So Much for Buckingham Now in Paperback, and the Ebook is on Sale!

SO MUCH FOR BUCKINGHAM  is now in paperback! The paper version is available at Amazon, Amazon UK , and Barnes and Noble

And in honor of its hard copy debut, the ebook is only 99c for one week! The ebook is on sale at all the Amazons. 

It's also available at Kobo, Nook Smashwords, iTunes, Inkterra, Google Play, and Scribd.

This comic novel—which takes its title from the most famous Shakespearean quote that Shakespeare never wrote—explores how easy it is to perpetrate a character assassination whether by a great playwright or a gang of online trolls. It's a laugh-out-loud mashup of romantic comedy, crime fiction, and satire: Dorothy Parker meets Dorothy L. Sayers.

Favorite Characters: Vera Winchester

One of my favorite characters in the Camilla books is Vera Winchester, the office manager at Sherwood, Ltd. She's an important character in both Sherwood Ltd and So Much for Buckingham. 

She's very kind and adores animals. Her excellent business sense—and ability to ignore unpleasant details—keeps the unorthodox company running in spite of the sometimes-criminal antics of the owners.

I imagine her looking a bit like Elizabeth, Hyacinth Bucket's long-suffering neighbor in Keeping up Appearances, played by Josephine Tewson.

Vera usually wears a serviceable navy blue pantsuit and her hair is cut in a "no-nonsense gray bob."

The character was inspired by the real-life office manager at the UK publishing company that published my first two books. The real Vera, whose name was Pat, was actually younger than me—and not quite so long-suffering. She had a sharp wit and wasn't as lacking in self-awareness as Vera.

Pat became a close friend when I lived in England. She often invited me to her lovely house for Sunday dinner and let me take baths in her luxurious tub. My digs only had a dribbly shower in an unheated bathroom shared with five or six men. (I did say my experiences there were an adventure.)

Pat and I always exchanged long letters at Christmastime. I loved getting the news from Gainsborough and hearing about the dramas as the company fizzled after the mysterious disappearance of the co-owner. Pat was sure that the real life "Peter Sherwood" had staged his death in order to evade creditors and she thought he might be somewhere in France.

But two Christmases ago, no card arrived, and I had a bad feeling. I Googled her name in the local Gainsborough paper and was devastated when I found her obituary. All I could find out was that she had died "after a short illness."  It was a real blow to me. I had always planned to go back and visit her someday. She and her family had been so welcoming and there was something timelessly English about their home and way of life. Pat was an avid gardener and voracious reader. She took the "pervy books" side of the publishing company in stride and glossed over it most of the time, although she could make some hilarious jokes about them.

But in a way my friend lives on in Vera Winchester. Vera is as fiercely loyal to Peter Sherwood as Pat was to her real life bosses.

I brought Vera back in So Much for Buckingham. She is the one who finally helps Plantagenet when he is stuck in the "custody suite" in the Swynsby Constabulary jail accused of murdering a historical reenactor. In the awful, windowless cell, poor Plant has been hallucinating visitations by the ghost of Richard III and has only a tenuous hold on his sanity.

Here's what happens when Vera finally appears in So Much for Buckingham:

"A uniformed officer appeared.

"You have a guest, Mr. Smith," he said. "A lady."

Good god. He hoped it wasn't Queen Elizabeth I or any other dead royal personage.

"Am I in the right place?" A high pitched voice came from the corridor outside. "Is this where you have Mr. Plantagenet Smith? You must let him go. He's a famous Hollywood film writer. From America."

A sweet-faced woman in her fifties fluttered into the room. She wore a flowered dress and a large, swooping sort of hat over a no-nonsense gray bob.

"Mr. Plantagenet Smith?" she said. "I'm Vera Winchester. Office manager at Sherwood publishing." She extended a hand. "I'm afraid I was on my way to my son's wedding rehearsal dinner, which is why the hat…" She patted her dramatic head gear. "He's getting married tomorrow. Our Callum. To his girl Bryony. Nice young woman, if a bit flighty. Her brother's not right in the head, unfortunately, but luckily it's not hereditary. She's in the family way, but of course they all are these days, aren't they? Cart before the horse. It's all been rush-rush-rush since we found out. They've had to throw together the wedding and tonight's rehearsal dinner is in the back room at our local. We had no time to do anything posh."

