How
did you come up with the title for your latest book?
Each of the Rachel Blackstone Paranormal Mysteries
include Medium in the title, the first being Reluctant Medium. And reluctant she is; sometimes put-upon. Every
installment is a stand-alone read, but there remains her evolving personal
story as Rachel hones her new skillset. Skinwalker
Medium refers to the evil witch that some Southwest Native Nations, in this
case Navajo, believe in. But skinwalker is not what they call it. In fact, they
won’t mention one at all for fear of calling it to them. After having studied
this phenomenon, I will never again drive through the reservations without a
black obsidian arrowhead for protection.
Do
you title the book first or wait until after it’s complete?
I come up with the title first. I’m always reading about Native culture in the Four Corners region. I find the Native Nations to be interesting and I learn so much from them about nature and what’s important in living day-to-day. They’ve been at it a lot longer than some of us. From these studies I find the next thing I want to write about and from there, the title of the next book.
Is
there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?
The story revolves around the 1980 Santa Fe
Penitentiary riot. The inmates who were slaughtered there are not at rest, and
who would expect them to be? Rachel picks up on the shadow people in the
cellblock where the worst took place while reporting on a story for High Desert
Country.
I would hope that anyone who reads this comes away
with the cause, which was overcrowding and the mixing of heinous criminals with
nonviolent inmates. Among those murdered were snitches in protective custody
and possible offenders like counterfeiters and auto thieves. The sentence for
these offences is not the death penalty, but that’s what they received.
Many readers appreciate the ways of the Navajo and
Hopi. These characters bring depth and meaning to my stories. I also include
characters from the three cultures who make their homes in this area and by
incorporating some of their Native languages.
Of
all the characters you’ve ever written, who is your favorite and why?
That would have to be Rachel Blackstone. She and her
friend Chloe Valdez, each have some of my traits. I always wear shoes I can run
in and so does Rachel. But I don’t eat much junk food. My eating habits are
more in line with Chloe’s who also does yoga. And while Rachel doesn’t really
get this supernatural gig, Chloe basks in it. Together they are a bit of an odd
couple who manage to solve paranormal mysteries.
What
books/authors have influenced your life?
Shirley Jackson’s book We Have Always Lived in the Castle really woke me up at about age
thirteen. I wasn’t writing then, but I’d been reading Phyllis A. Whitney and
Mary Stewart, who wrote romantic mysteries. Jackson’s had that twist at the end
I wasn’t expecting. And then came along Stephen King. Salem’s Lot and The Shining
really rang all the bells and whistles for me. Of course, there is Tony
Hillerman who literally wrote the books on the Indigenous mystery genre.
Without him, none of us would be writing about Indigenous culture.
A recent review from the UK was so lovely. But the
line that especially stood out to me was “Highly recommended for readers who
enjoy intelligent mysteries with a supernatural twist.” This reader made me
feel I was achieving exactly what I wanted in this series.
Can
you share a little of your current work with us?
This is from my next Taylor Browning Cozy Mystery
series entitled Editor Die Line. It’s
the first chapter and only two of my closest friends have had a look at it. We
find Virginia Compton, Piñon Publishing’s senior editor having a bad day at
home. Is there something we don’t know about her? Hmm. Taylor, the publishing
company’s mystery editor, has her work cut out for her.
Editor Die Line
By G.G. Collins
Chapter 1 (Beware: Rough Draft)
Virginia Compton, the editor-in-chief at Piñon Publishing had been uneasy all day. She had taken several manuscripts home to work on, but they hadn’t settled her. Something was wrong but she couldn’t identify what. Instead of editing, she was pacing.
She filled her watering can at the kitchen sink and drenched her flowers on her back portal. This was the first time in years she had grown flowers in multiple planters. Usually, it was a single geranium in several plain brown pots but this year she had expanded her gardening into her courtyard by adding Talavera containers with bright colorful flowers. The pots now stood like soldiers on either side of the front door. In each one grew a single red geranium. She thought it made her front entry a little less dreary but she preferred the exterior look unimpressive overall. People these days would break into any house especially if it looked monied.
Her return to flower gardening was something she hadn’t done in many years and she had missed it. There had been reasons for it of course, but surely by now it was safe to return to some of her former indulgences.
Virginia picked up a manuscript and quickly glanced over the query letter and synopsis. It sounded promising, but she couldn’t focus.
Maybe she was still angry with Jessica, the publisher and CEO of Piñon Publishing. Her boss had insisted on taking a group photo of all the staff. Virginia had tried to get out of it but Jessica threw one of her famous tantrums and she gave up, but maneuvered to the back row of the staff where she hid half of her face behind the taller art director. Jessica had placed the photo on the company website, their book catalog and even managed to get it into the local papers much to Virginia’s distress.
