Jane The Ripper

Note: Yesterday's post was so popular I had to play with the idea. This was just an option I came up with. Hope you enjoyed, and happy Friday!

Genre: Mystery/Historical Fiction

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Nari pushed open the trap door and climbed the last steps into the attic. Afternoon light filtered through one of the old windows, illuminating the inches of dust. The smell of mothballs assaulted her.

Ten years had passed since she’d last been in her grandmother’s attic. Nari had won a game of hide and seek with her cousins by sneaking into the forbidden area and accidently locking herself in. She’d been too scared of her grandmother’s wrath to ever return.

“How in the hell did I not fall through the floor?”

The attic had never been finished, with several floorboards missing and insulation exposed. Nari wiped her forehead. The cool fall air outside did little to cool the unsealed room.

She crept around the junk, hopping over the dirty insulation. The old chifferobe should be in the corner, unless one of her greedy cousins had already pilfered it. Nana James had only been buried a few days, and the twins were eager to snag everything they could before anyone could sort through Nana’s effects.

The floor was covered in a thick layer of dust and grime, and she didn’t see any footprints. Hers would be the first.

“Mom’s just going to have to deal with it. I’m not looking for shit to sell,” Nari muttered. She’d spent the morning reassuring herself she wasn’t like the boys—all she wanted was to find the thing that had haunted her since she was fifteen.

Still, she felt like a thief. But she wasn’t stopping. Nari had waited long enough.

A set of old, mahogany French doors lie in the middle of the room. From their faded appearance and the tarnished brass fixtures, Nari guessed they were original to the old farmhouse. She stepped around them. A black spider scuttled out from underneath the doors and scrambled to decayed cardboard box.

Nari shivered. God only knew how many of those little bastards were hanging out up here.

The dark corner was blocked by boxes and copious amounts of junk. Nari was amazed at some of the things her grandparents had kept: faucet fixtures, a worn out set of fireplace tools that still stunk of ashes, half of a Lionel train set. Grampy James had even stashed a rusted Radio Flyer wagon up here.

She began clearing a path. Within minutes her shirt was damp with sweat and her hair hung limp. The humidity was almost unbearable.

But she could see her quarry.

The chifferobe had been in Nari’s family for generations. Grampy had said it had made the journey from England with her great-grandfather. By the looks of the large piece, she could believe it. Made of solid oak, the chifferobe’s finish was faded. The bottom had several scuffs, and the wardrobe door didn’t latch.

This was the temptation that had caught her eye as a teenager. What sort of treasures could have been hiding in there?

Now she knew there were no treasures, just a frightening mystery. Or the ramblings of an old man.

Nari pulled open the sagging door, praying no creatures would emerge. The box of letters remained where she’d left them, the lid still on.

She knelt down and pushed it aside. Dust swirled in her face. Her eyes watered and she pressed her nose against her forearm. Last thing she needed was to sneeze all over the letters. They were yellowed with age and brittle to the touch. A sneeze would probably destroy them.

The thing she sought was all the way at the bottom, right where she’d stashed it. The leather journal had originally been at the top of the pile, but Nari had feared the twins would find it. They didn’t deserve to know the family secret.

“It’s probably bullshit.” She gently moved the letters aside and felt around for the journal. “Carson James was ninety when he died. His mind was probably mush.”

But she had to read more. The journal’s first entry had rattled in her brain for ten years. She needed to know why Carson had believed such a heinous thing.

Nari felt the soft leather beneath her fingers. She pulled the journal out and carefully opened it. Carson James had died in 1956; the journal was over fifty years old and the binding had torn.

She didn’t bother to read the first entry again. Nari looked only at the last sentence, the one she’d never forgotten.

My mother was Jack the Ripper.

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Was Jack The Ripper A Woman?

Last night I was surfing The Huffington Post and came across a story about an Australian scientist who performed DNA testing on one of the Ripper letters. For those who don’t know, several letters were sent to police during the time of the murders. Most are believed to be fakes, but a few are considered to be authentic. Scientists using technology that’s way above my head took swabs from the back of the stamps and the seal of the envelope to process for DNA. There’s a lot more to the science, but you get the point. Reports were inconclusive, but enough of a profile was constructed for the scientist to claim the Ripper could have been a woman.

Seriously?! Don’t get me wrong – there have been more female serial killers than people realize. Countess Elizabeth Batheroy murdered hundreds of peasant women in the Middle Ages in order to drink their blood and remain young. Some go so far as to suggest she may have been the real inspiration for Dracula instead of Vlad the Impaler. There’s also Amelia Dyer, a.k.a The Baby Butcher, who murdered several infants while “baby farming,” a practice in turn-of-the-century England for illegitimate and poor mothers. Aileen Wuornos is another notorious female serial killer, and many more paved the way before her.