Plant clutched Vera's hand, not wanting to let go. He shook it again, hoping against hope that she was real.

"I can't tell you how glad I am to see you," he said. "So Camilla somehow got in touch with you? Is she all right?"

"I haven't the foggiest," Vera said. "I haven't heard a peep from Camilla, and we've been that worried about her because of all those nasty reviews. But I suppose she doesn't have my home email address."

Maybe Camilla hadn't been overreacting to those reviews. Vera looked genuinely stricken.

She went on. "It's Henry Weems who sent me here. He's my boss at Sherwood Ltd. He's sent the money for bail, but apparently they don't need it yet. They're supposed to release you to my custody, he tells me. Although if you really were a murderer and wanted to escape, I can't imagine how I'd stop you, but…do you think I might have my hand back now?"

Plant realized he'd been hanging onto the poor woman's hand.

"You mean I can leave?" He needed to compose himself. "I'm free on bail?"

"No bail set, because you haven't been charged. You're still a person of interest. But you're free to roam the confines of Swynsby-on-Trent," she said. "Which means you may come to Callum's rehearsal dinner…I do hope you like roast beef. We're serving a roast, with Yorkshire pud, of course. Fresh peas and carrots from our community garden. And a nice cream cake for afters."

"That sounds like the food of the gods to me, Mrs. Winchester." Plant felt himself salivate. He didn't know exactly how long he'd been in here living on mystery meat sandwiches, but he knew that any real food would be a taste of heaven right now.

A different officer arrived and escorted them down the hall to the reception area where Plant had first come in—how many days ago? It could have been years.

Vera kept up her chatter as they walked.

"Bryony is watching her figure, and didn't want us to order a cream cake, but it's Callum's favorite. Bryony doesn't want her baby bump to show in her gown tomorrow, but of course it will. It's not as if everybody doesn't know already. The truth has a way of getting out, doesn't it?"

"The truth?" Plant stared at his unlikely rescuer as the custody sergeant sorted through some papers. 

"Oh, I certainly hope the truth will come out, Mrs. Winchester. I deeply hope so." He turned to the sergeant. "When do I get my things? l have to change out of this, um, uniform or whatever it is."

"Not until the case is closed," the sergeant said.

"I'm supposed to walk out of here naked?"

"Oh, I forgot," Vera said. "I must run out to the car. They told me to bring you something to wear. So I brought you one of my George's old suits, since we're going directly to the rehearsal dinner. But you're quite a bit trimmer than George. I've also brought a shirt and shoes and some smalls. I do hope they fit."

Vera ran outside as Plant signed many pieces of paper and the sergeant informed him in a stiff voice that he must not leave the area, and must check into the station daily while the case was still pending or he would not receive his passport.

"And what is the Sywnsby address where you'll be staying?" he asked. "We can only allow you to go if you have a local address."

Plant tried to remember where Brenda said Vera lived. "Rope…Rope Road," he stammered.

Luckily Vera reappeared, carrying a garment bag.

"1187 Ropery Road," she said. "Mr. Smith will be in my custody. Me and my husband, George Winchester. I think you know George from down the pub, don't you Sergeant?"

The sergeant gave a small smile. 

This is excerpted from So Much for Buckingham, which is #5 in the Camilla Randall Mysteries, but can be read as a stand-alone.

Do you have favorite minor characters in books? Do you wonder if they're inspired by the author's real friends? Who are some of your favorite minor characters? If you want to know more about using real people in your fiction, check out my piece at Artist Unleashed this week.

A Journey to Lincolnshire: Time Traveling in the English Midlands

by Anne R. Allen

The second Camilla novel, SHERWOOD LTD, is something of love-letter to England's East Midlands and the county of Lincolnshire—one of the least touristy spots in the British Isles, but one rich in history and folklore.

It's a place I discovered by happy accident several years ago, when my novel FOOD OF LOVE was accepted by a UK publishing company that had recently moved from the bustling industrial city of Leeds to the little market town of Gainsborough, on the banks of the River Trent, which marks the border between Lincolnshire and Nottinghamshire.

