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becke_davis
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Re: Please Welcome Featured Author LOIS WINSTON!

 

 


BIO

 


Lois Winston straddles two worlds. She's an award-winning
author of romance, romantic suspense, humorous women's 
fiction, and mystery under her own name and as Emma Carlyle
She's also an award-winning designer of needlework and 
crafts projects for magazines, craft book publishers, and 
craft kit 
manufacturers. Like Anastasia, the protagonist in 
her ANASTASIA POLLACK CRAFTING MYSTERIES series, 
Lois worked for several years as a crafts editor. A graduate 
of the prestigious Tyler School of Art, she often draws on 
her art and design background for much of the source 
material in her fiction. She lives with her husband a stone's 
throw from Manhattan (assuming you can throw a stone 
across the Hudson River.)

WRITING AWARDS 
- 2012 Daphne du Maurier Award, finalist
- 2012 ForeWords Book of the Year, finalist
- 2012 Salt Lake City Library System Readers' Choice Award, finalist
- 2012 Canyonland Press Readers' Choice Award, finalist
- 2008 Winter Rose Award for Excellence in Romantic Fiction, 1st Place
- 2008 Laurie Awards, 1st Place
- 2008 More Than Magic Award, 1st Place
- 2008 Beacon Awards, 2nd Place
- 2008 Golden Quill Awards, Finalist
- 2007 Readers and Book Buyers Best Award, 1st Place
- 2007 Beacon Awards, 2nd Place
- 2007 Laurel Wreath Awards, 2nd Place
- 2007 Golden Leaf Awards, Finalist
- 2006 Golden Leaf Awards, Finalist
- 2006 Reviewers' Choice Awards, Finalist
- 2005 Romance Writers of America Golden Heart Award, Finalist 
- 2004 St. Martin's Press Malice Domestic Competition, Finalist
- 2004 Dorchester Publishing American Title Competition, 1st Runner-up
- 2004 Romance Writers of America Golden Heart Award, Double Finalist

FUN FACTS
- Favorite color: black because it's so slimming <G>
- Favorite drink: vanilla latte
- Favorite dessert: creme brulee
- Favorite city: Manhattan
- Favorite vacation spot: a cruise to anywhere 
- Favorite activity (other than writing): going to Broadway shows
- Favorite mystery author: Janet Evanovich
- Favorite modern movie: Shakespeare in Love
- Favorite classic movie: Casablanca
- All-time Favorite TV show: M*A*S*H
- Favorite Broadway show: Wicked
- Favorite song: just about anything written by George and Ira Gershwin
- Favorite singer: Andrea Bocelli
- Favorite actor: Pierce Brosnan (that man can star as the hero in any of my books!)
- Favorite actress: Meryl Streep
- Pet peeves: reality TV, people who don't answer their emails or return phone calls
- Person I'd most like to meet: Leonardo da Vinci 

Lois Winston 1.JPG
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becke_davis
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Re: Please Welcome Featured Author LOIS WINSTON!

 

Lois blogs here: http://www.loiswinston.com/about.html

 

You can find her at these events in 2013:

 

anuary 25-27, 2013
Space Coast Writers Guild Conference
International Palms Resort & Conference Center 
Cocoa Beach, FL

May 3-5, 2013
Malice Domestic
Hyatt Regency Bethesda 
One Bethesda Metro Center 
Bethesda, MD

August 2-4, 2013
Deadly Ink Mystery Conference
Hyatt Regency 
2 Albany Street 
New Brunswick, NJ 

September 19-22, 2013
Bouchercon 2013
Empire State Plaza
Albany, NY 

 

CONTESTS

Over at Killer Crafts & Crafty Killers (Anastasia's blog) we host guest authors every Friday. Post a comment during the week to be entered in weekly drawings.

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becke_davis
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becke_davis
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Re: Please Welcome Featured Author LOIS WINSTON!

This one is not available at B&N yet:

 

 

 

An ANASTASIA POLLACK CRAFTING MINI-MYSTERIES 

 

In this short story addition to the critically acclaimed Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mystery series, crafts editor and reluctant amateur sleuth Anastasia Pollack receives a desperate phone call from former American Woman fashion editor Erica Milano. Erica is now in Witness Protection and living under a new identity in Western Pennsylvania.

