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Facebook and I have always had a dysfunctional relationship. Ten years after retiring as a plaintiff’s lawyer in Boston, I took the Florida bar exam and was offered a job as an assistant state attorney. Soon, I was heading the juvenile division and handling the gun and sex cases myself. I had mostly managed to avoid social media up until then, but I quickly discovered the gold mine that awaited me on Facebook. Teenage delinquents loved boasting about their various crimes without a thought to how law enforcement had access to their inadvertent confessions. The photos of them posing with a variety of firearms was especially helpful when they denied ever owning or using a gun.

However, the downside of Facebook threatened to outweigh the benefits when I saw it used to bully and seduce vulnerable children and put them in harm’s way. I began to see Facebook more as a dangerous weapon than a tool. When I finally retired permanently, one of the first things I did was vow never to access Facebook again. And I didn’t miss it a bit.

Time passed, and I began writing short mystery stories, many of which found their way to publication in anthologies and online magazines. In online discussions, there were increasing numbers of conversations about the importance of having a Facebook presence to aid in marketing the anthologies where my stories appeared. I resisted as long as could, feeling I was betraying the promise I had made to myself to have nothing to do with an outlet that was so poor at policing its content and responsible for so much damage.

Then, editors began requiring a social media presence in order to be accepted into their anthologies. I created a website with a blog included, but the demand for a Facebook account continued. I reluctantly caved in and set up a Facebook author’s page. I had no idea what I was doing and ended up with a bare bones page that consisted primarily of announcements related to my mystery stories and my blog entries. I was shocked and then annoyed when my account was repeatedly cluttered with posts from a bewildering variety of other accounts. My own posts were lost in the noise, so I spent hours trying to remove the intruders. The temptation to end my Facebook presence became increasingly irresistible. I have continued to resist cutting the cord, however, because I don’t want story rejection decisions to be based on the lack of a Facebook page.

That being said, I look forward to the day I am free to delete my Facebook account. I’m sure I can find a neighborhood 10-year-old to help me figure out how!

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As promised, my story, "Last Ride of the Valkyries," is available in the erotic mystery anthology, Sex & Violins.


A reminder: This volume would warrant an X rating if one were being given. Who knew that symphony instruments could be so deadly...or so sexy!


If you'd like to preorder, the publisher is offering a special deal. There will be no shipping charge for the paperback,which will be shipped on October 31. If you order the ebook, you will be able to download it on October 15. This link will take you to the preorder page on the publisher's website: whitecitypress.com/product/violins/MM/3

which includes an entertaining description of the book. 


Happy reading!







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Writer's pictureWendy Harrison

I watched the huge ebony crow splash most of the water out of the birdbath. The window over my desk gave me a front row seat to his ablutions. When he finished, I waited to see what would happen when my regular feathered visitors showed up. Two California scrub jays had been daily guests. I enjoyed watching the jays stare at me defiantly through the window while they splashed until they were thoroughly drenched, and I hoped the bigger bird didn’t scare them off.

As the crow finished his bath, one of the jays flew from a nearby tree and screeched at him. To my surprise, the sneak attack worked and the crow left, loudly proclaiming his outrage.

Poe’s raven came to mind.



From then on, I thought of the crow as Edgar. He came to bathe regularly and then began bringing pieces of stolen food to soften in the birdbath before he ate them. There were peanuts still in the shell, chunks of bread, and Cheez-Its. Strictly vegetarian, but I couldn’t imagine where he was finding it all. The blue jays began visiting less often, especially when two additional crows, juvenile offspring of Edgar, began to follow dad to the bath and try to steal the food he brought to wash. I couldn’t resist naming them Allan and Poe. They were delightfully playful and fascinated by the solar fountain I added to a second birdbath.

When a hummingbird hovered in the fountain spray one morning, I added hummingbird feeders to the mix. Factor in the young wild rabbits scouring our yard for food, and I have the perfect setting for not writing. My hope that the wildlife antics outside my window would inspire ideas for stories hasn’t panned out, but life is so much more fun now so how can I complain?

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