The dryer buzzed and she walked to the utility room to remove her clothes. Virginia scowled at the beige and brown colors that tumbled from the dryer into a waiting basket. When everything was neatly hanging on her clothes rod she pushed them all together and carried them to her bedroom.
From her vantage point at the closet door, she could only see the business clothes she wore to work. But when she moved them slightly the closet revealed other brightly-colored garments. There were silk blouses in jewel colors, fashionable suits in vibrant pinks and blues and many scarves in dazzling patterns; never worn to the office or anywhere else. She washed them once a year, never dry-cleaned, and then returned them to garment bags. It was as if the clothing came from another life.
Virginia sighed and pushed the clothes to the back again. What a wasted day. She definitely wouldn’t file for pay on this day. There was simply no work getting done.
Her landline rang and she went to answer. It was bound to be another scam call. That’s all she received on the phone anymore. She really should have the phone company take it out. Everyone she knew called her cell.
Virginia glanced at the caller ID and didn’t recognize the number; not uncommon. She allowed the call to go to her antiquated answering machine. She almost walked away expecting it to be the latest scam, but she paused and waited to see if they left a message.
“Thought I’d never find you,” said a man’s voice.
Virginia’s whole being went cold as she recognized the caller’s voice. This was the call she hoped never to receive. How to deal with it? Ignore or pick it up and pretend to be someone else? She picked up the receiver.
“You must have the wrong number,” she tried to disguise her voice. “To whom do you wish to speak?”
“Oh, you know who I am,” he said. “It hasn’t been that long.”
Virginia hung up and pulled the plug out of the wall. And then, she slid down the wall and sat cowering on the floor next to her desk. Her hands quivered. She placed on the floor beside her and pressed, trying to stop the shaking.
In a few minutes her cell began to ring. She’d left it next to her computer. Virginia stood and picked up her cell. The number was the same as on the landline caller ID. This time she let it ring. She knew what the message would be. It could stay in voice mail until hell froze over.
He was right. She knew who he was. Her body trembled at the recognition.
“I thought it was over,” she murmured. “I thought it was over.”
After a few moments of mostly rational thought, she began closing all the drapes in her house making certain each window and door was locked. Because of the many burglaries in Santa Fe, she had decorative bars on all the doors and windows and one of the most expensive security systems she could find. But none of that was going to be enough.
Once her house was secured and dark, Virginia moved her desk out several feet to reveal her hiding place. It was further disguised by short piles of books, a practice that prevailed throughout her house. The push of her finger opened a small flap made out of the wood floor. It had been carefully done to blend in with the rest of the floor. After entering a code, the inside door opened.
The interior held a small go-bag. It contained a change of clothes, a few cosmetics, sundry items, a wig and a burner phone. She only took one prescription and an extra bottle was included. A zippered pocket inside bag held two small keys to a safe deposit box. Virginia made certain it was still there and closed the bag. She secured the hidden compartment on the floor and moved her desk back in place.
She set the alarm before entering the garage. Inside were two cars. The older one was kept on a battery charger. Virginia never drove it, only started it occasionally. She hoped the charger had done its job because she finally needed the car. She turned the key. The car growled and grunted a few times and then came to life.
Virginia hoped that no one was watching her house as she quickly exited her neighborhood and turned onto Cerrillos Road. The old car blended in well on this street as locals and visitors alike careened to wherever they were going. Usually, the frenetic traffic on this street bothered her but today her vision processed only where she needed to go, not the constant lane changes and ever present blaring horns.
She turned the vehicle into her credit union and parked around back where the main entrance was. One would assume that made it more private for banking and less attractive to robberies.
Inside, Virginia removed the keys and asked for access to her safe deposit box. After opening the box, the CU employee backed away and left her alone. Inside the box was a stack of money in all denominations. Virginia knew there to be $10,000 as she had carefully counted it. Before she reached for the wrapped object she stopped and tried to take a soothing breath. With her eyes closed she could almost pretend it was any other day. Quickly she shoved the wrapped gun into her bag, took her key and walked straight to the restroom in the lobby.
In the handicapped stall, she changed clothes and added the dark brown wig, stowing her worn clothes in the bag. Before she left the restroom, she added more makeup. She paid special attention to the blush. It needed to be bright, too bright even. She added sunglasses and left the building. Once in the car, she looked in the rearview. Satisfied that she was as concealed as possible, she started the car.
While she had planned for this, it was unbelievable that it was happening. Obviously, she remembered her preparations but somehow her comfortable job editing at Piñon Publishing and enjoying the Santa Fe lifestyle may have been wishful thinking. As much as Virginia hated to admit it, she had grown complacent. That was her fault. She had hoped this day would never arrive. And yet, here it was. Now, what to do?