 

But someone is stalking her, and Erica has compelling reasons why she can’t go to the police or notify her Witsec handlers. Anastasia is the only person she can trust to help her, and she knows Anastasia won’t let her down. After all, Erica once saved Anastasia’s life. But will Anastasia be able to return the favor before the stalker strikes?

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becke_davis
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Re: Please Welcome Featured Author LOIS WINSTON!

To sign up for Lois's author newsletter send an email directly to:LoisWinstonAuthorNewsletter-subscribe@yahoogroups.com 
or email Lois at: lois@loiswinston.com

 

Follow Anastasia (and Lois) on Twitter: @anasleuth

 

Lois is also writing romance, chicklit, and romantic suspense under her Emma Carlyle pen name. To see what's new, visit the Emma Carlyle website.

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becke_davis
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Re: Please Welcome Featured Author LOIS WINSTON!

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becke_davis
Posts: 35,693
Registered: ‎10-19-2006
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Moderator
becke_davis
Posts: 35,693
Registered: ‎10-19-2006
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Please Welcome LOIS WINSTON!

 

Welcome, Lois! Thanks so much for joining us this week!

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becke_davis
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Re: Please Welcome LOIS WINSTON!

Excerpt:

 

REVENGE OF THE CRAFTY CORPSE © 2012 Lois Winston

 

ONE

 

“If that damn woman doesn’t shut up, I’m going to strangle her!”

 

My mother-in-law had been settled into the Sunnyside of Westfield Assisted Living and Rehabilitation Center for all of ten minutes before she began carping about the accommodations. Uppermost on her list of complaints was her roommate, a woman we’d so far only heard, due to the mauve and burgundy floral print curtain separating their beds and a one-sided phone conversation detailing the latest episode of some cable soap opera – in a syrupy sweet southern accent quite at odds with her blunt vocabulary. At least, I hoped she was summarizing a soap opera. I’d hate to think, given the X-rated play-by-play, that she was gossiping about actual people.

 

“Shh. Lower your voice, Lucille. They can hear you in Hoboken.”

 

“Don’t you shush me! And I don’t care if that prattling twit or anyone else hears me. This is unacceptable. I want a private room.” She tightened her hand into a fist and pounded it against the arm of her wheelchair, but given her weakened state, the punctuating gesture left negligible impact.

 

“Medicare won’t cover a private room,” I told her, forcing my voice to remain calm as I unpacked her suitcase.

 

Three weeks ago Lucille had suffered a minor stroke. Subsequent tests revealed a brain tumor, which may or may not have accounted for some of her more bizarre behavior over the last few months. With my mother-in-law, it was hard to tell.

 

Lucille had weathered the stroke and surgery remarkably well for an eighty year old. The tumor proved benign. After a brief hospital stay, she was now ready for some minor rehab to help her regain her strength and coordination. Hence, today’s resettlement.

 

“If my son were alive, he’d never let you dump me in this hell hole.”

 

She should only know that her son had tried to kill her to get his hands on her life’s savings – which he then proceeded to gamble away, leaving me to clean up the mess after he conveniently dropped dead at a roulette table in Las Vegas. Trusting wife that I was at the time, I thought Karl was at a sales meeting in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania.

 

Given his knack for pulling off such a duplicitous life, Karl should have been a CIA operative instead of an auto parts salesman. At least then our sons and I would be receiving a fat government pension. As it was, Dead Louse of a Spouse left me in stratospheric debt and at the mercy of both an army of bill collectors and Ricardo theloan shark. Not to mention his mother and Manifesto, her French bulldog, AKA Mephisto the Demon Dog to the rest of the family.

 

Ricardo now resides in a federal facility. However, barring some philanthropic leprechaun gifting me with his pot of gold, I’m stuck with the bill collectors, Lucille, and Mephisto. The bill collectors treat me better. And yet I continue to refuse to divulge to Lucille the truth about her precious Karl, no matter how much she goads me.

 

My name is Anastasia Pollack, and I’m a glutton for punishment. Welcome to my dysfunctional world. I hope the universe is taking note because as far as I’m concerned, I definitely qualify for sainthood at this point.

 

“Hell hole?” I glanced around Lucille’s half of the generous, well-appointed room, equipped with abundant creature comforts, including her own flat screen TV, a leather recliner with heat and massage, and wi-fi. “Hardly.”

 

“You’re not the one stuck here. If you possessed an ounce of consideration, you’d allow me to remain at home and drive me to rehab every day,” she said. “But I know the truth. This is all part of your grand scheme to get rid of me permanently.”

