SUSPENSE AUTHOR DONNELL ANN BELL'S GRANDMOTHERLY CONFESSION & ROLE REVERSALS

The Author and her Grandson on the Night in Question

Award-winning suspense author Donnell Ann Bell gave up her non-writing fiction career in newspapers and magazines because she was obsessed with the notion she could write a mystery or thriller. Black Pearl, her latest release, is a finalist in the 2020 Colorado Book Awards for Best Thriller. Learn more about Donnell and her books at her website. 

Role Reversal and Grandmotherly Confessions

My mother used to say she’d never be a mother-in-law or a grandmother. She also claimed she had three only children. So, when it came to family, I think she may have had issues. I thought the mother-in-law/grandmother statements rather odd as one doesn’t generally get a choice in the matter. 

Don’t get me wrong; my mother isn’t a selfish human being. She’s a retired registered nurse who genuinely loves helping people. She just didn’t enjoy the stigma that went along with the older woman titles.

As I got older and approached the mother-in-law stage and grandmother title, I understood a bit of what she was trying to say. I was also correct that my children didn’t consult me when the time came, and made me a mother-in-law and a grandmother, without so much as a by your leave.

Here’s the clincher, with the title of grandmother, my children asked me to babysit. I was happy to do it if they remained close by and I could ask for guidance. I mean, have you seen all the changes that have occurred in the last thirty years?  Babies no longer sleep on their stomachs; car seats are designed straight out of NASA. There are monitors everywhere that I’m told the FBI envies. What if I did something wrong?

My grown children laughed at me. “Mom, you’ll be fine. Here’s the monitor. Text us if there’s a problem.”

I paid attention to all of my, “Mom, these are your instructions,” which brought back a little PTSD as I remember asking the nurse before leaving the hospital when my daughter was born…”Could you show me how to put that diaper on one more time?”

Okay, I wasn’t born with a maternal gene—there I’ve said it.

  

Anyway, my instructions were simple. As soon as my grandson took his bottle, I was to change his diaper, put him in his sleep sack, lay him face up in his crib, tell him goodnight, turn on the nightlight, the white noise, the monitor, and slip out of the room. Simple instructions, right?

You might as well have told me I would be performing open-heart surgery. My son and daughter and their spouses are so regimented. And get this, their systems work. They can put their children down at night and leave the room! Can you believe it?

Me? My grandson must’ve sensed my anxiety because I followed my instructions to the letter. Bottle, check. Diaper, check. Sleep Sack…. This is where I may have messed up. Poor grandson, he wasn’t the least bit sleepy after I got through trying to get that contraption on. He was wide-eyed and petrified that this woman didn’t have a clue what she was doing.

At that, I did what any grandmother in her right mind would do. I reverted to my old ways. I took that little boy out of his crib, walked him for a solid two hours, then collapsed in the rocking recliner. My son texted me to see how things were going. Grandson and I were so proud, we sent him a selfie. Then my daughter came home, smiled sadly, shook her head at me and took a picture as well. 

All right. I may not have a grandmother gene, but I love these children fiercely and nothing’s going to happen on my watch. 

My kids have taught me so much. I am blessed to have amazing daughters-in-law. They’re pretty patient with me. As the children get older, I’m the best Grammy in the world as far as playing with them and keeping them entertained. But that newbie business is downright terrifying.

Clearly, a bit of role reversal has happened in the last thirty years. 

Black Pearl

A cold case heats up when a 9-1-1 call puts police at a Denver murder scene pointing investigators to the abduction of a Colorado teenager fourteen years before. The connection? A calling card—a single black pearl—is found on the newest victim. Is the murder a copycat? Or has a twisted serial killer, thought dead or in prison, returned to kill again?

The hunt for a multi-state killer is on and brings together an unexpected team: a Denver Major Crimes police lieutenant; an FBI special agent who investigated the previous murders, a rookie FBI agent with a specialty in psychology; and the only living victim of the Black Pearl Killer is now a cop.

For Special Agent Brian DiPietro, the case is an opportunity to find answers. For Officer Allison Shannon, the case will force her to face down the town that blamed her for surviving when another did not. And for both DiPietro and Shannon, it’s a chance to find closure to questions that have tormented them both for years.

