoor treadmills.

    A few years back, when his life rolled into a nightmare, he thought about dumping his fortune and sleeping in a card-board box. Throw in the towel. Quit. Swim in bourbon until his nerves and thoughts were numb. He never made it to the card-board box. After a week in the bourbon pool, he woke up and found the problems he had supposedly drowned were still very much alive and growing into monsters that couldn’t be bridled under a hangover headache. He came to his senses. Tried another approach. Work. Channeling his pain and anxiety into energy soon brought big business deals and more money than he knew what to do with. He had no personal life. He hadn’t planned it that way. It was just the way it had worked out.

    He checked in at the motel and had lunch with Dennis Wheeler, a sharp, smooth operator, who ran the Chicago office.

    When Dennis joined the firm, he immediately picked up on Zack's exercise craze. From then on he showed up at meetings with his gym bag. Zack ignored the kiss-up technique. Dennis had potential. Three years with the company and he was handling the district so well Zack rarely came to Chicago. He was currently training a computer whiz-kid to head the software division in the Denver office scheduled to open next month.

    After lunch with Dennis, Zack went to his room, put on his cut-offs and jogged to the store where two months earlier he had given a quarter to the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Though odds were slim that he would see her again, he looked through the store, then bought a bottle of water and headed for the park. From a block away, he recognized her straight, blond hair, hanging four inches below her shoulders, bouncing on her back as she pulled a cart full of groceries.

    How lucky can a man be?

    "We seem to keep running into each other," he said as he approached. "I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself at the market. I’m Zack Cole."

    "Hello, again, Zack Cole. Do you live in Chicago?"

    "No. I'm here on business."

    "I suppose you want your quarter back."

    "What’s a quarter between friends, Abby?"

    "I didn’t tell you my name."

    "Didn’t have to. I saw your I.D. when you dumped your purse on the counter at the market. You should be more careful with personal information."

    "Are you a detective, or just plain nosey?"

    "A little of both, I reckon."

    "Then, I reckon you know everything about me."

    "Abby Crowley, five-four, 110 pounds, blue eyes, blond hair, Landview Apartments, number A-3. Of course your birth date is another matter. I never mention a lady’s age."

    "Your memory is unbelievable. That was three months ago."

    "More like two." Hmm. She remembered. "Point is, if I can get information so easily, so can criminals."

    "How do I know you’re not a criminal?"

    "Do I look like a criminal?"

    "Not exactly."

    "How much further to your place?"

    "You mean there’s something you don't know?"

    He moved out front and walked backwards so that he was facing her. A breeze blew her hair back revealing a bruise on her neck. "Can we please start over? Our meeting like this seems like a miracle." Right. Like you weren’t looking for her.

    "So, you believe in miracles?" She stopped, stood still for a moment and couldn’t help but smile. "You look ridiculous walking backwards. Get over here beside me like a sensible person." Be careful. Obey. Obey. Never talk to strangers.

    He started walking beside her. "Is it always this hot in September?" Dumb. You’re here every September.

    "The humidity is what makes it so bad. There's a park ahead with shade trees where I usually cool off."

    "I know the place." He lifted his cap and ran his fingers through his thick curls.

    "I’m sure that beard doesn’t help you stay cool."

    "You don’t like my beard?"

    She smiled. Actually she loved his beard, but she wasn’t about to tell him. "I hope it stays hot until Christmas."

    "Are you saying you like hot weather?"

    "Not really. When it’s cold I can’t take Sammy to the park. I used to bring him to the market. I’d load groceries around him in the stroller. He’s too big for that now. And he’s too small to walk this far."

    "Who's Sammy?" he asked, though he was certain the toy truck in her buggy wasn’t for a pet pigeon.

    "My son. He’s four, and a handful."

    "That age can keep you hopping. Who’s keeping him now?"

    "My husband. Do you have children?"

    "Nope. I was close to my friend’s son until they moved to France. I visited him a while back. He’d grown so much I hardly recognized him."

    "I know what you mean. Seems like yesterday Sammy was in diapers. There’s an empty bench. Since I didn’t buy anything that needs refrigeration, I’ll rest a few minutes."

    Nearby, an elderly man played with a small girl next to a picnic table where a group of women were deeply involved in a card game. Abby took a slice of bread from the sack, tore it into tiny pieces and tossed it to the birds.

    "I like to feed the birds. Bob says I’m wasting food."

    "Huh," Zack said.

    "Look how quickly they peck the crumbs. No matter how much I feed them, they always come back for more."

    "It’s been a long time since I’ve seen anyone enjoy such small pleasures."

    "I didn't realize it was a small pleasure."

    It is when your head’s in a computer, your ear’s to a phone.

    "How long have you lived here?" he said.

    "All my life." Before she knew it, she had told him about growing up in an orphanage eight blocks in the other direction, how she had married Bob and moved into the apartment where they still live. She even told him about the hitchhiking ordeal. "I’ll never again get in a car with a stranger," she said.

    "That’s good to know." He took off his shades and rubbed his hazel-green eyes. "Look. There’s a couple of empty swings." Soon they were swinging, letting the air cool their faces. Two nuns and a group of children lined in a row marched from the sidewalk into the park. "Amazing how they get kids to walk in such a straight line." "You’d be surprised at the tactics nuns use to keep children under control. What’s that tune you’re humming?"