 

I wish. Sunnyside was more exclusive country club than hell hole, right down to its exclusive country club-like fees. I placed the last of her circa nineteen seventies polyester pantsuits in the dresser, slammed the drawer shut, and spun around to confront her.

 

“How exactly am I supposed to shuttle you back and forth to rehab and go to work? Are you suggesting I quit my job? Alex, Nick, you, and I can live out of my eight year old Hyundai and Dumpster dive for our meals just so Lucille Pollack, the diehard communist, doesn’t have to share a room with a talkative stranger for a month? Very politically correct of you, Comrade Lucille.”

 

“How dare you mock me!”

 

I needed to get out of there and back to work before I did some strangling of my own. And it wouldn’t be the faceless voice currently detailing her skepticism over the supposed sexploits of one Mabel Shapiro, whom, according to Lucille’s roommate, couldn’t satisfy a man twenty years ago, let alone now.

 

“I told you, Lucille, between Medicare and your supplemental insurance, you’re only covered for a month’s stay. After that, whether you’re ready to come home or not, you’re back living under my roof.”

 

“This is all your fault!” she continued.

 

“My fault? Just what about your situation is my fault? Did I force you to jaywalk across Queens Boulevard? Did I drive the SUV that mowed you down? Did I make you

keep your life’s savings in shoeboxes under your bed instead of in a bank? Did I torch your apartment building, leaving you homeless and penniless? How is any of that my fault, Lucille? I’m the one who opened my home to you when you had nowhere else to go.”

 

“Charging me exorbitant rent! You’re no better than a slumlord.”

 

“You’re paying exactly what you paid each month on your apartment in Queens. Not a penny more. And for that you’re receiving a place to live and all you and your dog can eat. Besides, I only asked you for room and board after your son left me broke and up to my eyeballs in debt, but I suppose that’s my fault, too?”

 

She glared straight ahead, refusing to make eye contact with me, her lips pinched into a straight line, her post-surgery shaved head making her look even more like Mephisto than usual.

 

Of course, she blamed me. She’s been blaming me for everything since the day Karl introduced us. Hell, she probably even blamed me for her stroke and the brain tumor. So much for hoping the removal of that tumor would improve her personality. “If you don’t like the arrangements, you’re free to make your own at any time.”

 

Which, unfortunately, she wouldn’t because Lucille had it far better at Casa Pollack than anywhere else she could afford. And she knew it.

 

“What are you gawking at?” she demanded.

 

I glanced over my shoulder and followed her laser glare to the middle of the room where I found myself staring at Laura Ashley. Or what Laura Ashley might have looked like had she lived into her nineties, complete with pink tinged white pin curls, poorly- applied make-up caked into the crevices of deep wrinkles, and transplanted from Wales, UK to Westfield, NJ.

 

I hadn’t seen so many ruffles and such an over-abundance of Cluny lace since my cousin Susannah Sudberry’s English garden-themed wedding back in nineteen ninety-two. The most god-awful lace-edged, pouf-sleeved floral print bridesmaid’s dress ever created still resides in my attic. However, I might have to hand over that designation to Lucille’s roommate’s outfit. At least my bridesmaid’s gown didn’t have the addition of a coordinating yo-yo cardigan sweater.

 

At some point the soap opera play-by-play had ended. How long Lucille’s roomie had been eavesdropping on us was anyone’s guess, but before Lucille could hurl another barb, I crossed the room and held my hand out to the woman. “Mrs. Wegner? I’m Anastasia Pollack.” I knew her name from the nameplate tacked to the wall outside the room. Lucille’s name had already been added beneath that of Lyndella Wegner.

 

She took my hand in a surprisingly firm grip for such a petite and elderly woman. “Pleased to meet you, sugar. And call me Lyndella. Mrs. Wegner was my mother-in-law,

bless her hard-hearted soul.”

 

Looks like I’d found another loser in the mother-in-law lottery. I nodded in Lucille’s direction, “And this is my mother-in-law Lucille Pollack, your roommate for the next month.”

 

Lyndella nodded toward Lucille. “Not too happy to be here, are you, sugar?”

 

A part of me (the nasty part I kept tamped down as much as possible) wanted to tell her that happy wasn’t in the commie curmudgeon’s lexicon, but she’d learn that for herself soon enough. Instead, I said, “I’m afraid Lucille has been through quite a bit the last several months.”

