Oh, Heavens, Miss Havana!

My husband, a photography buff, even slipped out of our hotel room in the middle of one foggy night to get artsy pictures with our new digital camera of the fort, hoping to catch the ghost. He captured no ghost, but plenty of stunning photographs. One night we even sat, spellbound, as a Lake Huron thunderstorm pounded wildly at our wall of windows. It was as if we were gazing at a tumultuous ocean. Then one day someone, in a cubbyhole of a local hamburger joint, over our lunch, said something about the ice bridge , as the islanders called it. During the dead of winter, when the straits froze over, it was a narrow path that stretched about four miles across the ice that separated Mackinac Island from the St.

The locals would drive in old Christmas trees along the path to show the way, to show it was now safe. To them the ice bridge meant freedom to come and go for up to two months a year without paying ferryboat or airplane fees. To me it sparked an idea for my next book…what if someone crossed the ice bridge one wintry night and fell through the ice? And disappeared…maybe even died? I started asking questions of the locals: Had someone ever fallen through the ice and perished?

Turns out over the years, that yes, some people actually had. Or in a snowstorm. Some were saved, dragged out, and some had not been. The rest of the trip I looked at the Island with different eyes.

See a Problem?

I filed away the memories and the home-grown stories recounted to me. The novel would be about a woman, Charlotte , jilted in love, coming back to heal and visit her poignant childhood playground, and her lonely Aunt Bess. Had Hannah been murdered by someone…. When my husband and I returned home, refreshed and happy, I started it right away, with the memories of lovely Mackinac still fresh in my mind. A tiny piece of old-fashioned paradise. The book came easily to me. And so The Ice Bridge was born.

About Kathryn Meyer Griffith I began writing novels at 21 and have had fourteen nine romantic horror, one historical romance, one romantic suspense, one romantic time travel and two murder mysteries previous novels and eight short stories published from Zebra Books, Leisure Books, Avalon Books, The Wild Rose Press, Damnation Books and Eternal Press. We have two quirky cats, Sasha and Cleo, and the four of us live happily in an old house in the heart of town.

Novels and short stories from Kathryn Meyer Griffith: Damnation Books Buy Link: A Time of Demons Damnation Books Damnation Books buy link: You Tube self-made Book trailer with original song http: The Woman in Crimson Damnation Books Eternal Press Buy Link: You Tube Book Trailer Link: E-mail me at rdgriff htc. I recently completed Oh, Heavens, Miss Havana! While The Substitute was written for the fun of it, with no objective except to make people laugh, the sequel covers many seedy social issues in a comical way. In fact, the book is written like a saw blade, with sharp transitions that will make the reader grimace in one moment, and laugh out loud in the next.

In The Substitute , Miss Havana proved more conniving and evil than Lucifer, and eventually caused him great pain. The plot was both complex and simple. Simple because it depicted a war between shades of darkness; complex because it presented an accurate account of the rise of the Antichrist. I tried to follow biblical teaching, but presented the story in comical ways.

In fact the Antichrist would have won, except for the insertion of Miss Havana in the mix. Yes, Miss Havana played an instrumental role in defeating Lucifer, but she did so for all the wrong reasons. She likes the way she is and sees reason to change. But she performs a single selfless act during her afterlife, and there are unintended consequences associated with that, even if done for the wrong reasons.

I wanted to gradually transition her character from a horrid state-of-soul in hell, to a kinder, gentler state-of-soul at the outskirts of heaven, yet retain her core evil nature.

In fact, I wanted to gradually increase her decency and likeability without her knowing she was growing as a spirit. It was a tough road to walk as an author. While she could act in evil and depraved ways, she always did so with the best of intentions. She eventually assumes the role of The Angel of Death, and begins stumbling into social horrors, like domestic violence, serial killers, terrorism, the sex slave trade, orgies, snuff clubs and piracy.

At one point, she even borrows a few dozen high-risk demons from her daughter, Lilith, the absolute ruler of the underworld, and releases them on the surface.

Cookin' with Miss Havana: Review: The Long Shooters by Daniel C. Chamberlain

The complex social issues Miss Havana deals with are so terrifying it was difficult to discuss with them in a gentle way, especially while keeping comedy in the loop. The excerpt below gives some insight into how the comedy was approached with one serial killer. For those of you who read The Substitute , you will recognize that Miss Havana is creating a pit of judgment on the surface for The Reaper, very much like she created eternal pits of ironic judgment when she ruled as The Queen of Darkness. The Reaper jumps out of the truck and heads toward the tool shed with apparent purpose.

I drift along behind him and watch as he loads his backpack. When he picks up the fully-charged Multi-Cutter, I take over and speak to his mind in the same low growl that caused so many to shit themselves when I dispensed judgment below. Are we going out for a stroll? He crouches down, opens a small door under his workbench and pulls out The Judge, a Taurus pistol capable of accommodating either shotgun rounds or.

