I’ve had a fun few weeks–including my usual writing.
Plus, I heard that the Dog Writers Association of America, of which I’m a member, was looking for humorous articles for their upcoming issue of RUFF DRAFTS, their publication, so I of course had to submit a short article about how my puppy keeps me from concentrating on my writing by insisting that I play fetch with her while I’m sitting at the computer. Humorous? Yes, and they published it. Plus, when I posted my excitement at my Facebook page, I was requested to submit an article to Mystery Writers Journal for their upcoming animal issue.
The Fourth of July has come and gone, and now the two writers’ conferences I’m looking forward to this year are closer: the Romance Writers of America National Conference, and Bouchercon. I’ll be on panels at both.
Hope you all enjoy the last half of 2023. I intend to!
The Beatles, in a March 1966, were interviewed by journalist Maureen Cleave. John Lennon said that the public was more infatuated with the band than with Jesus and that the Christian faith was declining.
His opinion caused angry reactions from Christian communities when it was republished in the United States the following July.
His comments caused protests and threats throughout the Bible Belt, resulting in radio stations refusing to play Beatles songs, records were publicly burned, press conferences canceled, and the Ku Klux Klan picketed their concerts. This controversy preceded the Beatles1966 US tour and press coverage of their newest album Revolver. Lennon apologized in a series of press conferences and explained that he was not comparing himself to Christ.
Later in July, Disc Jockeys Doug Layton and Tommy Charles of WAQY-AM 1220, (Birmingham, Alabama) got a copy of the interview. During their July 29th breakfast show, they asked for listeners’ views on Lennon’s comment, and the responses were mostly negative. Their listeners felt it was absurd, sacrilegious, and blasphemous by right-wing religious groups.
More than 30 radio stations, including some in New York and Boston, followed WAQY’s lead by refusing to play the Beatles’ music. Some radio stations broadcast hourly editorials condemning the Beatles; bonfires to burn the Beatles album were scheduled. Organized demonstrations abounded.
This became known as the “More popular that Jesus” controversy or the “Jesus controversy”
The controversy resulted in the band’s disappointing tour, which they never undertook again. Lennon also refrained from touring during his solo career.
In 1980, he was murdered by a Christian fan of the Beatles Mark David Chapman, who stated that Lennon’s quote was a motivating factor in the killing, although in later years he denied it was a motive.
Janet Elizabeth Lynn was born in Queens and raised in Long Island, New York. She is the author of murder mysteries, cozy mysteries and with her husband Will Zeilinger, 1950s hard-boiled detective mysteries.
Will Zeilinger has lived and traveled the world and has been writing for over ten years. His novels range from mystery to romantic comedy and those 1950s hard-boiled detective mysteries with his wife Janet.
Together Janet and Will write the Skylar Drake Mystery Series. These hard-boiled tales are based in old Hollywood in 1955. They have an E-book How it Began: The Skylar Drake Mysteries available from Smashwords.
Their world travels have sparked several ideas for murder and crime stories. In their next adventure, they will team up using the penname E.J. Williams for a new mystery series set in the 1960s. Their first novel in the International Crime Files, Stone Pub is in the works.
In addition to writing novels, Janet and Will have a YouTube Channel, Chatting with Authors featuring informal Zoom interviews with authors of various genres. We encourage readers to check out all their videos.
This creative couple lives in Southern California . . . and yes, they are still married, and they even blog together at The Married Authors.
When Ryann’s neighbor called her with the news, she hurried the two doors down. It was actually the daughter of Mr. Mallory who summoned her. The elderly Mallory had not been in the best of health for years. And now he was dead.
“I wanted you to have first pick of Dad’s stuff,” Jody, Mallory’s daughter, said when she ushered Ryann into the house. “You took such good care of him over the years.”
Ryann smoothed back a loose strand of hair and waved a hand to deflect the praise. “All I did was fetch his mail for him, and make a grocery run every now and then.”
“But you were here for him, and I appreciate that.” Jody beckoned to Ryann to follow her farther into the house. “And my brothers won’t know what’s missing. They were never around, always too busy to drop by, Dad said.”
They traipsed through the living room, dim with heavy window drapes, and into the dated kitchen. Ryann had been this far in the house to deliver Mallory’s groceries. The tired décor and dim lighting never enticed her to linger when she visited. She might be a widow, but living alone did not mean one had to stay stuck in a time warp.
