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Fans on the way to see Depeche Mode perform live in Miami October 12, 2023
Author Archives: M.McLeary-Graham
British TV Suspense Drama “McDonald & Dodd”
I thoroughly enjoyed the first two episodes in the season of this police detective show set in the picturesque, historical British city of Bath. I was somewhat disappointed to find out that while I thought I was on the brink of an epic weekend binge-watching of this show, there were no other episodes available to watch. Will there be more? Or was this simply a two-part one-off?
Irma – Strike Out
Now that one tornado after the other is forming and coming at us in quick succession, and we hope and pray each tornado misses its mark, I have a new respect for skittle pins in a bowling alley. Recent tornado warning: 2:00 pm.
Passion for fashion in the heart of Wynwood, Miami, and in the heart of a struggling fashion design student
Fashion and street-art collide…
Bomber Jacket from www.swankyragellc.weebly.com
Wandering through the streets of Wynwood in Miami, in the aftermath of Art Basel, you wouldn’t have to walk too long before sighting a couple of art-consumed figures holding court in their own fashion photo-shoot with the street art of the Miami Wynwood artists as a world-renowned backdrop. Into the thoroughfares of Miami street-art glides a heart of wonder-lust for a cadence that lends itself to fashion-mixed-with-art-mixed -with-color-mixed with passion-for-fashion.
Street art in Wynwood, Miami, Florida
Miami native Miss Shari-Simone plots a highway through the town; down streets a-washed with streams of color that used to ride the D-train through the Bronx, NY, or the ancient brown stones of Brooklyn; street art of a style transplanted from the cold north of the Home of Hip-Hop (and Grandmixer D.ST would have agreed); gliding high over the Dirty South ATL (Hi, Luda-Ludacris) to the southern-most reaches of Miami…
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Passion for fashion in the heart of Wynwood, Miami, and in the heart of a struggling fashion design student
Miami native Miss Shari-Simone plots a highway through the town, down streets paved with streams of color that used to ride the D-train through the Bronx, NY, or the ancient brown stones of Brookly…
How to Manage Scenes in a Novel—Structure Part 8
Extremely important considerations in novel writing.
And….ACTION!
As a fiction author, you will often feel like an acrobat spinning plates while standing on your head and juggling fiery chainsaws. There are so many components to keep track of, lest you end up down the Bunny Trail of No Return. Organization is key when it comes to being a successful novelist.
Before we continue, if you want better odds of winning my 20 page critique at the end of the month, I am running a separately drawn contest over on my Dojo Diva blog where I am talking about why everyone (but especially females) needs at least some basic self-defense training. Comments count for one entry. Comments with a hyperlink count for two. And you get to learn about beating up bad people.
Moving on…
We have spent the past few weeks studying the fundamentals of what makes up a novel, and today we are going to discuss…
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Scene from Fan Garvey Mystery
Fan Garvey is a woman who moves through South Florida like the ibis treading lightly through the Florida saw grass lining the edges of the watery pools in the Everglades.
Last night sweltered, hot and sticky. A sweaty twilight slid into pulsating reggaeton, and spicy Latin food from the cooking pot of a feisty Borinqueno named Sergio who celebrated the grand opening of his small restaurant on Miami Beach and insisted that nobody leave until after midnight. If it wasn’t for the laughter, the food, and Paco stealing a grope or two under the table littered with perspiring curvy glasses of amber beer and platters of half-eaten buffalo wings, Fan would have strutted her high-heeled butt out of there, supremely annoyed, and gone and sat in the car until her date Paco tore himself away from his cousin Sergio to take her to the place he had originally promised to take her: Las Olas in Fort Lauderdale.
They were supposed to have had dinner at Mangos–just the two of them. Then take a stroll out toward the intra-coastal to people-watch but…
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Scene from Fan Garvey Mystery
Last night sweltered, hot and sticky. A sweaty twilight slid into pulsating reggaeton, and spicy Latin food from the cooking pot of a feisty Borinqueno named Sergio who celebrated the grand opening of his small restaurant on Miami Beach and insisted that nobody leave until after midnight. If it wasn’t for the laughter, the food, and Paco stealing a grope or two under the table littered with perspiring curvy glasses of amber beer and platters of half-eaten buffalo wings, Fan would have strutted her high-heeled butt out of there, supremely annoyed, and gone and sat in the car until her date Paco tore himself away from his cousin Sergio to take her to the place he had originally promised to take her: Las Olas in Fort Lauderdale.
They were supposed to have had dinner at Mangos–just the two of them. Then take a stroll out toward the intra-coastal to people-watch but particularly to drink in the views of the luxurious marine vessels berthed in private docks. Gleaming white sterns of luxury yachts rising up to overshadow the facades of the multi-million dollar water-front homes on the intra-coastal.
That was the vision she’d had of her evening out with Paco; a vision that faded fast in the haze of cigarette smoke, steam rising from platters, laughter competing with the lilting rolling pulse of the Latin reggae music. Of course she was more familiar with Bob Marley’s kind of reggae, but having lived a while in South Florida after being transplanted from New York by sour circumstances, reggaeton made her hips pulse the same way Marley’s and Beres and Sean Paul’s reggae music made her hips pulse.
She finally excused herself, smiling all the while so that Sergio would not think her rude and unfriendly, but she cussed in Paco’s ear so that only he could hear. He responded, “Lo siento, mi amor. I am sorry. We’ll leave real soon. Wait for me in the vehicle while I say my goodbyes.” She ignored his look, his leer as he handed her the keys. He obviously thought he was giving her a compliment.
She unlocked the vehicle in the reserved parking space and made herself comfortable in the front passenger seat. Her cell phone buzzed, its screen turning luminous in the half dark like a firefly. Annette, texting her for it seemed the millionth time that evening. She sympathized with Annette’s current plight but she wished Annette would allow her at least one evening out alone with a man–undisturbed. What the heck, Paco had already allowed his cousin’s impromptu grand opening to disturb what could have been a very satisfying evening for both her and Paco. Fan’s slender index finger slowly swiped her cellphone screen and opened the text message, just as Paco extricated himself from some clinging female arms in the front door of the restaurant as he tried to leave, talking in rapid-fire Spanish to not one, not two but three different females ranging in age from a pert dyed blond twenty something to a blue-rinsed abuela in a Hawaiian mou-mou. Fan rolled her eyes, sighed and returned her attention to her cell phone.
“Fan, don’t forget about my problem. I changed my mind. I want you to take me to see your officer friend at the police department. I need to do something. You said you would help me.”
Revisitation – a muse
In the middle of working on my detective novel set in South Florida, I took a family vacation to Jamaica. This time away in Jamaica propelled me toward a visitation with places, themes, smells, evocative atmospherics in green mountains, and multi-dimensional passions beneath the skin of the kind seen in my as-yet unpublished novel sitting in a drawer awaiting revision.
Now I am at a fork in the road that portends writer’s block based on indecision on whether to continue penning my current South Florida detective novel or going back to my revision of the previous novel partially set in Jamaica and the UK. My Jamaican revisitation has summoned up the characters that walk on cold London streets, or return to the Caribbean to bury a loved one high in the green hills.
And yet…
Back in Florida, my private detective comes knocking, this time with great urgency.
M. McLeary-Graham, Novelist 