Who
designed the cover of your latest book?
Tatiana Vila, with Vila Design, has created all my covers. She is a master. I send a short (4 or 5 line) synopsis and a few items important to the story and turn her loose. If you want changes, she’ll make them. I took a chance on her just from looking at the many covers she had done. I’ve never looked back. Find her at https://www.viladesign.net
Do
you have a song or playlist that you think represents this book?
During the writing of Skinwalker Medium I played a lot of Native flute music. Here are some of the artists I particularly enjoy: John Two-Hawks’ “Wind Songs,” Alice Gomez “While the Eagle Sleeps,” R. Carlos Nakai “Mythic Dreamer” and Jessita Reyes “Native American Flutes & the Sounds of Nature.” These albums take me right to the Four Corners area where much of this story took place. As soon as I hear the haunting melodies I’m immediately transported to legendary places in the Four Corners such as Shiprock and Monument Valley. My sense of place kicks in.
What
is next for you? Do you have any scheduled upcoming releases or works in
progress?
Skinwalker
Medium has been nominated for the New Mexico Book Award and
I’m excitedly waiting for word on it, but not holding my breath. Winners won’t
be announced until November.
Currently, I’m writing Editor Die Line, the cozy I spoke about. It will likely have a
spring pub date. The latest book in this series, Editor Kill Fee, was reviewed by Publisher’s Weekly and appeared on The Strand magazine reading list.
As for the Rachel Blackstone, her next adventure will
be Brujo Medium. Yup, she will be
going up against another type of evil witch. There is sure to be more gripping
adventure and narrow escapes as she and friend Chloe try to interpret more
cryptic clues from the spirit world.
Reviewed by Publisher's Weekly
Nominated for the New Mexico Book Award
The Strand Magazine Reading List.
Fellowship & Award-Winning Writer
SPJ (Society of Professional Journalists)
Awards
Excerpt:
A stroll along the river usually calmed her. Still, Albuquerque’s crime rate had made national headlines so she tried to be alert to any threats.
After a few minutes, Olivia could tell her pulse had evened out and she was beginning to notice the birds and trees instead of her bothersome feelings. But something else concerned her. There was a fetid odor in this area. She dismissed it as a dead animal but it disturbed her enough that she dug in her coat pocket for her pollen and arrowhead. They weren’t there! Hadn’t she placed them in her pocket while talking with the reporter? When Blackstone cautioned about the others she had interviewed who had died or been scared, she remembered taking the bag out and showing her the contents. She checked the other pocket that held her fob and cell. Olivia could feel the panic rising in her throat, so she took out the phone. It made her more confident. Help was a phone call away.
She quickly turned. Behind her was nothing but an empty trail and the beginnings of another spectacular sunset. Ahead, a biker disappeared around a corner. The Rio Grande flowed to her left and there was no one exploring the banks or kayaking on the river. That left the treed area to her right. A few trees still held onto their autumn leaves, but most had turned brown and fallen to the ground. There was nothing apparent, but the feeling of trepidation would not go away. How could she have left her amulet and bag of pollen? And where did she leave them? It didn’t matter now. The only thing that mattered: something was stalking her and she couldn’t yet see it. She held her phone tightly.
A hawk flew overhead as she looked upward. The hawk didn’t worry her. These birds of prey were only a threat to a small mammal, with the occasional insect or lizard for variety.
It circled languidly. This time, it swooped down at her as a bird parent might defend a fledgling against a passing cat. The intent was obvious: to bully her. It was working. Olivia wanted to go. She no longer wanted to be outside and felt vulnerable, was vulnerable. Retracing her steps to the parking lot, she heard a sound behind her.
She kept walking, hoping it would go away. But the fear in her chest was fierce. It was difficult to breathe. She tried to control the shivering and her pounding heart. Her options had run out. Olivia knew she was no longer in charge of the situation. She had to turn around and face whatever was there.
After casually glancing about to appear unafraid, she came face to face with an evil witch. Its eyes held her, and she couldn’t look away. The elders always cautioned against staring directly at the eyes so the witch could not control thoughts. But it was too late. The red and glowing eyes allowed her to see only the beast.
It was sans clothing with fur covering its body and the neck heavy with jewelry. Its face and arms were grey. For a moment she thought it might be female, but never had she known of a female witch becoming malevolent. She knew this was imminent danger of the fatal kind. Without her arrowhead, she didn’t know how to defend herself. It could run faster, jump higher and climb better than she could. Her chances of harming it were slim. The body of a skinwalker was tough, maybe impenetrable. With only the useless cell in her hand she stood silently, because who could she call to intervene?
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