As I wrote last week, my new publishers turned out to be an eccentric band of publishing outlaws who published mostly hard-core erotica—the opposite of my comic mysteries about Camilla, the Manners Doctor. But the company was eager to branch into mainstream fiction and the managing partners invited me to fly over to promote my book and share free digs in a vast 19^th century factory complex they’d just bought. 

Fittingly, the factory had last been used as a ladies underwear factory and was called "The Shadowline Building." (I call it "The Maidenette Building" in my novel.)  Most of my California friends thought I was deeply bonkers, but I've never turned down a chance to travel, so I found a tenant for my little beach house, bought a plane ticket for England and jumped into the adventure.

Yes, there's a real Sherwood Forest.

I'd lived in England many years ago—working in London for eight months after college—but Lincolnshire is the opposite of the big, modern, multi-ethnic capital to the South. It’s the "green and pleasant land" of the storybooks I read in my youth—"the Shire" of Middle Earth. I immediately fell in love with the lush, pastoral landscape, the friendly people, and the history-steeped, time-travel atmosphere. 

There I was, in the land of Robin Hood—the home of "Lincoln Green."

The Major Oak in Sherwood Forest

 I even loved the food. Make all the jokes you want about English cuisine, but they make some of the best cheeses in the world, and in a town full of old-fashioned bakeries, small artisanal butcher shops and a twice-weekly farmer’s market, I ate very well. (Probably too well. Lincolnshire is not the best spot to be watching your weight. Especially when you add the wonderful micro-brewery ale.)

Gainsborough itself has a long and romantic history. It’s the town George Eliot called "St Oggs" when she wrote The Mill on the Floss—and the river that flowed by the warehouse windows was "the Floss" of her iconic novel.

Gainsborough was already ancient by the time George Eliot/Mary Ann Evans sought refuge there. In fact, it was well established by the time a Viking King named Sweyn Forkbeard, having defeated the Saxon king Ethelred the Unready, made it the capital of England in the ninth century.

Sweyn Forkbeard

That lasted about five weeks until he had a fatal fall from his horse and was succeeded by his son King Canute, of stopping-the-tide fame. (Which he also did in Gainsborough, pretending to stop the Trent’s great tidal bore, the Aegir.)   

In my novel, I call the town Swynsby-on-Trent, in honor of Mr. Forkbeard (literally “Sweyn’s home, since "by" was a Viking place-name suffix meaning “home.”)

I ended up living in Gainsborough on and off from 2002-2005, and in the end the publishing company went under rather tragically, with the mysterious disappearance of one of the owners (his body was never found—which of course I had to use in my novel.) But it was a fine adventure while it lasted, and I’ll always cherish the friendships I made there. 

One of the best preserved medieval manor houses in England

I'm not the only person to have fallen in love with Gainsborough in the 'oughties. According to the Guardian, Gainsborough real estate became some of the most expensive in England in 2007. Writing in August of 2008, Tom Dyckhoff said:

"Gainsborough marked the high water mark of house price madness before - cue thunderclap - the Crunch! Oh, happy days! Oh, halcyon days! Last year, Gainsborough's house prices leaped by a frankly barking 156%, the highest in the country. Inexplicable. I mean, it's a perfectly respectable place, with that appealing tinge of not-quite-in the-modern-world common to Lincolnshire. But come on, it's Lincolnshire, miles from anywhere."

And that's its appeal, exactly. It's the town that time forgot. It's in the middle of nowhere. A green and pleasant nowhere. Surrounded by fields of daffodils and forests carpeted in bluebells.

It's the England of storybooks. I was dying to set a novel in Gainsborough, but in order not to hurt any feelings (or incur any lawsuits) I decided to fictionalize the town and set an entirely made-up mystery there, featuring my always-polite amateur sleuth, Camilla.

I wasn’t able to incorporate all my favorite Lincolnshire haunts, however, or the story would have turned into a travelogue. (In fact, my editor made me eliminate several of my more tour-guidey digressions.)

Downtown Gainsborough on market day.

I did include a glimpse of the open market in the central square, where traveling peddlers still display everything from fresh produce to meat pies and ribbons and pots and pans, just as they did in Robin Hood’s day—only a few blocks from the very modern Tesco supermarket.

I also have several scenes set in one of Gainsborough’s picturesque pubs, many of which began as coaching inns in the 17^th and 18^th centuries.

