Friday, January 25, 2013




Settle back, have a cup of tea, and we'll read your Bio.

Janie Franz comes from a long line of liars and storytellers with roots deep in east Tennessee. Honed by the frigid Northern Plains and a degree in anthropology, her writing skill and curiosity have generated thousands of feature and cover articles over a vast range of topics for more than a hundred regional, national, and international publications for over a decade.  
She has co-written two books with Texas wedding DJ, Bill Cox (The Ultimate Wedding Ceremony Book and The Ultimate Wedding Reception Book), and has self-published a writing manual, Freelance Writing: It’s a Business, Stupid! 
She runs her own online music publication, Refrain Magazine (, is a book and music reviewer, and was a radio announcer, a booking agent/publicist for a groove/funk band, and a yoga/relaxation instructor
“The Premier” is her eighth work of published fiction.

Wow, Janie, I'm impressed. I feel like a piker next to you.

Give us a teaser for your book.

           The door opened. A tanned, dark-haired man, slight of build, entered.
Susan recalled the lines from her book.  “…the stranger’s black hair that was beginning to gray at his temples caught her eye. It was an odd quality in someone his age with his obvious Spanish lineage and apparent refinement. She scanned his features, taking in his sensitive mouth and a nose hinting at an Aztec-like hawkishness…. His dark eyes concentrated intently for a few seconds on her and then retreated into his thoughts as if he could only focus on the world around him in brief glimpses…”
My God! Susan thought. If he looks at me like that, I’ll…I’ll… She took a deep breath. I’ll smile and shake his hand, she bolstered herself.
He was more than a handsome man and successful film star, more than a romantic leading man. He emanated an aura of confidence and aloofness, both irresistible qualities. Though he wore a casual tan bush shirt and snug European fit slacks, he still looked elegant, crisp, and neat as if he could repair his car and not smell of gasoline.

All I can say is,  "Yum."

Sam Mattingale’s office gleamed with chrome and glass. A bank of windows exposed the city below like a cubist painting in muted shades of gray and dull blue. Author Susan Davyss, feeling both ill at ease and excitedly decadent in the glamorous surroundings, sipped champagne at two o’clock in the afternoon in the comfort of a black leather and chrome couch. She was in Los Angeles to celebrate the premier of Mayan Heart, the movie made from her book.
“How was your flight out, Ms. Davyss?” Sam Mattingale asked.
“Oh, I didn’t fly. We made this a family trip. My husband’s in San Diego with the children visiting his brother. They’re taking in the zoo. We thought it best not to have the children underfoot during all this excitement. Ted said it was my glory, and I should bask in the accolades without someone yanking my jeans, needing to go to the bathroom.”
Sam laughed, his gray mustache curling around his smile. He looked more like a fatherly lawyer—in fact, very much like the one who had read over her contract back in Aberdeen—than a producer. “I’d forgotten about your little ones. My own kids are grown. One’s an agent in Burbank, and the other’s a cinematographer for MGM. Both are too busy for children—or at least none they’ve told me about.” He rose from his chair near her. “Here. Let me freshen your drink.”
“You’d better not. One, and I can navigate to the door unaided. Two, and I’ll need help.”
He laughed again. “We’ll provide all the help you need.” He took her glass to a small bar in the corner of the room. “You have much to celebrate. The film looks like it will be successful and very profitable for you. You had a shrewd lawyer who negotiated a tight royalty contract. I didn’t think they bred that kind of lawyer in South Dakota.” He handed her another glass of champagne.
She held the glass but only sipped its contents. “Gus Haickman’s a South Dakota transplant like myself. He comes from a long line of Tennessee horse traders. He did a fellow Southerner a good turn.”
“Quite a good turn,” Sam said, sitting once more and swinging a long leg over his knee. “If this movie paces the way I think it will, you’ll be able to move out of the wilderness into civilized country.”
Susan smiled. “I’m not sure we’ll do that. We appreciate the advance though…I don’t dare spend it yet. I still feel someone’s going to come and take it back.” She laughed. “The book sales have been steady, and that provides us with a degree of comfort. We’re putting as much as we can into college funds.”
“Your book sales should increase. We’ve noticed quite a trend toward reading the original after a film like this comes out, and that leads to reading other books by the same author. It should be very good for you.”
“I think I’m going to need lead shoes to keep from floating away after all this is over. I appreciate your including me in the celebrations.”
“It’s customary. After all without your story, we wouldn’t have a film—and without David Salizon, we wouldn’t have such a promising one. Why did you ever write him into the contract?”

Nice Janie, but you have another book to tell us about too, right?

Taking up her camera, Shivaun removed the lens cap, stuffing it into her jeans pocket, and turned the camera on. “Could you do some cuts from your new album so I can get a feel for the cover? Music Gumbo didn’t send me any samples.”
“That’s my fault,” he said.
Shivaun moved to take a shot of Mad Man adjusting his nearest set of Ziljan cymbals while banging his foot on the bass drum pedal. He looked like a gnome behind a bunch of mushrooms. Shivaun smiled.
“I control what goes out of the studio,” Daniel said, raising his voice and drawing her attention back to him.
She focused her camera lens on Daniel as he spoke, twisting the lens to a close up of his eyes. They were gray and obscure and could have been those of any vacant, older man of any era. Panning out to capture his signature hair and mustache, he became the Daniel Madux of myth.
“No one hears anything before it’s on the market except me. I have a lot of people to protect,” he added.
Daddy—her mind labeled his control. “I’m sure you do,” she said politely.

Buy site

A two-for-one special runs through the end of January. Buy Premier and get Sugar Magnolia free.

Contact: 505-515-9513,
Also available for speaking engagements.
  Say hello to Janie. Leave a comment below.


  1. "Liars and storytellers" - I'd steal that if I could.

    That bloodline seems to be working full-time for you, Janie. Congratulations on your books and your music magazine.

  2. Wow, you certainly keep busy, don't you, Janie? I admire that in you!

    Best of luck with your releases and everything! Keep telling those stories!

  3. Thanks for having me here, Julie. It's been fun. What a wonderful blog you have!

    Marva, yep, I come by the liars and storyteller label quite honestly.

  4. This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.