Excerpt:
That September morning started much like any other. Camden, New Jersey, the sparkling little sister of Philadelphia, connected by the high arches of the Delaware River Bridge, was waking up to heat nearing the mid-seventies—by nine o’clock the humidity was sitting high above the city, waiting to descend.
Cramer Hill, a small section of Camden, bound by the Delaware River to the west, the Pavonia Train Yard to the east, State Street to the south and 36th Street to the north—a grid of streets twenty-four blocks long, and about five or six blocks wide contained within—was about to draw the focus of the world but nobody knew it, not that morning at nine o’clock.
River Road cut a swath through Cramer Hill where open-bay trucks rumbled through all day long, overloaded with tomatoes headed for the Campbell’s soup factory a few miles away. The clearly visible cargo was only held in place by wire mesh caging along the sides. The loud engine sounds called to children to get out of the street, to stand and watch, waiting for a tomato to break loose and fall into their small hands. They were often rewarded when a bump in the road threw a few of the greenish-red fruits into the street.
The smells of the river wafting in, the sounds of the boats, the hint of tomatoes cooking at Campbell’s, the smoke from the stacks of Eavenson and Sons soap factory a mile away—it was all there. But mostly it was the shoemaker’s pungent aroma of tannery oils, the lingering, savory fragrance from Latela’s Italian luncheonette on the corner, the endless din of Engel’s bar across the street, and the music that poured out of its doors after the sun went down that filled every home.
Five businesses shared one side of the small block—a cacophonic mix of a pharmacy, a barbershop, a cobbler, a tailor and a cafĂ©. The other side only had two: a grocery and a bar. Most of the owners lived there, nestled in their small apartments above their establishments. They all knew each other well enough on that small stretch of River Road. Enough to pull a chair out onto the sidewalk on summer nights for a chat. Enough to get a drink at Engel’s now and again. Enough to keep an eye on things and on each other. But not one of them saw it coming. Not the Pilarchiks, the Hoovers, the Hamiltons, the Zegrinos or the Cohens. They’d safely shared that space together for years, but not one of them was spared.
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Author Info
Ellen J. Green is the Amazon
Charts bestselling author of the Ava Saunders novels (Absolution and Twist of
Faith) and The Book of James. She attended Temple University in Philadelphia,
where she earned her degrees in psychology, and has worked in the psychiatric
ward of a maximum-security correctional facility for fifteen years. She also
holds an MFA degree in creative writing from Fairleigh Dickinson University.
Born and raised in Upstate New York, Ms. Green now lives in southern New Jersey
with her two children.
The Book Junkie Reads . . .Reckless Dreams Interview with . . . Ellen J. Greene . . .
How would you describe your style of writing to someone that has never read your work?
I’ve written four suspense novels, and now this true crime piece. My style is I think, very simple. Some of my writing is in 1st person, or alternating 1st and 3rd person. I try not to make it dense or wordy. I strive towards Hemmingway--the master of using as few words as possible.
Do you feel that writing is an ingrained process or just something that flows naturally for you?
Writing flows naturally, but sometimes the stuff that flows isn’t very good. I have to really work at it, and go over things to get it right, but I don’t have a ritual or process that I use. I would like to think I’m getting better at it as I go along.
Have you found yourself bonding with any particular character(s)? If so which one(s)?
I really liked Ava Saunders in the Twist of Faith series. I think it’s because she was damaged and resourceful. Nobody was going to take her down…though she did do awful things. She kind of made me laugh when I was writing her dialogue. I also liked that she spoke so many languages fluently because I don’t. I’ve studied French for years on and off, but no, not fluent. Not even close.
Can you share your next creative project(s)? If yes, can you give a few details?
I am working on a book tentatively titled The Many Faces of Murder, a memoir about my time working as a therapist in a maximum-security correctional facility. It’s sort of my work juxtaposed with my life as a wife and mother, going from one to the other and managing it all.
What are some of your writing/publishing goals for this year?
I would love to finish The Many Faces of Murder and then either finish a suspense novel I’ve started, or stay with true crime. There was so much to the Unruh story, I don’t know if there’s another book in it. I keep thinking, I should have included this, or that. We’ll see.
Where would you spend one full year, if you could go ANYWhere, money is not a concern? What would you do with this time?
I would probably go to Paris and finally learn fluent French. Paris has so much history, you could live there for five years and not see everything. It’s also a great jumping off point to so many places in Europe.
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