Where Plantagenet meets the ghost of  Richard III

Unfortunately, I had to eliminate a scene set in Gainsborough’s greatest landmark—the "Old Hall"—one of England’s best-preserved medieval manor houses. The beautiful building, built on the ruins of Sweyn Forkbeard’s castle, was a place visited by the likes of Richard III and Henry VIII (who met his last wife, Katherine Parr, there.) It also sheltered the Separatist "Pilgrim Fathers" as they made their escape to the Netherlands and then to the New World on the Mayflower. 

So when I revisited Lincolnshire in Camilla mystery #5 SO MUCH FOR BUCKINGHAM, I took Camilla's best friend Plantagenet to "Swynsby-on-Trent" where he meets what appears to be the ghost of Richard III in the tower of the Old Hall. When Plant is accused of the murder of a mysterious historical re-enactor, unfortunately, Richard III seems to be the only witness.

Someday I'd like to take all my characters to the historic city of Lincoln—only fifteen miles from Gainsborough—which houses one of Europe’s greatest Gothic cathedrals, as well as an 11^th century castle that is the home of one of the original copies of the Magna Carta.

Lincoln Cathedral, build in 1072

Lincoln Cathedral, built in 1072, rivals Chartres in its soaring Gothic magnificence. It is actually taller than Chartres, and was the tallest building in the world for 249 years (1300–1549.) The cathedral was used as a stand-in for Westminster Abbey in the 2005 film of The DaVinci Code.

Across the square from the cathedral is Lincoln Castle, built by William the Conqueror in 1068, and one of the country’s best-preserved castles. William built his castle on the ruins of the fortress originally built by the Roman armies who occupied Britain from 43 AD through the fourth century.

Many houses in the old part of Lincoln are built on top of the old Roman forum. I was lucky enough to be invited to visit a woman whose townhouse had the base of a huge marble column in the basement. Walking up the stairs was like walking through time, from the ancient forum to the medieval kitchen, to an 18^th century dining room to a Victorian parlor and up to a modern couple of bedrooms that looked out on the whole city.

That house screamed to be used in a novel, but I haven't worked it into one of my plots yet. 

Lincoln Castle, built in 1068

I have health problems that make travel tough for me these days, but I've always fantasized going back to Lincolnshire. 

So far, I have only been able to do it in fiction. 

But someday I'd love to get back for a little more of their delectable poacher cheese, plum bread and Lincolnshire’s famous sausages.

And if you'd like to do some armchair traveling, pick up a copy of Sherwood, Ltd or So Much for Buckingham. 

What about you, readers? Have you ever visited the English Midlands? Have you seen Lincoln Cathedral or Sherwood Forest? What is your favorite part of the UK for time-traveling? Or do you prefer to do your travel via armchair? 

SHERWOOD, LTD: Camilla Mystery #2

Suddenly-homeless American manners expert Camilla Randall becomes a 21st century Maid Marian—living rough near the real Sherwood Forest with a band of outlaw English erotica publishers—led by a charming, self-styled Robin Hood who unfortunately may intend to kill her. When Camilla is invited to publish a book of her columns with UK publisher Peter Sherwood, she lands in a gritty criminal world—far from the Merrie Olde England she envisions. The staff are ex-cons and the erotica is kinky. Hungry and penniless, she camps in a Wendy House built from pallets of porn while battling an epic flood, a mendacious American Renfaire wench, and the mysterious killer who may be Peter himself.

Sherwood, Ltd.is only $2.99 or the equivalent in ebook from all the Amazons, iTunes, GooglePlay, Scribd, Inktera, Kobo, Nook, and Smashwords. It's also available in paper from Amazon and Barnes and Noble

Sample Reviews:

"A wily tale of murder, deceit, and intrigue that can stand with the best of them. Her characters are all too real and her dialogue took me from laughter to chills" David Keith on Smashwords

"Smartly written and nearly impossible to put down, I found myself counting the hours until I could leave work and get back to reading! Well done!" T.L. Ingham on Smashwords

"An intriguing and fast paced novel that demands you read on to the next page and beyond. The characters are well constructed and believable and I enjoyed the difference between the USA and UK people. The plight of our heroine is complex and well -managed and in the beginning I was striving for her to find some genuine help and support. The flip over to the UK added more spice! Highly recommended."—David L. Atkinson, author of The 51st State

SO MUCH FOR BUCKINGHAM: Camilla mystery #5

This comic novel—which takes its title from the most famous Shakespearean quote that Shakespeare

never wrote—explores how easy it is to perpetrate a character assassination whether by a great playwright or a gang of online trolls.

