When did you first know you wanted to write?
transferred
a lot. About every three years we packed everything up and headed for
another army
base in yet another province. This time the destination was Camp
Petawawa in
Ontario, a good two-day trip by car from where we lived in Quebec.
Besides my
parents, and me, I had a baby sister and two older brothers who were
sixteen and
seventeen. The boys were tall and gangly and both so ticked about
having to
move again, they were sullen and rude. Oh wait, come to think of it, they’d
been that
way for at least four years. (Having raised two teenagers myself, I now
know rude
and sullen is just business as usual for that age group.)
We also had
a German Shepherd so huge, he looked like a science experiment
gone
terribly awry. And of course there was our ginger cat, Sandy. So picture these
six people,
two animals, luggage, and food for two days. Now imagine all of them
crammed in a
1958 Volkswagen Beetle because that’s what my dad drove.
rest of the
luggage on the roof rack. My mom and dad sat in the front; my sister
nestled in
my mom’s lap while I perched on the gearshift atop a feather pillow. My
brothers
squeezed into the back seat, knees pressing into the seats in front. The dog
lumbered
into the back with them, and contentedly settled his hundred or so odd
pounds
across their skinny laps.
But hold up!
What about the cat? Where did he go, you ask?
Not a
problem! When you moved as much as we did, you get to be quite inventive.
My father
had built a wooden box. The bottom and the back end had solid walls.
But the
front, sides and top were constructed out of chicken wire. Mom put in some
litter and a
bowl of water and a can of tasty cat food. Then they popped old Sandy in
the box and
plunked the box on the roof of the Beetle. Dad piled some luggage along
the side and
back of the box, but left the front facing traffic, free and clear so Sandy
would get
lots of fresh air.
Then we took
off down the Trans-Canada Highway at sixty miles an hour.
Eight hours
later we stumbled out of the car. Mom told my father to get Sandy down
so he could “stretch
his little legs”. Dad laboriously unknotted the rope he’d used to
tie down the
box, and finally lowered the box to the ground. We all huddled around
staring down
into the box.
“Oh the poor
little mite must have been starving!” cooed my mom. “Look if he hasn’t
eaten all
that food and water I put in!”
The bowls
were indeed empty. The force of the wind had swept the litter box
toward
Sandy, pinning him against the back wall. His eyes were as wide and
haunted
looking. The fur on his face and head was stiff and encrusted with all the
water, cat food,
and litter that had blown into it during his journey through hell.
Mom shook
her head and said worriedly, “I hope he was a good boy and used his
litter box.”
It was then,
that I first itched for a piece of paper and a pen. I knew somebody had
to record
and attest to the sheer madness of the moment. As soon as we all filed into
the Pink
Flamingo Motel looking like extras from the movie Deliverance, I grabbed a
pen and
started writing.
And I’ve
never stopped. Although when my kids were young, I mostly wrote stories
in my mind.
I waited until they left home before I put pen to paper and wrote my
first novel,
Dying For Sex. But I think you’ll
find that I haven’t lost my sense of the
ridiculous
and that this funny murder mystery will keep you laughing and guessing
till the very end.
About Lynn Albrecht:
Lynn C. Albrecht started her career in broadcasting. Quickly realizing she was not going to be the next Lisa Laflamme, she entered the world of corporate communications. After years of writing videos, speeches, advertising, and dressing in power suits with shoulders pads that made her look like Hunter Hearst Helmsley, she had a great epiphany. She ditched the shoulder pads and returned to school. Five years later, she was released into the unsuspecting healthcare system as a social worker. She works at St. Mary’s General Hospital in Kitchener, Ontario.
Lynn lives in Baden, Ontario with her infinitely patient husband, John Belton.
Dying For Sex is her first book. She is currently hard at work on the second Lindy Sutton mystery.
Dying For Sex is her first book. She is currently hard at work on the second Lindy Sutton mystery.
About Dying for Sex:
Lindy Sutton has her hands full. In between having her clown act clobbered by pint-sized critics, keeping a group of sex-crazed octogenarians from starting brawls in the raciest bar in town, and trying to keep her crazy Aunt Pip from being tossed out of Laughing Pines retirement home, she still has to contend with her son’s garish band bus parked in her driveway. Could things get any worse? Yup! Margaret Quaid, the social worker at Laughing Pines is found dead of an apparent overdose and the drop dead handsome detective on the case, thinks she stole the drugs from the retirement home and was pretty active in the world of wife swapping to boot. Lindy’s temper soars, along with her long dormant hormones, as she sets out to clear Margaret’s name, find the murderer and make the sexy detective eat crow. Aided and abetted by the aging but flamboyant Chappy Lowton, her eccentric and sarcastic sister, her best friend Patty, and that hoard of sex-crazed geriatrics, Lindy wades into the world of swingers only to find that there are plenty of people with a motive to kill the social worker. http://lynncalbrecht.comSocial Links:
· Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/
Where to Purchase:
· Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/
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