Big News: Lisa's new psychological thriller THE UNRAVELING OF JULIA coming July 15, 2025!

Chick Wit

  • Happy 2025! January 5, 2025

    See you next week!

  • Column Classic: ‘Twas The Night Before December 29, 2024

    By Lisa Scottoline

    For Christmas, I got broken pipes.

    Again.

    Let me explain.

    Just before the holidays, I went down to the basement.

    First mistake, right?

    Going down to the basement is asking for trouble. 

    There was water all over the basement floor. It didn’t take a plumber to figure out that one of the overhead pipes was leaking.

    Correction. Actually, it did. It took four different workmen to figure out what was leaking, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

    I called my plumbing and heating company, and they sent over a plumber, who said I needed a heating guy instead, and next a heating guy came over and said I needed a plumbing guy instead, and then a third guy came over who could do both and told me it would take four thousand dollars to fix my problem, which was a combination of plumbing and heating problems.

    That’s all I understood, as I stopped listening after the four-thousand-dollar part.

    But it had to be fixed, so I said yes, and they put me “on the schedule.”

    This was two days before Christmas. I stayed home and waited for the plumber/heater guy to come, though I had three zillion things to do, among them buying last-minute gifts and turkey for Christmas dinner. When no one showed up, I called the company, and they said I wasn’t “on the schedule,” after all.

    Oops.

    No problem, any other week but Christmas. I had no gifts and no turkey. Time was running out. The company said they’d send somebody as soon as possible, which was Christmas Eve day. This was a problem, because it was the last shopping day until you-know-what, and all I had for the holiday dinner was cereal. Also, the tree had to be decorated, so never let it be said that I leave some things until the last minute.

    Because I leave everything until the last minute.

    Also, if you recall, my last Christmas Eve was spent with plumbers and heating guys. If it’s a federal holiday, I’m spending it with plumbing and heating guys.

    So, I said to the company, no thanks, don’t send the plumbers on Christmas Eve. Send the plumbers on Monday, after the weekend.

    What could go wrong?

    You’ll see.

    Francesca and I enjoyed Christmas Eve day, picked up our turkey and fixings, and stopped by the mall, where we were interviewed by a TV reporter as one of those crazy last-minute shoppers. I blamed it on Francesca. On camera. That’s the kind of mother I am.

    So we came home all happy, but as we were decorating the tree, we noticed it was getting cooler in the house. And long story short, on Christmas morning, we opened our presents in fifty-five degree weather.

    Inside.

    Whatever had gone wrong in the basement had knocked out our heat, but no worries, we were warmed by tidings of comfort and joy.

    Until the house temperature dipped to fifty-two.

    Hmm.

    We had put shopping ahead of heating, and now we’re going to pay for it.

    Still, no worries. We remained calm. We would tough it out for the weekend, then the plumber/heater guy would come on Monday.

    But a snowstorm came instead.

    And the plumber/ heating guy couldn’t.

    So, you know where this is going.

    We have no heat, for five days now. Francesca keeps a fire burning in the fireplace in the family room, and I keep the hot chocolate coming. We sleep on couches, huddled with the dogs, in the flickering light of the fire.

    So, I asked her if we should have done the prudent thing and let the plumber come, instead of having Christmas Eve.

    “Nah,” she answered, with a smile.

    Good girl.

    Copyright © Lisa Scottoline

  • Holiday Big December 22, 2024

    By Lisa Scottoline

    Well, it’s that time of year again.

    I mean, it’s time to meet with my accountant.

    I do this every year around Christmas.

    Usually, after Christmas shopping.

    It would make sense to talk to the accountant before Christmas shopping, but that would be no fun.

    You don’t want to have a conversation with your accountant before the holidays.

    It’s like having a conversation with your dietitian.

    Not that I have one, but like many women, I am one.

    My four basic food groups are pasta.

    Is that okay?

    But nobody likes holiday presents more than I do.

    I get more excited than most five-year olds.

    I think a gift is a way to show people you love them and you’re grateful to them, every day of the year.

    It doesn’t have to cost a lot of money.

    So my accountant reminds me.

    He meets with me to tell me when I can retire, given my current rate of spending.

    I tell him I’m not interested in retiring, I’m interested in spending.

    He says he just wants me to make an informed decision.

    Where was he before I got married?

    The second time.

    Okay, the first, too.

    The bottom line is, I’m trying to make better mistakes.

    In any event, I don’t feel like retiring anytime soon. In fact, today I announced the new book coming out this summer, my first psychological thriller. I’ve never written one before, but between politics and the news, I’ve never felt so psychological.

