Wednesday, January 21, 2015

Murder Is Our Mascot by Tracy D. Comstock with/a #giveaway

How I Got My Start in Publishing

Tracy Comstock, Murder Is Our Mascot

My success story is a dream-come-true one.  All my life, I have dreamed of being published.  But I was so afraid of failing that I never really tried.  While I was in graduate school, pursing my Masters degree in literature, I wrote a journal entry that one of my professors hit on. She pulled me aside and said it was obvious that I wanted to write. She wanted to see something I had written, but I didn’t really have anything finished that I wanted to show her.  She wouldn’t take no for an answer, however, so she reconfigured one of our assignments to be a creative piece. I had to write a short piece in the style of Flannery O’Connor.  When my professor read it, she took it to one of the creative writing instructors and got me enrolled in her course.  I thoroughly enjoyed that creative writing class, the first one I had ever taken.  I had one short story that won a women’s fiction contest and one that was published in the school’s literary magazine.  But I didn’t continue with the creative writing courses because I didn’t want to change my course of study that late in the game.  But my friends and family weren’t ready to let me forget about my dream again. 

            I had subscribed to Gemma Halliday’s newsletter and I was reading it aloud to my commuting buddy when she announced a writing contest for both published and unpublished writers.  My buddy insisted I enter.  I went home and dug out an idea for a novel I had noodled around with in 2002.  I wrote out the prologue and first chapter, but before I submitted it to the contest, I sent it to my professor who had first encouraged me to write.  She got back to me almost immediately and told me to scrap the whole thing and try again.  I was ready to give up, but my grandma, who had always told me to pursue my dream of writing, wouldn’t let it drop.  I had stopped by to see her before picking my boys up from summer school and she forced me to sit at the kitchen table with a notebook and pencil, telling me I couldn’t leave until I wrote something.  I tried again, and this time, my professor told me to submit it.  So I did.  Unfortunately, my grandma passed away around the time that contest winners were to be announced.  It wasn’t until I got the newsletter announcing the winner that I even gave the contest another thought, too mired in grief to think of much else.  The announcement said we could email for our score on our entry. There would be no feedback given, but a number from 1-10.  Not wanting to let Grandma down, I asked for my score. 

            A couple of days passed, and then I got an email from Gemma Halliday herself.  I was in awe, as she has always been one of my favorite authors.  But she said she couldn’t find my entry.  I figured that was answer enough, so I was ready to let it drop.  But Gemma kindly said she would look at my entry again.  I sent it to her, still in awe I was communicating with one of my favorite authors.  The day of Grandma’s final interment, I came home and was lost in sorrow.  Trying to distract myself, I checked my email.  Gemma told me that she had found my entry; it had been placed in a folder by her assistant, who thought Gemma might be interested in reading more of it since she had just started her own publishing company with a couple of other authors. I was over the moon, but the problem was, I didn’t have any more to show her.  With this encouragement, I got to work and finished the novel. The day I started back to teaching at two of our local colleges, I got a response from Gemma saying she wanted to publish my book. And that was the beginning! I know that this dream would never have come true if not for my guardian angel, my beloved grandma.


Murder Is Our Mascot

Schooled in Murder Book 1
Tracy D. Comstock
Cozy Mystery/Light Romantic Suspense
Gemma Halliday Publishing/65k

Murder is the new mascot at Ellington High...

A murdered coach and a missing counselor has thrown the school into a foreign curriculum of anger, fear, and suspicion. English teacher Emily Taylor is determined to prove that her missing friend is not a murderer. But if she's not, then who is? And where could her friend be? Against the advice of fellow math teacher and former crush Tad, Emily and her best friend Gabby dig into the dead coach's past. But someone doesn't want Emily unearthing their secrets and is determined to see that she gets a failing grade in the sleuthing department. Soon, Emily finds herself scrambling for a new lesson plan to solve the murder...before the killer sets his own deadline! 

