Setting the Story by Margot Justes Redux

I write romantic mysteries for a niche market, my stories deal with art, travel, a bit of mayhem and romance. I might preface that with-I love art and I love to travel-and have been fortunate to be able to do so. The old adage write what you know and love is true.  

When I started writing, I knew my novel would be set in Paris. In my youth, I lived there for a year, and have since gone back a few times. It stood to reason that my first romance should be set there. I’m familiar with the city, and over the years from my perspective, little has changed in the City of Light. The Louvre now has Pei’s Pyramid at the entrance, a few buildings have been added, but the age old charm, the cobblestones, the meandering streets, the essence and soul are still very much there.

The first time I visited Bath, England, many years ago, I said I must come back, and I did. My second book is set there. My third hotel book, is set in magical and mysterious Venice. All three cities are unique and romantic places.

My heroine is an artist, and through her eyes, I introduce my readers to my favorite artists, allow her to live in exciting places, give her mysteries to solve, and someone to love. The best of all worlds.

For me it is essential to visit the place I write about, get a sense of the culture, the everyday, mundane activities that make up our lives. The magical moment of sitting in a cafe, sipping an espresso, and watching people go by. An image is created that will allow a glimpse of that perfect intimate moment.  A sculpture in a garden described so well that the reader can almost reach out and touch a sinew, that is the wonder of the written word.

Rodin has always set my pulse racing, his work is strong, exuberant, poignant to the point of agony, and sometimes even mischievous. I tried to bring that sense of joy and discovery to my hero in A Hotel in Paris, and hopefully to my readers. I find solace in art, for me it’s therapeutic. You don’t have to be an art scholar to enjoy it, it’s everywhere we turn, it surrounds us, all we have to do is take note.

Imagine tea at the Pump Room in Bath, and that first sip of the heavily scented Earl Grey tea, you take a deep whiff to savor the smell of the bergamot oil, take a bite of that a fresh scone still warm, loaded with clotted cream and strawberry preserves-except that I skip the cream and go directly for the jam, lots of jam. Those are all real memories that will enrich a story.

Visit a restaurant that has been in business since the early 1600s, watch out as you step down on the crooked stairs and touch the warped wall, coated with gobs of thick paint as you continue your descent that doesn’t seem to end, and then you gingerly sit down in a rickety old chair and hope you won’t be sitting on the ancient brick floor instead.   

From the Rodin Museum in Paris, to the Pump Room in Bath, to the dark and narrow canals in Venice, where the water mysteriously shimmers in the moonlit night. It’s all there. Familiarity with a location makes it easier to write about, it makes it come alive.

Even though I write contemporary romance mysteries, I love history and art, and that is what I write about. It goes back to the beginning, write what you know and love. 

Cheers,

Margot  Justes

A Hotel in Paris

A Hotel in Bath

A Hotel in Venice

A Fire Within

Blood Art

www.mjustes.com

Setting the Story by Margot Justes

I write romantic mysteries for a niche market, my stories deal with art, travel, a bit of mayhem and romance. I might preface that with-I love art and I love to travel-and have been fortunate to be able to do so. The old adage write what you know and love is true.  

When I started writing, I knew my novel would be set in Paris. In my youth, I lived there for a year, and have since gone back a few times. It stood to reason that my first romance should be set there.

New architectural structures reflect a modern appeal, but the old is appreciated and treasured. The Louvre now has Pei’s Pyramid at the entrance, a few buildings have been added, but the age old charm, the cobblestones, the meandering streets, the essence and soul are still very much there.

The first time I visited Bath, England, I told myself I must come back, and I did. My second book is set there. My third hotel book, my current WIP is set in magical and mysterious Venice. All three cities are mystical and romantic places. Venice has captured my heart perhaps as no other city-there is a constant pull to go back and see what I have missed.

My heroine is an artist, and through her eyes, I introduce my readers to my favorite artists, allow her to live in exciting places, give her mysteries to solve, and someone to love. The best of all worlds.

