tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24622189202845949702024-02-07T21:40:16.958-08:00Lesley KagenLesley Kagenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01539836763345796619noreply@blogger.comBlogger78125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2462218920284594970.post-72364390236109313592023-10-30T05:10:00.006-07:002023-10-30T05:14:43.087-07:00<p> <span style="font-size: x-large;"> <span>My Favorite Time of the Year</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">As you probably know, I'm a big fan of coming-of-age novels, both mine and others. But I also love to write essays for Wisconsin Public Radio and this has always been one of my favorites! (Just copy and paste) Happy Halloween! https://tinyurl.com/4ue32es7</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><br /></p>Lesley Kagenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01539836763345796619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2462218920284594970.post-55761370130547897872023-07-26T14:31:00.000-07:002023-07-26T14:31:15.334-07:00<p> <span style="font-size: large;"><i>GONE FOR GOOD</i></span></p><p><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background: white; color: #333333; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">From multi-award-winner and <i>New York Times </i>bestselling author, Lesley Kagen, comes her newest coming-of-age story. Set in 1959 in the Midwest, <i>Gone for Good</i> captures the essence of what it means to be poor and different, </span><span style="background: white; color: #333333;">dealing with grief, and the struggles of women and children when they were left “on their own” during a time that men ruled the world.<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">Facing the loss of her sister, seventy-three years old Tessie Finley seeks solace in another summer, the summer she was twelve and Birdie was eleven, and their world was turned upside down. Not only was Tessie attempting to come to grips with the sudden loss of her beloved father, her mother had been left penniless, and her “not like everybody else” sister refused to believe their dad was gone forever.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">Tessie, who believed she played a part in her father’s death, felt compelled to do whatever it took to make amends and she was prepared to do just that, but the the clock was ticking and she had no time to lose. She was sure that if she couldn't prove to her sister that their father was gone for good, her beleaguered mother would send her sister to a "home" and those weren't her only challenges.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">With a heartless neighbor hoping to drive the Finley sisters out of the neighborhood, a vengeful bully threatening to cut Tessie into little pieces, and a burglar on the loose, she knew it was going to take a lot more than determination to achieve her goals—it was going to be take a miracle and she wasn't holding her breath.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Gone for Good </i>is a funny, wise, and soulful story about one young girl discovering that when you think you’re down for the count, love has a way of winning the day. And sometimes when you think you’re fighting to save someone else—you end up saving yourself.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">Besides writing, Lesley is a mother of two, grandmother of two, a mental health advocate, a reading and writing coach, and loves to teach acting to kids. She lives in a small town in Wisconsin with her pup, the Amazing Gracie.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p>Lesley Kagenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01539836763345796619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2462218920284594970.post-31039975707112012812020-08-18T05:57:00.002-07:002020-08-18T05:57:25.157-07:00Another Wonderful Review for EVERY NOW AND THEN<p> What a wonderful birthday present! A coveted starred review from <i>Publishers Weekly!</i></p><p><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">"Kagen (</span><em style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">The Undertaking of Tess</em><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">) skillfully spins a nostalgic tale about a group of preteens who uncover their town’s terrible secret. As headstrong 11-year-olds in tiny Summit, Wis., Elizabeth “Biz” Buchanan, Frances “Frankie” Maniachi, and Vivian “Viv” Cleary spend the sultry summer of 1960 looking for adventure and trying to stay in the good graces of Biz’s Aunt Jane May, who has helped Biz’s physician father raise Biz after her mother died shortly after Biz was born. In addition to speculating about Jane May’s romantic prospects and the meddling of a busybody out to depose Summit’s elderly mayor, the girls agree on a dare to explore their town’s creepy mental hospital, Broadhurst, home to the criminally insane (including a notorious child-killer). In between harmless preteen pranks and innocent explorations, the girls enjoy an idyllic summer—until their fascination with Broadhurst as a “Chamber of Horrors” turns into a nightmare. Kagan perfectly portrays the sense of invincibility felt by the young girls, whose lives have not yet been touched by tragedy. Colorful secondary characters, especially Mayor Bud, underpin a taut plot. This fast-paced and suspenseful outing will captivate Kagan’s fans and do much to win her new ones.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;"> </span><em style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">(Oct.)"</em></p><p><em style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;"><br /></em></p><p><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 17px;">It won't be long now until <i>Every Now and Then will available at your local bookstore. </i>This story is so near and dear to my heart and I can't wait for you to read it!</span></span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Lesley Kagenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01539836763345796619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2462218920284594970.post-38751992631613744982020-06-30T06:32:00.001-07:002020-06-30T07:20:05.110-07:00EVERY NOW AND THEN<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Morning,</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Just three more months until EVERY NOW AND THEN comes to a bookstore near you! (Oct. 6th.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I'd love to say that time is just flying by, but it took me three years to write this book and another year until it was published and I can't wait for you to read it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Sometimes readers ask me where my inspiration comes from. For this book, stumbling upon a secret little cemetery in a stand of secret little woods while I was out hiking knocked my socks off. The three almost twelve-year-old girls in the story---Biz, Frankie, and Viv---spend a lot of time on a path that wends its way through "Founder's Woods" during the summer of '60.</span><br />
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Lesley Kagenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01539836763345796619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2462218920284594970.post-63179350918648460212020-04-28T06:19:00.000-07:002020-04-28T06:20:55.661-07:00Some Really Kind WordsI'm thrilled and humbled by these kind words about <i>EVERY NOW AND THEN</i> from authors I admire and respect. Hope you'll love the story, too!<br />
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“<i>Every Now and Then </i>is
a perfect summer sky of a story, in which lots of lovely blue is mixed with a
few dark, descending clouds. Lesley Kagen offers a wry, winning story told in
the enchanting voice of adolescence and with the pitch perfect vernacular of
1960. Filled with secrets, lies, and all the truth of what is to be human,
especially in a small town, <i>Every Now and Then</i> is a story
every heart will embrace.”</div>
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—William Kent Krueger, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">New York Times</i> bestselling author of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ordinary Grace</i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">This <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Tender</st1:placename><span style="font-style: normal;"> </span><st1:placetype w:st="on">Land</st1:placetype></st1:place>
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“With a grace reminiscent of Pat
Conroy’s<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> The Prince of Tides,</i> Lesley
Kagen paints a tragic and evocative picture of a childhood summer disrupted by
tragedy in 1960s <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Wisconsin</st1:place></st1:state>.
