Author: Amber Foxx

Author of Mae Martin psychic mystery series.

Spinning Off

I’m letting the ninth Mae Martin Mystery rest a while, though I’ll be back to work on it soon. I’m taking an intensive course on revision and self-editing. Even after ten years as a published author, I can learn and improve. Meanwhile, I’ve begun the first draft of the first book in a spin-off series featuring Azure Skye, the Santa Fe medium who plays an important role in Soul Loss and in Shadow Family.

The creative challenges are exciting. The kind of mystery Azure will solve is different from the ones Mae is asked to handle as a psychic. Azure’s gift is communication with the dead. I’m disinclined to have her solve murders, but the question of how someone died has already come up. So far, it looks like Azure and Mae will need to collaborate to find the answer. Of course, I’m only on chapter two, and I don’t plot. I put the characters in a difficult situation and see how they react. Azure is in a situation only Mae can help her out of, and Mae has a problem she hopes Azure can solve.

The biggest challenge for me is that Azure wants to speak in the first person. I didn’t plan that she would, but that’s how she’s coming through.

Three of my novels use only Mae’s point of view, but I still had certain freedoms. I used prologues and epilogues in other points of view in two of those books. Mae’s visions as a psychic revealed events in in the restricted point of view of a silent witness. First person is the opposite of that. It gives me too much information to work with. I have to hold back some of what Azure knows, thinks, feels, and recalls about her past, her work, and the people close to her, in order to keep the story flowing. But I can share her inner life at the right moments more easily, since I never get outside her head.

Will I stick with first person or change to close third? I don’t know. For now, I’m getting to know Azure this way, like an actor exploring a role. Then I’ll have to set her story aside for about six weeks while I work on Mae’s most recent story in the revision class. Once that’s polished enough to send to my critique partners, I’ll plunge back into the spin-off.

*****

 Book two in the Mae Martin series, Shaman’s Blues, is on sale for 99 cents in all eBook stores though the end of January.

 

A Mistake—or Was It?

I meant to go shopping in Las Cruces, an hour away. I was waffling about stopping at Caballo Lake State Park, a short way from home on my way south. It was such a beautiful day, I gave in to the urge. At the park’s EV charging station, I looked for my Charge Point card and found … no wallet. I’d left it at home. One of the perils of changing purses too often.

If I’d driven straight to Las Cruces, and not stopped to indulge in outdoor beauty and top off my charge, I’d have wasted my day. I might not have discovered the missing wallet until I had all my items at the checkout. I don’t even want to imagine that scenario. I considered going home for my wallet, but that would be twenty minutes each way. I gave up.

There’s a number on the station to call for starting a charge, so I called it, changed into my running shoes, and enjoyed the winding trails. Then I walked down to the lake. Smooth and blue, it was speckled with white pelicans, gliding along with gentle pumping and pulsing motions of their necks. A few men were fishing on the shore. A restful view.

I strolled back up to the area near the visitors’ center and found a sheltered place for stretching out with yoga, then sat on a bench near my car to relax in the sun.

A park ranger stopped by to chat about electric cars, one of those incredibly nerdy conversations only of interest to current or prospective EV owners, but fascinating to us. Charge completed, I drove home even more carefully than usual because I didn’t have my license with me—and far more refreshed than if I’d gone shopping.

 

 

Whose Season is It?

I’m not talking about the holidays, but about tourist season. And coyote mating season.

The local economy depends on the human snowbirds who flock here along with pelicans and sandhill cranes and other winged visitors to our lakes and the Rio Grande. My runs in the desert are no longer solitary. I must have met six different people today, ranging from dog-walkers to a man trekking with poles. The sky was a brilliant New Mexico blue with flares of white clouds, and the sixty-degree sunshine felt even warmer reflected by rock and sand.

And then there was the coyote trotting past, trying to escape the human disturbances. Winter is the only time I see coyotes by day, out seeking a mate. I wonder how they feel when they keep hearing, seeing, and smelling us. Do we put a damper on the courtship mood?

I stopped, kept my distance, and let the animal have some space, then resumed my run. The encounter felt special compared to the polite smiles and greetings I share with hikers. Pure. Wordless. A glimpse of the wild world that still would be here if we weren’t.

More Rainbow than Rain and Another Bob Story: Two Small Miracles

I headed to Elephant Butte Lake to run on the trails on a sixty-degree day. I didn’t expect rain, but it arrived before I got the park, and it dropped the temperature a good ten or twelve degrees.  I don’t chicken out on a run because of rain, though. And for the first time in my life, I saw the foot of a rainbow. The place where the pot of gold should be. The bright arc stood with its right foot on the lake, not far from the shore. I’ve never been that close to a rainbow. They’re always out there somewhere, over the mountains.