For me it is essential to visit the place I write about, get a sense of the culture, the everyday, mundane activities that make up our lives. The magical moment of sitting in a cafe, sipping an espresso, and watching people go by. An image is created that will allow a glimpse of that perfect intimate moment.  A sculpture in a garden described so well that the reader can almost reach out and touch a sinew, that is the wonder of the written word.

Rodin has always set my pulse racing, his work is strong, exuberant, poignant to the point of agony, and sometimes even mischievous. I tried to bring that sense of joy and discovery to my hero in A Hotel in Paris, and hopefully to my readers. I find solace in art, for me it’s therapeutic. You don’t have to be an art scholar to enjoy it, it’s everywhere we turn, it surrounds us, all we have to do is take note.

Imagine tea at the Pump Room in Bath, and that first sip of the heavily scented Earl Grey tea, you take a deep whiff to savor the smell of the bergamot oil, take a bite of that a fresh scone still warm, loaded with clotted cream and strawberry preserves-except that I skip the cream and go directly for the jam, lots of jam. Those are all real memories that will enrich a story.

Visit a restaurant that has been in business since the early 1600s, in Bath and watch out as you step down on the crooked stairs and touch the warped wall, coated with gobs of thick paint as you continue your descent that doesn’t seem to end, and then you gingerly sit down in a rickety old chair and hope you won’t be sitting on the ancient brick floor instead.   

Stand on top of the Rialto Bridge in Venice, look down at the Grand Canal, and the mesmerizing traffic below, boats gliding on water expertly and avoid contact. Sip an espresso in a cafe and listen to a gondolier serenade you from afar.

From the Rodin Museum in Paris, to the Pump Room in Bath, to the dark and narrow canals in Venice, where the water mysteriously shimmers in the moonlit night. It’s all there. Familiarity with a location makes it easier to write about the experience, it makes it come alive.

Even though I write contemporary romance mysteries, I love history and art, and that is what I write about. It goes back to the beginning, write what you know and love. 

Cheers,

Margot  Justes

A Hotel in Paris

A Hotel in Bath

Blood Art

Hearts & Daggers

Hot Crimes Cool Chicks

www.mjustes.com

Paris by Margot Justes

Periodically, and lately rather frequently, I get a hankering to go back to Paris. I spent a year in that incredible city, and have gone back a few time, but it always beckons me back. The city is my first love, it was a time of my youth and extreme freedom. It was the stuff of dreams.

I write about art, travel and romance. My novel A Hotel in Paris is set in the most romantic city in the world, and since summer and the travel season is almost upon us, I would like to offer a few tips to the city of light and romance that may be a bit off the beaten path.

By all means go to all must see places, and there are so many, but save some time for the other-must see places-go to the intimate and magnificent Rodin museum, it was his home, and his presence can still be felt in every piece exhibited, inside and in his gardens.

It is by far my most favorite museum that I have ever visited.  His work is passionate, ardent, and profound. Every muscle strained, every sinew defined. Agony, joy, and in the case of the Balzac work, arrogance masterfully portrayed.  Walk through the gardens, stop in the café in the garden and savor your brew in quiet contemplation.  

Don’t neglect a stroll in the contemplative Luxembourg Gardens, find the Medici Fountain and the reflective pool, sit down on a bench and ponder…

For a taste of local wonder, lose yourself in the back streets of the left bank, start with Rue De La Huchette off Blvd St. Michel, pick a narrow cobble stoned street and start walking-do wear comfortable shoes. Aromas from many ethnic restaurants beckon you in, you can explore one narrow street after another.

For a romantic stroll do take the time to walk along the Seine, right alongside and back of Notre Dame, and the books stalls. Do so in the early morning, before the crowds and the stalls open, just when the city starts to wake, stop in a café and enjoy a respite. It is so quiet and peaceful and so incredibly romantic. It is equally enchanting late in the evening as the bookstalls start to close; a pervasive hush comes with dusk.   

You will see a different Paris, an enchanting Paris; different from the hassle of the tour buses and the rush to get from one point to another without ever savoring the essence of the city. Take the time, and savor the city of lights.  Don’t be afraid to get lost, carry a map with you. Paris is a walking city filled with treasures, and you will always find your way back to the next monument.