It's a laugh-out-loud mashup of romantic comedy, crime fiction, and satire: Dorothy Parker meets Dorothy L. Sayers. Perennially down-and-out socialite Camilla Randall--a.k.a. "The Manners Doctor"--is a magnet for murder, mayhem and Mr. Wrong, but she always solves the mystery in her quirky, but oh-so-polite way.

Usually she has more than a little help from her gay best friend, Plantagenet Smith. In this hilarious episode she makes the mistake of responding to an online review of one of her etiquette guides and sets off a chain of disasters that lands poor Plant in the Swynsby nick, and nearly gets her murdered.  

Sample reviews:

"Delicious wit, wonderful eccentric characters, and a beguiling plot. Camilla Randall is a delight!"...Melodie Campbell, "Canada's Queen of Comedy."

"Both a comedic romance and a crime suspense thriller, it presents the 'Perils of Pauline' adventures of a modern author, Camilla, whose mad-cap follies are hugely entertaining. But the novel has a serious undertone of social comment. Even the craziest of its zanies have their counterparts in the real world and the author faithfully depicts their grim, and often deadly, sub-cultures behind a veneer of knockabout wit. Highly recommended for anyone who enjoys romance, and crime suspense, with a lethally satiric edge." Dr. John Yeoman.

"Anne Allen's ability to weave throughout her stories a current social commentary easily and throughout the story amazes me. She does this without jeopardizing her plot or her characters' development."...blogger Sherrey Meyer

So Much for Buckingham is about $3.99 at all the Amazons,
Kobo, Smashwords, iTunes, Inkterra, Google Play, and Scribd.
(And it's about to come out in paper very soon. I'm proofing galleys now.)

In Which I Meet the Ghost of George Eliot…and a Mystery Series is Born

I'm planning to write a weekly Friday post detailing the background stories of my novels and the real-life people and incidents that inspired them. Today I talk about the origins of the Camilla Randall series. 

When I moved to the Central Coast of California to follow my dream of becoming a mystery writer, I had no idea of the realities of the business. If I'd known, I might have chosen a less stressful profession—like cat-herding, or maybe staging an all-Ayatollah drag revue in downtown Tehran.

As an actress with years of experience of cattle-drive auditions, green-room catfights and vitriolic reviewers, I thought I'd built up enough soul-calluses to go the distance. But after nearly a decade of rejection, I was ready to give up.

I had three novels represented by a New York agency—the fourth agent who had not managed to sell my books. And by then, my savings had evaporated, my boyfriend had ridden his Harley into the sunset, and I was contemplating a move to one of the less fashionable neighborhoods of the rust belt.

Even acceptances turned into rejections: journals that accepted my stories always seemed to fold. When one editor sent the bad news, he mentioned he had a new job with a UK book publisher—and BTW, did I have any novels?

With very little hope of anything coming of it, I sent him the novel my agent deemed had deemed "too over the top," Food of Love: A Comedy about Friendship, Chocolate, and a Small Nuclear Bomb. But within weeks, I got a phone call from England! I was offered an advance and a contract by my new editor—a former BBC comedy writer. It even included an invitation to go "over the pond" to do some promotion.

I found a tenant for my Los Osos beach house and flew to Lincolnshire, where my new publishers lived and worked in an early 19^th century building on the banks of the Trent—the river George Eliot fictionalized as "the Floss."

George Eliot. I would live a few hundred yards from the house where she wrote The Mill on the Floss. An English major’s fantasy come true.

At the age of… well, I’m not telling…I was about to have the adventure of my life.

I knew the company published erotica but was branching into mainstream. They’d published a distinguished poet, and a famous Chicago newspaper columnist was in residence, about to launch his new novel.

But when I arrived, I found the Chicagoan had mysteriously disappeared in a fit of pique, the erotica was hardcore, and the old factory was more of William Blake’s Dark Satanic variety than Eliot’s bucolic flour mill.