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Every Now and Then</i>, a haunting story of three young friends besieged by unthinkable horror, is both a memorable
coming of age tale and a suspenseful page-turner. Longtime and new fans of
Lesley Kagen will delight!</div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>—<st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Pam Jenoff</st1:city>, <st1:state w:st="on"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">New York</i></st1:state></st1:place><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> Times</i> bestselling author of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
Lost Girls of Paris <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<o:p> </o:p><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111;">“Lesley Kagen’s </span><i style="color: #111111;">Every Now and Then</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111;"> ticks all
the best boxes. Bygone small-town life so well described you can taste it?
Check! Three BFF girlfriends scraping knees and taking names and having the
summer of their eleven-year-old lives? Check! Compelling escapades featuring
the likes of mental institutions, escaped murderers, and witches? Check! This
novel is delightful and the perfect summer read.” </span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="background: white;">—<st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Laurie
Frankel</st1:city>, <st1:state w:st="on"><i>New York</i></st1:state></st1:place><i>
Times</i> bestselling author of <i>This Is How It Always Is<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #111111;">“Kagen’s trademark blend of childhood curiosity and hidden
mysteries shines in this richly imagined coming-of-age adventure. In the
sweltering summer heat of 1960, three young friends become entangled in secrets
and life-threatening evil that shakes their small <st1:place w:st="on">Wisconsin</st1:place>
town to its core and impacts their lives forever.”</span><span style="color: #111111;"><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="background: white;">—<st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Beth Hoffman</st1:city>, <st1:state w:st="on"><i>New York</i></st1:state></st1:place><i> Times</i> bestselling
author of <i>Saving CeeCee Honeycutt<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;">"Part
mystery, part coming of age, <i>EVERY NOW AND THEN</i> brought back
wonderful memories of my childhood, when the summers were endless and my best
friend and I found ourselves in the middle of numerous bizarre adventures. A
rollicking good read!” </span><span style="color: black; font-size: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;">—<span class="il">Ellen</span> <span class="il">Marie</span> <span class="il">Wiseman</span>,
bestselling author of <i>WHAT SHE LEFT BEHIND</i> and <i>THE
ORPHAN COLLECTOR <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Lesley Kagen’s <i>Every Now and Then </i>is a
poignant, beautifully told story about family, friendship, and foul-play in a
small town in <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Wisconsin</st1:place></st1:state>
in 1960. It centers around Biz, Viv, and Frankie—three eleven-year-old best
friends—and the summer adventures that will change their lives forever. With
characters that leap off the page, mysteries both innocent and evil,
multi-layered humor, and twists you never see coming, this novel is delightful
and unputdownable. I can’t recommend enough!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>—Jane Healey,
bestselling author of <i>The Beantown Girls<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #111111;">"At turns nostalgic, haunting and edge-of-your-seat
suspenseful, <i>Every Now and Then</i> is another triumph from Lesley
Kagen.”</span><span style="color: #111111;"><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="background: white;">—Wendy Webb, #1 Amazon Charts bestselling author
of <i>Daughters of the Lake</i></span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #222222;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />Lesley Kagenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01539836763345796619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2462218920284594970.post-29491844899442477412020-01-30T13:41:00.002-08:002020-01-30T13:41:43.668-08:00EVERY NOW AND THENSo happy to let you know that EVERY NOW AND THEN is available now for preorder! Check with you local indie bookseller or all the usual places online! Thank you!Lesley Kagenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01539836763345796619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2462218920284594970.post-87177515638018885512019-12-12T11:56:00.000-08:002019-12-12T11:56:08.307-08:00EVERY NOW AND THEN Hi All!<br />
<br />
Busy preparing for Christmas and I've taken on teaching a Master Class in acting in a children's theatre as well as teaching writing and helping with my two g-kids so busy . . . busy . . . busy! But had to share that you can expect to have EVERY NOW AND THEN in your hands in October 2020.<br />
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Very excited! I love this story and hope like heck that you do, too!<br />
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xo LesleyLesley Kagenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01539836763345796619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2462218920284594970.post-63382238084554597872019-04-19T14:18:00.002-07:002019-04-19T14:19:20.158-07:00EVERY NOW AND THENThrilled to announce that my newest novel, EVERY NOW AND THEN, will be published by Crooked Lane. Hopefully, it will be released in the summer of '20, but stay tuned for updates!Lesley Kagenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01539836763345796619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2462218920284594970.post-75731144450467488332019-02-19T11:08:00.000-08:002019-06-08T08:22:34.937-07:00EVERY NOW AND THENThank you to all the readers who've asked what I'm working on now. Here's a brief description of EVERY NOW AND THEN and a few pages to, hopefully, whet your whistle. I have no idea when, or even if, it'll be published but I'm sure enjoying the characters and in the end . . . really . . . that's all that counts. (But a fancy schmancy book deal wouldn't be horrible either.)❤ . . . always, Lesley<br />