    "Alan Jackson’s Little Bitty," he said.

    "Who’s Alan Jackson?"

    "You never heard of Alan Jackson? What kind of music do you listen to?"

    "Whatever Bob plays."

    "You gotta' try country."

    "I've never given much thought to country twang."

    "Country is America’s music. Grabs the heart."

    "Well, I guess I'll have to listen to country just to get my heart grabbed," she said.

    Zack smiled. Music, the universal language. Should I ask about the kid? Not unless you want the husband to move back into the conversation. Finally meet a captivating woman and she’s married with a kid.

    "This makes me feel like a teenager," he said.

    "Well, teenager. What do you want to be when you grow up?"

    "Clint Eastwood type. Mysterious, quiet, going around fixing other people’s problems, knocking off the bad guys."

    She dragged her foot to stop the swing. "What time is it?"

    "Five o’clock. Why?"

    "I’m late. Nice to see you again," she said, grabbing the buggy handle.

    "Hey, wait a minute. What’s your hurry? We’re going in the same direction. I’ll walk with you as for as your house."

    "No! Just forget you ever met me."

    "I’m afraid I can’t do that," he said, puzzled.

    "Then, stay away from me," she said.

    "What did I do?"

    "Nothing. You just don’t understand," she said.

    "No. I certainly don’t."

    How could she be full of life, in control, friendly one minute, and terrified the next? Keeping distance between them, he followed and watched her enter a run-down apartment building.

    Publication date: November 2003
    Publisher: Publish America
    ISBN#: 1-4137-0182-5
    copyright Shirley A. Gandy



    Some reviews of Remember White Meidilands

    Review submitted by A. Morris, Texas:
    March 2004
    Dr. Shirley Ann Gandy’s latest book, Remember White Meidilands, released by Publish America in fall 2003, has received five star reviews and was chosen as book of the month by Llano County, Texas, Book discussion group. Remember White Meidilands takes place during an ice storm as citizens of Soda Creek search for a missing woman, whom after being abducted and dumped in the woods, develops amnesia and takes up with a homeless woman. This page-turner has everything from Christian and family values to abuse, a private detective, an attempted hanging and a gun-shot killing. The characters are as real as you next door neighbors, people with whom you can identify, who will make you laugh, cry, get mad and become friends you’ll want to visit in the next Soda Creek Mystery, Hound Dog Charlie. It’s no surprise that a group of women meeting for their monthly book discussion in Llano County, Texas, library chose Shirley Ann Gandy’s new book, Remember White Meidilands for February 2004 Book Of The Month. Comments from members ranged through “page turner,” “Great escape,” “Easy to take,” “rescued me from boredom,” and moved on to ways each individual identified with the story and the characters. One librarian in the group said she identified with the bit of spousal abuse in the beginning. One lady identified with what she called Christian values, another with the strong family values. All agreed it was a love story with a beautiful original twist. Another librarian, originally from South Carolina, said the setting and the Tennessee mountain people made her think of home. Everyone in the group agreed the book was just the right size. The speculated on what the author was going to do with certain characters in the sequel. One of the librarians said she would not hesitate to recommend the book to anyone’ in fact she had recommended the other three libraries in the county purchase the book. The meeting closed with the group agreeing to invite Ms. Gandy to Texas for the book festival the county will be holding in October after her new book Hound Dog Charlie is released. The group’s positive suggestion to the publisher was that Remember White Meidilands would be a great book to publish in large print. From the one visual impaired member came the suggestion to put the book on tape. Suffice to say, Remember White Meidilands was a hit with this special group of Texas women. The sequel is anxiously awaited and will be well received. Other reviewers have compared Gandy to Anne Tyler, Phyllis Whitney, and Francine Rivers, but all agree that her style stands on its own and that she creates lovable characters that are so real they stay with the reader and cause them to wonder what certain characters will be doing in the next book.

    Other readers’ reviews:
    Greg T., Tennessee:
    You gotta read this book! The characters jump off the page making you feel like you’re right there with them. Believe me, you won’t be able to put it down, and you’ll share their excitement and love all the way to the end of the story as the entire community’s faith is renewed. It’s funny, yet very touching. The best book I’ve read lately.

    L. Giddens, Tennessee:
    Ms. Gandy Creates characters which by the end of th book will become friends, folks you want to know more about and wonder what they’re up to long after you finished reading the book! Her characters are believable and familiar to us all. The story is one of intrigue and romance, in equal portions, enough of each to keep you turning the pages. This is a fun read and one which will stay with the reader after the book is completed.

    Mari C., Georgia:
    Ms. Gandy is the most refreshing, talented new fiction/mystery writer to appear on the scene in years. I read a lot of mysteries and can usually tell what will happen next and most of the time I can determine the ending. Not with this book! I simply never knew what was going to happen next and was totally surprised with the ending. I stayed up till three a.m. because I couldn’t put it down. Remember White Meidilands, is without a doubt the best, most entertaining book I’ve read lately. I’d like to add one more important fact: I was thoroughly entertained without having to wade through foul language. I can’t wait to read Ms Gandy’s next book.

    Jo M., South Carolina:
    I love your latest book, Remember White Meidilands, I have been a fan of your for a very long time and have all your books and music CD’s from when you were a singer. Suffice to say, I love your voice and your writing. You are a very talented lady.

    More reviews can be found on Shirley's website: http://www.sagworld.com




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