I had to share with you my favorite work of art at the Louvre-the Winged Victory. 

Cheers,

Margot  Justes

Blood Art

A Fire Within

A Hotel in Paris

A Hotel in Bath

Hot Crimes Cool Chicks

www.mjustes.com

A Hotel in Bath by Margot Justes Redux

I would like to share a snippet of A Hotel in Bath with you. A journey that began in Paris, continues in Bath.

“Welcome to London, Miss Grey,” he whispered.

“Thank you, Captain.” She leaned toward him and with her fingertips caressed his cheek.

The plane roared to a stop amidst layers of dense fog, the silvery hue obscuring the landing strip. Inside the plane, the woman sitting next to Peter Riley shivered, he gently stroked her hand, his gaze on her face as soft as the caress. He was so completely aware of her that he could taste her increasing panic. Their relationship was new, and Minola Grey was skittish about commitment. He knew the relationship terrified her, a fear of betrayal never far from the surface.

Minola looked up at him and their eyes locked. “A hotel in London, Captain?”

“Yes, Miss Grey. We were going to go to my apartment, but I received a message that the painters were delayed, and the apartment is not ready. A hotel in Bath. That concept should be familiar to you, except this time, I’m staying with you from the very beginning,” he replied smiling. His grip on her fingers tightened. She took his breath away. “I love you,” he whispered in her ear. “Nervous?”

“No…yes…”

“No. Yes. Hmmm. Now, that is an interesting response. Any regrets?”

“About what?”

“Me.”

“No. Never about you. Meeting your parents, well, let's just say that is an entirely different matter,” Minola replied.

He remembered the first time he met Minola Grey. Paris. And murder. As an Interpol agent, Peter Riley was part of an investigative team in Paris; somehow, she wound up becoming an indispensable part of his life. Because of him, she had matured as a woman and as an artist—she’d become a success in Paris, and now had a major show planned in London—but she still had doubts and insecurities about their association. Minola continued, “Peter, what are your parents going to think? I’m a stranger you are imposing on them during their vacation. Maybe I should stay in London. We can all meet later in Bath.”

His grip on her fingers did not relent, he understood her and her fears. She was a remarkable artist whose talent he’d seen grow darker and grittier with her exposure to his profession. He’d been terrified for her safety. It happened right in front of his eyes, she’d seen death and her life had been threatened, horrifying him in the process. She learned about greed, hate, how easy it is for someone to take a life. Peter would do anything to keep her safe and wrapped in a cocoon of his own choosing. Yet throughout their time together, she remained stoic, timid, and more importantly, mistrustful of their relationship.

“First and foremost, you are not a stranger. You are the one and only woman in my life. Have been since the day we met. We are going to Bath together. My parents are looking forward to meeting you. And I want to be with you, but if I’m not enough of a lure, there is an added incentive; a gallery in Bath you will enjoy visiting. I know the owner.”

“A gallery? Ah, you twist my arm, Captain. By the way, you are enough. You will always be enough.” She leaned over and once again touched his cheek. “Peter, how long are we going to stay in Bath? Maybe we should get two—”

“We are staying in one room. Together.” He brought her hand to his lips, before she had a chance to withdraw. “We can leave tomorrow morning. It’s not a long drive, and we can relax tonight. Well, maybe not relax, entirely. I have missed loving you,” he said with emphasis.

“Peter, I'm afraid; I feel as if you didn't get a chance to…”

“I have everything I want. You. I’m thinking of leaving Interpol. I’ve found I cannot risk your life again; your safety has become an obsession.”

“What?” She shook her head. “No, you can't. You told me a while back that you make a difference with your work. I know you make a difference—I've seen it. It’s what you want. I can’t let you alter your life so dramatically. Besides, how can I possibly be in danger just by being with you?”

“This is not like being a policeman. Some of the people I deal with reach a long way and retaliate. Violently. My family is further detached from me by living in a small village where everyone knows each other. You, my love, will be living with me and have a high profile. You can become a perfect target.”