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<i><span style="background: white;">All that is over is not past and when
memories come to haunt they don’t ask our permission to do so.</span></i></div>
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<st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on"><span style="background: white; color: black;">Summit</span></st1:city><span style="background: white; color: black;">, <st1:state w:st="on">Wisconsin</st1:state></span></st1:place><span style="background: white; color: black;">, the summer of 1960: </span>Air
conditioning was a modern luxury few in town could afford and window fans were
flying out of Mike Hansen’s Hardware store so fast he’d begun talking about
retirement. Husbands returned home with five o’clock shadows to sit on their
front porches and drink bottled beers that wouldn’t hold a chill while their
wives fanned themselves with shirt cardboards and prepared cold cut suppers
instead of the usual meat and potatoes. For kids seeking relief from the heat,
there was a creek to be swum in, sprinklers to run through, and ice cream at
Whitcomb’s Drugstore. </div>
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But . . . The Tree Musketeers—Francis “Frankie” Maniachi,
Vivian “Viv” Cleary, and <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Elizabeth</st1:place></st1:city>
“Biz” Buchanan—don’t remember that summer only as the one when the heat wave
hit their small town. They remember the summer they were eleven-years-old as
the one evil paid a visit to their small town and took there lives as they’d
known them as a souvenir. The summer when they’d almost lost their lives,
learned about prejudice in its many forms, mental illness, forbidden love,
murder, and what it meant to be blood sisters.</div>
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<span style="background: white; color: black;">Narrated by
bestselling novelist Biz Buchanan almost sixty years later, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">There Comes a Time</i> is an unforgettable
story about what three young girls did during a long ago summer to keep their
lives and those of the ones they loved from coming apart at the seams and what
they continue to do to make amends. Told with e</span><span style="color: #333333;">mpathy,
humor, and insight, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">There Comes a Time</i>
is both a powerful and emotionally resonant coming-of-age story and of-an-age
story about lifelong friendship, the timelessness of grief and guilt, and the
hope for redemption. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "arial";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="background: white; color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "arial";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> * * *</span></span></div>
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Prologue</div>
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The girls didn’t
blame me at the time and to the best of my knowledge, still don’t, but I’ve
never entirely forgiven myself for instigating what happened that night in
Founder’s Woods. Then again . . . if I hadn’t done what I’d done, more than one
grave would’ve been dug that summer.</div>
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Of course, not
everyone in town remembers the events that unfolded back then with as much
remorse, or gratitude, as I do. “What’s done is done. Forget about it. Time
heals all wounds,” someone not old enough to know better is bound to pipe in
whenever the summer of ’60 comes up in conversation. But there’ll come a time when
they, too, will understand that the border between then and now is more like a
cobweb than a brick wall, and when memories come to haunt . . . they don’t ask
our permission to do so.</div>
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A breeze ruffling oak
boughs on a full moon night or the whistle of the late train rumbling down the
tracks is all it takes to bring back the press of cold steel on my neck, the
sound Frankie’s leg made when it cracked in two, and Viv’s scream cutting
through the sultry air on a long ago summer night evil paid a visit to our
small town and took our young lives as we’d known them as a souvenir.</div>
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Chapter One</div>
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God only knows why
my best friends and I loved getting the hell scared of out of us every Saturday
afternoon at the Rivoli Theatre or the Starlight Drive-In after the sun went
down, but we spent most of our childhood jumping halfway out of our skins. </div>
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The radiated ants
from <i>Them!</i> sounded an awful lot like
cicadas, and after we saw <i>The Fly</i> the
three of us strained to hear one calling to us, “Help me . . . please, help
me.” <i>The Invasion of the Body Snatchers</i>,
whose main character was a doctor—like my father—who discovered his neighbors
were being systematically replaced by alien duplicates grown in pods scattered
around his small town—like ours—had the girls and I spying into our neighbors’
windows for weeks to ascertain if they’d been similarly afflicted, but it was the
<i>The Tingler</i> that almost did us in.