 

She directed another question to Lucille. “So what’s your story, sugar?”

 

I stifled a giggle. Lyndella Wegner’s strong accent seemed right at home juxtaposed against her Laura Ashley-meets-Blanche Dubois demeanor but totally at odds with twenty-first century Westfield.

 

“Mind your own business,” muttered Lucille. “And I’m not your sugar.”

 

Lyndella ignored the rudeness. Or maybe she hadn’t heard Lucille. Modern hearing aids are so tiny, I couldn’t tell if Lyndella wore any underneath her pink pin curls. She glanced at her watch and said, “I’m afraid we’ll have to postpone our get-to- know-each-other chat until later, girls. It’s time for my needlework class, and I can’t be late. Those other women, bless their Yankee hearts, would be lost without my expert guidance.” Then she ducked behind the curtain divider.

 

Lyndella reappeared a moment later. In one hand she held a ball of pink crochet cotton. She cradled a length of finely crocheted extra wide pink lace and a crochet hook in her other hand.

 

“That’s exquisite work,” I said.

 

“Of course, it is, sugar.”

 

I held out my hand. “May I?” She placed the delicate lace across my fingers. I examined the stitching closer. “Did you also crochet the lace on your dress?”

 

She executed a flat-footed pirouette to show off her workmanship. “I make all my own clothes. Always have. And they’re of a far better quality than anything you’ll find in any department store.”

 

And how modest of her to say so. I had to admit, though, the dress fit her like couture, and her attention to detail rivaled anything strutting down New York’s Fashion Week catwalks.

 

Lyndella flipped up the hem of her skirt and held it out for me to inspect. “See here, sugar. French seams. I dare say, you won’t find any of those hanging on a rack at Macy’s or Lord & Taylor.”

 

“Probably not,” I agreed, although I failed to see the need to French seam poplin when pinking shears worked just as well and took much less time and effort. However, I kept that judgment to myself.

 

“I’ll tell you a little secret, sugar. Handwork keeps both the mind and body sharp.” She tapped her temple with an index finger. “Mark my words, you young people will regret your store bought ways when you get older, but it will be too late. You’ll wind up doddering old fools, sipping Ensure and drooling into your mashed bananas.”

 

I certainly hoped not, but I had no desire to engage in a debate of my generation’s future with this woman.

 

“Believe it or not,” she continued, “I’m ninety-eight years young.”

 

“What’s not to believe?” asked Lucille.

 

Lyndella heard that comment loud and clear. She shot Lucille a glare of contempt. “For your information, I still have all my teeth and all my faculties. People tell me I don’t look or act a day over seventy. I credit that to my creative talents. Among other things.”

 

I couldn’t resist. “What other things?”

 

“Sex and whiskey, sugar. As much of both as I can get.”

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eadieburke
Posts: 1,925
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Re: Please Welcome Featured Author LOIS WINSTON!

Welcome Lois:
I've read 3 of 4 of your books but it looks like I need to catch up.

Thanks for visiting with us this week!
Eadie - A day out-of-doors, someone I loved to talk with, a good book and some simple food and music -- that would be rest. - Eleanor Roosevelt
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Ryan_G
Posts: 3,287
Registered: ‎10-24-2008
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Re: Please Welcome LOIS WINSTON!

Just finished reading this excerpt and I must say, it sounds like fun.  I will have to check it out.


becke_davis wrote:

Excerpt:

 

REVENGE OF THE CRAFTY CORPSE © 2012 Lois Winston

 

ONE

 

“If that damn woman doesn’t shut up, I’m going to strangle her!”

 

My mother-in-law had been settled into the Sunnyside of Westfield Assisted Living and Rehabilitation Center for all of ten minutes before she began carping about the accommodations. Uppermost on her list of complaints was her roommate, a woman we’d so far only heard, due to the mauve and burgundy floral print curtain separating their beds and a one-sided phone conversation detailing the latest episode of some cable soap opera – in a syrupy sweet southern accent quite at odds with her blunt vocabulary. At least, I hoped she was summarizing a soap opera. I’d hate to think, given the X-rated play-by-play, that she was gossiping about actual people.

 

“Shh. Lower your voice, Lucille. They can hear you in Hoboken.”

