How Would You Fight A Lion?

How Would You Fight A Lion? That’s the name of my new short story.

Though the story has just come out, my readers, ever enthusiastic and faithful, have been flooding me with suggestions about how they’d go about it.

Sarah from Wasilla, for example, would shoot it with a Remington 870 Pump, and then mount the head over her fireplace. Good for you Sarah! Jasmine likes an unreconstructed approach to most things.

Lindsey from Merrick, on the other hand, would punch it between the eyes. Mel from Sydney would complain that it’s Jewish and Brett from Los Angeles would bait it with cocaine. Both ideas are creative, don’t you agree, and each, in its way, just slightly old-fashioned. Laura N. from Brooklyn would “give it a cookie”. I think we can all agree that she’s toast.

And what about you? Imagine that you’re there, in the savanna, staring into those amber eyes. Would you run, readers? Would you understand that this is the greatest moment of your soon-to-be-ended-in-horrible-fashion life?

It’s such an evocative question and really, I think the answer tells you more about a person than you’d like to know. But if you’re curious to learn how to really fight a lion, check out my new story, and stay out of the jungle, my darlings. Not all of us are equipped to brawl with the beast.

in Crime Fiction, Jasmine Schwartz | Read full story · | Comments { 1 }

Nonna Pessia

If one more person says they’re surprised when they discover that I have a living grandmother, I swear to god I’ll punch them in the face.

Nonna Pessia came to visit me yesterday. It was a real honor because the rumor is that she’s more loaded than anyone in the family.

“Yasmine,” she said before her gloves had come off. “Who is representing you?”

“An associate of Charles Endicott’s,” I told her.

“Get rid of him,” she said. “Call Stanley.”

“He’s dead, Nonna,” I reminded her.

“Then call Myron.”

“Dead,” I said.

She exhaled from exasperation.

“You are going to end up in prison, Yasmine. This is very serious. Who is this man in the kitchen?”

“That’s just Mark. He’s renovating the bedroom. Supposedly.”

Mark approached my grandmother but she put her hand up to stop him.

“I stay out of Chelsea,” she hissed to me. “Why does he have to come to the Upper East Side?”

“Please, Nonna. I won’t go to jail. Anyway the real issue is Daddy. He’s going to marry that horrible woman. Can’t you talk to him?”

“We haven’t spoken for twelve years,” she said. “I’m not sure this is a good enough reason to start now.”

“Oh forget it,” I said. “Let’s just go to lunch.”

You see? There’s nothing as frustrating and disappointing and complicated as family. You can wish you were adopted all you want, but in the end, if you have a grandmother who can get a table at Jean Georges just by walking in, then order the foie gras brule and count your blessings.

in Charles Cornelius Endicott IV, Gay Men, Jasmine's Father, Mark | Read full story · | Comments { 0 }

Marrying and Divorcing Rich – and my guest post for M.J. Kane

As my readers know, amateur sleuth Melissa Morris is based on a real person – an old girlfriend of mine named Lysette. She used to do some work for the Mossad until she got tired of seducing Syrian businessmen in cheap East European hotels. She drifted for years. I urged her to give up and marry rich, but Lysette made the too-common error of ignoring my advice and now she’s living in Queens.

It’s a real shame because, like any attractive woman, Lysette could have married and divorced someone wealthy by now. Instead she has to work for a living, as a social worker no less, and she’s a vegan. It’s a tragedy, no matter how you look at it…

Read more of this guest post on M.J. Kane’s website. M.J. Kane? She’s a stay-at-home mom turned Amazon bestseller. Her words inspire, encourage and bring hope, so really, we have very little in common. Still, hop on over and check her out…

in Charles Cornelius Endicott IV, Crime Fiction, Dalmore, Lysette, Mossad, Myron Xavier Schwartz. | Read full story · | Comments { 0 }

Phineas, Ferb, Sex and Kim Kardashian

You’d be surprised to learn how many people are doing internet searches for ‘Phineas, Ferb and Sex‘. Until my cousin Milagros Schwartz enlightened me, I didn’t even know who Phineas and Ferb were, and now it’s the main reason people are coming to my website, aside from the murder charge.