Unbeknownst to us, the owner of the downtown theatre had fastened something
called the <i>Percepto!</i> beneath the seats
and when he activated the vibrating device at just the right time, it felt like
that alien parasite had crawled off the screen and into our spines and we ran out
the Emergency Door screaming and swatting at each others’ backs.</div>
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But while every
day back then might’ve felt like anything-can-happen day, to the best of </div>
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my recollection, which, if I do so
say myself, remains remarkably sharp for a gal on the dusky </div>
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side of her sixties, our lives were
fairly ho hum. Other than a recluse most of the kids in town believed to be a
practitioner of the dark arts, a group of bad boys who hung out in Founder’s Woods,
and the occasional escapee of Broadhurst Mental Institution, nothing much out
of the ordinary occurred in Summit, Wisconsin—a town deemed so unremarkable at
the time that a popular travel brochure left the <i>Points of Interest</i> section blank—until the record-breaking heat
ushered in the spring of ’60 like a harbinger of the horror to come.</div>
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Lesley Kagenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01539836763345796619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2462218920284594970.post-53039639101304378802018-12-22T04:06:00.004-08:002018-12-22T04:07:57.367-08:00All Is calm. . . All is brightWishing you all a peaceful and memorable Christmas and a joy-filled New Year.<br />
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<br />Lesley Kagenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01539836763345796619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2462218920284594970.post-85430527092218758362018-07-20T10:23:00.001-07:002018-07-20T10:26:20.558-07:00THE GREAT AMERICAN READHere I am spouting off again.<br />
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https://wptblog.org/2018/07/the-great-american-read-author-lesley-kagen-shares-her-picks/Lesley Kagenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01539836763345796619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2462218920284594970.post-60180833411092837252018-04-25T05:32:00.002-07:002018-05-06T16:11:40.084-07:00WRITING AND MENTORING AND COACHING AND TEACHING, OH MYFor all who have been kind enough to ask . . . "Hey, what's up?"<br />
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I've been working on my next novel--(See the bit I previously posted.)<br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "comic sans ms" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "comic sans ms" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">Set in Summit, Wisconsin in 1960, <i>The Sweet Bye and Bye</i> is nostalgic, character and voice-driven, poignant, funny, insightful, and about as charming as a story about the lifelong friendship of three women, small town secrets, mental illness, and murder can be. </span><br />
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And . . . before I become close personal friends with The Grim Reaper, I've got the itch to share some of the stuff I learned along the way. To teach, to coach, to hand hold, or do whatever I can to help other writers. (Interested? See the Mentoring and Coaching book button on the web site? Press it.)<br />
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<br />Lesley Kagenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01539836763345796619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2462218920284594970.post-5666905788666612882017-08-30T10:27:00.000-07:002018-05-03T04:16:58.874-07:00THE SWEET BYE AND BYE<br />
I'd like to thank all the readers who have enjoyed my newest novels, THE MUTUAL ADMIRATION SOCIETY and LAND OF A HUNDRED WONDERS.<br />
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And for those of you who are wondering what I'm working on now, here's a little bit of THE SWEET BYE AND BYE<br />
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"> I will never forget the sound
Frankie’s leg made when it snapped in two.</span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"> She didn’t blame
me at the time and, to the best of my knowledge, still doesn’t. But a part of
me has never forgiven myself for instigating what happened that night in the
woods. Then again . . . if Frankie hadn’t thrown herself down from the highest
branch of the oak she and Viv were hiding in, she wouldn’t have received all
the attention she did for saving my life and I wouldn’t have lived to tell the
tale.</span></div>
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Of course, not everybody remembers that long ago summer with as much guilt, or gratitude, that I do. Whenever
it comes up in conversation, someone not old enough to know any better is bound
to pipe in, “No use bringing all that up again. What’s done is done.” But there
will come a time when they too will understand that not all that is over is
past. And when memories do resurrect, they don’t ask permission to do so. </div>
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All it takes is a gentle
wind stirring the leafy boughs of an oak or a dog barking on a full moon night or
the scent of sweat to bring back the press of cool steel on my skin and the
sound of Frankie’s femur cracking in half. The stitches left an ugly, raised scar
on my neck, and she walks with a limp when it rains, and poor Viv. Though not
bodily injured the way Frankie and I were that night, her spirit was more than
a little broken.</div>
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But as much as we
might wish the border between then and now was less like a cobweb </div>
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and more like a brick wall, as my
lifelong friends and I sit on the front porch of our <st1:street w:st="on">Honeywell Street</st1:street> house on another summer
evening decades later . . . the past is present. We never forget the summer of ’60.
