Plot and Bothered: Luxe paperback

"-A dangerous criminal escaped from the nearby Crixley Institution. Please be on the lookout for a-”

“Can we turn that down?” I jerked my head up from behind my computer screen and yelled in the vague direction of the downstairs studio.

“—in other local news, a brand new fashion exhibition is coming to the Crookshollow Museum, featuring some of the hottest designers of the last decade, and the neighborhood feud over a pet duck reaches new heights as—"

“What’s that?” Quoth yelled back. “You want us to put on some Motown?”

“—And now, for the weather, this cold front we’ve been monitoring looks to be closing in, which means that we could be in for a wet week ahead—”

“No Motown.” I deleted the email address I’d written incorrectly for the third time. “I just want you to turn the volume down—”

The door to my office flung open all the way. Oscar lifted his head from my foot as Morrie poked his around the corner. “Gorgeous, I heard you yelling about how much you hate clowns. Is a clown bothering you? Is one of those sadistic, rouged, banana-foot flamingos keeping you from your work? Fear not, because I’m here to help. I’ll make certain no clown ever darkens your doorstep again—”

“You don’t need to go on a clown-murdering spree,” I sighed. “I just want you guys to turn the radio down. I can’t concentrate with all the noise.”

“Oh, sorry.” Morrie frowned. “It’s just that Smooth Loamshire is giving away a lifetime supply of cheesecakes to the first caller who hears the magic sound, and I was hoping to win it for the wedding. I know how much you love cheesecake.”

He’s…what?

I rested my elbows on my desk and glared in the vague direction of the Napoleon of Crime. “Heathcliff already has Oliver baking round the clock on some elaborate dessert concoction that I’m not allowed to know anything about. I don’t think we need a lifetime supply of cheesecake.”

Even with my poor eyesight, I could tell Morrie was making his pouting face. “If you recall, you insisted we invite the whole village to this shindig. Never underestimate the abilities of a horde of polite British party guests to decimate the dessert buffet. I’m simply being pragmatic.”

“Fine, but you’re the world’s foremost criminal mastermind, in possession of deep coffers filled with ill-gotten gains. Surely you can purchase your own cheesecakes?”

“That’s not the point. I’m trying to be romantic.” Morrie pouted. “Heathcliff gets to plan a whole wedding for you. Quoth’s downstairs creating yet another artistic masterpiece that will have you swooning. All I’m allowed to do is show up and look pretty, which granted, is a job to which I am particularly well-suited, but I’d like to swoop in as the cheesecakesupplying hero, or some other hero who will romantically save the day and have you kneeling at my feet—”

“Luckily, I have just the job for you. Can you romantically turn the volume down?” I peered over my computer screen and the piles of embossed paper my Braille printer was still spitting out. “I’ve got the last of my press invites to send out, and then I have to get the edited manuscript to Jerry over at Argleton Print or he won’t be able to print enough copies in time forthe launch party.”

I ran my fingers along my Braille display, checking over the text of my email for what must have been the thirtieth time. I’d been training for months on using a screen reader – software on my phone and laptop that figured out what was on screen and allowed me to use keyboard commands to navigate and do pretty much anything a sighted person could do. Usually, I had the screen reader read out what was on screen, but when I was working on my book, I preferred to use the Braille display. When the computer reads to you, it doesn’t pick out when you drop an apostrophe or use here instead of hair. But with the Braille display, I could check every word, phrase, and sentence with my fingers to make sure that they were perfect.

I needed everything about this book to be perfect.

I’d spent the last two months since I got back from the Meddleworth Writers Retreat (where I didn’t do much writing but we did solve a doozy of a murder) holed up in this room for nine hours a day, frantically polishing my debut novel. I’d written a fictionalized version of what happened to me over the last two years – getting !red from my dream fashion job, returning to the small English village where I’d grown up, getting a job in a magical bookshop, solving a murder (or eight), finding out that I’m the daughter of the blind poet Homer, slaying literature’s most infamous vampire, and falling in love with Heathcliff Earnshaw, James Moriarty, and Quoth the raven.

Even without my fictional embellishments, the story would never pass for a biography. Which was probably just as well that I was publishing it under a pseudonym, since I’d filled it with loads of smut. Hey, sex sells, right?

I wanted my book to help people heal after a setback. And all romance readers understand the healing powers of multiple orgasms.

I’d come to Nevermore Bookshop broken and lonely. I thought my diagnosis meant that my life was over. Instead, I stumbled into adventures I never imagined possible, and I fell in love with three beautiful, impossible men, and somehow (partially through the healing power of great cock), I learned to love myself again.

I realized that my disability was part of me, but it didn’t have to define me.

Now, I was ready to share that story with the world. And hopefully, make some money.

Owning a bookshop that’s forced to compete against The-Store-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named wasn’t exactly a road to riches, and I had bills to pay and guide dog food to purchase and a grandmother cat with six baby kittens who needed to be kept in the lifestyle to which they’d become accustomed.

I didn’t just want to write a book, I wanted a career where my creative spirit could thrive, like the career in fashion I’d given up when I started losing my sight.

I decided to self-publish my book after my writing friend Christina showed me how she uploaded hers to The-Store-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named, created a paperback that prints on demand whenever someone orders it, and arranged for all her fancy London literary friends to blurb and review it. She was doing really well, and I was hoping a little bit of her magic would rub off on me.

Which was why I was trying to organize the biggest book launch that Nevermore Bookshop had ever seen.

The evening after my wedding.

Because I was bonkers.

Originally, the wedding and book launch were going to be a month apart, but Heathcliff had some issues with our original venue and Cynthia offered us Lachlan Hall, but only if we could do it the day before the book launch.

When Heathcliff first suggested the idea, I thought it would be a fun way to extend the celebrations and enable our out-of town friends to attend both events if they wanted.

Reader, I was wrong.

Nevermore Bookshop Mysteries
Book 1 - A Dead and Stormy Night
Book 2 - Of Mice and Murder
Book 3 - Pride and Premeditation
Book 4 - Memoirs of a Garroter
Book 5 - Prose and Cons
Book 6 - A Novel Way to Die
Book 7 - Much Ado About Murder
Book 8 - Crime and Publishing
Book 9 - Plot and Bothered
Novella - How Heathcliff Stole Christmas