VEGAS, BABY! In which Bad Girl explains how an imaginary Vegas hotel rocks the latest Goddaughter

By Melodie Campbell

Whether to use a real setting or make one up?  That is the question.

Butchering Shakespeare aside (which I do cheerfully, if not cleverly) all authors have to decide whether to set their novel in a real place or not.  There are advantages and disadvantages to each.

In the Goddaughter series, I set the books in a real place – Hamilton Ontario, also known as Steeltown, or The Hammer.  Everyone who has ever been over the Skyway bridge on the way to Toronto (one hour from Buffalo) will experience a taste of Hamilton.

“I live in The Hammer.  Our skyline includes steel plants.  We consider smog a condiment,” says Gina Gallo, the mob goddaughter of the series.

I don’t have to describe much to put you in that setting.  It’s sort of like New York or Paris.  Give a few landmarks we all know, plus in this case assault your mouth and nose with metallic fumes, and the author has put you there without endless description.

The problem with using a real setting is you need to know the place well, because if you make an innocent error, like forgetting that some streets are one way, you will get hundreds of irate emails from readers who know the place better than you do.

Luckily, I know Hamilton well.  I know where to buy the best cannoli (always my test re how well you know a place.)

I use real settings whenever I can.  Readers who live in the place love to see their town highlighted.  You can often get local media interested in your book.  And people new to the location often get a kick out of coming to know it, in a literal way. 

So when I moved book 6 of the Goddaughter series to Vegas, I had a dilemma. Here’s the thing.  So many people have been to Vegas, that you have to be very careful to ‘get it right.’  I was there a few years ago, and am very aware that things change.

It takes about 6 months for me to write a Goddaughter book.  Off it goes to the publisher, who takes about 15-18 months to get it out to stores.  That’s the thing about books.  Anything on the shelves right now was probably written two years ago.

In two years, things in Vegas change.  Hotels redecorate, and maybe change ownership. It became clear to me, that while I wanted this book to be clearly ‘Vegas,’ I needed to be careful.  I’ve stayed at the Mirage.  I could have used that as a base. But when writing the book, I couldn’t predict how things would look there two years from now.

The answer?  Create a new hotel!  Make it the newest and hippest thing, so of course no one has seen it before.  And that’s where I had fun.  What hasn’t been done, I thought?  What theme would present a whole lot of fun, yet be completely whacky, in keeping with the Goddaughter series?

Whoot!  It came to me immediately.  Hotel name:  The Necropolis!  Theme:  Morticia meets The Walking Dead.  We could ramp up the loopiness by throwing a Zombie convention.  And then add a Viking Valhalla casino, a bar called Embalmed, the Crematorium Grill steakhouse…

So The Goddaughter Does Vegas is a hybrid.  The setting is the Vegas you know.  The hotel is a new concoction, but fitting with the fantasy atmosphere that Vegas is famous for. 

I got away with it this time.  I think.

How about you?  Do you use real settings or do you make them up?  When reading, which do you prefer?

Do Old Mobsters Ever Really Retire? Not in the Hammer!

I often get asked if the comedy in my books is anything like the comedy I post here.

So here's one of my favourite scenes from THE GODDAUGHTER CAPER.  I often read this one at events.  It answers the question:  Do old mobsters ever really retire?

(Background: Gina has inherited a chest full of cash and bonds from her great-uncle Seb, who was in the mob.  But when the chest arrives at her store, it has a dead body in it!  This scene is two chapters later.)

Still had time to kill. I picked up the magazine that was on top of the pile. Had to smile at the name on the cover.

Association of Retired Seniors…ARS for short.

I paged through it.  One ad in particular caught my interest. This was because someone had taken a black felt pen and circled it. It read:

Fly By Night Funerals

Need Help? Short on cash?

From Rigor to Removal,

we do the whole thing.

Discreet Burials

Plenty of satisfied customers.

Call 555-PLANTUM

(555-752-6886)

I felt the blood leave my face. I recognized that phone number. It was the number

I had used that morning to reach Jimmy in the retirement home.  Crap!

I quickly speed-dialed Sammy, my uncle Vince’s underboss. It immediately went to voice mail.  I said a very bad word.

“Sammy, call me back as soon as you can,” I hissed into the phone.

I sat for a moment listening to my heart pound. But I’m really not good at sitting and doing nothing. So I phoned the number in the ad. Again, it went to voice mail. A shaky elderly voice addressed me.

“You have reached Fly By Night Funerals…

You plug ’em, we plant ’em. Please leave a number,

and we will return your call as soon as possible.”

The machine beeped at me. I clicked off without leaving a message.

I stared at the phone in my hand. Almost immediately it binged to signal a new call.

“What’s up?” said Sammy.

“Fly by Night Funerals. Spill it,” I said, keeping my voice low.

 “Oh, that,” said Sammy. “Yeah, I figured there was a mix-up. The box with the body in it that got delivered to your place was supposed to go to the Holy Cannoli Retirement Home.”