The summer that evil paid a visit to our small town and took our live as we
knew them as a souvenir. </div>
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Chapter One</div>
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Oh, the horror of
it all. </div>
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Wild-haired
hypnotists mesmerizing us to do their bidding, werewolves sinking their yellow fangs
into our sunburned necks, and “little green men” or the “Commies” dropping out
of the sky to enslave us not only seemed possible back then, but just a matter
of time. Every day felt like anything-can-happen day and our nights were filled
with things that went boo.</div>
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Why my best
friends and I loved nothing more than getting the hell scared of out of us
every Saturday afternoon at the Rivoli Theatre in downtown Summit or in the
evenings at the Starlight Drive-In on the edge of town still remains a mystery
to me, but we spent most of our childhood covered in goose bumps and jumping out
of our skins. </div>
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The giant radiated
ants from <i>Them!</i> sounded an awful lot
like cicadas, and the three of us never looked at a full moon the same way
after we saw <i>The Wolfman</i>. And for a
few months after we’d seen <i>The Fly</i>,
we couldn’t spot one without saying, “Heeelp me . . . please, heeelp me.” But
it was <i>The Tingler</i> that almost did us
in. Unbeknownst to us, Mr. Willis, the owner of the Rivoli Theatre, had
fastened a vibrating device called the <i>Percepto!</i>
beneath the red velvet seats that was activated during certain scenes in the
movie to make it feel like the parasite had wormed its way into our spines and
we ran out of the theatre’s Emergency Exit screaming.</div>
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But to the best of
my recollection, which, if I do so say myself, remains remarkably sharp </div>
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for a gal on the dusky side of her
sixties, in reality, other than the soaping of <st1:street w:st="on">Main Street</st1:street> shop </div>
<span style="line-height: 200%;">windows every Halloween Eve by boys
being boys, a reclusive woman the kids in town believed to be tending a
bubbling cauldron in her cellar, the occasional escaped patient found wandering
around town or the woods abutting Broadhurst mental institution, and Granny
Cleary, nothing too frightening or out of the ordinary occurred in Summit—a
town judged so ho hum by a popular Wisconsin travel brochure that the </span><i style="line-height: 200%;">Points of Interest</i><span style="line-height: 200%;"> section was left
blank—before the record-breaking heat showed up that Memorial Day like a
harbinger of the horrifying things to come.</span>Lesley Kagenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01539836763345796619noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2462218920284594970.post-2354616802022083352017-04-30T05:37:00.003-07:002017-04-30T05:37:43.819-07:00LAND OF A HUNDRED WONDERS<br />
<img alt="Land of a Hundred Wonders by [Kagen, Lesley]" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51XinfnCKSL.jpg" /><br />
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A love story that's near and dear to my heart. Here's what it's about:<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.4px;">Brain damaged after a tragic car accident that took both her parents, Gibby McGraw is now NQR (Not Quite Right), a real challenge for a fledgling newspaper reporter. Especially when she stumbles upon the dead body of the next governor of Kentucky, Buster Malloy.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.4px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.4px;">Armed with her trusty spiral note-book and accompanied by her dog, Keeper, Gibby figures that solving the murder of Buster Malloy might be her best chance to prove to everyone that she can become Quite Right again. But she gets more than she bargained for when she uncovers a world of corruption, racism, and family secrets in small town Shorewood. Luckily, she's also about to discover that some things are far more important than all the brains in the world, and that miracles occur in the most unexpected moments.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.4px;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">You can pick it up at Amazon. And if you love it, which, of course, I sure hope you do, you'll do me the kindness of leaving a glowing review. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.4px;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">https://www.amazon.com/Land-Hundred-Wonders-Lesley-Kagen-ebook/dp/B071D7VW8V/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1493223631&sr=1-1&keywords=land+of+a+hundred+wonders</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.4px;"><br /></span>Lesley Kagenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01539836763345796619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2462218920284594970.post-15862914165677964142017-04-23T07:11:00.003-07:002017-04-23T10:06:37.427-07:00HAPPY 10th BIRTHDAY WHISTLING IN THE DARK!<br />
Wow. Just wow. After 156 rejections for representation, scores of "passes" by publishers, against all odds . . . my debut novel became a New York Times bestseller now in its 17th printing. This is so profoundly moving to me, there are no words.<br />
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<img alt="Whistling in the Dark" src="http://www.lesleykagen.com/images/whistling-thumb.jpg" height="200" width="132" />Lesley Kagenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01539836763345796619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2462218920284594970.post-71882600662598693422017-03-14T08:22:00.001-07:002017-03-14T08:22:08.427-07:00MIRACLES AND MEMORY AND COWBOYS, OH MY<br />
COMING SOON!<br />