“You would be giving up your career because of me, and it would be my fault.  I can’t live with that...Peter, I can’t.”

“I will not be giving anything up. It’s time I assumed responsibilities at home.”

“What do you mean? Responsibilities at home? You would throw away your career and resent me later. You didn’t even discuss it with me. We have to talk. Are we together or not?”

“We are. Absolutely. I’m not letting you go. Ever. And you are correct, we do have to talk. Once we get to Bath. Tonight, I want to make love with you.”

Leaving the plane, his grip firm on her waist, he ushered her to the baggage area. He wasn’t going to let her go. His need for her increased with every breath he took. How on earth is that possible? He recognized that she still felt tentative and apprehensive. The betrayal in Chicago had left her vulnerable, and he had his work cut out for him to allow her to grow in their relationship, allow her to trust him and believe in him. Believe he would never betray her.

Peter’s cell phone went off, and he answered instinctively. “Mother, how are you?” His arm around Minola’s waist tightened perceptibly. “Yes, we are on our way to the…yes, no, not my apartment…we should be in Bath tomorrow.” Peter listened to the voice at the other end of the line. “I’m sorry, son,” he heard his mother say, “Madeleine was killed sometime yesterday. Ashby is asking for you and Fitzhugh has been trying to get in touch.”

Cheers,  

Margot Justes

A Hotel in Paris

A Hotel in Bath

Blood Art

Hot Crimes Cool Chicks

www.mjustes.com

Book Signing by Margot Justes

Book signings are not easy, at least for me, and I haven’t done one in a long time, but with the release of A Hotel in Bath, when an opportunity presented itself,  I took it.

Book World in Galena, (300 Main St. Galena, IL) made me feel comfortable from the time I walked in. Galena is a tourist attraction, antiques and little boutiques abound, and the book store does quite well. It’s a delight to watch people come in and browse, look through the books and buy.

I confirmed to myself that for the most part, in fiction specifically in the romance genre, covers do sell books, as do back pages, and the first paragraph. That goes for any book store, chains and indies.

I also noticed the difference in the buying selection, Barnes & Noble customers gravitate to the best sellers, the most advertised and familiar. Not so at Book World, yes, the Patterson books were there, and other best sellers, that is where the money is for the store, but people actually looked at the unfamiliar names and titles as well.

There was a knitting club meeting at a restaurant down the street, and one member walked in, we chatted a bit, she liked the premise of the stories, and she bought both

A Hotel in Paris and A Hotel in Bath. About thirty minutes later, five more ladies walked in, and bought both books. Apparently the books were passed around the table, the ladies liked what they read, and came back to get their own. That has never happened to me.

A Hotel in Paris sold out, and Bath did well too. I plan to go back to Galena, if they’ll have me, one of the employees is waiting for Blood Art to come out.

I had a great time, the employees and customers were gracious, and I ran out of bookmarks, and it felt like a mini vacation. You couldn’t ask for more.

 

Cheers,
Margot  Justes
A Hotel in Paris
A Hotel in Bath
Hearts & Daggers
Hot Crimes Cool Chicks
www.mjustes.com

Paris Promotion by Margot Justes

With the recent promotion of A Hotel in Paris,  I would like to share a snippet with you. Minola’s journey of self-discovery. It is a love story that began with murder.

Chapter 1

The shrill wail echoed in the hallway, Minola Grey slammed the door to her hotel room and followed the sound of distress. She saw the maid dart out of a guest room in sheer panic.  Minola reached her in a few brisk strides and asked, "Yvonne, what's the matter?"  She didn't detect any sign of injury, just pure terror in her eyes.  This type of behavior was unlike Yvonne, who was always steadfast.  Nothing ever ruffled her.

"Mademoiselle Grey…body…blood…" she sobbed.

"Body?  Blood?  Whose body?  Yvonne, please…please sit down."  Minola led her to the plush oversized chair near the elevator.  "Tell me what happened," Minola pleaded.