Still, it’s just hard to imagine a woman could be responsible for something as heinous as the Ripper murders. At least five proven victims in Whitechapel (and likely more) were mutilated by the Ripper, their throats and genitalia slashed open. Could a woman really have done such a thing?

I have to admit, it’s possible. There’s all types of crazy in this world, and for all our modern advances, people weren’t that different during Jack’s time. I could see a religious woman with a crazy gene seeking to rid the streets of London from the filthy prostitutes.

Makes for a good story, doesn’t it?

According to history, the detective who ran the investigation thought it was possible the Ripper could be a woman because Mary Kelly was seen hours after her death, with the Ripper wearing her clothes. The only female suspect had a similar M.O. to the Ripper, so it’s impossible to rule out the option, especially with the new DNA evidence.

If this is true, no wonder the case has never been solved. The police were looking in the wrong place! Investigators leaned heavily toward the male suspects, and many believed the Ripper had some sort of surgical training or was a skilled butcher. Those theories have never been proven and are still argued to this day.

Jack the Ripper wasn’t the world’s first serial killer by any means, but he was the first to garner worldwide media attention. Reporters went crazy with their theories, and the investigation was tainted by their interference. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?

Now imagine if the Ripper had been a woman and the media frenzy that would have created.

‘Sweet, Victorian housewife slaughters prostitutes while her babies sleep.’

The press would have loved her!

We’ll probably never know the truth. Then again, genetic profiling and the science of DNA advances at the rate rabbits reproduce, so who knows what we’ll learn about the Ripper in a few years. Maybe the geniuses will come up with some trick to get a full profile from what little biological stuff is left.

I doubt it. Jack the Ripper will continue to live in infamy, the stuff of legend and folklore. Tourists will flock to Whitechapel to follow the trail of the murders, butterflies in their stomachs as they walk the streets. They’ll listen to the tour guides tell the story, all the while thinking what a hideous man the Ripper was.

But who knows? Perhaps Jack was a Jane, after all.

Tempting Tuesday: Yummy Goodness

Today’s topic? One of God’s most wonderful creations, it’s a therapist, friend, and enabler. Every morsel soothes the soul and makes even the most dire situations just a little bit brighter.

I’m talking about chocolate, of course.

My sweet tooth has a life of its own. Even though I’ve been off my diet a month today (yay!) and maintained, I battle the need for something sweet and delectable every day. Several times a day, actually. I try to curb the need by chewing gum or guzzling water, but it really doesn’t come close. There’s nothing like chocolate, period.

The trick is finding chocolate that’s not too packed with calories and doesn’t taste like cardboard. Seems impossible, doesn’t it?

Oh, ye of little faith. We just need ‘the Google,’ as my husband’s grandpa calls it. A few minutes of searching, and I discovered this yummy goodness just waiting to be sampled.

Cocoa Fudge Cookies

Your mouth’s watering, I know. Mine, too. This recipe’s got some prep time, but the pay off looks delicious. I’ll be trying these this weekend for the holiday. If you decide to give into your sweet tooth, let me know what you think!

Do you have any great dessert recipes to share?

Ingredients
• 1 cup all-purpose flour
• 1/4 teaspoon baking soda
• 1/8 teaspoon salt
• 5 tablespoons butter
• 7 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa
• 2/3 cup granulated sugar
• 1/3 cup packed brown sugar
• 1/3 cup plain low-fat yogurt
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• Cooking spray

Preparation
• Preheat oven to 350°.
• Lightly spoon flour into a dry measuring cup; level with a knife. Combine flour, soda, and salt; set aside. Melt butter in a large saucepan over medium heat. Remove from heat; stir in cocoa powder and sugars (mixture will resemble coarse sand). Add yogurt and vanilla, stirring to combine. Add flour mixture, stirring until moist. Drop by level tablespoons 2 inches apart onto baking sheets coated with cooking spray.
• Bake at 350° for 8 to 10 minutes or until almost set. Cool on pans 2 to 3 minutes or until firm. Remove cookies from pans; cool on wire racks.

Source

Manic Monday: The Las Vegas Tunnel People

Tunnel people, you ask? Sounds like something out of a fantasy novel, doesn't it? Let me assure you, it's not. Most of us know about the large homeless populations in New York, Chicago, and D.C, to name only a few. But Las Vegas - the city known for glamour and frivolity - has a unique destination they don't advertise on their tourism brochures.

