A famous author once gave me this advice: Live a routine life and save your passion for the page.

That I do, to a fault. We don’t call this place Masterman Monastery for nothing. Okay, my husband is a retired Episcopal priest, and Reverend Honey is the best mate an introverted writer can have. I think I snapped at him about something a couple of years ago but I can’t remember what it was.

Day begins before 5 A.M. Take Boodle for his half-mile walk at either 5:30 or 7 depending on the heat of the Arizona desert. Actually, Boodle died a month ago but I keep walking.

While putting away the clean dishes from the dishwasher I notice what I hope is just spaghetti sauce on the kitchen floor which desperately needs washing. I have another cup of coffee.

Here’s where it might feel strange depending on your personal leanings. Father Darling and I read aloud something from the Bible every morning. Then we talk. His perspective, of course, is liberal theology and history. Mine is more of an authorial approach, and often touches on how the Bible would be improved by editing out the repetition. Also, there are major plot holes. Following that, we read something that makes us laugh even more. Right now it’s Dave Barry’s History of the Millennium So Far which I recommend for a good perspective on current politics.

But I digress. The morning is as quiet as a vow of silence. Into the front room by 8 AM where I sit at this computer procrastinating by combing the rescue sites for a new dog, preferably a senior who will make me feel righteous. Eli the schnoodle is adorable but the notation ‘somewhat dominant’ feels vaguely sinister and gives me pause.

Wrenching myself from that rabbit hole I enter my manuscript where I left off. At this my internal editor whispers, “Crap. All crap.” Same famous author replies, “Lower your expectations and go on.” I begin moving my fingers over the keyboard. Funny how that comes before the actual composition. I don’t know how it works.

If I can’t think what happens next, I throw some new conflict at the characters, figuring if the scene works I’ll decide where it goes in the many rewrites. On rare occasions I look at a sentence and think maybe it’s original and I get a little spurt of euphoria.

Three hours or so of work, and then precisely at noon, lunch in front of TV where the monk and monkette watch a Great Courses lecture. Sometimes we both stay awake for the whole thirty minutes.

There is a ring around the toilet bowl. It judges me.

Sometimes social events pile up in a given week, but generally I try to keep them to a minimum, half-joking that I only allow myself two friends and right now those positions are filled. Outings are allowed only in the afternoon, though I have, when asked, taken someone to the hospital in early morning.

4 PM, an episode of some series (I like horror, confident that I’ll witness something worse than reality). Vespers used to include a martini but we’ve both cut way back as we age.

If I open the oven door, I unfailingly regret making all those pizzas that you put right on the rack.

Dinner at precisely 5:30 again in front of TV, this time watching the news. Big mistake, the Beloved Hermit screams, “You piece of s**t!” when certain politicians appear. I consider renaming our home Geezer Gulch as we watch “Wheel of Fortune.”

Compline. In bed by 7 PM to read until the melatonin kicks in and my anxiety over a contestant who didn’t win any money eases.

Her Prodigal Husband
Genre: Domestic Thriller
Release: January 2025
Format: Print, Digital
Purchase Link

From the award-winning author of the internationally-bestselling Brigid Quinn thrillers, which have been translated into 20 languages, comes this gripping series spin-off: an upmarket novel of domestic suspense about a pair of sisters nicknamed Malice and Lethal, and a husband who vanishes into thin air, only to reappear and throw a bomb into both their lives

Alice Einstein – known as “Malice” to her former schoolfriends – likes to tell herself stories. There’s a good one she’s workshopping about how, despite once being a critically acclaimed literary novelist, she’s ended up blocked and uninspired, living in her timid, conflict-averse sister Liesl’s spare room.

But then Liesl sends her an SOS worthy of a thriller novel. The horror! The horror! Sam is back.

Sam, Liesl’s wealthy ex-husband, vanished ten years ago, leaving her a chunk of money but no explanation. Sam is handsome, charming, manipulative . . . and now he claims he’s sick. But Alice, with her experience of spinning tales, knows a liar when she sees one.

Haunted by a childhood tragedy that gave birth to the cruel nickname “Lethal”, Liesl now specialises in saving things: dogs, children, sisters. Telling herself it’s time she returned the favor, Alice engages the services of Brigid Quinn, a hardboiled local private investigator with a shady past, to help her get rid of Sam for good.

But as the plot thickens, Alice begins to wonder if she knows anyone involved – most of all herself – quite as well as she thinks . . .

Meet the author
Becky Masterman is the author of Maternal Instinct and the Brigid Quinn series, including Her Prodigal Husband.

While working as a forensic science acquisitions editor, Becky got to meet (and publish) some of the most famous people in that profession, and the idea for Brigid Quinn was born. The four novels in this series feature this FBI special agent who only in her retirement is finally getting married, making friends, owning Pugs, and trying to fit into the civilian world she always sought to protect for others, all while keeping her book club from finding out she can kill people with her bare hands. Rage Against The Dying was a finalist for the Edgar Awards and the CWA Gold Dagger, as well as the Macavity, Barry, ITW and Anthony awards. Becky lives in Arizona with her husband and a senior one-eyed mutt named Della.