"Lord Yardleigh.  In his room…dead…blood," Yvonne said, her voice shook, but the weeping now dwindled to a whimper.

"Yvonne, knock on Dr. LeBrun's door.  See if he's in.  I'll go to Lord Yardleigh's room."  Minola's voice quiet and subdued, she thought to offer comfort to the distraught maid. “Please call the front desk for help, and get Security up here, fast."

Lord Yardleigh's open door allowed Minola to walk in, and what she saw left no doubt in her mind.  Lord Yardleigh was dead.  The body splayed out on the floor did not diminish the quiet elegance of the room.  Minola’s stomach twisted in a knot, her muscles tightened and nausea rose in her throat.

She'd never seen a body, much less in this bloody state.  Think!  Don't touch anything.  She shook her head, as if to clear any lingering cobwebs.  Get hold of yourself. Where is the gun? I don't see a gun. Murder? Must be. He didn’t get up and dispose of the gun and then conveniently lay down and die. Not with that wound. A great fan of the mystery genre, Minola knew enough not to disturb anything in the room.  The crime scene needed to be preserved. 

Reluctantly, Minola looked at the body again and noted how impeccably dressed he’d been–crisp white linen shirt, gold cuff links, and an expensive watch still on his wrist–impeccable except for the bloody stain that had spread beyond the hole in the shirt and created a crimson river against the achromatic background.  To relieve her queasiness, Minola swiftly glanced at the rest of the room.  As an artist she focused on the de rigueur hotel furniture, then on the few contemporary canvases displayed on the walls. These were not hotel issue, and were good.

The colors and textures of the paintings strangely complimented the hues of the grim, yet powerful, scene before her. Contemplating the pieces on the wall gave Minola a much needed reprieve from the ghastly outline on the floor.  Her hands clenched as she began to shake.

Nothing appeared to have been disturbed in the quiet, serene room.  The curtains were open, and the sun filtered through to cast a warm dappled glow over the body.  Minola shuddered, turned and without touching anything walked out of the room.

Back in the hallway, she patiently waited for what she knew would be a barrage of questions by hotel security and the Police Nationale de Paris.

This hotel is my home.  What happened here?  To give her an essential, although temporary, reprieve from the tragedy, she focused on yesterday’s idyllic day sitting in a café, in a cozy secluded booth across the street from the Luxembourg Gardens. Through the gilded wrought-iron fence she gleaned the contemplative and everyday life of the Parisiens unlike today, where the horror of sudden death intruded on her contemplation.

As she waited for the police, she relived the relaxed pace inside the gardens, so peaceful and calm.  She remembered the old couple who sat on a bench and held hands, a woman watched her child play, and on another bench, two women sat in comfort and rolled the prams containing their precious cargoes.  Their hypnotic movements, back and forth, back and forth, helped lull Minola into utter contentment as the mesmerizing and soothing minutes flicked by. 

The image of Lord Yardleigh's body intruded on her thoughts.  So peaceful in repose…so still, so sanguine, except for the blood.  Go back to the gardens.   Go back to the gardens.

"Mademoiselle Grey…pardon, Mademoiselle," she faintly heard a voice call her back to reality.                 Art drew her to Paris, so well represented–not confined to museums, but present everywhere, and always in the gardens which peppered this amazing city.

 "Mademoiselle Grey…Mademoiselle, s'il vous plait."  She heard that voice again, faint but urgent calling her.  Her serenity shattered, she faced the certainty of a gruesome murder in her quiet hotel.  Slowly Minola opened her eyes, and noticed the hallway was filled with police and crime investigators.  She recognized what looked like a solitary pathologist carrying a black medical bag.  The police did not block his entry.

"Mademoiselle Grey, are you all right?  I need to ask you a few questions."  The gentle yet insistent voice persisted through her hazy reality.  "Yes, of course.  I am sorry," she replied, and again clenched her hands to keep them from shaking.

"I'm  Luc Dubois with the Police Nationale.  Mademoiselle, we already have a statement from the maid.  She said that you went into the room.  Did you touch the body?" he inquired politely.