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BOOK CLUB FRIDAY--AUTHOR NANCY NAU SULLIVAN'S INSPIRATION FOR HER MEMOIR

Nancy Nau Sullivan’s memoir The Last Cadillac won two Eric Hoffer awards. Her first mystery, Saving Tuna Street, will be released in June 2020. She has a master’s degree in journalism from Marquette University and worked at newspapers in the Midwest. Learn more about her and her books at her website.

Writing a Memoir

My memoir started with an explosion of sorts: My mother died, my marriage crashed, and my father announced he was leaving Indiana and coming to live with me and the kids on an island in Florida. It wasn’t an easy time. My siblings accused me of “kidnapping” Dad. He had a number of health problems, and I had no idea how to deal with illnesses of the elderly, particularly cancer and dementia. But my dad and I were close. I couldn’t disappoint him. I wanted to take care of him – and at the same time do the best for my two kids still at home. And so began my memoir The Last Cadillac …

As a newspaper journalist, I was drawn to writing it all down. On occasion, I’d written feature articles about the “sándwich generation.” Now, suddenly, I was in the sándwich – in the middle between caring for my elderly parent on one side and the young ones on the other. I began to see that whether planned or not, most of us end up being caregivers, or being cared for.  Many of these caregivers told me their stories, and I had to tell mine.

There is no manual for this sort of family adventure, and it was not my intention to write one. But I felt strongly I had to write about what I did right and what I did wrong, and there was plenty of the latter.

Even as I was driven to write my book, the effort seemed doomed from the start. For one, I hardly had time to think straight about what was happening one day to the next. Dad would wake up hobbled with leg or back pain; the kids had all sorts of activities: cheerleading, soccer, birthday parties. And all along, I jotted down events and bits of dialogue as we went “down life’s path” (Dad).

Getting to the heart was essential.  I trained myself to stay focused on the message – about care giving while juggling life:

I knew where my story would begin – with Dad’s announcement that he was coming to live with us – and I knew where it would end. With his death. It took me a long time to write that ending. The middle was a never-ending series of mishaps and discoveries about how to stay on my feet. (Loving mostly every minute, as it turned out.)

The message kept me going and moved me along. I had a point and I stuck to it. I was writing a warning, of sorts, but I tried to be encouraging, and some of it was pretty funny. At least, that’s what they tell me, and I have to look back on some of it and laugh.

  

One standout from all of it was that much of the drama, disappointment, and sometimes disaster could have been averted with better planning and communication. I blame all of us for not cooling off, sitting down, and really communicating (especially the listening part).  As a family, we did nothing to prepare for any of it.  My parents didn’t talk about money – “How vulgar!” And my mother never used the word “cancer” when she got sick. It was “The Big C.” We talked a lot, but we did not communicate very well. With the divorce, and the kids, and then Dad and all my personal problems, I didn’t take into consideration that my siblings had just lost their mother – and now they were going to lose their father to Florida some 1200 miles away.

 But we got through it. I wrote the story, which now has been dubbed “a must-read for caregivers” and “a common sense and humorous guide to surviving family relationships.” I hope it helps some people. Most of us have parents and relatives we are concerned about, and we will need to take care of them. I didn’t see it coming, nor did I do anything to prevent it when the situation presented itself almost overnight. I tried to enjoy it, and learn something from it. I did see, finally, that humor and love worked in our favor. But I didn’t have to write a book to know that. A lot of love was always there.

The Last Cadillac, a Memoir

Middle-age is challenging enough, but when Nancy Nau Sullivan suddenly finds herself caring for two children, grappling with her mother’s death, and caring for her ailing father while at the same time navigating a contentious divorce and dealing with long-simmering sibling rivalries, she wonders how she can keep herself sane. Things get even more complicated when her siblings accuse her of “kidnapping” their father and carting him and his Cadillac off to Anna Maria Island, Florida, where they are greeted by Hurricane Josephine. In this gripping memoir, Sullivan guides the reader through the chaotic whirlwind of unexpected and unwanted change and offers a common sense and humorous guide to surviving family relationships.

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