 

“Don’t you shush me! And I don’t care if that prattling twit or anyone else hears me. This is unacceptable. I want a private room.” She tightened her hand into a fist and pounded it against the arm of her wheelchair, but given her weakened state, the punctuating gesture left negligible impact.

 

“Medicare won’t cover a private room,” I told her, forcing my voice to remain calm as I unpacked her suitcase.

 

Three weeks ago Lucille had suffered a minor stroke. Subsequent tests revealed a brain tumor, which may or may not have accounted for some of her more bizarre behavior over the last few months. With my mother-in-law, it was hard to tell.

 

Lucille had weathered the stroke and surgery remarkably well for an eighty year old. The tumor proved benign. After a brief hospital stay, she was now ready for some minor rehab to help her regain her strength and coordination. Hence, today’s resettlement.

 

“If my son were alive, he’d never let you dump me in this hell hole.”

 

She should only know that her son had tried to kill her to get his hands on her life’s savings – which he then proceeded to gamble away, leaving me to clean up the mess after he conveniently dropped dead at a roulette table in Las Vegas. Trusting wife that I was at the time, I thought Karl was at a sales meeting in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania.

 

Given his knack for pulling off such a duplicitous life, Karl should have been a CIA operative instead of an auto parts salesman. At least then our sons and I would be receiving a fat government pension. As it was, Dead Louse of a Spouse left me in stratospheric debt and at the mercy of both an army of bill collectors and Ricardo theloan shark. Not to mention his mother and Manifesto, her French bulldog, AKA Mephisto the Demon Dog to the rest of the family.

 

Ricardo now resides in a federal facility. However, barring some philanthropic leprechaun gifting me with his pot of gold, I’m stuck with the bill collectors, Lucille, and Mephisto. The bill collectors treat me better. And yet I continue to refuse to divulge to Lucille the truth about her precious Karl, no matter how much she goads me.

 

My name is Anastasia Pollack, and I’m a glutton for punishment. Welcome to my dysfunctional world. I hope the universe is taking note because as far as I’m concerned, I definitely qualify for sainthood at this point.

 

“Hell hole?” I glanced around Lucille’s half of the generous, well-appointed room, equipped with abundant creature comforts, including her own flat screen TV, a leather recliner with heat and massage, and wi-fi. “Hardly.”

 

“You’re not the one stuck here. If you possessed an ounce of consideration, you’d allow me to remain at home and drive me to rehab every day,” she said. “But I know the truth. This is all part of your grand scheme to get rid of me permanently.”

 

I wish. Sunnyside was more exclusive country club than hell hole, right down to its exclusive country club-like fees. I placed the last of her circa nineteen seventies polyester pantsuits in the dresser, slammed the drawer shut, and spun around to confront her.

 

“How exactly am I supposed to shuttle you back and forth to rehab and go to work? Are you suggesting I quit my job? Alex, Nick, you, and I can live out of my eight year old Hyundai and Dumpster dive for our meals just so Lucille Pollack, the diehard communist, doesn’t have to share a room with a talkative stranger for a month? Very politically correct of you, Comrade Lucille.”

 

“How dare you mock me!”

 

I needed to get out of there and back to work before I did some strangling of my own. And it wouldn’t be the faceless voice currently detailing her skepticism over the supposed sexploits of one Mabel Shapiro, whom, according to Lucille’s roommate, couldn’t satisfy a man twenty years ago, let alone now.

 

“I told you, Lucille, between Medicare and your supplemental insurance, you’re only covered for a month’s stay. After that, whether you’re ready to come home or not, you’re back living under my roof.”

 

“This is all your fault!” she continued.

 

“My fault? Just what about your situation is my fault? Did I force you to jaywalk across Queens Boulevard? Did I drive the SUV that mowed you down? Did I make you

keep your life’s savings in shoeboxes under your bed instead of in a bank? Did I torch your apartment building, leaving you homeless and penniless? How is any of that my fault, Lucille? I’m the one who opened my home to you when you had nowhere else to go.”

 

“Charging me exorbitant rent! You’re no better than a slumlord.”

 

“You’re paying exactly what you paid each month on your apartment in Queens. Not a penny more. And for that you’re receiving a place to live and all you and your dog can eat. Besides, I only asked you for room and board after your son left me broke and up to my eyeballs in debt, but I suppose that’s my fault, too?”

 

She glared straight ahead, refusing to make eye contact with me, her lips pinched into a straight line, her post-surgery shaved head making her look even more like Mephisto than usual.

