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Author Bio: Denise Grover Swank lives in Lee’s Summit,
Missouri. She has six children, three dogs, and an overactive imagination. She
can be found dancing in her kitchen with her children, reading or writing her
next book. You will rarely find her cleaning. You can find out more about Denise and her other books at www.denisegroverswank.com or
email her at denisegroverswank@gmail.com
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Guest Post: Researching for books:
One of the many
reasons I think so many more people are writing books (other than word
processing programs on computers and eBooks) is that it’s so much easier to
research for a book. Back in the day, when I wrote a paper for school, I had to
go to the library and look things up in books and magazines. Microfiche anyone?
(My dinosaur was named Rex and we fed him ground up baby brontosauruses.) But
times have changed and my children simply open a search engine and type in any
abstract phrase and are bombarded with results.
I do the same thing when I’m writing a book.
I’m forever amazed the
Google will take my random string of words and often give me something that is
actually useful. Some books require more research than others. When I wrote Chosen the
first The Chosen book of my urban fantasy/paranormal romance series, I’m sure I
was put on a government watch list. AK47’s (powerful but not that accurate) How
to make a truck explode (harder than you might think) How to break into a gun
cabinet (did you know that you can pick some gun cabinet locks with Bic pens?)
Gunshot wounds to the thigh (lots of gross pictures) Writing The Rose Gardner
Mysteries is like taking a deep breath of fresh air. Rose’s life is much
simpler than Emma and Will’s in Chosen or Julia, Evan and
Reece’s in Here, the first book in my YA series. But there’s still
research involved. In Twenty-Nine and a Half Reasons, Rose is
summoned for jury duty. I’ve been summoned multiple times myself, in multiple
states. I even served on a Federal jury once (not as exciting as you might
think). But every state, every county is different. It helps that Fenton
County and the quirky town of Henryetta, Arkansas are fictitious, but I still
wanted Rose’s experience to be as realistic as possible.
I searched for juror’s
daily pay, the rules they are given, what the consequences are if they disobey.
I watched an edge-of-your-seat video produced by the state of Arkansas MANY
TIMES to make sure I understood the parts I most needed to focus on. (Thank you
great state of Arkansas for providing this video to the public. I was more
helpful than you know.)
You too can watch this
video!!! Here’s the link! https://courts.arkansas.gov/juror_orientation.cfm
I researched other
things too, things you might think strange. Starting a nursery, zoning laws, if
public defenders are county employees, the punishment for juror misconduct,
bookies, the name of the magazine that covers social events in Southern
Arkansas, real estate investing companies…you get the point. I’m sure I got
some things wrong and at some point some discerning reader will email me to let
me know, but know that I’ve done the best I could to make it accurate as
possible. Now I’m off to research hotel
floor plans in St. Louis. Figure that one out.
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EXCERPT: Twenty-Nine and a Half Reasons
“Watch where you’re going!” a voice snarled
above me.
The papers settled enough for me to stare into
the angry blue eyes of a man wearing a dark suit, a white shirt and a crisp
yellow tie. His dark blond hair was short but styled. He leaned down and I
couldn’t help my involuntary squeak as I scooted back in fear.
“This is a courthouse, not a barroom brawl.”
“I... I’m sorry...” I stammered, caught off
guard by his hostility. I reached for the paper closest to me.
“Don’t touch those!” He reached for the
sheets, his shirtsleeves pulling back to reveal his wrists. No scars. He was
scary enough without worrying that he was the man in the restroom.
Jerking my hand back, I got to my knees and
grabbed the wall to pull myself up. “I was only tryin’ to help. No need to be
nasty about it.”
His entire face puckered as he squatted.
“You’ve helped quite enough. Thank you.” Even with his snotty tone,
his cultured Southern accent was evident. He appeared to be in his early
thirties, but his attitude and haughtiness reminded me of the women in the
Henryetta Garden Club. The ones from old Southern money.
“I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m late to jury
duty—”
A throaty snort erupted. “Of course you
are. Why am I not surprised?”
Indignation squared my shoulders. “It’s
obvious that your mother raised you better than this. What do you think she
would say, knowing you were treatin’ a lady this way? You should be ashamed of
yourself. Mr...” My eyebrows rose as I waited for him to answer.
His jaw dropped halfway through my tirade and
his cheeks pinkened, making him look younger and less hardened. “Deveraux.”
“Mr. Deveraux.” I pursed my lips in
disapproval. Any properly raised Southern gentleman was terrified of his
mother’s wrath. Especially when the combination of poor manners and women were
involved. “I suggest you brush up on your manners.” I turned left and started
down the hall only to realize, to my horror, I had gone the wrong way. I
stopped midstep and squeezed my eyes shut. This whole morning had to be a
nightmare, just a bad dream. Situations like this didn’t happen in real life.
Only, in my life, they did.
Sucking in a deep breath, I spun around and
headed the opposite direction, teetering on my broken heel. With my jaw thrust
forward, I tried to pass Mr. Deveraux with as much dignity as I could muster.
Mr. Deveraux, to his credit, ignored me as he
continued to scoop up the papers and stuffed them into manila folders.
Just when I thought I was home free, I heard a
smug voice behind me. “Fourth door on the right.”
The sound of my click-thud steps
echoed off the hard surfaces in the hallway, but I continued walking, in spite
of my billowing mortification. It’s hard to look dignified when you’re swaying
like a sailor. Finally, I reached the fourth door. I glanced down at my letter
to make sure I had the right room, not trusting Mr. Crabbypants, but my hand
was empty.
I’d dropped the letter.
Closing my eyes with a sigh, I wondered how
this day could get worse.
“Lose something?”
A groan escaped before I could squelch it. I
opened my eyes and plastered on a smile.
Mr. Deveraux handed the paper to me with a smirk. “A gentleman
always helps those less fortunate, Miss Gardner.” He tilted his head toward me
before moving briskly down the hall. “You’re late. You better get in there,” he
called out, looking straight ahead.
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Denise Grover Swank's novel HERE
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