"I didn't touch anything…no…nothing at all.  I went in to see if I could help.  Yvonne had said blood…I just wanted to make sure…  I…"

He nodded his head and continued, "Did you notice anything unusual?  Did you see or hear anyone come up to this floor while you were waiting for the police?"

"The room appeared undisturbed.  So clean.  I didn't see or hear anyone, but I closed my eyes because I needed to escape. I am sorry, but I believe I drifted off a bit.  Maybe Yvonne heard or saw something.  Not a robbery…"  Her calm voice belied her distress. She looked down and tried to still her quaking hands.

"Yes, I know.  I had a difficult time bringing you out of your reverie, Mademoiselle.  The maid had gone downstairs to summon help; she could not get the phone to work.  I believe she was too agitated.  Pourquoi?  Why are you so certain that it was not a robbery?" he queried.

"You must have noticed he wore a gold Rolex.  There are also several very worthwhile contemporary art pieces on the wall.  A thief would have certainly stolen these items.  No self-respecting crook would leave a Rolex on his victim's wrist.” She said. “The Luxembourg Gardens are a far more delightful escape than seeing a murder victim." Her voice was wistful as she looked up, her eyes shimmered, but she refused to let the tears fall.

"There I would agree with you, Mademoiselle.  I am sorry you were a witness to such a tragedy."

"Merci.  Thank you for understanding."   

Minola closed her eyes and saw the sun filter through the pool of blood–a macabre scene, one that would stay with her forever.  She blinked twice and looked down at her watch. "Pardon, but I am already late for class.  May I please go, unless you still need me for any reason?  I will be back this afternoon.  I can leave my passport at the front desk."  As an afterthought she added, "If necessary."

"That will not be required, Mademoiselle.  You may go.  I understand that this is difficult for you.  There will be more questions for you this afternoon; please do make yourself available.  Merci, Mademoiselle."  He moved on to speak with another policeman.

* * *

Yves Lanier, of the Police Nationale, was a man with a mission.  His dingy grey office with matching furniture was so littered with papers and books that he couldn't find the phone on his desk.  It was here somewhere, he knew.  Damn it, I used it yesterday.  He briefly stared at the mess…then, with quiet efficiency, slid everything off his desk to the floor, and heard the ping of the phone hit the ground.  He bent down, picked it up, and dialed a London number he knew well.  A quiet voice answered: "Peter Riley."

"Bonjour, Peter.  How are you, my friend?"

"I know that tone, Yves.  Interpol at your service.  What's going on?"

"Peter, Yardleigh was murdered sometime late last night or early this morning.  I think your investigation into money laundering just veered off track."

The silence at the other end was palpable.  "What the hell happened?  He was cooperating.  What do you have?"

"We have nothing, mon ami.  He was shot once in the chest with a small-caliber gun.  No exit wound–the lab's still working on that.  Purely as an observation, it looks like he knew his killer.  No surprise or fear…there's nothing reflected on his face.  Nothing stolen.  Everything, as you English say, was neat and tidy, save for the corpse on the floor.  We secured the crime scene and did all the lovely things we are supposed to do.  The bastard was not nice enough to leave any clues."  Lanier spoke with the confidence of a seasoned cop.

"Let me talk to Clivers, my superior.  Murder is out of our jurisdiction.  I suppose that leaves Scotland Yard in the game."

       "Peter, this started in England."

"Don't I know it.  I will call you back."  Lanier heard the phone click in his ear.

Cheers, 

Margot Justes
A Hotel in Paris
A Hotel in Bath
www.mjustes.com

 

Paris Promotion by Margot Justes

For the first time, A Hotel in Paris was offered free on Kindle last weekend. I’ve never been sure if the free promotion works in building name recognition, or even increased long term readership. Do the people that download the book, actually even read it?

I’ve heard pros and cons about that specific promotion, but I took a chance and tried it.  Can’t say if it was or wasn’t successful, it’s too soon to tell. 

 

The only way to gain readers is to increase visibility, and since I’m now an indie author, it’s up to me to figure out how to do it. The Kindle free promotion was a way to try it.