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<img alt="Land of a Hundred Wonders" src="https://lesleykagen.com/images/land-hundred-wonders-thumb.jpg" />Lesley Kagenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01539836763345796619noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2462218920284594970.post-73242714066866953822017-02-04T05:51:00.002-08:002017-02-20T06:05:06.936-08:00A HEARTBREAKER<br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">When I sat down to write <i>The Mutual Admiration Society </i>it was with the same intent that I bring to all my stories. In this case, it was my desire to tell the tale of two young girls. Sisters. Kids, who only have each other, or perceive that to be the truth, on a journey that seems to be too much to deal with at such a tender age. The loss of their beloved father, and in many ways, much of their life as they knew it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I wanted to write about how deeply resourceful children can be. How imaginative and flat-out funny, and loyal. I wanted the girls' story to feel authentic, symptomatic, and yes, out-of-the-box, because loss it like that. We all experience it to greater and lesser degrees, maybe at the same time, but not together. Grief is a solo trip. A deep sense of abandonment, I wanted to write about that, too, and the guilt one feels when we lose our dearest ones. And, of course, there needed to be a mystery, because dealing with death is so profound and hard, that often it feels unsolvable. In <i>The Mutual Admiration Society</i> there are many internal forces of darkness churning within narrator, Tessie, but the external force is personified by an evil next door neighbor. And a cemetery is always a wonderful setting, and a handy metaphor. And God . . . where is He in all this? I wondered.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I wanted to write <i>this </i>book. And I love it. I hoped others would love it as well, or else find within its pages something that resonated with them. And if they didn't, they'd continue searching for another story that does touch them. Turns out, there are those that don't really care for my new book, no, let's call a spade a spade. They say they despise it. One reader said that it "nauseated" her. This deep down hurts. Not because it makes me doubt my writing, myself, or the story and my intentions, but because the very idea that there <i>are</i> people whose only intention is to harm the sale of my book by eviscerating it in reviews stretches the limits of my imagination and my belief system beyond the bounce-back factor. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">And the well-intentioned telling me,"Suck it up, buttercup," or "Hey, them's the breaks," and other equally silly cliches, does not cut the mustard. Maybe earlier in my life they would have inspired me in some odd way, but no longer. I have spent most of my working life in the public eye, fifty years of it anyway, which has always made the way I make my living a target, but never before has my acting or writing been subjected to the sheer intentional ugliness that appears to have become the norm these days. How sad that is. For me, sure, but mostly for those that believe the only way to feel good and powerful, even for just a little bit, is to spend their time crafting hate-filled reviews not only of my book, but other books, movies, television shows, art, restaurants, and other types of endeavors that require a profound commitment of heart and soul, many times without commensurate remuneration. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">A believer in humor, knowing it's the only hope that I, or any of us, have to transcend pains, be they large or small, I'd usually stick a wry smile on my face, shrug, and make a joke right about now. But this morning . . . I got nothing. Which is the saddest bit of all.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span>Lesley Kagenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01539836763345796619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2462218920284594970.post-19487898966279326362017-01-23T03:00:00.003-08:002017-01-23T03:00:40.156-08:00ALWAYS FUN<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 19.32px;">THE MUTUAL ADMIRATION SOCIETY launch party is right around the corner. Wednesday, February 1, 7:00 pm at Boswell Bookshop in Milwaukee. Be there or be square. </span><br />
<img alt="Image may contain: 1 person, smiling" src="https://scontent-ord1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/16114830_10210579670479766_3235891009437518175_n.jpg?oh=41e63eef004880e7cd52cb033b4bdd2d&oe=5904CA9D" />Lesley Kagenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01539836763345796619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2462218920284594970.post-69876979083117834202017-01-22T06:45:00.001-08:002017-01-23T03:19:24.551-08:00WARNING!<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I've decided that rather than featuring quotes from other writers on the front covers of books, in order to cut down on confusion, they should come with a warning label. </span><span style="font-size: large;">Here's the <i>caveat emptor</i> THE MUTUAL ADMIRATION SOCIETY would have slapped on the front cover:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Potential Reader: This novel is written for those above average intelligence who enjoy child narrators, possess a sense of humor, can fathom the sweetness of young love, are not offended by swearing, and understand at least a little about the complexities of children's psyches. If you do not possess these qualities, kindly keep moving to another section of the store, where you will find a wide selection of other books that might better meet your needs. </span>Lesley Kagenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01539836763345796619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2462218920284594970.post-22114680304022174732017-01-14T05:35:00.000-08:002017-01-18T04:08:38.625-08:00BURIED TREASURE<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: 'times new roman'; line-height: 32px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">FACT: L</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">ife is not the bowl of cherries you might think it is. At any minute, probably when you least expect it, your life could turn into the pits. </span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">PROOF: Seeing is believing, so c</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">lose your eyes and imagine the funniest, smartest, and handsomest daddy leaning across the kitchen table in a small wooden house on a sweltering summer August morning. Now hear him telling</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> you with the kind of </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">mischievous</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> smile that all the gals at the bar love, “I got Bobby to cover my shift today, kiddo. So what say we beat this heat, feel the wind on our faces, and do a little fishing on the Great Lake today?”</span></div>
