by: M. R. Dimond

 

Write what, you ask? I write light, cozy-adjacent mysteries, mostly in my Beauchamp, Texas, world where three millennials overthrow their high-powered, big-city jobs to live and set up offices in a Victorian mansion. (Every small Texas town seems to have one such house.) Beauchamp doesn’t yet rival Cabot Cove in its murder rate, but it is sure enough working on it.

 

The attraction comes from my past reading and life. I grew up in an old luxury home, no longer luxurious. No doubt chemical fumes from stripping paint and

applying new finishes curdled my brain. When I wasn’t engaged in furniture and house restoration, I hid in my bedroom and read Rex Stout, Dorothy Sayers, Georgette Heyer,  Erle Stanley Gardner, P. G. Wodehouse, Trixie Belden, and her many sisters.

 

In that list I see mysteries, humor, and community. Give me the wisecracking detective, male or female, any day. In that cauldron was formed JD Thompson, lawyer, poet, musician, and his band buddies and office mates.

 

Mystery readers and writers burn for justice. Possibly you’ve glimpsed an event in your life that you felt was unfair. I’m happy I can retire to the page and make sure justice is done for my characters. But humor? Murder is funny? No, but so often we need to laugh before we cry. When I think back on the most traumatic times in my life, I remember the authors who pulled me through: Terry Pratchett, Janet Evanovich, and rereads of those cited earlier. 

 

In 1979 Norman Cousins published “Anatomy of an Illness,” in which he describes his journey to vibrant health from a painful, incurable illness. Told to get his affairs in order, instead he watched Marx Brothers movies. Ten minutes of laughter brought him two hours of deep, pain-free sleep. Other studies blossomed from his experience, and today a quick survey shows many benefits of laughing: 

That last one has me visualizing companies starting the day with a fifteen-minute group laughing session, which appeals to me more than singing the corporate anthem. I imagine it would be effective; one writer recommended thirty minutes of exercise three times a week and fifteen minutes of laughter daily for optimum health.

 

The best news is that you don’t have to feel light-hearted or happy to receive laughter’s benefits. You just have to do it. Children laugh over 300 times each day; adults, seventeen. Being with children and pets could naturally give you more opportunities for laughter. If not, watch old sitcoms and chortle along with the laughtrack, even if you feel and sound like Eeyore, A. A. Milne’s depressive donkey. You could also read your favorite comics and watch the Youtube Laughter Channel or one of its siblings.

 

And me? Does my day call for hanging with wise guy Archie Goodwin, sour Commander Vimes and his starry-eyed Captain Carrot, hapless Stephanie Plum, sleek, piffling Lord Peter Wimsey, patented idiot Bertie Wooster, or any number of other friends between the pages or electrons? They never let me down, and they’re more fun than other health advice, like eating kale.

 

I was going to cite all the medical studies on laughter, to show that my college degrees and technical career weren’t wasted, but that would eat up my allowed word count. You can consult Ramon Mora-Ripoll (Altern Ther Health Med 2010 Nov-Dec;16(6):56-64. PMID: 21280463. The therapeutic value of laughter in medicine) for a list of them. The conclusion reads:

 

“Laughter has shown physiological, psychological, social, spiritual, and quality-of-life benefits. Adverse effects are very limited, and laughter is practically lacking in contraindications.” 

 

I can’t wait to read the adverse effects and contraindications. Probably they’re fewer and milder than those of any drug I’ve ever taken.

 

I know for a fact (because they told me) that I was rejected for one prestigious writer’s group because I wasn’t serious enough. “Thank you!” was not the response they expected. Because while I was trained to make a difference in the world (Nun? Missionary? Nurse? Teacher? Social Worker?), the vocation from the depths of my soul is to make people laugh, just a little bit, and promise them that justice will be done, at least in my books. If I can bring healing joy like my favorite writers, I’ll have done my part to repair the world.

 

About the Book: The Sphynx Who Stole Christmas, Book 2 in the Black Orchid Enterprises Mysteries

 

The weather outside is frightful, and indoors isn’t looking too good either, not when a strange Sphynx cat invades the Black Orchid Enterprises Christmas Open House and Gingerbread House Display. 

 

The murder in the backyard doesn’t help, but Johnny’s more worried about the feline invader, and Dianne’s worried about her kitten defending her turf from the interloper. After the murder suspect list is reduced from the entire town of Beauchamp, Texas, to all the Black Orchids’ friends and family, Attorney JD Thompson springs into action to clear them all, preferably before Monday night’s concert. Life’s hard for a vet, accountant, lawyer, and ABBA tribute band. 

 

After stints in professional orchestras, law firms, cat rescue, bookkeeping, and technical communication, M. R. Dimond returned to a childhood dream of writing fiction, which has turned out to be about musicians, lawyers, veterinarians, accountants, and cats. Watch for the next Black Orchid Enterprises mystery in early 2023. Find her books at https://books2read.com/BlackOrchids1 and https://books2read.com/BlackOrchids2, discounted through smashwords.com/shelves/promos until January 1. Her website is https://dimond.me, where you can enter an end-of-year book giveaway by signing up for her newsletter.

 

Author photo by Marjorie Farrell

Book cover by Mariah Sinclair

 

Grapefruit and Lemon, foster kitten laughter generators

M. R. Dimond, photographer

 

Example of a Central Texas big house, repurposed as the Elgin Town Hall

M. R. Dimond photographer