I’ve received feedback from three of my critical readers and know I’ve got more work to do on the last two books in The Devil Particle Series. Even so, I’m almost done with these novels. I’m mourning the characters and the story and am almost at a loss for what to write next. I have several ideas, but nothing is speaking to me yet.

I spent the last week of February staying with a friend in Venice, Florida, north of Naples. It was wonderful getting away, playing pickleball, walking the beaches, shopping at the Venice Art Fair, and eating all the seafood I could get my hands on. And now, I’m brimming with (goofy) book ideas.

Cozy murder mystery — Death by Pickleball

In Florida, I played pickleball while enjoying the beautiful, sunny weather. I only learned how to play last summer, but I can hold my own, in part because I was a tennis player. Pickleball is a terrific combination of game and sport, and a lot of fun. But I’m surprised at how seriously people take the game—as if their life depended on the next shot.

I’ve played with men (always men) who have no qualms about stepping in front of me to hit the ball, almost whacking me. When they realize I can hold my own, or when I tell them to call it first, they take the hint and back off.

But those MGs (Mean Girls), woo boy! I thought once people reached their 60s, they’d be over the whole high school mean girl attitude; apparently not in the high-stakes game of pickleball. One MG would yell at her pickleball partners if they weren’t playing according to her standards. Chill!

Another MG said to my friend who had missed her serve, “Good thing you went to pickleball camp.” It was hard for me not to swear at the woman (my friend is one of the sweetest people I know), but my friend held her own. When the MG missed her serve, my friend said, “Maybe you should’ve gone to pickleball camp.” Touche. Honestly, the dialogue writes itself. As do the villains.

Death by Pickleball — “Two friends, paddles and balls in hand, arrive on the pickleball court and discover the lifeless body of an MG draped over the net . . .”

Romance — Sink Your Teeth Into Love

Siesta Key is ranked among the best beaches in America and the world. The white sand is soft, fine, and stays cool all day. On nearby Venice Beach, the sand is darker and not as soft, but it is a popular spot for shark tooth hunters. Apparently, Venice, Florida is the “Shark Tooth Capital of the World”. There are shark tooth retail stores, local artisans, and diving charters.

The grey to dark black teeth are generally small, only a little bigger than a penny. They’re not worth much unless you find a large one (a 3+ inch great white shark tooth sold for $5,000). There is, of course, specialized equipment to do it right.

When I passed a tooth hunter on the beach and asked him why he did it, he said, “It’s something to do.” A friend told me that once you get started, it’s addicting.

Sink Your Teeth Into Love — Sunburned old fart hunts for sharks’ teeth and uncovers her true love.

Thriller — Copacabana Killer

The ancient music playing in the Venice shops and the Sarasota airport was never newer than the early 1980s. Drove me crazy. Some songs I heard in the airport were “Me and Mrs. Jones” (Billy Paul, 1972), “That’s All” (Genesis, 1983), “Poor, Poor Pitiful Me” (Linda Ronstadt, 1977), and “Copacabana (At the Copa)” by Barry Manilow (1978). I wondered if I’d been in a time warp of syrupy ballads. After trying to ignore the music for three hours, I craved a Taylor Swift song — and I’m not a Swifty.

Copacabana Killer — Traveler snaps after bombardment of Barry Manilow’s singing at a Sarasota Airport terminal.

Children’s Picture Book — Pelicans Plop

Pelicans are my favorite birds because they do all the things I’d like to do — live by the water (preferably the ocean), fly, swim, and eat fish. What a life.

A couple of pelicans hung out at Venice Beach while I was there. They’d fly along the coast for about fifty feet, then plunge into the water, catch a fish, paddle along, and fly up again. But they didn’t dive elegantly; they plopped. Almost as if they’d had too many Rum Runners. It made me like them even more.

Pelicans Plop — a picture book of water birds diving elegantly, while a lone pelican plops. The birds tease the pelican and tell him he’s doing it wrong until a majestic scoop of pelicans plops all around them.

There you have it, my four goofy book ideas.

Now it’s time for me to get back to something a little more serious (but just as fun) —

teenagers controlling all the world’s evil.