“Anything catch your eye?” Jody turned in a circle in the kitchen, arms outstretched.
Ryann shook her head. “I have everything I need, but thanks.”
“Then you’ve got to see what I found upstairs. I know you love art, and this is right up your alley.”
Without waiting for a reply, Jody climbed the stairs to the second floor, Ryann close behind. It was true that Ryann collected art, and proudly displayed several local artists’ works on her walls. Mallory had hung only cheap framed prints of animals and exotic beaches, as far as she had seen. Whatever lay upstairs was likely just a continuation of the mundane.
The two women passed three bedrooms and a bathroom. At the fourth door, Jody pushed it open and entered another bedroom, empty save for a double bed frame holding a set of springs (no mattress) and a brass floor lamp. She picked up a picture frame covered in black cloth, and with a flourish uncovered the art beneath.
“What do you think?”
Ryann stood speechless . It was a still life, a real painting; she could see the brush strokes. Oil, she guessed. But it was more than the fact that it was not a print: The painting itself captured her interest. Excellent design and color. Clever choice of objects to feature in the setting: a goblet that glinted gold, an exquisite folded cloth, a filigreed chain, a small tiara with a cluster of diamonds across the top. A plate on the frame offered the title: Treasured Objects.
“It’s … astonishing,” Ryann stuttered.
Jody smiled. “I think so, too.” She held it out to Ryann, who backed away.
“I can’t accept this,” Ryann said. “You should keep it … or take it to an art dealer. I’m sure it’s worth a lot. More than I could afford to pay you.”
Shaking her head, Jody stepped to Ryann. “Dad did not splurge on things. I’m sure this is a yard sale special, so I’m not giving up a fortune by making it a present to you.”
Still Ryann hesitated. She knew the piece was valuable.
“Okay,” she finally said. “I’ll take it, but I’ll get it appraised, and if it’s worth what I think it is, I’m giving it back to you.”
***
Ryann propped the painting on the sideboard in her dining room and in the busy-ness of her life – volunteer work, grandkids to babysit, friends to visit – she forgot about it for almost a week. It was when she was tidying up after her daughter’s toddler twins had left that she paused to look at it again.
I wonder what it’s worth.
She turned away and then turned back. A hand that she swore hadn’t been there previously lay casually within the still life. The unknown model’s hand and arm faded off to the right in the picture. The artist apparently wanted a hint of something live within the assemblage of inanimate objects on the table.
Why hadn’t she seen that before?
And then the hand moved. Just a twitch. A moment later the hand turned over, palm up.
Ryann fled the house. At Mallory’s front door, she rang the bell and pounded her fist on the panel.
When Jody opened the door, Ryann tried to compose herself, taking deep breaths.
“Tell me,” she gasped. “If you don’t mind my asking, what did your father die of?”
Jody wiped her hands on her jeans, dust in her hair and grime on her cheeks. “Forgive my appearance,” she said. “I’ve knee-deep in cleaning up this old place.”
“Please,” Ryann said. “It’s none of my business, but I need to know.”
Stepping out onto the porch, Jody closed the door behind her. “We’re not sure,” she said. “How he died, I mean. No one’s found his body, but he doesn’t appear to have left. It’s been over a month since anyone has seen or heard from him, so the family assumes he’s dead.”
“Come with me,” Ryann said. “I think I may have found him.”
A California native, novelist Tracy Reed pushes the boundaries of her Christian foundation with her sometimes racy and often fiery tales.
After years of living in the Big Apple, this self proclaimed New Yorker draws from the city’s imagination, intrigue, and inspiration to cultivate characters and plot lines who breathe life to the words on every page.
Tracy’s passion for beautiful fashion and beautiful men direct her vivid creative power towards not only novels, but short stories, poetry, and podcasts. With something for every attention span.
Tracy Reed’s ability to capture an audience is unmatched. Her body of work has been described as a host of stimulating adventures and invigorating expression.
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What happens if everything you thought you understood goes . . . OFF THE RAILS?
More info →“If you ever say anything to anyone, they all die.”
More info →A patient shares a puzzling secret with Dr. Darcy—and then someone kills her.
More info →A Slice of Orange is an affiliate with some of the booksellers listed on this website, including Barnes & Nobel, Books A Million, iBooks, Kobo, and Smashwords. This means A Slice of Orange may earn a small advertising fee from sales made through the links used on this website. There are reminders of these affiliate links on the pages for individual books.
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