Thursday 31 October 2013

Just in time for Halloween…More from Morticia’s Massage Parlour and Advice Academy

(as seen in The Sage)

By Melodie Campbell
Try Morticia’s relaxing noose therapy (patent pending)
We’ll have you dead calm in minutes…

Dear Morticia
I am a novice writer attempting my first novel.  Can you give me any advice?
Signed, Steven Kingsley

Dear Steve;
To be honest, I’m not much of a fiction writer.  I have lots of great plots, but sadly, my characters are lifeless.

Dear Morticia;
Are you personally acquainted with any spirits?
Signed, Tele Pathic

Dear Tel;
Natch. I’ve gotten to know Jack Daniels quite well over the years.  I’m also acquainted with Johnny Walker (…deadly for long spells, frankly my dear).

Dear Morticia;
Whatever shall I do?  My eighty year old father has just been arrested for exposing himself – do you think they can make it stick?
Signed, Aghast in Agincourt

Dear Ag;
Couldn’t say for sure.  I once knew a ghost who was caught flashing, but they couldn’t pin anything on him.

Dear Morticia;
I’m a firm believer in the Occult and participate regularly in séances.  Are you a medium?
Signed, Spirtually Inclined

Dear Inc;
Nope, I’m a large.  Especially where it counts, hon.

Dear Morticia;
Do you actually get all this ridiculous mail, or do you make it up yourself?
Signed Skeptic

Dear Skep;
Of course I don’t make it up!  I have a ghostwriter.

Melodie Campbell writes funny books, like THE GODDAUGHTER’S REVENGE.  You can find them at Chapters and online at Amazon and most other retailers.

Monday 28 October 2013

A GUY AND HIS STUFF - more comedy from Bad Girl

Something went very wrong in my life several years ago:  I married a hoarder.

Our basement is a serious hazard.  Experienced tracking dogs could get lost in there.  Entire families have been known to disappear down the stairs without a trace, only to reappear days later with enough furnishings to equip a three-bedroom townhouse.

I think there should be a law that prevents hoarders from setting up house with purgers, and in fact, I would suggest the following revision to the standard wedding vows:  “Do you promise to love, honour and refrain from filling the basement with 25 years worth of junk…”

Now lest you think I ruthlessly discard priceless family heirlooms, let me give you an abridged – VERY abridged - list of the contents of our basement:

A complete set of Road and Track magazines dating back to 1978, augmented by Car and Driver, Hot Rod, and Popular Mechanics;

The left mirror from a 1969 bronze Firebird (nothing else, just the mirror; the rest of the car died in 1977);

Sections of an electric slot car racing track dating back to 1960;

Nine defunct cameras;

Unknown fabric objects that might at one time have passed for clothing;

Assorted pieces of wood, wire and metal tubing;

Various and sundry car parts, fan belts, mats and cigarette lighters from Triumph Spitfires, Lotus Europas, Pontiac TransAms, all of which are no longer made, no longer running, and no longer owned, but the parts “might come in handy some day.”

I suggested a garage sale once.  This went over with the kind of enthusiasm that might be associated with a mass accident on the Gardiner Expressway.  Conversation went something like this:

Wife:  “We need to have a garage sale.”

Husband (aghast):  “What are you talking about?  We don’t have anything to sell!”

Wife:  “What about those ‘Welcome to the Slag Pits of Ontario TV tables over there?”

Husband (clutching said items to chest):  “You gotta be kidding!  They don’t make ‘em like this anymore!”

As for the last twenty years, I only have myself to blame. Love is blind. Instead of gazing into his eyes, I should have looked in his room


A PURSE TO DIE FOR will soon be available on iTune, Kobo and Nook!
You can preorder for the one-time SALE price of .99!

Here are the links.  On Dec. 7, the book will be $3.99.  So get yourself a bargain by preordering today!


 Top 100 Mystery,, Jan. 2013!

The victim wore haute couture…

When fashionista and television celeb Gina Monroe goes home to attend the funeral of her late grandmother, the last thing she expects to encounter is murder. And the reading of the will is anything but fashionable as unanswered questions arise. Who is the dead woman in the woods behind the family house? And why is she dressed in Milano designer clothes?