    Its entitled The Unraveling of Julia because I’m feeling vaguely unraveled.

    I changed the name so you wouldn’t know it was me.

    That’s the fiction part.

    I love telling stories for a living. It’s totally fun and even though it’s hard work, you get to do it in your teddybear clothes, as Daughter Francesca calls them.

    I write as an excuse to dress like a teddybear.

    And I know retirement is a great thing and most of my friends are retired and doing a lot of fun things. They hike, bike, ski, volunteer, take classes, and play pickle ball.

    I might be the only person my age who doesn’t play pickleball.

    That said, I’m also a person who just got a puppy.

    At my age, that took some calculating. I hope I’ll be around for the length of this dog’s life.

    That means I have to live a long time.

    Or the puppy dies PDQ.

    You know you’re old if after you get a puppy, you have to revise your will.

    But I want this puppy provided for. She’s accustomed to toys and treats.

    Every girl should be. 

    So my puppy’s also my beneficiary.

    I know it sounds silly, but it isn’t. I was a good friend of my late neighbor Harry, who passed away, leaving his very old cat Spunky. There were no provisions in his will for Spunky, so I took the cat in and he tottered around my second floor, safe from my rambunctious dogs, and basically Spunky lived the life of Riley.

    I thought he had a month left to live.

    Five years later, he was playing pickleball.

    Anyway, I think the holidays are for life, and love.

    Not accountants or dietitians or estates lawyers.

    I say, Love big, and live big.

    And thanks big, to all of you.

    Copyright © Lisa Scottoline 2024

  • Chew Toy December 15, 2024

    By Lisa Scottoline

    Week one of new puppy Eve is over.

    It’s been a very busy seven days.

    With a very long list of Things to Do, like:

    Cuddle.

    Hug.

    Feed.

    Cuddle.

    Kiss.

    Cuddle.

    Feed.

    Cuddle.

    Feed.

    Sleep.

    Pee and poop.

    Feed.

    Cuddle again.

    I had forgotten how 24/7 a new puppy could be, and ain’t it great?

    All the other things I should be doing haven’t gotten done yet.

    Like, take a shower.

    Or buy holiday gifts.

    Or do my actual job.

    And you know what?

    It will wait.

    Welcome to my new attitude.

    I’m not sure if it’s perspective.

    Or dereliction of duty

    I know I’ll get to everything else, in time.

    But before then, I have to cuddle something small, warm, soft, and furry.

    Eve is ridiculously cute and adorable, and I can’t tear myself away from her.

    I hang with her in her ex-pen, where we take naps together.

    If you’re not familiar with an ex-pen, it’s where you put your ex-husband.

    Just kidding.

    Or maybe fantasizing.

    An ex-pen is something that a genius friend of mine recommended, so the new puppy could have a place that was all her own in a house dominated by Boone and Kit, who have lived here for twelve years and like things to stay the same.

    As in, we didn’t need a sibling, so why did you get us one?

    I was worried they would be less than welcoming, if not murderous.

    So I set up a large ex-pen in the kitchen and the family room, where Eve can hang out with her toys.

    It’s like a dog playpen.

    Or protective custody.

    But in the good news category, Boone and Kit are taking her appearance surprisingly well.

    So even that is going better than expected!

    Meanwhile I’ve had a week of furry bliss and puppy breath.

    Although I’m getting nothing done, I’m adding years to my life from endorphins bubbling in my veins.

    Or wherever endorphins bubble.

    If they bubble.

    At this point, the only holiday shopping I’ve done is to buy dog toys, so Eve has approximately twenty, most of which squeak, rattle, and roll when I throw them to her. She would play all day, if she got her way.

    Basically, she gets her way.

    Sometimes we play fetch, which means that I throw the ball and then I go fetch it.

    We go outside 45 times a day and three times a night, but I don’t mind. At my age and hers, we’re both fighting urinary incontinence.

    The only downside is that her favorite chew toy is me.

    She likes to bite my clothes, hands, arms, and basically any part of me that she can reach, flying across the ex-pen like the killer bunny in Monty Python and the Holy Grail. It’s pretty funny but I know it’s not great behavior.

    In this mode, she’s not Eve, she’s Evil.

    My dog training books say that I can’t let her bite me and I have to start saying no.

    I hate No.

    I love Yes.

    But I’m going to give it a try today.

    Maybe.

