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Guest Joyce St. Anthony plus #giveaway

News Flash: Jay Roberts is Joyce’s lucky winner! Jay, please check your email, and congratulations.

Edith/Maddie, still hoping for signs of spring north of Boston.

New books are a good sign, though, and I’m super delighted to welcome Joyce St. Anthony – whom some of you know as Joyce Tremel – with the first book in a new historical mystery series! Front Page Murder begins the Homefront News series and it sounds fabulous. My copy dropped on my Kindle on release day earlier this week, and I’m excited to read it.

Here’s the blurb:

Irene Ingram has written for her father’s newspaper, the Progress Herald, ever since she could grasp a pencil. Now she’s editor in chief, which doesn’t sit well with the men in the newsroom. But proving her journalistic bona fides is the least of Irene’s worries when crime reporter Moe Bauer, on the heels of a hot tip, turns up dead at the foot of his cellar stairs.

An accident? That’s what Police Chief Walt Turner thinks, and Irene is inclined to agree until she finds the note Moe discreetly left on her desk. He was on to a big story, he wrote. The robbery she’d assigned him to cover at Markowicz Hardware turned out to be something far more devious. A Jewish store owner in a small, provincial town, Sam Markowicz received a terrifying message from a stranger. Moe suspected that Sam is being threatened not only for who he is…but for what he knows.

Tenacious Irene senses there’s more to the Markowicz story, which she is all but certain led to Moe’s murder. When she’s not filling up column inches with the usual small-town fare—locals in uniform, victory gardens, and scrap drives—she and her best friend, scrappy secretary Peggy Reardon, search for clues. If they can find the killer, it’ll be a scoop to stop the presses. But if they can’t, Irene and Peggy may face an all-too-literal deadline.

RESEARCH, RESEARCH, RESEARCH

Thanks for having me back Wickeds! It’s always great to visit.

I’m often asked how much research goes into writing historical fiction. The short answer is: A LOT. The next question is usually “It’s fiction. Can’t you just make it all up?” Well I could, but then it wouldn’t exactly be historical.

Historical fiction, whether it’s a romance, a mystery, or a thriller, has to have some basis in fact. Sure, I invent the characters and the plot, but the historical parts should be as close to true as possible. FRONT PAGE MURDER is set in a small fictional town in Pennsylvania in May of 1942.

Pittsburgh was a critical manufacturing hub during WWII so I decided Progress would be in that general area. Before the war, the fictional Tabor Ironworks had made parts for the automobile industry and when Roosevelt suspended car production, the factory converted to making parts for tanks and ships. Although Tabor only exists in my mind and on paper, the part about Roosevelt is true. Many industries converted to manufacturing material for the war. Auto plants converted to making airplanes, tanks, and Jeeps. Shipbuilders, like Dravo and American Bridge in Pittsburgh made war ships and the all-important LSTs (Landing Ship Tank, or as soldiers like to call them Long Slow Targets). Without LSTs, there would have been no landing at Normandy.

Since my main character, Irene runs a newspaper, I had to get other facts straight. I downloaded a day by day timeline for the month of May 1942. Thank heavens for the internet! I also made good use of the online Google news archives where I could see actual newspapers for each day. I made headlines for the beginning of each chapter that would have appeared in Irene’s newspaper, the Progress Herald. If something big happened on a particular day, I made sure Irene talked about it with her co-workers.

Irene, her younger sister, and her mother often listened to the radio in the evening. I found a radio and movie guide online—sort of a precursor to the TV Guide. I was able to find exactly what radio show they would have listened to at a certain time. I also researched the popular songs and movies that were out in May 1942. I couldn’t very well have Irene’s sister listening to a Frank Sinatra record that hadn’t been released yet!

Rationing was another thing I had to research. Not everything was rationed at the same time. Rubber tires, automobiles, and sugar were some of the first to be rationed. People didn’t drive as much. If a driver blew a tire, there was no way to replace it. No new cars were being made.

With the sugar ration, a family was only allowed a half pound per person per week. It sounds like a lot of sugar, but it’s really not—a half pound is barely a cup (I measured and weigh). Most people baked from scratch and there were no artificial sweeteners. If someone baked a cake and made a pitcher of lemonade, that would likely use the rations of two or more people in that household.

One thing I almost forgot to check was the weather. I only realized it when I’d finished the draft right before I sent it to my editor. Even though Progress isn’t a real place, I have it located near Pittsburgh. Some eagle-eyed reader would surely have noticed if I had written that it was sunny on May 20 instead of rainy. After doing some digging, I found weather charts for the area (thank you NOAA!) and was able to add some brief mentions of the weather. Whew!

Now I’m just waiting for someone to find something I missed. As hard as I’ve tried to get things right, it’s inevitable that I missed some little detail. Just do me a favor—don’t go looking for one!

Readers: does it bother you if an author doesn’t get something right? Does it depend on how wrong? Or do you forgive some things if it’s a good story? I’ll send one US commenter a copy of the new book!

Joyce St. Anthony was a police secretary for ten years and more than once envisioned the demise of certain co-workers, but settled on writing as a way to keep herself out of jail. In addition to the Homefront News Mysteries, she is the author of the Brewing Trouble Mysteries, written under her own name, Joyce Tremel. She lives in the beautiful Laurel Highlands of Pennsylvania with her husband.

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