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Even though you don’t have any business going out on a lake, Great, or otherwise, because you don't know how to swim, you adore this daddy so much that you’d do anything to spend time with him. So you spring out of the kitchen chair where you just got done eating the scrambled egg and Spam breakfast he cooks for you, your sister, and your mother every morning, wrap your arms around his waist, and say, “Cool, Daddio, cool!” because you know that one of the things he loves most about you is that you can be a real card, same as him. </div>
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That’s how you end up bobbing up and down on Lake Michigan in a borrowed white motorboat called <i>The High Life</i>. You’re<i> </i>having a gay old time, and don’t suspect for a second that you’re a sitting duck, oh, no, not you. You’re too busy staring at pouffy clouds in the Robin's egg blue sky that reminds you of your little sister. Searching for shapes, is what you're doing. Something like a collie or a cobra or cow. So later on when the trout you and you daddy caught for supper tonight are getting fried up on the stove, you can tell your little animal-loving sister what she missed out on today. You might even tease her about how she should’ve been at your side breathing in the gas fumes and the smell of your necks roasting pink instead of staying tied to our mother’s apron strings all day, because even though you love her, it ticks you off when she chooses your mother over you. </div>
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Hours later, you're still thrilled to be spending the day with your beloved daddy, but you're so sweaty, and gotten bored watching your bobber. To pass the time, you begin imagining you're somewhere else, the same thing you do when you're at church on Sunday. You really like pirate stories, so you pretend to be the main character in one you call BURIED TREASURE. In your book, <span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">the captain of your ship, hasn't been wetting his whistle all afternoon with all those bottles of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer, but grog—yo ho! When the tip of your tongues swipes the sweat off the top of your lip, it’s so salty that it shouldn’t be hard to see yourself floating not a lake, matey, but on a tropical sea far, far away. A pirate chest bulging full of doubloons and silver cups with rubies and pearls the size of baseballs are lying in the sand below, below, below, calling your name _____, _____, _____.</span></div>
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You're so wrapped up in all this, that when your daddy jerks awake from the little nap he was taking and points at your fishing pole and says, more than a little slurry, “You need bait," you barely notice. And when he stands and reaches for the dirt-filled Campbell’s tomato soup can, you don't thank him. You’re too busy thinking now how you’re going to trade a diamond treasure bracelet you found for that blue Schwinn with the basket that’s sitting in the front window of Melman’s Hardware on North Ave. Or maybe you’re imagining what a kick you'll get out of dropping some of those sandy doubloons you find on the bottom of the lake into the lap of your money hungry mother so she could buy one of those new window air-conditioners that might keep her from losing her temper at Daddy so often.</div>
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It's not until your daddy slips on one of the empty beer bottles rolling around on the deck of the boat that all thoughts of your pretend pirate shopping spree go flying out of your head. His impression of one of the three Stooges stepping on a banana peel has always slayed you. And when he falls backwards, smacks his head on the motor and tumbles overboard, you're not scared, quite the opposite. You just about split a gut laughing. He's<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> an excellent swimmer who <i>adores</i> jokes, most especially the kind that practically scare the poop out of you and your sister, so you expect him to stay under the water longer than Houdini before he pops to the surface saying the way he always does when he pulls a scary fast one over on you, “Ha . . . ha . . . ha . . . </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Gotcha</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">!”</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> You believe this so deeply with every square inch of your heart that even after the sun finally gives up for the day and lowers itself into the cold lake water and the stars flick on above the sad-sounding seagulls circling overhead, you’re still watching and waiting for his glistening face to magically re-appear any second now. </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">One Mississippi . . . two Mississippi</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> . . . . </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The red boat with the flashing blue light shows up when you count up to </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">six hundred and twenty-five Mississippi</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">.</span></div>
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One of the guys who comes to your rescue reminds your of a caveman at the downtown museum except he isn’t bare-chested. A white shirt with <i>Shore Patrol</i> has the name <i>Stan</i> written in red above the pocket. After he comes aboard, he looks around and says, “Theresa Finley?" You must've nodded, because then he adds on, "Your mother called us. Where’s your father?”</div>
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You almost answer him. <span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">But then the muggy air crawling under your skin mixing in with the leftover smells of Daddy’s Old Spice and the beer remind you to do what you’ve done for as long as you can remember when your mother sends someone looking for your daddy. You clam up. </span><br />
