I’ve heard you are the one who spearheaded the reviving of Chapel Springs. Is that true?
Are you from the mayor’s office? If you are, it wasn’t my fault. Whatever it was. Felix Riley takes
credit for everything that works and blames me if anything goes wrong.
Really? Did anything go wrong?
Of course not—unless you count the incident at Georgia Tech with the monkey.
Moving right along, I’ve heard of your Great Aunt Lola’s theatrical career. What was it like growing up with her?
I adored her. Patsy and I both did. The old gal would give us her cast-off gowns to play dress-up. But she retired from the screen when she was seventy-five, I think. She wanted to leave her fans wanting more. She was quite the flamboyant character. She tried to teach Patsy and me to flirt, but it didn’t take when we were eight years old. She died a couple of years later.
She had a bit of a racy past didn’t she?
You bet your booty patooty. Aunt Lola never took second place to anyone or anything. She lived
the high life, all right. Presidents and princes wined and dined her, while all I got was a TV tray in front of a ball game. I miss her and her stories, not to mention her advice. Great Aunt Lola knew men, that’s for sure. What with having seven husbands, she might have been able to tell me how to get my Joel to pay me more attention. Right. Like that would happen. I’d have to turn into a high definition television set or a fishing reel to get some attention paid to me.
I’ve heard that you…well aren’t the best cook in Chapel Springs. Any truth to that rumor?
Okay, I admit I failed home economics—twice. My culinary expertise maxed out at Jell-O jigglers. And
coffee. I make a mean pot of coffee. Unfortunately, that lack got me into trouble with my firstborn’s future mother-in-law. But the woman coerced me.
How so? You’re no shy violet from what I’ve heard?
Who’ve you been talking to? Let’s see, first there was Faye, oh and Gloria, then Bev, and—Uh-uh, that dog won’t hunt. They gossip. Besides, if you’d heard my son’s future mother-in-law talk, why she’s wound tighter than an eight-day clock. The woman never takes a breath. She could talk the hind legs off a donkey. It wasn’t until after she’d hung up that I heard the end of that particular conversation.
So, what did you do?
Oh, no you don’t. You’ll have to read the book like everyone else to find out.
While a large, floppy straw hat is her favorite, bestselling novelist Ane Mulligan has worn many: hairdresser, legislative affairs director (that's a fancy name for a lobbyist), drama director, playwright, humor columnist, and novelist. Her lifetime experience provides a plethora of fodder for her Southern-fried fiction.
She firmly believes coffee and chocolate are two of the four major food groups. President of the award-winning literary site, Novel Rocket, Ane resides in Suwanee, GA, with her artist husband, her chef son, and two dogs of Biblical proportion. You can find Ane on her Southern-fried Fiction
website: http://www.anemulligan.com, Google+, Facebook, Goodreads, Twitter, and Pinterest