I first heard about the tunnels about a year ago, when I began researching my novel, tentatively titled Light and Dark. I needed a place for a would-be bank robber to escape, and I figured that a city built by the mob would have underground tunnels. So I Googled 'Las Vegas tunnels.' I was shocked at the articles that turned up: a thousand people live in the 200 miles of storm drains running underneath the city, and what's worse, the bulk of them live underneath the Strip!

Some, like the couple pictured above, live in camps decorated with whatever they can salvage. Others have virtually nothing.

Many have lost jobs due to the economy (Las Vegas has been among the hardest hit in the housing crisis) and many battle various addictions. Some are veterans suffering from post traumatic stress, and nearly all have been dumped into the tunnels because of traumatic events in their lives. They eek a living however they can, including surfing the slot machines for abandoned credits, a trick called "credit hustling."

And yes, children live down there as well. Reporter Matthew O'Brien, whose book Beneath The Neon chronicles the lives of the tunnel dwellers, says he's seen evidence of them, toys and teddy bears.

Can you imagine? These are storm drains! Dark, filthy, with an inch or more of standing water, crawfish (yes, crawfish in Las Vegas), cockroaches, spiders...you get the point. The tunnels may be a sanctuary from Vegas heat, but they're also in constant danger of flooding.

It's heartbreaking. And infuriating. Las Vegas is one of a many cities dealing with a major homeless problem, and many people want the truth swept under the rug, preferring to pretend the homeless don't exist or worse yet, blame them for their plight.

I don't care what vices a person has, everyone deserves a roof over their head and a clean bed to sleep in, especially in a country with such excess.

After I got over the initial shock, I knew escaping into the storm drains was perfect for my book. I had to create a plausible route into them, which was a fun creative challenge. But I also had to deal with the subject carefully. I didn't want to be insensitive to the people living down there, but I wanted to show a bit of what their lives might be like.

I purchased Beneath the Neon, and it's a sad read. O'Brien spent several years visiting the tunnels and getting to know the people, and his insight is invaluable. I was able to get a sense of the general geography of the tunnels, as well as some idea of how the people live and interact.

A handful of scenes in Light and Dark take place in the tunnels, and they were tough to write. My heart goes out to these people, and to all the homeless living across the country. How can we help them? What can I, a regular mom from Iowa, do to make a difference?

Donate to food pantries, to Salvation Army, to Goodwill, yes. But there has to be more. Americans have to stop turning a blind eye to the people living on the street - and under them - because a twist of fate could land a lot of us in their positions. How many of us live paycheck to paycheck, with only a house payment or less in our savings? What would your family do if you had no income for six months? Could you survive? I hope the answer is yes, but for millions of Americans, it would be no.

As politicians are battling over who gets paid more and debating which desperately-needed programs to slash, these people are suffering and more will continue to join them. Every one of us has the right to freedom, but we all have a responsibility to our fellow man.

I don't have the answer. But I know something has to change. What can we do to help?



Sources: NPR
Daily Mail
Matthew O'Brien

Saving a baby mouse...the highlight of my vacation

We're vacationing in Deer River, Minnesota, for the week. Lots of fishing and way too much eating. I didn't plan on doing any blog posts, but I had to share the story of Lucky the mouse.

On Saturday, my sister Kelly put her boat into the lake and a big mouse promptly scurried out. She couldn't catch her, and the mouse disappeared underneath a bench.

Oh well, on to the fishing, right?

Yesterday afternoon I went out with her and my other sister, as well as my husband and some others. Kelly jumps into the boat and sits down, and what does she see? A tiny weeny baby mouse laying on its side. We thought it was dead at first, but he was just really cold. Kelly snuggled him into her hand, and we tried to get him to go back under the bench where we think the mother's nest is.

No dice.

The men said to throw him into the lake and put him out of his misery since he was so little, but we couldn't do that. He'd survived this long, so I named him Lucky. My sisters and I had no clue how to get him to eat, so we stopped at a gas station (remember, we're way out in the boonies) looking for an eye dropper or anything we could use to put milk in. Best thing we could find was an antifreeze tester, fresh out of the bag. We cut off the tube part of it and tried to use the tester as a syringe, but the opening was still too big. Finally I put some milk into the crevice of my sister's palm and all of the sudden we hear this lapping noise. He'd ate out of her hand!

We made him a little nest out of paper towels in an empty Mountain Dew box, and he's made it through 24 hours. The milk we left in a little Gatorade lid was gone this morning, and we are seeing little mouse droppings around, so we're excited he's eating.

Best thing about it? He's totally spoiled! By this morning, he'd already started getting excited when he heard voices and wants to be picked up. He loves to snuggle into your palm and sleep, and he doesn't like to be ignored. I went to check on him this afternoon, and he was buried under his towels. I said something, and the mound of towels started to shake. There he was, scurrying out of the towels and climbing to the top, SQUEAKING! I almost died! He kept trying to climb out of the box (thankfully it's too deep, and he's still too little), so I finally took him out. He snuggled right into my hand and fell asleep.