With help from her cousin Tony and Detective Rob Dumont, Gina investigates the not-so-model citizens around her. When another murder occurs, a pattern slowly emerges. Did Gina's grandmother die naturally—or were there really three murders? What’s more treacherous than navigating a pack of society matrons at a designer sale?

Stalking a killer…

Friday 18 October 2013

How Close is Too Close when writing Mob Fiction? Bad Girl explains her Sicilian roots....

Have you ever wondered how close to the truth we fiction writers get when writing about the mob?

Yes, I write screwball comedy capers.  Still, I had to wait until certain relatives died before writing The Goddaughter series.

Learn more, in my post today on The Author's Blog

Monday 14 October 2013

Bad Girl's What Not to Wear (and what's left...)

I just emptied my closet of everything that doesn’t fit.  Hoo boy.  Have I been living in a dream world.  On the other hand, I can find all four remaining items quickly now.  (okay, six.)

Three sizes of clothes were in that closet. Three.  Sizes one and two (not their real names) were obviously made in China, where voluptuous is a concept rarely understood. 

Itemized list of remaining items:

1.      One sapphire blue chiffon evening gown, cut to there.  Yup, requires a special bra, one of those ‘plunge’ bras (and I don’t mean push up.)  I call this dress “my last hurrah.” See, my theory is, people are so mesmerized watching to see if the girls are going to fall out, that they don’t notice the rest of the bod.  (Don’t knock it – works for me.)

2.       One not horrible silk kimono tunic top.  Cost the earth (meaning more than 50 bucks.)  The current ‘go-to’ favourite for book signings.  (Now, the only choice for book signings.)  Also blue.  Seeing a trend here.

3.       One pair of boring black pants.  The ones with the adjustable waistline, and by that I mean a choice of two buttons.  (I tried elastic once.  Not on my A list.  I don’t contract well under pressure.  Remember those baby dolls from the 60s? You squeezed and they let out a burp…nuff said.)

4.       My funeral dress.  Black. Shapeless.  I was hoping it didn’t fit.  Wish it were blue.

5.       One navy and emerald green Nygard designer jacket that goes with nothing.  (Of course, there’s nothing left for it to go with.  I’ve just given it all away.)

6.      A blouse I hate.  But it fits.  (That’s why I hate it.)

It looks lonely in there.  Think I better empty the dresser drawers and hang up some sweaters.  And maybe a yoga pant or two.  Bras?  The hang in stores, don’t they?  Do cotton nightgowns count? 

Of course, clearing out a closet after seven years (the last time we moved) is a lot of work.  Some might say, it is more work than losing a few pounds to get back into some of these clothes.  (Okay, so I’m going to hell for that lie.  Humour me.)

But I have a theory about that.   Everybody knows if you want to get pregnant, forget about taking your temperature and all that crap; the quickest way to get pregnant it is to give away your maternity clothes.  So I figure…give away my thin clothes, and I’m BOUND to lose weight

Sunday 6 October 2013

She's Back! The Worst of 'Morticia's Massage Parlour and Advice Academy'

You asked for it - now live with it!  More from Morticia (reprinted with permission)

Get in shape with BODIES BY MORTICIA
...Select yours today!

Dear Morticia;
My wife can't go a day without playing bingo.  What's your impression of a woman like that?
Signed Fed Up

Dear Fed;
Sorry, I don't do impressions.  This is an advice column.

Dear Morticia;
My husband works shifts and comes home so tired he can barely carry on a conversation.  How can I keep him from falling asleep on me?
Signed, Frustrated

Dear Frust;
Push him off.  Next...

Dear Morticia;
Are you busy this weekend?  Party at my house - I finally got rid of my parents!
Signed, Home Alone

Dear Home;
That's nice.  Did you manage to make it look like an accident?

Dear Morticia;
My mother and I read your advice column every month and we are appalled by the ridiculous advice you give.  In fact, we can't believe you actually get paid to produce this kind of trashy garbage on a regular basis.
Signed Disgusted in Durham

Dear Gus;
Wait a mean they're supposed to pay ME?

Morticia will return to these pages if somebody doesn't kill her off first.

Melodie Campbell writes funny books. You can buy them at Chapters and Amazon. The Goddaughter’s Revenge now available.

Wednesday 2 October 2013


First published in The Globe and Mail. Reprinted with permission.