“They haven’t charged you.”

This from my future ex-husband, who, once again, is reading over my shoulder.

“Yet,” he adds.

Kim Kardashian was the most internet-searched-for women in 2012. I know Kim through mutual friends, and she’s furious about the popularity of Phineas and Ferb. Personally, I don’t really care, as I just took my Opana with that touch of Xanax and am feeling it all over. You’d be surprised to learn how many people are doing internet searches for ‘Phineas, Ferb and Sex‘.

Did I tell you that Elvis keeps calling me? He’s the ten-year-old son of Sabina, the Russian who thinks she’s marrying my father.

“She’s Kosovan,” says my future ex-husband.

“Don’t you ever go to work?” I say.

The wedding is getting close and I’m considering doing the unthinkable. I just don’t understand it, readers. Isn’t it enough for daddy to have the perfect daughter in every way? Isn’t enough that I’m thin and marrying wealthy? I even wrote two novels for him, but did he even call me to say he was proud?

“Jasmine,” says my future ex-husband. “Sometimes you just have to accept things the way they are.”

This is the kind of drivel he says now, ever since that night in Queens. I would dump him, but the cocktail always makes me a little sleepy, and also, we have reservations tonight.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s just go to Jean Georges.”

You see. Sometimes he still says the right thing.

in Elvis, future ex-husband, Jasmine's Father, Queens, Sabina | Read full story · | Comments { 2 }

The Last Anti-Semite on Wall Street Part Deux

“The trouble with you people, Jasmine, is that you always want more.”

These frequently italicized words were spoken to me recently by Charles Cornelius Endicott IV, the hardworking, white Protestant financial advisor who has served the Schwartz family for three generations.

“Take me,” said Charles. “I’m rich as Croesus and you don’t see me striving.”

As usual, we were getting tanked on Dalmore and, according to the security tape, I began to cry.

The police have reopened the investigation into uncle Myron’s death,” I said, weeping on his strong shoulder. “And they want to question me again. Why me? Why not Milagros? She’s his daughter! She was at the ski resort when it happened.”

“As were you,” said Charles. “But you’re straying from the point, Jasmine. Why can’t you people ever be happy with what you have?”

Don’t get me wrong. Charles was sympathetic. But after we reach the lower depths of the Dalmore bottle, he’ll generally start focusing on my Jewessness. It’s one of the reasons I respect him so much. Charles doesn’t follow fleeting social whims like some of the other old school financial advisors. He believes what he believes, and he’s too rich to ever be seriously challenged.

“What are you saying, Charles?” I said, dabbing my eyes dry. “That it’s because of striving that Myron is dead?”

“Don’t put words into my mouth, Jazz. I’m just pointing out that one of you probably killed him for his money. Isn’t that right?”

“Oh Charles,” I said, fresh tears appearing. “Is this your last bottle of Dalmore, or what?”

What would I do without Charles? Now that my future ex-husband has become unhinged, Charles is my rock and my savior. Let’s take a moment out of our day to pay tribute to these unsung heroes of our generation, the Wall Street financial billionaires, without whom we’d all be lost.

Ok, did everyone fall silent? No? Never mind. A shout out, then, to Dee Doanes, who is not a Wall Street financial anything, but a writer, and so presumably not in the one percent, although who knows what the New Year will bring? She outs herself as a trekkie and a stiletto addict in this whimsical post. She also mentions me, which is always fabulous.

in Charles Cornelius Endicott IV, Dalmore, future ex-husband, Myron Xavier Schwartz. | Read full story · | Comments { 2 }

Blog Hopping in the USA

The talented JD Chase has asked me to participate in a Blog Hop, which is a little like wife swapping without the keys, sex and suburbia. Thank you, JD and good luck with Hunting Lust, a “contemporary romance with mild erotica”.

What is the title of your book?
Speaking of sex… The title of the second novel in my detective series is Fakakt: Melissa Morris and the Meaning of Sex

Where did the idea come from for the book?
Amateur sleuth Melissa Morris is based on my friend Lysette who used to work for the Mossad until she got tired of seducing Syrian businessmen in cheap East European Hotels. She now works as a social worker and one day I thought to myself, what if, instead of working with abused children, Lysette found dead bodies and solved crimes?