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">And you don't come to your senses until the burly guy, the one who’s driving the rescue boat, guns it so hard that your head snaps back and you see twinkling above you your favorite constellation. It’s called Orion the Hunter in the </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">World Book</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, but your daddy always told you those stars stuck together because they were, “The Three Musketeers, like us,” on the nights when he’d sit on the porch steps of your house holding you and your sister close.</span></div>
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<i>My daddy . . . he fell . . . we can't leave him . . . one for all and one for all </i>you want to scream at <i>Stan</i>, but what comes out of your mouth instead is a noise that you’ve only ever heard before coming out of the cemetery behind your house.</div>
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But some how <i>Stan </i>knows what you're trying to tell him, because with the stink of the throw-up on your shirt and the pee in your shorts making his eyes water as bad as yours, he puts his arm around you and tells you what you’re brain doesn't want to admit, but what your heart already knows. “I'm sorry, kid. Your father . . . he ain't coming back.” With a shake of his head, he flicks his Lucky Strike cigarette over the side of the rescue boat as it races back to shore. “When you least expected it, eh?”</div>
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And the last things you remember thinking the night when the unthinkable happened, when your life would never again be a bowl of cherries again, is how this was all your fault. If you'd only been prepared, your daddy would still be alive instead of lying on the bottom of the deep blue sea. You are the pits.</div>
Lesley Kagenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01539836763345796619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2462218920284594970.post-69215773741106683752017-01-04T05:49:00.000-08:002017-01-04T05:49:02.009-08:00REVIEWSEvery once in awhile, you get a very, very nice one. Thank you, RT REVIEWS!<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">"One of the most delightfully quirky investigative teams in recent literature. Eleven-year-old Tessie's witty narrative voice lilts with both the innocence of a child and the precociousness of a mind older than her years. While the mystery takes center stage at first glance, the heart of this novel is its poignant portrayal of sisterly love."</span>Lesley Kagenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01539836763345796619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2462218920284594970.post-58565392449790336192017-01-03T09:21:00.002-08:002017-01-03T09:21:57.488-08:00GRATEFUL BEYOND WORDS<img src="https://mail.google.com/mail/?ui=2&ik=82cacf22e3&view=fimg&th=1596531d0cea81c6&attid=0.3&disp=emb&attbid=ANGjdJ8sDbck0kkxhyM1v7YdUbcOSzTzJDegezg4MaatUj1K_7IeVbcmEx0qhEvr8Sp0GhcU4qepibehWp9JhkCtI6N1IFT727TfhVYAxSuOAzVSL9C8quim2wFUPfM&sz=w948-h706&ats=1483463555067&rm=1596531d0cea81c6&zw&atsh=1" />Lesley Kagenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01539836763345796619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2462218920284594970.post-21274462960381551162017-01-02T04:42:00.005-08:002017-01-02T04:42:47.276-08:00SO FUN. SO GRATEFUL. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZSUSKIqhWjOOjE1ninJXrP57mb6k2R2sa_IvDvq19XRwKKwe43A4pd3ssPFDcPmQWn-TY2RsprUQDuyGNCseFTWf5Az-WOwvaBxkHgI4PAvjk4Ivx8rVL3zUVRLvLPkpYoq2mKpHuxTA/s1600/kindle+first+image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZSUSKIqhWjOOjE1ninJXrP57mb6k2R2sa_IvDvq19XRwKKwe43A4pd3ssPFDcPmQWn-TY2RsprUQDuyGNCseFTWf5Az-WOwvaBxkHgI4PAvjk4Ivx8rVL3zUVRLvLPkpYoq2mKpHuxTA/s640/kindle+first+image.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Lesley Kagenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01539836763345796619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2462218920284594970.post-90247766100141400612016-12-18T06:04:00.001-08:002016-12-18T06:04:45.069-08:00Ho . . . ho . . . ho!<img alt="Image may contain: hat" src="https://scontent-ort2-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/15589618_1452227318120967_2613212681515382573_n.jpg?oh=876d8d89bd92610b9e2055f1e20e8ab2&oe=58B5DCF4" />Lesley Kagenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01539836763345796619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2462218920284594970.post-88559564929170461762016-09-28T08:05:00.005-07:002016-09-28T08:05:55.242-07:00EVERY PICTURE DOES TELL A STORY<br />
FACT: Covers can make or break a book.<br />
PROOF: I could tell you a ton of stories about authors getting stuck with unsuitable, nay, cringe-worthy, covers, me being one of those authors.<br />
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Because it's rare for writers to be allowed to give anything more than what publishers call, "Meaningful input," during the cover selection process, which actually means,"We picked this cover and now we expect you to meaningfully tell us you like it," imagine how thrilled I was to have the opportunity this time out to give my editor at Lake Union, Kelli Martin, my two cents worth from the get-go.<br />
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Because the story is sent during a patch of Indian summer weather in the 1950s, and our narrator is an eleven-year-old girl, I desperately wanted the cover to capture the feel of the story in an autumnal, nostalgic, and innocently charming way and, thank goodness, my saintly editor agreed with me.<br />
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After throwing around a few ideas and searching the internet--most cover images are found on the www.-- Kelli and I realized that the only way we were going to make our dream cover a reality was to find an artist who could create an <i>original</i> piece, so the very talented Rachel Adam was brought into the picture.<br />
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So after much back-and-forth-ing between the three of us and other creative forces at Lake Union . . . ta da! We're nuts about it, and here's hoping that you, dear reader, love it, too.<br />
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Hugs. Lesley<br />
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Lesley Kagenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01539836763345796619noreply@blogger.com1