I’ve always been a curvy girl.  Even in youth, I had more in common with Sophia than Twiggy, and towards the end of the last decade, I was definitely in the Marilyn class.  But lately, there has been a slight shifting of the curves…a lower European drop, so to speak.  The crisis came last January, when the sweet little store Clerkette asked me when I was ‘due’.  For the record, I was done long ago.

It was obvious: this couldn’t go on.  This former beach babe was on track to becoming a beach ball.  Badly needed was a swift revision of the current eating strategy, which involved stuffing in as much as possible in order to avoid the famine that might just come in the next seven hundred years or so.    

First, I tried Weight Watchers.  Nice people and sound advice, but all the ‘counting’ had me thinking about food every hour.  I fetished over fruitcake.  I don’t even like fruitcake.  This was not for me.

In desperation, I turned to television.  Prepackaged food plans are all the rage on cable:  “Look at me!  I’m a Grandmother, and love prancing around in a bikini again…” Hey, that annoying person could be me, back in a size 2!  I was a size 2 in grade four. There had to be a sensible way of eating for life, that didn’t involve wacky obsessions.

Which got me thinking… thin people are thin because of how they eat.  And if I watched them carefully and copied them religiously, surely I would be thin in time, too?

Brilliant, I thought!  Piece of cake, I thought!  Why do all my idioms involve food?

I went in search of a role model.  Dianne came to mind, a tall blonde colleague, willowy slim.  She once told me that she hadn’t had butter in over 15 years.   I remembered a conversation we had during a conference. It was one-thirty, lunchtime had come and gone, and I was ravenous.  Leather portfolios were starting to look tasty.  

“Are you hungry?” Dianne said.  “I’m starving.  Do you want to go down and get a bowl of soup?  I could really do with a bowl of soup.”

We went down to the cafeteria.  I had a chicken salad sandwich with mayo and fries.  Dianne had a bowl of clear chicken soup with 4 soda crackers.  

"Oh, that was good,” she said.  “I’m stuffed.”  And she didn’t eat anything more until dinner at seven, when she had a large salad with no dressing.

Soup is the answer, no question.  I shall have a bowl of soup every day for lunch and not eat anything else until dinner.  I shall be as slim as Dianne, eventually.  Who needs crackers? 

7 a.m.:  I hate breakfast in the early morning.  Dianne never eats breakfast.  Coffee with milk (yuck) instead of cream and out the door.

10 a.m.:  In a meeting.  Will she ever shut up?  Somebody pass the muffins.  They’re pigs at that end of the table – pigs!  Oh yeah – I can’t have one.  I’m being good.

12 noon:  Soup!  I’m having soup and it’s really good.  Salty.  Chickeny.  It’s gone.  That was quick.  I’m feeling righteous.  This can work, I think.

1 p.m.:  Ate the 4 crackers that came with the soup.

2 p.m.:  Went searching for gum, breath mints, anything.

3 p.m.:  Snuck somebody’s Diet Coke from the fridge.

4 p.m.:  Screamed at my staff for talking.

5 p.m.:  Sobbed quietly in the washroom.

6 p.m.:  Raced home, setting new record.  Chewed all five pieces of sugarless gum left in the package, while shifting gears.

7 p.m.:  Ate salad of spinach, romaine, tomato, 1 egg, 1-ounce low-fat cheese, no dressing, while family munched leftover lasagna and trifle.

8 p.m.:  Yelled at the kids for talking.

9 p.m.:  Looked for snack.  Surely thin people have a snack before bed?  All that Easter chocolate hanging around.  What would a thin person eat?  Probably just one piece, and it would be dark chocolate for sure.  I broke off a small piece of bunny and swilled it down with skim milk.

2 a.m.:  Dreamt about food.  Glorious food.  Roast beef with Yorkshire, macaroni and cheese, cocktail parties with canapé.  Dianne was stuffing her face with Brie. 

4 a.m.:  Got up and ate the rest of the chocolate bunny.

            I’ve learned two things from my day of eating like a thin person.
  1. I will never be tall and blonde and thin.
  2. When you’re starving, toothpaste can be a food group.
Tomorrow is a new day and I am trying a new approach:  eat like two thin people.

 Melodie Campbell writes funny books.  The Goddaughter's Revenge is now available at Chapters, Barnes&Noble and Amazon.