 

Of course, she blamed me. She’s been blaming me for everything since the day Karl introduced us. Hell, she probably even blamed me for her stroke and the brain tumor. So much for hoping the removal of that tumor would improve her personality. “If you don’t like the arrangements, you’re free to make your own at any time.”

 

Which, unfortunately, she wouldn’t because Lucille had it far better at Casa Pollack than anywhere else she could afford. And she knew it.

 

“What are you gawking at?” she demanded.

 

I glanced over my shoulder and followed her laser glare to the middle of the room where I found myself staring at Laura Ashley. Or what Laura Ashley might have looked like had she lived into her nineties, complete with pink tinged white pin curls, poorly- applied make-up caked into the crevices of deep wrinkles, and transplanted from Wales, UK to Westfield, NJ.

 

I hadn’t seen so many ruffles and such an over-abundance of Cluny lace since my cousin Susannah Sudberry’s English garden-themed wedding back in nineteen ninety-two. The most god-awful lace-edged, pouf-sleeved floral print bridesmaid’s dress ever created still resides in my attic. However, I might have to hand over that designation to Lucille’s roommate’s outfit. At least my bridesmaid’s gown didn’t have the addition of a coordinating yo-yo cardigan sweater.

 

At some point the soap opera play-by-play had ended. How long Lucille’s roomie had been eavesdropping on us was anyone’s guess, but before Lucille could hurl another barb, I crossed the room and held my hand out to the woman. “Mrs. Wegner? I’m Anastasia Pollack.” I knew her name from the nameplate tacked to the wall outside the room. Lucille’s name had already been added beneath that of Lyndella Wegner.

 

She took my hand in a surprisingly firm grip for such a petite and elderly woman. “Pleased to meet you, sugar. And call me Lyndella. Mrs. Wegner was my mother-in-law,

bless her hard-hearted soul.”

 

Looks like I’d found another loser in the mother-in-law lottery. I nodded in Lucille’s direction, “And this is my mother-in-law Lucille Pollack, your roommate for the next month.”

 

Lyndella nodded toward Lucille. “Not too happy to be here, are you, sugar?”

 

A part of me (the nasty part I kept tamped down as much as possible) wanted to tell her that happy wasn’t in the commie curmudgeon’s lexicon, but she’d learn that for herself soon enough. Instead, I said, “I’m afraid Lucille has been through quite a bit the last several months.”

 

She directed another question to Lucille. “So what’s your story, sugar?”

 

I stifled a giggle. Lyndella Wegner’s strong accent seemed right at home juxtaposed against her Laura Ashley-meets-Blanche Dubois demeanor but totally at odds with twenty-first century Westfield.

 

“Mind your own business,” muttered Lucille. “And I’m not your sugar.”

 

Lyndella ignored the rudeness. Or maybe she hadn’t heard Lucille. Modern hearing aids are so tiny, I couldn’t tell if Lyndella wore any underneath her pink pin curls. She glanced at her watch and said, “I’m afraid we’ll have to postpone our get-to- know-each-other chat until later, girls. It’s time for my needlework class, and I can’t be late. Those other women, bless their Yankee hearts, would be lost without my expert guidance.” Then she ducked behind the curtain divider.

 

Lyndella reappeared a moment later. In one hand she held a ball of pink crochet cotton. She cradled a length of finely crocheted extra wide pink lace and a crochet hook in her other hand.

 

“That’s exquisite work,” I said.

 

“Of course, it is, sugar.”

 

I held out my hand. “May I?” She placed the delicate lace across my fingers. I examined the stitching closer. “Did you also crochet the lace on your dress?”

 

She executed a flat-footed pirouette to show off her workmanship. “I make all my own clothes. Always have. And they’re of a far better quality than anything you’ll find in any department store.”

 

And how modest of her to say so. I had to admit, though, the dress fit her like couture, and her attention to detail rivaled anything strutting down New York’s Fashion Week catwalks.

 

Lyndella flipped up the hem of her skirt and held it out for me to inspect. “See here, sugar. French seams. I dare say, you won’t find any of those hanging on a rack at Macy’s or Lord & Taylor.”

 

“Probably not,” I agreed, although I failed to see the need to French seam poplin when pinking shears worked just as well and took much less time and effort. However, I kept that judgment to myself.