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The clack of Emily Taylor's high heels echoed hollowly in the deserted high school hallway. Normally, she loved the sound her heels made on the tile floor. Her obsession with high heels began when her height topped off at a gargantuan five foot one inch, and their authoritative tapping sound typically made her feel confident and in charge. But not this morning. The click-clack reverberating off the rows of metal lockers seemed ominous, a warning of some kind.
Letting herself into her classroom, she decided that the school seemed somewhat sinister because she was unused to being there that early. Her great love affair with her snooze button meant that getting to school before it was filled with a mass of hormone-fueled teenagers was a rarity for her, but she had needed to get in early today in order to prep for a special before-school meeting with a student's mother. Stevie Davis was new to Ellington High and was really struggling in Emily's junior-level English class.
Something about Stevie tugged at Emily. He usually hid his eyes behind his fringe of bangs, causing Emily to fight the urge to grab her scissors and hack away at his curtain of hair so that she could see what was going on behind it. The few times he had tossed his hair back with the irritated shrug that was his typical answer to any question, his eyes had seemed sad, lost, or…something. Emily wasn't sure what that something was, but she was hoping that this meeting with his mother would shed some light on his issues.
Her cantankerous old computer whined to life as Emily flipped on her desk light. Dark, swollen clouds crowded the sky, swallowing her early morning classroom in shadows. Emily felt jumpy and spooked, as if those dark clouds were pressing down on her, enshrouding her in their gloom. Must be an allergy medicine-induced hangover making her feel strange this morning. Nothing like fall to get her sinuses going. As soon as she got her notes together for her meeting, she'd grab a cold shot of caffeine from the stash of sodas she kept in the teachers' lounge fridge. That would help clear her head. Or at least it would if Tad, the conference-hour-sharing, next-door math teacher and fellow soda junkie, hadn't depleted her supply.
As she pulled out samples of Stevie's writing and wrestled her computer into spitting out a copy of his grade report, the lights flickered. Glancing out the back wall of windows, Emily watched the increasing wind whip the trees into a frenzy. Multicolored fall leaves rained down like confetti. She usually loved the electric feel in the air before a good thunderstorm, but a loss of power would ruin her day's plans. Figuring she better make her copies before the ancient, temperamental copy machine went on the fritz, she began sorting through the piles on her desk for the paper she needed. They were organized piles, of course. Oh, who was she kidding? Trying to find the one thing she needed on her messy desk was like trying to isolate a single snowflake during a blizzard. Shuffling papers and files, Emily jumped at the first boom of thunder. The accompanying flash of lightning happened to spotlight the copy of the quiz for which she was searching. Hoping to entice Stevie into becoming more involved in class discussions, she was starting a unit on mythology since he had shown some interest in legends. Today's quiz was over the gods and goddesses of Mount Olympus, or it would be if she got her copies made in time.
Tucking all of her information for the meeting with Stevie's mother into a stray file folder, Emily grabbed up a fresh legal pad and pen and headed out the door. Halfway there, she turned on her heel to go back for the quiz she needed to copy. Yep, she definitely needed that soda. A glance at her vintage Strawberry Shortcake watch showed she was, as usual, cutting it close on time. But first things first.
Popping the top on the last soda in the fridge, Emily silently thanked whoever was the God of caffeine for their nectar as she took her first icy sip of the sugar-laden soda. No diet drinks for her, no sir, as the extra ten pounds on her hips could attest. Tad had tried to hide the last can behind a pitcher of green tea, knowing Emily would never touch that, even if it might benefit her hips. She, however, was on to his nefarious ways. Practicing her evil victory laugh, she click-clacked her way to the copy room to get her copies started before the meeting. Another crashing boom of thunder rattled the windows as Emily threw the door wide, propping it open with those cursed hips while she flipped the light switch. Nothing. Scanning the hallway confirmed her suspicions. The power was out. She took a step backward, thinking she would head downstairs to consult with Principal Matthews. Rain began to lash the windows over the stairwell, making the darkness of the hall seem even more complete. She fumbled her way a few feet down the hallway until the lights flickered back on again. Not wanting to waste a second in case the power decided to blink off again, Emily dashed back to the partially open copy room door. Hitting the light switch again with one hand, she rushed toward the hulking machine on the far wall. That was when papers went flying and sticky, syrupy soda sprayed everything in its path. Emily went airborne. Throwing her hands out in front of her to break her fall, Emily winced as they skidded through sticky wetness. The picture of grace she was not, so finding herself flat on her face was actually not uncommon for Emily. She could trip on a completely flat surface. The lights flickered again as she clambered to her feet, worrying about getting the sticky mess cleaned up before someone else slipped. Glancing down at her hands, she was busy cursing her lost lifeline, her last caffeine hit, when she realized that the sticky substance covering her hands was not soda. It was something thicker, and redder. Finally looking back to see what she had tripped over, Emily saw what appeared to be a head protruding from behind an office chair. Taking a cautious step closer, she could see that the head was surrounded by what looked like a puddle of congealing blood and was, thankfully, attached to a body. Unfortunately, it appeared to be a dead body. And that's when Emily began to scream and scream.

About the Author:
Tracy Comstock is a small-town girl from Missouri. She lives in a home where she is outnumbered 3:1 by the males in her life: her husband and their two extremely adorable, but terrifyingly ornery sons. She has no pets as all living things, besides humans, of course, come to her house to die, including the victims in her books. All her life Tracy devoured books. Her parents' most effective punishment was grounding her from reading. Although she has a B.S. in Education and a Masters in Literature, she was nudged down the path to publication by encouraging (and sometimes threatening!) family, friends, professors, and students. When not working on Emily's adventures, Tracy is an adjunct instructor for several local colleges, where she gets to teach others about her greatest passion: writing.

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