What is the genre of the book?
Mystery – Chick-lit

Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?
Christian Bale has already agreed to do it in drag.

What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?
Melissa Morris chases her cheating boyfriend to Rome. While trying to track him down, she’s arrested for the murder of a Romanian businessman. She sets out to find the real killer, discovering an underside to Rome and herself that she never imagined.

How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?
I’ve just taken my second dose of Opana. Who can remember?

What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?
People have compared me to Marian Keyes and Donald Trump

Who or what inspired you to write this book?
Did I mention that Sabina’s son, Elvis called me yesterday? What does he want? Isn’t enough that his skanky platinum blond dye-job of a mother roped my father into getting engaged? Some people ask why bad things happen to good people, but that’s really the wrong question. The correct question is, why aren’t things going better for Jasmine? What’s wrong with the world?

What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?
My future ex-husband has started to read books, which I find odd. But if, like him, you do actually read, then go ahead and pick up a copy. It just came out in paperback.

Thanks again JD and happy hopping…

in future ex-husband, Jasmine's Father, Lysette, Mossad, Sabina | Read full story · | Comments { 0 }

Blottoed and Vera Wang

Vera Wang

Whenever Daddy mentions his wedding to Sabina, I scream at the top of my lungs, stick my fingers in my ears and shut my eyes so tight I feel like hurling, which I don’t. As my readers know, tragically, I’m not one of those women who hurls easily.

But back to Daddy’s wedding. While the screaming etc. is a correct expression of my feelings, it leaves me somewhat uninformed about their wedding plans. So imagine my surprise when my cousin Milagros Schwartz called me yesterday. I haven’t heard from her since we were both questioned by the police a few weeks ago. She said just been at the Carlyle having her weekly joy ride [her words] with her Kama trainer when she spotted Sabina going into Vera Wang with her son Elvis.

Oh, gentle readers. Is it to much to ask that the universe align itself with my desires alone? Is it wrong to despise and resent a presumptuous skank who has my father wrapped around her Sakura calgel manicured fingernails?

“Like Anne Boleyn,” says my future ex-husband, reading over my shoulder.

“Like who?”

“Lysette recommended this book to me,” he says, showing me a book that looks like a cross between a Bible and the Danielle Steel novels my mother used to read instead of paying attention to me.

“You’re reading again?”

As you know, he’s become a little obsessed with Lysette since that awful night in Queens.

“You’re writing books,” he reminds me.

That does ring a bell. And before I get too wrecked by tomorrow nights festivities, let me share this news. Two of the paperbacks of my first novel will be given away, somehow, somewhere. You can click on the thingie if you, like my future ex-husband, are reading.

Happy New Year’s, my darlings. May it be a year that indulges and provides, glorifies and sates, and preserves the privilege and fortune of those who already have it. For the rest of you, I will love you just the same once I’m completely blottoed.

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Farbissen by Jasmine Schwartz

Farbissen

by Jasmine Schwartz

Giveaway ends February 08, 2013.

See the giveaway details
at Goodreads.

Enter to win

in Elvis, future ex-husband, Jasmine's Father, Lysette, Sabina | Read full story · | Comments { 2 }

Paperbacks

The paperbacks of my novels are here, crisp and shiny and new. Happy holidays, my darlings. Jasmine is wearing red, in spite of her Jewessness.

Farbissen: Melissa Morris and the Meaning of Money – 1st in the series.

“There were days when fortune smiled and others when it grimaced, and the current one was up for grabs…”
Melissa Morris is a thirty-something single New Yorker who works in fashion. She has it all, until she fails spectacularly and is banished from the fashion industry. Set adrift, Melissa follows her boyfriend to London, hoping for a second chance. But Melissa’s search for herself is interrupted when she discovers a dead body.
Get Farbissen.

Fakakt: Melissa Morris and the Meaning of Sex – 2nd in the series.

