By Elaine L. Orr
In July, I asked readers if they would read a book with a senior sleuth. The blog post on the topic didn't engender much conversation, but a request to my mailing list drew some interest. The response was the universal one -- if it's a good story, we'll read it.
So, I kept writing. The co-protagonists (if that's a word) are Mayor Madge and George of the Jolie Gentil series. The premise is that the Aunt Madge and Harry's Cozy Corner B&B could host small tour groups of seniors who get into...interesting predicaments.
The books will likely be closer to novella length, though I've long since learned that stories go where they will. The first book is "Fired Up and Feisty." Ocean Alley High School's annual reunion weekend celebrates classes with five-year anniversaries, and always has a group of 'Golden Grads,' individuals who graduated more than forty years ago.
A fire at the Beachcomber's Alley Hotel puts its guests on the street, and local police ask Madge and Harry to bring the most senior members ti the the B&B. Problem is, one of them can't be found.
Here are the opening paragraphs, in Madge and Harry's bedroom.
WHEN THE FIRE TRUCKS raced by the Cozy Corner Bed and
Breakfast, Madge Richards had just shut her book and turned off the lamp by her
side of the bed. Usually, she would drown out sounds by turning up the volume
on her white noise machine, but she couldn’t ignore four or five trucks roaring
by.
She nudged Harry’s shoulder. “Hey husband. Do you hear
those sirens?”
He grunted. “I do now.”
They each raised on an elbow. “Can’t be good,” she said.
Harry put his head back on his pillow. “Sounds like
something Mayor Madge should investigate.”
“Maybe her husband could drive her to the fire, in case
there’s no place to park. You don’t have to stay.”
He sat up. “How many times have I heard that line when we
head out to a parade or barbecue?”
She swung her feet to the cold floor and found her
slippers. “You like the barbeques.”
And the morning after the Golden Grads arrive at the B&B:
MADGE AWOKE TO a rhythmic rumble under the bed and
clicking dog collars as Mister Rogers and Miss Piggy turned in rapid circles.
She opened her eyes more widely. “Is that an earthquake?:
They sat up and Harry swung his feet over his side of the
bed. “Could be. We should…”
A loud voice said, “You have to stomp in rhythm!”
Madge threw back the quilt. “Good God. It’s
five-forty-five. People are sleeping.”
Harry thrust his feet into slippers. “You have got
to be kidding me!”
The same man’s voice called, “Five, six, seven eight.
Shake your touche to find a mate.”
A woman yelled, “Cut it out, Harvey.”
As Madge and Harry lunged toward the bedroom door to get
to the kitchen, footsteps thundered down the main staircase and a man, maybe Grayson
Redford, shouted, “Don’t you idiots know what time it is?”
Where to Go from Here?
I've written 10,000 words. While I'm not struggling, I keep thinking I need to make everything funny. I have a quick wit for situational humor, but I need to stop worrying about the humor and tell the tale. Some humor will flow naturally, other comedic situations will grow with the story.
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