Whoever whispered to him is close, he knows that, but he has no idea just how close. He slams himself against the wall and peers out through the small window toward the house but sees nothing. He slides his back down the wall and stares at the door. Only his ragged breathing penetrates the silence.

Oh Heavens, Miss Havana!

Leaves rustling outside become an ominous and immediate threat. Using both hands to control his the tremble that consumes his body, he points the revolver toward the door. His breathing quickens; he waits. Breath degrades to the shallow puffs of the dying while his heart beat hammers against his ear drums and his eyes dart around the small space that is growing smaller by the second. The death knoll of the hunted chews at his stomach; bile fills his esophagus.

The terror his victims felt the last few minutes of their lives invades his mind. I like the irony of this, and believe Lilith would enjoy it too. I wish she were here to play this game with me. I will play it out until he quits, but he will never play again. His fear gives rise to a massive urge to defecate, something I should encourage. He pisses and shits himself. I love this, but my fun has just begun. I take over partial control of his body, enough to command his muscles, but not to feel his pain. I gently set the revolver on the floor while he fights to keep it, and then reach for the cutter.

I hold it before his eyes, turning it on and off for effect. Its gentle whirr is comforting to me, almost like music, but the sound strikes terror in his heart. Lilith really should get some of these. I make a few shallow cuts across his opposite arm, being careful to avoid bleeder veins and arteries, and am delighted the device cuts fabric as easily as flesh. He screams in pain. The cut is indeed ragged; I had hoped for that. In Oh, Heavens, Miss Havana! Controlling Miss Jackie, Miss Havana confronts serious social issues head-on, and does so in a comical way.

There are many pertinent requests for advice related to that topic, and even though the Internet advice was a joke, the concept was good. To use a general response, I need a general question, so I create a composite request for advice from many individual letters. If a man is lucky enough to have a dog that loves him unconditionally, but kicks the dog every day when he comes home, even the dog will grow to hate him. I am that dog. I know that now. He stamped out any love we shared years ago. How can I cut this cancer out of my life? Sincerely, Ready to Move On.

I stretch my arms, interlace my fingers and crack my knuckles as I prepare to write a stinging response of truth. Hand him this column with one hand while taking the key to your apartment back with the other. I am tired of trying to make ends meet with your leftovers. Your inability to find and keep a job eliminates you from both the list of hunters and gatherers.

~ My interviews with many authors

Our dining experiences have left my wallet a little lighter, and your pants a lot tighter! Take your piece of cardboard to some other corner. Your last name is so objectionable I can't imagine taking it or hyphenating it. Everything is about you, always, and you have repeatedly failed the twenty question rule. I ask twenty questions about you before you ask one about me.

Your constant e-mailing and texting confirms it. You have too much time on your hands—go to work! You are dull and stupid. Even though you claim a photographic memory, you lack film. Y our inability to fix my car or anything else is extraordinarily unappealing. Light travels faster than sound, which is the reason you appear bright until you open your mouth. Your wardrobe of sports uniforms is also childish. Any son we might produce would, without a doubt, be beaten up at recess.

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Thank God we only had girls. Set your sights lower next time. Good luck with that. If you go around acting like an asshole all the time, eventually you'll be covered in shit. Re-read the real answer to number one above. The writing is outstanding, as is the editing. I loved reading it; I wanted to read more. The pace was fast and the topic interesting. In fact, this story could easily be expanded to a full-length novel, and would keep readers on the edge its entire expanded length. It is the Point of View I prefer.

Only creepy music would have made these monsters more threatening. Remember the movie Tremors? They are a lot smarter, equally persistent and can hunt you down wherever you live. If your house has a second story, that might be a good place to read about them. But all of this often leaves us facing three sets of problems: What else can you do with it, though?

I have never fancied myself a fan of westerns, but The Long Shooters is much more than a western. It is an intriguing mystery novel set in a western venue at a time during and shortly after the Civil War. It is also a novel that penetrates the thoughts and feelings of highly-skilled assassins of the time — perhaps of any time. In , Shaw, a former Captain in the Union army and accomplished long-range rifleman, is hired to protect a mining claim. He does so with deadly force, killing a would-be claim jumper with a shot from across the valley.

But Shaw is more than a hired gun.

Like peeling a delicious onion, the story reveals layer after layer of deception as Shaw follows subtle leads to find the man who did the killing … and all others involved as well. It is a masterful tale of suspense, punctuated with an exquisite knowledge of the weaponry and events of the time. The Long Shooters also intertwines a moving love story.

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In his depression, Samuel pushes his beautiful young wife, Sarah, so far away emotionally as to destroy the love they once shared. Sarah is attracted to Shaw because of his strong an upright character, but repelled by him because of the violence he represents. The dilemmas Sarah faces are as real as the story is fascinating.

Ballou is one of the most well-known and feared assassins in the world and the interplay of wits and skill between Shaw and Ballou play out as the story builds to a breathtaking conclusion.