A place of Mystery and tales of Murder

I like to write short story murder mysteries but I am also working on 5 books. The Main Characters in the books are Native American and they can be made into series if they sell well. I have been working on making a book of my short stories, but have not got it ready for making the rounds of trying to get it published. I hope you enjoy these and if you have any comments please feel free to let me know. Thank you.

I have always been a reader. I still love to read. I remember reading Nancy Drew, The Hardy Boys, Agatha Christie, Sherlock Holmes, and they were not always the choice in that time period with some of the other children. Then I thought, maybe I could write stories. So I started with using the song titles of that day and time to tell a story in using only the titles and a few other words that are necessary to be able to read like a story. At that time you could use the titles because you could understand them and the songs. Ha, Ha.

My stories just pop in my head. The beginning, the middle, and the end. I just add to them to make them short stories or turn them into book.

One story I am writing as a short story came to me because I found an old essay from High School. In school we were to do an essay on someone we admired. My top person has always been Abraham Lincoln. So I wrote what I thought he would write if he had kept a diary. I got an A+ on it. A few years later it popped into my head that I could make it into a murder mystery short story or a book.

I like to write, but never thought I could sell them. I wrote for my friends and family to read. They seemed to enjoy them. My stories have a little twist to them at the end. Once you read one you will go,"Where did that come from!"

I hope you enjoy my story and feel free to e-mail me with any suggestions good or bad. Thank you.

This is a story I wrote for a contest that had to be 100 words or less. This is exactly 100 words.

Old but Dangerous


Florence with her white hair, and thin build, is looking all of her age of eighty years.

A young man, Gary, the reason she is limping, walks towards her and she is scared. Gary yells at Florence. “What’cha got for me today, granny?”

Florence stops, hugs her purse to her chest, slowly opens it, reaches in and draws out a gun. Florence points the gun at Gary, he throws his hands up to shield his face, and she pulls the trigger.

As Gary is falling she turns and walks the other way with the most beautiful smile on her face.