I tried to be enthusiastic when I was greeted by a group of friendly, but unwashed young men who presented me with warm beer, cold meat pies and galleys to proof.

I held it together until I saw my new digs: a grimy futon and an old metal desk, hidden behind stacks of book pallets in an unheated warehouse, about a half a block from the nearest loo. My only modern convenience was a radio abandoned by a long-ago factory girl.

I admit to feelings of despair.

Then from the radio, Big Ben chimed six o’clock.

Six PM, GMT.

Greenwich Mean Time. The words hit me with all the sonorous power of Big Ben itself. I had arrived at the mean, the middle, the center that still holds—no matter what rough beasts might slouch through the cultural deserts of the former empire. This was where my language, my instrument, was born.

I clutched my galleys to my heart. I might still be nobody in the land of my birth—but I’d landed on the home planet: England. And there, I was a published novelist.

Just like George Eliot.

And somewhere in that chilly room, I felt a presence. Somehow the spirit of Mary Ann Evans—Miss George Eliot, was there, telling me to hang on. I knew then that I was a writer, and no matter what stood in my way, I should always follow my dream.

Three years later, I returned to California, older, fatter (the English may not have the best food, but their beer is another story) and a lot wiser. That Chicagoan's fit of pique turned out to have been more than justified. The company was swamped in debt. Shortly before my second book was to launch, the managing partner withdrew his capital, sailed away and mysteriously disappeared off his yacht—his body never found. The company sputtered and died.

I freelanced for a few years, started a blog that took off beyond my wildest dreams and finally found new publishers. I relaunched the two UK books, Food of Love and The Best Revenge, and began working on a humorous mystery series based on the main characters in The Best Revenge: Camilla Randall, downwardly mobile socialite with impeccable manners, and her best friend, gay playwright Plantagenet Smith. I figured they could be a sort of Nick and Nora Charles for the 21st Century.

The first book in the series was Ghostwriters in the Sky, set on the Central Coast. I actually started writing that one in England. I guess I was feeling homesick living in that Lincolnshire warehouse. 

The second, Sherwood, Ltd. was inspired by my English adventures and put Camilla in that seedy warehouse where I had lived and that missing company director became the notorious Peter Sherwood.   

As my career finally took off, I couldn't help thinking the spirit of George Eliot had been watching over me.

Sherwood Ltd, in which Camilla builds a "Wendy House" from pallets of porn, just as I did, and deals with a band of rough, but well-meaning publishing outlaws (and a diabolical murderer), is available in ebook and paper from Kotu Beach Press. 

The other two books in the series are No Place Like Home and So Much for Buckingham.  Buckingham revisits Lincolnshire and takes Plantagenet to Camilla's old haunts on the banks of the River Trent...where he's accused of murdering a notorious Internet troll.  

I'm now working on #6, which has the working title, The Queen of Staves. 

Sherwood, Ltd. is available in ebook from all the Amazons, iTunes, GooglePlay Scribd, Inktera, Kobo, Nook, and Smashwords. And in paper from Amazon and Barnes and Noble

Sample Reviews:

"A wily tale of murder, deceit, and intrigue that can stand with the best of them. Her characters are all too real and her dialogue took me from laughter to chills" David Keith on Smashwords

"Smartly written and nearly impossible to put down, I found myself counting the hours until I could leave work and get back to reading! Well done!" T.L. Ingham on Smashwords

"It's an hilarious lampoon of crime fiction, publishing and the British in general. Anne Allen gets our Brit idioms and absurdities dead to rights. The story reminds me of the louche satirist Tom Sharpe, who did for middle England what Hogarth did for 18thc London. Its digs at the heroic vanities of micro-publishing and author narcissism are spot on...Its droll phrases often had me giggling (not a pretty sight): "Those breasts need their own postcode." And the plot twists, as its cauliflower-brained heroine Camilla lurches from one crisis to another, are delicious. Whether you enjoy crime suspense, comedy or satire - or all of them together - you'll have enormous fun with this cleverly structured romp. Highly recommended! John Yeoman, director of the Writer's Village

If you're interested in seeing more pictures of Gainsborough and the places that influenced the writing of Sherwood, Ltd, check out my Sherwood, Ltd. Pinterest page.

If anybody has any questions about my adventures in Lincolnshire or a similar adventure to share, I'd love to hear from you in the comments.