Melissa Morris is living the Good Life in New York until she gets laid off. She’s thrust into the Manhattan abyss, aimless and desperate and deciding the only thing to do is marry. She flies to Rome to track down her errant boyfriend, hoping that he can save her, but on her way to meet him she’s arrested for murder.
Who will save Melissa now? Marriage? Sex? Or something even more surprising? When Melissa sets out to find the real killer, she discovers an underside to Rome, and herself, she never imagined.
Get Fakakt

in Jasmine Schwartz, Writing | Read full story · | Comments { 0 }

Things NOT to do when being questioned by police

squidoo.com

Things NOT to do while you’re being questioned by the police in relation to their investigation into the entirely accidental death of your uncle, Myron Xavier Schwartz while he was skiing in Verbier.

DON’T tell one of them that he reminds you of the chauffeur that used to take you to junior high school

DON’T berate your interior designer Mark on the phone because he forgot to order the Lotus brass sink fittings for the en suite bath

DON’T spend ten minutes going through your purse looking for your cellphone when all the while you threw it out the window earlier that day after speaking to your mother in Palm Beach

DON’T wish aloud that you were in St. Barts

DON’T suggest that they do something useful with their time, such as looking into the immigration papers of Sabina, the Kosovan dye job who thinks she’s marrying your father

DON’T laugh at them when they ask if you know how to ski

DON’T tell them that anecdote about Mike Bloomberg and the lisping caddie in Tucker’s Town

DON’T excuse yourself to take a dose of Opana when you’ve already had your 40mg that day. Twice.

DON’T spill your Dalmore on the Mansour rug and then ask if they plan to pay for the cleaning bill

DON’T ask, “Is this really necessary, boys?”

I think that just about covers it, darlings. When they come for you, you’ll know just what to do. Never let it be said that Jasmine isn’t selfless. Oh yes – I almost forgot. My novels are available now in paperback as well as on Kindle. Get them here and stay out of trouble:

FARBISSEN on AMAZON – CLICK TO ORDER
FAKAKT on AMAZON – CLICK TO ORDER

in Dalmore, Jasmine Schwartz, Jasmine's Father, Jasmine's Mother, Myron Xavier Schwartz., Sabina, Uncategorized | Read full story · | Comments { 6 }

OBAMA, OPANA AND MOI

Now that the storm has past and the lights are back on, now that the poor people have kept their president, now that China’s Politburo have elected Xi Jinping as their leader at last, I think it’s high time we bring the focus back to Jasmine.

Yet everywhere I turn, someone is trying to obstruct this deserving cause. Mark Moelim, my interior designer, pestered me with his boyfriend troubles earlier today.

MM: Jonathan wants to be exclusive Jasmine, but I’m not sure that I’m ready. I really love him. What should I do?

JS: How about getting the Travertine wall tiles installed in the en suite bedroom? I bet that would make you feel a whole lot better.

That’s right readers, you’re not hallucinating. Mark hasn’t finished the bedroom yet. And he’s bitching to me?

MM: Jasmine, I know you don’t like gay men, but I need a friend right now. Can you pass me the Remy Martin?

JS: I don’t not dislike gay men, Mark. I just wish you’d stop being such a precious little drama queen and focus on your job.

Mark shook his head, drained his balloon snifter and got up to leave. If only he’d done just that, instead of turning around and adding this:

MM: Just be honest for once in your life, Jasmine. The reason you don’t like gay men is because of your…

JS: Shut up Mark.

I had no better luck with my future ex-husband. He’s been acting strange lately, and you’d think it’s because of that admittedly sexy socialist winning the White House again. But no. He’s been this way ever since that night at Lysette’s.

FEXH: Sometimes I just wonder what we’re doing, Jasmine. That’s all. Is that so wrong?

JS: It’s obscene. And why aren’t you dressed? We’re already late for Jean Georges.

FEXH: Did you ever think about having a baby?

JS: Fine, I’ll call the car service. Just be ready in five minutes.

I tell you, sometimes it’s like I’m talking to a wall. If only the wall had a mirror, and was pouring drinks, then at least everything might not be so intolerable.

In other news, my “doctor” gave me a prescription for Opana. I’ll let you know how it goes.

in future ex-husband, Gay Men, Jasmine Schwartz, Lysette, Mark, Renovation | Read full story · | Comments { 0 }