 

“I’ll tell you a little secret, sugar. Handwork keeps both the mind and body sharp.” She tapped her temple with an index finger. “Mark my words, you young people will regret your store bought ways when you get older, but it will be too late. You’ll wind up doddering old fools, sipping Ensure and drooling into your mashed bananas.”

 

I certainly hoped not, but I had no desire to engage in a debate of my generation’s future with this woman.

 

“Believe it or not,” she continued, “I’m ninety-eight years young.”

 

“What’s not to believe?” asked Lucille.

 

Lyndella heard that comment loud and clear. She shot Lucille a glare of contempt. “For your information, I still have all my teeth and all my faculties. People tell me I don’t look or act a day over seventy. I credit that to my creative talents. Among other things.”

 

I couldn’t resist. “What other things?”

 

“Sex and whiskey, sugar. As much of both as I can get.”


 

"I am half sick of shadows" The Lady of Shalott

http://wordsmithonia.blogspot.com
Author
LoisWinston
Posts: 208
Registered: ‎06-09-2010
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Re: Please Welcome LOIS WINSTON!

Thank you, Becke, for that wonderful introduction. For anyone interested in REVENGE OF THE CRAFTY CORPSE in the Nook version, it should be available soon. There was some glitch when the files were submitted to the various e-sites (not just B&N), and the ebook isn't available anywhere yet. I'm told my publisher is working on the problem with B&N.

Lois Winston
http://www.loiswinston.com
http://www.anastasiapollack.blogspot.com
Author
LoisWinston
Posts: 208
Registered: ‎06-09-2010
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Re: Please Welcome Featured Author LOIS WINSTON!


eadieburke wrote:
Welcome Lois:
I've read 3 of 4 of your books but it looks like I need to catch up.

Thanks for visiting with us this week!

Thanks, Eadie! That certainly puts a smile on my face. :smileyhappy:

Lois Winston
http://www.loiswinston.com
http://www.anastasiapollack.blogspot.com
Author
LoisWinston
Posts: 208
Registered: ‎06-09-2010
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Re: Please Welcome LOIS WINSTON!


Ryan_G wrote:

Just finished reading this excerpt and I must say, it sounds like fun.  I will have to check it out.


Thanks, Ryan! It was a fun book to write.

 

Lois Winston
http://www.loiswinston.com
http://www.anastasiapollack.blogspot.com
Moderator
becke_davis
Posts: 35,693
Registered: ‎10-19-2006
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Re: Please Welcome Featured Author LOIS WINSTON!

Moderator
becke_davis
Posts: 35,693
Registered: ‎10-19-2006
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Re: Please Welcome Featured Author LOIS WINSTON!

The text keeps disappearing from my posts - gak! What I said - that didn't show up - is that my copy hasn't arrived yet. I'm looking forward to reading it!

Author
LoisWinston
Posts: 208
Registered: ‎06-09-2010
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Re: Please Welcome Featured Author LOIS WINSTON!



becke_davis wrote:

The text keeps disappearing from my posts - gak! What I said - that didn't show up - is that my copy hasn't arrived yet. I'm looking forward to reading it!


Thanks, Becke. Hope you enjoy it.

 

I'm having all sorts of problems with the site. Takes perserverance! I've already had one person email me that she tried to post a comment and kept getting directed back up to the login screen. <sigh!>



Lois Winston
http://www.loiswinston.com
http://www.anastasiapollack.blogspot.com
Distinguished Wordsmith
maxcat
Posts: 4,011
Registered: ‎11-01-2006
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Re: Please Welcome LOIS WINSTON!

Welcome, Lois, I've read a couple of your books and they were great. Have a great week here on the Forum.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep - Robert Frost
Moderator
becke_davis
Posts: 35,693
Registered: ‎10-19-2006
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Re: Please Welcome Featured Author LOIS WINSTON!


LoisWinston wrote:

 


becke_davis wrote:

The text keeps disappearing from my posts - gak! What I said - that didn't show up - is that my copy hasn't arrived yet. I'm looking forward to reading it!


Thanks, Becke. Hope you enjoy it.

 

I'm having all sorts of problems with the site. Takes perserverance! I've already had one person email me that she tried to post a comment and kept getting directed back up to the login screen. <sigh!>




I'm so sorry about the problems! Please pass on the tips I sent you for getting around the glitches if you get other emails like that. So sorry for the hassle!