One promotion idea was to post quotes from the book on Twitter and Facebook. Melissa from Author RX asked if I wanted to do it. I readily agreed. She framed the quotes to go along with my heroine who is an artist.  I enjoyed getting the quotes, and had fun relating to them. I think that was a successful strategy.

My little niche market is growing, and I’ve been told by a few people that they love my art world, and they have learned a bit about art. That pleased me more than anything.  I tell anyone who will listen, that art is everywhere we turn, and that it is highly therapeutic.

If nothing else, after the free Kindle promotion, I’m convinced that e-books are growing in popularity at an incredible pace, and that is where my efforts are going to be.

I think price is important too. A reader is more likely  to give a midlist author a chance if the book is priced reasonably, let’s say a dollar, two, or three. Other than formatting costs, there is no additional expense once the book is out; that was a no brainer.

I’m working on additional promotional ideas, and once they’re in place I’ll share them.

So far the process has been interesting, and fun. I love it.

I can tell you now that I’m retired, loving what you do takes the ‘work’ out of it. 

Cheers,

Margot  Justes
A Hotel in Paris
A Hotel in Bath
Hearts & Daggers
Hot Crimes Cool Chicks
www.mjustes.com

Boutique Hotel or Chain by Margot Justes

When travelling do you choose the all familiar feeling of a well known hotel chain, or go with something a bit different, an unknown?

In the US, I stay with the familiar, it's home and I want that familiarity in the hotel. I want my expectations to be met. I'm not one for bed & breakfast type of places, I prefer the anonymity of the hotel. I once stayed in a bed & breakfast, and once was enough. I don't find them romantic, I find them intrusive but that is my personal preference. At home, give me a good well known hotel any day of the week.

That being said, in Europe, my preferences change, I choose the boutique hotels, the unknown names. I find them charming, sometimes worn with age, some sporting facelifts, but the essence is the same, they reflect the romance and adventure of the city they live in.

Hotel Lutetia in Paris is one such place, Art Deco meets the Belle Époque, it's at the center of Paris, easy access to most sites and a 40 minute walk to the Rodin Museum.

The Royal Crescent in Bath, England is another such delight. It is part of a small chain of the Von Essen Hotels, each one is unique, old architecturally significant buildings and castles have been converted to magnificent hotels.

Take a chance and look for the unique, not the familiar. Prices vary based on the season, go off season-like airfares, hotels are discounted.

In many cases if you travel to and plan on spending a few days in a major city, you can book a vacation through the airlines. There are some lovely prices included in the hotel and air package, even half day tours to get you acquainted with the city. My favorite way of finding a new hotel is simply to Google hotels in a specific city and do a bit of research on line.

Local transportation is easy and you do not have to speak the language to get around, but learn a few words of the local language, and be careful and aware of your surroundings. Be a vigilant tourist, whether it's at home or anywhere else in the world.

I don't like to take tours ala the 'If this is Tuesday it must be Belgium' premise. (Funny movie by the way.) If I'm going to Paris, London Rome, Berlin, Hong Kong or Venice, any major city, I stay put a few days to get to know the city and its pulse.

Check prices on-line sites like Expedia, (not a big fan) but don't forget to deal directly with the hotel. I e-mailed the Crescent hotel in Bath and got a fantastic price, they had a special off season rate that was unbeatable. Now, I get e-mails from the Von Essen hotels notifying me of other deals. They have a terrific medieval castle in Edinburgh, Scotland I plan to visit soon. Falconry and archery anyone? Never tried either one, but certainly plan to do so in the very near future.

Till next time.
Margot Justes
www.mjustes.com
A Hotel in Paris

Another Art Theft by Margot Justes

A Rodin sculpture was creatively acquired, in other words stolen, from the Israel Museum, now mind you this was bronze; heavy stuff, that bronze.

Yet, it was removed from the premises, granted this was not a huge piece by Rodin, the estimated weight was about 140 pounds and it was approximately 50 lbs but hardly something you can put in your pocket or under your clothes and walk out without someone noticing an odd appendage lurking about on your person.