I ran and kept an eye on it. It faded when the rain stopped. But then a patch of shaggy gray virga on the eastern horizon lit up with a full spectrum of colors. Not really a rain bow, more like rain fur, but still beautiful. It faded. Drizzle came down, and a new rainbow appeared, this one in the normal place in the distance. Gone again. Another soft blaze of rain fur followed. The ground didn’t even get wet, and yet I was treated to four displays of amazing color. Well worth sticking out the cold for the full five miles.

It gave me something to tell Bob when I dropped by after my run.

Yes, that’s right. Bob. He didn’t die, though his doctors were sure he would when he got pneumonia at his age. His stepdaughter from his second marriage came all the way from New York to see him when he was in the hospital, and he perked right up. He’s not a hundred percent well, but he wasn’t before all this. His personality, his intelligence, and his wit are intact as are many portions of his memory, but not all. And he has balance problems. He’s moved to residential care, where I visit him often.

One of the first times I arrived to visit him, I found him sitting in a wheelchair in a hallway, appearing to nod off.  On seeing me, he said, “I feel like should know you.” I identified myself and mentioned that we had often gone bat watching together. “Bat watching …” He frowned. I said we’d watched sunsets together, too. He still frowned, muttering that he should know me, then suddenly he smiled, and his eyes twinkled. “You thought I was out of my mind, didn’t you?”

To have partial memory loss and pretend it’s worse for a laugh—and to act the part so well—that says a lot about the guy. He may live to be ninety. And still make jokes.

 

 

Review: Victorio: Apache Warrior and Chief, by Kathleen P. Chamberlain

I once said—meaning to make a respectful acknowledgement to an Apache friend—that Truth or Consequences, the town where I live “used to be Apache land.” He replied, “It still is.”

Yes.

It still is.

*****

Living in New Mexico, a state with more tribal lands than most, I’m aware of the Indigenous cultures that thrive here. Reading this book made me far more aware of how the rest of us got here—the complexity of the fighting, negotiation, and politics. Geronimo is famous. A mural of his face greets you with a powerful glare as you drive into town. Victorio is less well known. His younger sister, the warrior and seer Lozen, may have more fame. But his story is worth reading. New Mexico’s story is incomplete without him.

The author did extraordinary historical detective work to reconstruct his life and the events that led to his death, his final battle. She explores Apache culture and pre-reservation life, and reveals the misunderstandings, failures, sincere efforts, and also the insensitive ignorance on the part of various agents of the U.S. and Mexican governments that drove Victorio’s band from their sacred land and its springs and drove them to keep fighting. Chamberlain’s analysis of the Apache wars is insightful.

This isn’t light reading, but it’s not dry or difficult, either. History can be a page-turner, even when you know how it ends.

Missing link!

I left this link out of the post about my holiday sale price on multiple paperbacks: https://amberfoxxmysteries.com/buy-paperbacks-direct/

The post has now been updated.

Books Make Good Gifts—Yes, Already

I don’t normally think about the holidays this early. I’m stunned to see that the neighbors two doors down have strings of red lights in their front window, and that the city has wrapped fake spruce branches around the light poles in the plaza as well as tiny white lights around the trunks of the palm trees. I hope this doesn’t herald the return of the inflatable snowmen. I confess I don’t understand the custom of pretending to be northern for winter holidays, when we have perfect winters here. Perfect meaning no snow.

I will be happy to head off to the post office on one of those sixty-degree sunny days with orders of books. I have to mention it this early because book rate is a tad slower than other options, and I include shipping in the price because book rate is inexpensive. Order one book at full price and get a dollar off other books in the same shipment. If you’re buying the whole Mae Martin Series, that would add up.

This offer goes through Dec. 8th.

Bob Stories

My very, very old friend Bob is nearing the last days of his life. He may be gone by the time I publish this, or he may hang on a little longer. In his late eighties, he would joke about death. “I could go at any time. The suspense is killing me.”

He was not only an avid reader, but a great story-teller. I aim to reconstruct a few of his stories now and then. I feel as if I know a huge cast of characters from his long life, people from his childhood in upstate New York, his years in the Marine Corps during the Korean war, his life in Philadelphia after he got out of the Marines, and his move out West. I can’t keep track of all the jobs he’s had. Or all the times he could have died but somehow didn’t.

One evening, we were talking about I-forget-what, and he said, “I’ve lost two wives. That’s hardest thing I’ve ever been through. I know other people who’ve been through worse, with wars and all … I’m lucky. Two good marriages. We had good times.”