“The retirement home? Like they need more dead bodies? They don’t create

enough of their own?” This was just loony.

“Easy, sugar. It’s simply a small business we’re supporting. Old Jimmy is the manager.”

I got this cold feeling. “The manager of what small business?”

“A funeral business. Nothing to get excited about. They just run it from the

retirement home so there aren’t that many questions.”

Questions? I had a few questions. But before I could ask them, Sammy said,

“Nobody notices a few extra bodies leaving a retirement home. Get it?”

I was starting to get it. I remembered the answering machine message. You plug ’em—we plant ’em.

“They’re running a business burying people who get murdered?” I said.

“We don’t off them ourselves, sweetheart,” said Sammy. “That’s the joy of it.

We just do the cleanup. We’re actually providing a much-needed service. Or, at

least, they are. I’m only a consultant.”

“Old Jimmy? And Magda? And my great aunt Rita?” I couldn’t believe it. Those

sweet, elderly folk? Okay, maybe they had checkered pasts, but…

Sammy went on. “The key to good business management is to provide a service

that’s got a demand for it. Jimmy nailed it. People are distressed when they have a body hanging around. They pay well. So the Last Chance Club…they got more business than they can handle.”

“But why? I said.  “Why would they do this?”

Sammy’s voice perked up.  “Oh.  Well, that’s easy.  Those old folks at the retirement home - they want to go on a bus trip to Vegas.  You know.  Hit the tables, see the shows.  It costs big bucks to rent a bus to go that distance.  Not to mention hotel rooms and all those buffets. And they need supervision.”

No argument there from me.  “Isn’t this sort of illegal?” I said.

“Embalming and burying isn’t illegal. And Freddie was a licensed funeral worker

guy, although I don’t know that he’s kept up his license. Tends to forget things, what with the dementia.”

“Dementia?” I squeaked.

 “Yeah,” Sammy said. “Once he forgot to dress a guy after the embalming. You wouldn’t believe what a little extra fluid can do to some parts. We don’t do open casket anymore.”

Available at Amazon, Chapters/Indigo, Barnes&Noble, Walmart, independent bookstores, and online at all the usual suspects.

In Which My Characters Go Completely Out of Control...part 1

by Melodie Campbell (Bad Girl, aka Mom)

Recently, my characters have become more mouthy. 

I like to think of myself as their creator.  Without me, they wouldn’t have a life on the page, or anywhere, for that matter.  This should buy me a certain amount of respect, I figure.  Sort of like you might give a minor deity.

Unfortunately, my characters haven’t bought into that.  Worse, they seem to have cast me into the role of mother.  That’s me: a necessary embarrassment for the perpetuation of their lives.  And like all kids, they squabble.  They fight with each other for attention.  I liken it to sibling jealousy.

To wit:

“You haven’t written about me lately,” says Rowena.

I try to ignore the petulance in her voice.

“Been busy,” I mumble.  “Gina had to get married in Vegas.  And a relative of hers started a vigilante group.”

“I don’t care if she started a rock group.  You’re supposed to be writing MY story.”

I turn away from the keyboard and frown at her.  “Look, toots.  You wouldn’t have any stories at ALL if it weren’t for me.  You’ve had three books of adventures with men.  A normal gal would be exhausted.  So please be patient and wait your turn.  Jennie’s story comes out this Sept. in Worst Date Ever.  Del and The B-Team will be up next, in February.  You can be after that, maybe.”  Maybe.  I wasn’t going to tell her about the 6^th Goddaughter currently in the works.

“It’s not fair.  I came first!  Before all those silly mob comedies,” Row whines.  “Don’t forget!  I was the one who got you bestseller status.”  She points at her ample chest.

“Hey!” Says Gina, fresh from cannoli central.  “And which book won the Derringer and the Arthur Ellis?  Not some trashy old fantasy novel.”

“Who are YOU calling trashy?”  says Rowena, balling her hands into fists.  “Just because my bodice rips in every scene….”

“Like THAT isn’t a plot device,” chides Gina.

“Oh, PLEASE don’t fight,” says Jennie, the plucky romance heroine.  “I just want everyone to have a Happy Ever After.  Can’t you do that for us all, Mom?  Er…Melodie?”

I look at Del.  “What do you think?”

Del shrugs.  “Sounds sucky.  What kind of crap story would that be?  Bugger, is that the time?  I gotta job that needs doing.  Cover for me, will you Ritz?  And this time, let me know if the cops start sniffing around.”

“Cops?”  says Gina.  “Crap!  I’m outta here.” The door slams.

“Cops?” says Row.  “There’s that little matter of Steve’s body in book 2…” She vanishes.

“Cops?” says Jennie, hopefully.  “OH! Is one of them single?”

STILL ON SALE UNTIL JULY 15!  ALL THE IMAJIN BOOKS BY MELODIE CAMPBELL  (SEE POST BELOW)