How does a statue weighing 140 pounds disappear from a museum? It appears the Israel Museum was undergoing substantial renovations and probably sometime during the construction the statue disappeared. Pooh, it was moved and apparently kept on moving.

Some art experts fear that it might be sold for scrap. What a horrendous thought, an irreplaceable work of art, sculpted by a master and cast in bronze would be sold for scrap.
I hope the piece found a loving home somewhere, that is a much better alternative than reducing a glorious piece to scrap.

The only reason I say it was cast in bronze is purely for clarification, because I have been asked how difficult is it to sculpt bronze? Very difficult. In fact it is impossible. Bronze is always cast from the molding of the original work of art.

Till next time.
Margot Justes
www.mjustes.com
A Hotel in Paris

A Blog by Margot Justes

I have completed by travel blogs, and will post soon but as the saying goes life interfered with my plans. My daughter came home for a long weekend and we're spending time together.

In the meantime, I have regained full rights to two short stories I have written and plan on putting them on Amazon and Kindle, as soon as I figure out the how and why, etc...

The best advice I have found is from Joe Konrath, he has an amazing web site http://www.jakonrath.com/ where he shares his vast marketing knowledge with his readers and offers terrific advice to authors who are part of the weird world of writing, advertising, promoting and everything else needed to get the name out there, wherever out there is. Joe is a master. I plan to use his his advice, thanks Joe.

The other thing I have done is hook up with author Susan Miura (introduction by Amy Alessio, thank you Amy)to do library events 'A Taste of Italy' is all set, proposal finished and submitted to many libraries and we have three gigs so far.

The Italian program includes tasty treats from Italy, pictures, (of course I have pictures of Venice and Murano) discussions on travel and our writing styles and how they relate to travel. I'm hoping at some point to include Paris.

In the works is 'A Taste of Mexico'.

For now, I'm going to prepare breakfast and spent some time with my daughter.

Till next week,
Margot Justes
http://www.mjustes.com/
A Hotel In Paris

Romance in Paris by Margot Justes

Catch Margot Justes' interview on Sunday, April 19 at Books and Blogs on Blog Talk Radio at http://blogtalkradio.com/booksandblogs from 4-4:15pm Central Daylight Savings Time (Illinois time)

It is spring at least according to the calendar. It is cold, damp and dreary, the flowers are barely sprouting, grass is still brown and potential for snow not an impossibility. You keep waiting for it to improve. And it will. Eventually.

Ah, that is because you’re home. It’s the everyday expectation in our existence. We perform our daily rituals.

So instead, let’s hop on a plane and go for a ride, a change of scenery if you will.
Let’s imagine we’re in Paris in the spring, walking along in the Luxembourg Gardens. The gentle mist falling on the tree branches leaving a crystal reflection, a heavenly clean earthy smell permeates your nostrils as you take a deep breath.

Walk along the gravel path and hear it crunch beneath your feet. Listen to the birds chirp as they spread their wings and take flight only to land perched on a shoulder of a statue.

Watch the grass as it seems to become greener right in front of your eyes, the rain still falling and sinking deep into the earth.

Leave the peace of the gardens and walk out through the wrought iron fence. Go across the street while the gentle rain is still falling, sit down in the café, order your favorite brew and observe the wet wrought iron glisten in the golden sun peeking through the clouds.

While in Paris, I have done exactly that many times and have found that a gentle rain, overcast sky can be as romantic as anything else-whether you’re alone strolling and day dreaming or walking with someone special by your side. It’s what you make of any given moment.

Truly, in Paris every little thing that you take for granted at home becomes incredibly special. Every moment counts and is treasured. There is something magical about the city.

Maybe that tell us we should not take anything for granted when at home but seize every moment. I’ll leave that up to you.

Till next time,
Margot Justes
http://margotsmuse.blogspot.com
http://www.mjustes.com/
A Hotel in Paris ISBN 978-1-59080-534-3
Art brought her to Paris, then a stranger’s death changes her life.
Missing ISBN 978-1-59080-611 1
available on amazon.com