He said that if he could have either of his wives alive again and with him, it would be his first wife. Not that he didn’t love the second wife. It’s just how he feels. He says his first wife civilized him. I try to picture their lives when they first met in 1960s Philadelphia. He was a young white man just out of the Marines; she was African American, ten years older than him, and the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He couldn’t believe she agreed to go out with him, let alone marry him. She was level-headed, practical, and organized. He was adventurous. And from the stories he’s told me, she had a great sense of humor. A city girl, she never understood his need to go camping. “We work this hard to have a nice house, and you go sleep in the woods.” But as long as he came back with fresh-caught fish, she was okay with his camping. After the first fifteen of their twenty-four years, he says, he finally understood just how much he loved her.

Is there an “other side?” Do people meet again? Bob and I agreed on not knowing; we agreed that the transition would be a surprise. I like to imagine the surprise as a reunion with the beloved women who went before him. Who may have met already and been sharing Bob stories.

This picture was meant to feature the T or C Litter Pickers’ trash can art project. Bob, pausing to rest on a bench in front of the drugstore, photo-bombed. And I’m glad he did. It may be the last picture taken of him. Age 88, late summer 2023.

Why I now sell paperbacks direct—and not on Amazon

I am now selling my paperbacks on my web site, where they’re priced the same as they were on Amazon, but my price includes tax and shipping. You don’t have to buy extra stuff to get free shipping (or pay to be in Prime). For $16.99 or $10.99, you get the book. Signed, if you like. The books are also available in some in small, independent shops.

Here’s why I took them off Amazon:

Amazon has been manipulating paperback prices in order to lower eBook royalties.

After I ran a hugely successful first-in-series free promotion of the eBook of The Calling, Amazon discounted the paperback of book two, Shamans’ Blues, so steeply that they could discount the eBook. They pay full royalties on the paperback no matter how low the price, but if they “price match” the eBook to the paperback, they reduce the royalties on the eBook. That’s their rule. I did everything I could to fight it, but with no success. The eBook should have been $4.99 and the paperback $16.99, the same prices as the rest of the series, but Amazon dropped both to $3.49—below printing costs—and kept it that way for over a year. Like most indie authors, I sell primarily eBooks. Therefore, I lost significant royalties on sales of book two. I didn’t sell tons of cheap paperbacks. Readers saw both at the same price and still bought the eBook. Amazon’s price also made me feel obligated to keep the eBook at a lower price on other online stores, so customers there wouldn’t be unhappy about paying more. Book eight, Chloride Canyon came down to $4.88, and I had no ability to stop Amazon from lowering it even more and discounting the eBook as long as my paperbacks were on their site. Taking the paperbacks off Amazon was the only way I could get back control of eBook pricing. My one-woman strike for fair pay.

Amazon has been lowering paperback prices to make you buy more stuff in order to get free shipping while undercutting independent stores that can’t afford to discount a book below what they paid for it. I believe in supporting small businesses. They keep local downtowns and communities alive.

I expect I will publish paperbacks again through another print-on-demand printer in a year or so when the next book comes out or when my stock of books is depleted. However, because most of my books are long, the price of all that paper makes them more expensive to sell on any site that isn’t also the printer (like KDP print on Amazon). So, books from D2D Print or Ingram will cost more.

Or I may do a brief republication on KDP to make them less expensive, restock to sell direct, hope to dodge the price-match hassle, and unpublish again.

Of course, you can look for used copies of my work wherever you buy used books.

And a few new paperbacks may remain on Amazon, though not for long. After I thought I’d wrapped everything up and ended the chance of another $3.49  problem, they sent this message:

“Upon investigation, I see that your Paperback Book “The Calling”, currently has 1 copy still in Amazon’s inventory. I also see your Paperback Book “Shaman’s Blues” has 3 copies, the Paperback Book “Gifts and Thefts” has 1 copy and the Paperback Book “Small Awakenings” also has 1 copy left in Amazon’s inventory. If you’d like to clear out Amazon’s inventory, you could order those copies.”

Is that a good ending for this chapter?

 

Look up!

I had my eyes on the sky. The rim of the blue bowl was pink in the east and gold in the west, a cloudless pastel sunset. After a spell of September monsoons, the evenings are cooler, and the Truth or Consequences bats have been keeping normal bat hours again rather than sleeping in until long after sunset like they did in July or trickling out a few at time like they did in August. I walked to the bats’ home, an empty building with a mural on the back next to one of the art galleries. Right on the cusp of sunset, they poured out, the entire corps de ballet taking the stage at once, flowing from the open roof of the old building, dancing toward the Rio Grande.

Two women sitting at an outdoor table at Riverbend Hot Springs across the street kept talking, not looking up. Two men walking a dog remained deep in conversation as they passed the mural, not looking up.

While hundreds of tiny bats passed over their heads. The show was over in less than five minutes.