On the second day of our trip to New Orleans, we visited the famed Lafayette Cemetery. My dad served his mission in the Southern States Mission, and he spoke of  vaults which housed bodies above ground. These stories fascinated me as a kid! I couldn't fathom people not being buried underground, but the fact is, New Orleans sits about 3 feet below sea level so people are laid to rest in family vaults like these in the pictures. In my new book, Diamonds of the Quarter, the characters visit a nearby cemetery which is just like this. Hopefully the cemetery chapters give just the right amount of shivers to keep fans reading and interested! 

"Saint Louis Cemetery was even creepy in the broad daylight. Family vaults of every shape and size created a neighborhood in miniature; the dead zone. Many of the vaults were crumbling; decaying like the bodies inside of them. They were moss-covered, run-down ruins; in shambles, having no hope in the Resurrection. Others were proud, well-cared for edifices, nearly as stately as their family homes."--Randulet Thibodeaux, Diamonds of the Quarter 

I didn't actually visit the Saint Louis Cemetery of New Orleans because it required joining a tour. I typically prefer to wander at my own pace and discover things privately. I think better that way--the quieter way. While I sauntered up and down the rows of vaults, my imagination soared ahead of me, gobbling up creepy details pertinent to my book. In fact, my imagination flew a little further, to other books in the series. Yes, Diamonds of the Quarter will be the first in the Improper Sons series.

After the cemetery, we drove south to Jean Lafitte's swamp. No trip to the south should be complete without visiting the bayous! We took an air-boat tour, which was informational and fun! We had a crazy captain--so we saw crazy things...like him kissing an alligator that he called Tiger. (Not kidding!) We saw two yearling alligators that our captain called "Little Bit." He fed them marshmallows. 

"We motored to an eerie, narrow bend in the river. Spanish moss clung to cypress trees which grew on both sides, with their limbs stretched over the water like ancient, grey heads bowing. Uncle Enzo’s eyes quickly worked the scene ahead of us, and with good reason, too. About twenty yards inside the “tunnel of trees” a damn snake dropped off a drooping limb, landing right across my shoulders! The serpent was aiming to send me to the vault with my little brother, but Uncle Enzo’s long hook flipped it back into the water before fangs could find my flesh."--Randulet Thibodeaux, Diamonds of the Quarter


It seemed like every tree in the bayou had its own ecosystem. My imagination took flight with the osprey and heron alike while my brain churned like a Maytag. Crickets, cicada's and bullfrogs serenaded the scenery. For the record, Spanish moss does grow in tangles of algae-seasoned spaghetti...whetting my appetite for future adventures.

I recently returned from a trip to the French Quarter, which sits in the heart of New Orleans. (This is a picture of St. Louis Cathedral, located in Jackson Square.)The French Quarter was built in 1718 by a French Canadian naval officer named Jean Baptiste Bienville. Think of it! 300 years of history; a strange and almost mystical place which is older than the organized nation in which it sits.

I enjoyed the antiquities of French and Spanish architecture, the multi-layered history, and the colorful culture of the Vieux Carré! Music strums continually; happy notes of gospel and jazz, as well as warbled, haunting notes of better days gone by. We began our first morning with a delicious breakfast on Jackson Square, at a restaurant called The Stanley. I would fly clear to New Orleans just to eat there again! Of course the humidity was a little hard to get used to at first, so after breakfast we found sanctuary in the well air-conditioned St. Louis Cathedral.   I felt reverence for the glorious stained glass windows, the rich paintings on the ceilings, the skilled workmanship of old-time, old-world artisans, and the prayerful worship of other travelers visiting the seasoned landmark. 

I marveled at the street artists as we made our way to the famous Cafe Du Monde for sugar-dusted beignets. The pastries sat just a little heavy in my stomach in the heat, but I wanted to experience them anyway! After throwing some bills in a saxophone player's hat, we made our way up Chartres Street to the old Ursuline Convent. The further we walked away from Jackson Square toward the convent, the more I noticed less businesses, tourists, and happy vibes. I wondered how differently these narrow streets would have appeared before the aggression of Hurricanes Betsy, Andrew, Katrina, and Rita. (The architectural bones were still there, but I sensed they were sore with arthritis.) Yes, the historic streets felt  less cheerful, even creepy, if not down right haunting the further north-east we walked. 

The Ursuline Convent has not housed nuns since 1820, but during the War of 1812, the classrooms were turned into an infirmary for the sick and wounded, treating both British and American soldiers.  The historical convent has the distinction of being the oldest building in New Orleans, and the oldest standing church in the state of Louisiana. If walls could talk, they would probably speak French, Creole French, Spanish, local Native American Indians, and English. They could testify of many things; the happy, the sad, the unique, the hallowed, the sacred, the haunting, the unforgivable. They could tell us tales of Indian wars, the War of 1812, the Civil War, and the tired narration of slaves.

The nuns were buried on the corner of Chartres and Hospital Street, from 1727 to 1824. However, when they moved to the new Ursuline Convent in the 9th Ward, the bodies of the nuns were disinterred and moved to the new grounds. However, the slaves the nuns owned are still buried at the original sight. Nuns owning slaves is something I'd never given much thought about previous to my trip.

I left the jumpy, goose-bump feelings at my back as we walked back toward the business district of the Quarter. We meandered up Bourbon Street, poked our heads inside pirate Jean Lafitte's bar, the oldest standing tavern in the United States. I had entertained the idea of a nursing a refreshing mint julep, but it didn't smell good inside, so a peek was plenty. We took plenty of pictures. Marie Laveau's House of Voodoo beckoned me to stand, at a fair distance in front of it. The place was so foul smelling I would never have been able to urge my spirit through the entry, but again, we took pictures. I saw the "Strange Gods, Strange Altars" sign above the door, and felt grateful for my own familiar God and altar.

We went back to our hotel on historic North Rampart Street, appreciating as we went, the architecture, the diversity, the culture, and strumming vibes of a foreign, complicated place. Later that afternoon we visited the Garden District, appreciating the grand architecture of beautiful southern homes! We also took pictures near Lake Pontchartrain, and I ate the fattest, most delicious gulf shrimp at a restaurant called Deanie's. When we returned to the Quarter, lamplight flickered, welcoming us back to another time once again.

​Learn more about my two-part trip in next week's blog! 

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The days of summer have flown by, but August has caught me like a kid waiting for Christmas! I am so eager to get  Diamonds of the Quarter into print, and more importantly, into your hands! It's an interesting book; humorous, heart-warming, but there are also creepy undertones which will keep you turning the pages. 

The story takes place in the French Quarter, New Orleans, Louisiana, circa 1965-1973; a pivotal time in our country as racial tension and desegregation efforts were underway. It was a time of protest, and uncertainty. Following on the heels of the assassination of JFK, burgeoning tensions in the Cold War, the awakening of the women's movement, equal rights--and of course,  political smoke rising over Viet Nam, Diamonds of the Quarter is a historical, entertaining journey. 

Diamonds of the Quarter is humorously told through the eyes of Randulet Thibodeaux, a scrappy Creole kid who witnesses the collision of two worlds; the lazy, southern chivalry of comfortable traditions, and the new-age necessity of stepping forward with vision, direction, and conviction. 

Diamonds of the Quarter is book one of The Improper Son series, and stakes a few ties into several of my other titles, including Beckon, Pirate Moon, and Veil of Azure Sequins.