We're trying not to get too attached since he's so little, but everyone has been holding him and passing around, and Kelly has already said she's going to have to take him home with her.

Let's hope sweet Lucky continues to have a good week!

Eating Healthy on Vacation and Avoiding the Car Munchies

Eating healthy is a lifetime challenge. It’s hard enough to stay on track when we’re at home, in familiar surroundings and in total control of our meals, but it’s another when we’re on vacation. The temptation of new foods, alcohol, and snacks are strong. Everyone deserves a break, and it’s okay to broaden your eating horizons on vacation.

But how can we avoid letting the perpetually hungry monster inside of ran rampant?

Everyone has a different trick, but here are some great ways to keep the monster from eating you into a new size.

For the road-trippers like me, pack a cooler full of water and healthy snacks. They’re better for your body and your wallet. Make sure they’re low-cal and high in protein like an apple of Greek yogurt. Greek yogurt is extremely high in protein and much better than regular yogurt. I’ve tried all the brands my local stores carry, and my favorites are Fage and Chobaini. Chobaini’s honey Greek yogurt is fantastic!

Snack often. Having a healthy snack midmorning and mid afternoon is really important in keeping our appetites under control. Protein bars are great for this. Many are low in calories and high in protein, and they come in all different flavors, including chocolate. Mmmm. Special K has some great ones, as well as EAS. They’re high in protein and really low on carbs.

Drink lots water. The staple of any healthy diet! Keeps us full and is great for the skin.

Keep your bread choices to whole grain when possible.

If you’re going to be camping like me, (we spend a week fishing and staying at cabins. My family has gone to the same place since my dad was a kid) stock up on lean meats like fish and chicken. Get turkey-dogs instead of beef. You can also make a great veggie plate to go with this: simply chop up your favorites—I like red and green peppers, onions, asparagus, squash, and zucchini. Toss them in a ziplock bag, add some olive oil, real salt (sea salt), pepper, and basil. Shake ‘em up and toss on the grill. Tastes yummy and will keep you from gorging on dessert.

Last but not least… the alcohol. I know we all look forward to relaxing and embibing more than we do at home, but remember the wasted calories. Limit yourself to one extra drink, two at the most. Your waistline and hangover-free body will thank you later!

What are some of your tips for eating healthy eating on vacation?

Don't Stop Believing

My novel has been the ugly stepchild at times, fighting me on every plot point and character traits. At others it’s been loving and sweet, pouring out of my fingers with ease.

The beginning has gone through countless rewrites as I honed the plot and learned not to write entirely by the seat of my pants.

My MC started as a stubborn recluse with a pathetic demeanor, and evolved into a strong female with brains and excess bravado. She changed from a character I struggled to write to one who dominated my thoughts. She was supposed to be a co-protagonist, but her strength and determination claimed the majority of page time.

My second protagonist, the smoking-hot hostage negotiator with no flaws, became darker and a little damaged. He stopped being a pansy and started acting like a worthy male lead.

And my antagonist…my demented psychopath I’ve always adored. He evolved from a strange man obsessed with a girl to a calculating man driven by past grief. He now has a reason for his actions and a carefully planned end game. He’s become three-dimensional, stepping off the page and getting into readers heads. His story will gain readers empathy even as they root for the protagonist to kick his butt.

I’m calling this psychological thriller Light and Dark, but I’ve no idea if the name will stick. Maybe something brilliant will come to me in the edits.

And there are a lot of them ahead. I know I’ll go through several rounds before I’m ready to considering querying or self-publishing.

The journey is by no means complete. But I’m extremely proud of my accomplishment. There have been days I wondered what the hell I was doing, why I was wasting my time—you all know the feeling. I thought about quitting. Or starting something new.

But my characters kept talking, and I became determined to tell their story. My reward is this euphoric feeling…and a strawberry margarita. Or two. Maybe three.

The point is, if you’ve hit a wall with your writing, don’t give up. You set out to write your book because you loved the idea and believed in it. Don’t stop! Forget about the end goal of publishing for a while and just get wrapped up in the writing. Embrace it. Don’t agonize over the details or the hiccups, get the meat of the story down. Whatever you do, keep writing. And be proud of every accomplishment. It’s more than a lot of people who dream of being writers can ever say. Pat yourself on the back, have a drink. And then write some more!

Thank you to all my Twitter and blog friends for their encouragement and advice! Social media really is a wonderful writing tool.

And now, in celebration of finishing my draft, one of the greatest songs of all-time!