    Copyright © Lisa Scottoline 2024

  • Participation Trophy December 8, 2024

    By Lisa Scottoline

    Let me tell you the story of Motorcycle Mary.

    Not to be confused with Mother Mary.

    Both women were inspiring, but in different ways.

    Motorcycle Mary was Mary McGee, who was the first woman in the United States to race a motorcycle.

    She passed away recently at eighty-seven, and I learned about her from a short film co-produced by my favorite Formula One race driver, Lewis Hamilton.

    Yes, I’m into Formula One.

    Ever since I found the Netflix series Drive to Survive I became immediately addicted to Formula One, even at this late stage of my life.

    At the time, I was Formula 68.

    Also I got a crush on Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz, Charles LeClerc, and the other drivers. Hot men in hot cars. What’s not to like?

    Now I watch the races, read the books, buy the gear, and see film shorts about amazing women like Motorcycle Mary.

    She’s also the first person to race a motorcycle alone, five hundred miles across the Baja desert, in 1975. She was denied recognition and awards because she was a woman, but she didn’t let that stop her. She loved racing, so she did it more and more, despite hardship and even sabotage. When she was asked why, she answered:

    “I choose to participate in life.”

    Wow!

    I thought that was such a wonderful perspective, even for the holidays, when there are no motorcycles in sight.

    I mean, we’re busy year round, then the holidays arrive and bring more and more tasks. We process this as stress, understandably, so the holidays can become negative. Buying gifts, finding the right size, and hoping the package comes on time become  chores that keep us up at night.

    Or is it just me?

    But lately I’m thinking about Motorcycle Mary.

    And I might be Motorcycle Lisa.

    Or more my speed, Tricycle Lisa.

    Because I’m coming to believe that adding things is simply participating in life.

    Which is good.

    In fact, doing more things is just participating more and more.

    Maybe life is about participating.

    And we all deserve a participation trophy.

    Since when do they have such a bad name?

    I never agreed with that.

    A participation trophy means you came, you had fun, and you went home.

    Why not?

    The participation trophy that motorcycle Mary is talking about is a life fully-lived.

    With more adventures.

    More stories.

    Just, more.

    After all, what’s the alternative?

    Doing less?

    Having fewer experiences?

    I don’t want to be on my deathbed and think, I wish my life hadn’t been so damn eventful.

    Okay, maybe the holidays added a few too many tasks, but I’m learning to add tasks that I like and subtract ones I don’t. So for example, nothing needs to be perfect. It doesn’t matter if I don’t have the good Scotch tape or the cutest gift tag, plus I forgot the nutmeg.

    That’s three trips to the stores eliminated, right there.

    And who needs another trip to the store at this time of year?

    Not Tricycle Lisa.

    Those aren’t the things I’d add.

    In fact, you know what I just added?

    A puppy!

    Yay!

    Yes, I got a puppy at the craziest time of year to anything, especially the thing that totally disrupts all the other things.

    The new me said yes!

    As you may know, I already have brothers Boone and Kit, two Cavalier King Charles Spaniels, but I need more participation!

    Or is it pupticipation?

    Anyway holiday addition is another adorable Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, and she’s already running the house from her ex-pen.

    Her name is Eve, but I could have called her Motorcycle Mary or Mother Mary.

    She’s the youngest in a long line of women who do too much.

    But in a good way.

    And I plan to enjoy life with her.

    Happy Holidays!

    Copyright © Lisa Scottoline 2024

★ Nominated for Macavity Award for Best Mystery Short Story

★ Nominated for Edgar Award for Best Short Story

Now in Paperback

★ #4 New York Times Bestseller

★Barnes & Noble Most Anticipated Novel of March

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★ “A Best Historical Fiction of Spring” – BookBub

★ LibraryReads Selection for March 2023

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★ Lit Hub Top 25 Book for 2023

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New York Times Bestseller

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★ Goodreads Nominated for Best Historical Fiction of 2021

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Library Journal Starred Review

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Ghosts of Harvard by Francesca Serritella Paperback Cover Image
GHOSTS OF HARVARD

Ghosts of Harvard, which The Washington Post called “a sweeping and beguiling novel” as well as “a rich, intricately plotted thriller,” is Francesca Serritella’s debut novel.

Best First Novel Finalist– International Thriller Writers

★ Philadelphia Magazine “Great Beach Read of 2020”

★ Amazon Editor’s Pick for “Best of the Month”

★ Goodreads “May’s Most Anticipated Novel”

★ Named a “Thriller that Will Have You on the Edge of Your Seat This Summer” by PopSugar

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