Mari-Lynne Infantino

Mari-Lynne

October 2024

YAY! The Bird Tattoo Murders is now available on Amazon.com and Amazon Kindle for ebooks.  I’m excited and anxious, to introduce you to Ginny and Geri, seventy-four-year-old identical twins.  They were such fun to create, different as night and day.  When creating characters, descriptive words tell others who and what we purport our characters to be. The depth of a heart shines through expression; the subtle nuances in the characters eyes, the open embrace of body language, the tilt of a smile. Layer by layer, creating your character’s personality and sharing emotions on paper is not just an essential part of a story, but arguably the most significant. Who is this person?  It is my greatest pleasure to tell you all about them.

Writing fiction can be a bit unnerving. An idea for a story pops in my head and soon my notepad is full of scribbles. But when I sit in front of my laptop, there is a big blank page to fill. Staring at that page, there is a moment (okay, several moments) when I question “Will this be entertaining? Will you enjoy it? Finally, I look at my notes and let my fingers and brain take flight.

 I’m a pantser, the word coined by Stephen King, meaning writing by the seat of your pants. Although I have a general direction where my story should start and end, there are the unknowns of a story plot that tend to throw me a curve. It’s as though I’m sitting in the driver’s seat of my car. All of a sudden, a huge sneeze overtakes my body, I accidentally close my eyes and ACHOO! I’m twenty feet down the road and looking at something else, hopefully not the back end of someone’s bumper.

 But that is part of the fun — the unknown — the part of the story I never expected to write. The question is, Did I get it right? Did I make you laugh? Did you cry? When I wrote The Sum of Her Love, a novella about a vital couple in their eighties facing a diagnosis of Alzheimer’s Disease, several scenes seemed to have a life of their own. I cried my way through them. Some of them were deemed too heartbreaking to share; others were loving and cathartic, and ultimately, it felt like the rain washed over my soul.  

I hope you get all the feels when you read my stories. Even the corny ones. Speaking of corny, included in the Readings page is a short story I wrote for my daughter when her father passed away. She inherited her father’s siamese cat, Charlie, a bundle of mischief, but in his own way grieving as much as she was. The story is brief enough to read in one sitting and sensitive enough for children. 

 I do appreciate all of you.   ML

 

 

Your content goes here. Edit or remove this text inline or in the module Content settings. You can also style every aspect of this content in the module Design settings and even apply custom CSS to this text in the module Advanced settings.

 September 2024

I woke to a beautiful day, poured a cup of coffee, and decided to sit outside in the gentle sunshine. It is September, yet it is early morning, plenty of time before the sun’s zenith beats harshly on your neck and shoulders, prompting you to seek shelter indoors or, at the very least, under a big umbrella.

 I sit happily under the pergola, listening to the bird songs and old classics playing from the antique radio in my neighbor’s backyard. The song is Sentimental Journey, sung by Doris Day and recorded in 1944.  When I was thirteen, my choral instructor, Mrs. Caldwell, taught us that particular classic for a school recital. I had a small solo part at the refrain. I remember standing on the risers, looking to the audience to find my mother because she could always calm my nerves. We’d been singing together since I was old enough to stand on a chair and dry the dishes she handed off as she rinsed them in the old farmer-style sink. Whenever I’m nostalgic or sad, I pull out those memories and let them replay in my mind.

 Mama and her sister, my aunt Rose, passed on more than twenty years ago. Best friends and almost inseparable, they made quite a pair. Those of you who knew them both might find a bit of their personality lurking behind the smiles of Ginny and Geri, two primary characters in my new novel, The Bird Tattoo Murders. I have dedicated my latest book to their memories.  

 The story is now complete and in publication process for October 1, 2024. It is such fun moving forward with a story, but also a bit scary as I wait and hope you will enjoy it as much as I did when I wrote it. There are new characters to enjoy, murders to solve, and hopefully, the beginning of a new series to write. Fun note: This story includes several canines who play an essential role in the plot. I know you will fall in love with Poppy, Jack and Henry.

 Bringing characters to life is the best part of writing a story. My head is full of conversations, expressions, and discovery. It is 75% joy and 25% work, or vice versa.   The overall story dances in my brain, the plot builds, and soon, each character comes to life with a name and a reason for being. While I keep a loose outline, every chapter is a surprise of some sort.   Please take some time to read  Chapter 1 of The Assisters, a new story that will be published in the Fall of 2025. This is a new genre for me, SciFi/Fantasy with Historical Fiction set in the earth year 1923.

 I do appreciate all of you.   ML

 

 

Your content goes here. Edit or remove this text inline or in the module Content settings. You can also style every aspect of this content in the module Design settings and even apply custom CSS to this text in the module Advanced settings.

The Assisters

The Assisters

Resting in a dust mote, his body so tiny human eyes would not notice him, the Assister’s Leader Guide savored the sweetness of the sun’s rays on his fuzzy blue antennae. He tucked his purple and gold wings tightly against his sides and hunkered down, prepared to see what he could see and hear what he could hear. Craning his thin neck for a 360-degree view, the guide stared around a small room. It was almost empty except for a beat-up old dresser, a lamp, and one twin bed. But what was sitting on top of the dresser informed the Guide that he was in the right home. In an old green tin cup were treasured crayons of all sizes and hues, huddled together with Number 2 pencils almost entirely down to their nub.

Charlie Cat

Charlie Cat

          Stealthily, I padded across the wet kitchen floor, waiting for a chance to pounce. Almost hypnotized, my ice-blue eyes followed the swing of the mop, back and forth, left to right. A new game! Leaping atop my swishing cat mobile, the strands of wet rags...