Sujata Massey

I’m writing to you from St. Paul, Minnesota, where many roads are ice rinks and frozen snowbanks are as hard as stone. I came for a few days to visit my parents and sisters.January always means bringing warm boots, a down coat, and a thick wool hat and gloves. And now: my US passport. 

The reason I’m carrying my document everywhere isn’t because I’m paranoid.  It’s because the Supreme Court gave the U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) authority to racial profile: that is, to stop and detain people based on their skin color. For a brown person like me, it's not a joke. If I'm on a street by myself and the wrong car comes up, just telling them I'm a US citizen isn't enough. So many citizens have had lengthy detainments; and others have never come back home. 

In the Twin Cities of Saint Paul and Minneapolis, a massive deportation effort named “Operation Metro Stop” is underway. More than 2000 ICE and Border Patrol agents are driving through business and residential neighborhoods, lingering to look at people both on foot and inside cars. Beating up and pepper spraying victims is common: not only for people they hope to throw into the van, but the neighbors and bystanders who step in to observe whether they have warrants and can legally take people. They are using license plate information to get the names and addresses of people participating in protests, and then following these people and speaking to them by name to intimidate them. This is the terrible new change that's happened in the last few weeks: ICE is violently and psychologically retaliating against peaceful protestors.The Trump government’s goal is to punish Minnesota, and use the wide publicity of the harm they’re doing to frighten sympathizers around the country and suppress political resistance.

Most people have already heard about the shooting death of American citizen and mother Renee Good by ICE agent Jonathan Ross in Minneapolis on Wednesday, Jan 7. Good had only come to a scene where ICE cars were because she’d heard that ICE was hassling people and observers were needed. Kristi Noem, the head of Homeland Security, described the officer as being subject to ‘domestic terrorism’ and falsely stated that Good was an aggressor. But she never got out of the car. The truth was that her last words alive, recorded on Ross’s cellphone, were: “Dude, I’m not mad at you.” And his words, after shooting her three times in the face, were “Fucking bitch.” 

As I’ve said, the Good shooting, just like many other actions against the community observers, are meant as a warning to people not to interfere with ICE abductions. The agents are clearly distressed by the many times they’re missing making arrests because of the tremendous support Minnesotans are showing for each other. 

"We are Not Afraid!" is the defiant cry people chant at the men and women with guns in their hands and bandannas masking their faces. I am honking my heart out as I drive past each group. “Thank you!” I occasionally yell from my window, and the call comes back: “You’re welcome!”

More urgently, Twin Cities residents are making whistles with 3-D printers and distributing them widely to the population. They blow their whistles to signal that ICE is in the area, leading the vulnerable to take cover and the observers to get boots on the ground. And while ICE is going door-to-door asking people to report to them which houses have immigrants living in them, other neighbors are giving their phone numbers to such families for help in crisis. There is no rioting; there is no violent interference with ICE. It’s peaceful support, absolutely covered by existing law. Yet many protestors are being held in ICE jails for a day, during which time they are subject to extreme interrogations and offers of money in exchange for names of other protestors. What does this remind you of?

The valiant resistance is appearing from all sides. Minneapolis’s Native American community is sending its trained volunteer network to patrol streets and assist in protection. They’ve also have turned a community/arts center into 24-hour safe haven for observers and community members needing a place to sleep and eat. 

It may seem surprising that this particular state in the upper Midwest has turned out to be a place where people care so deeply about neighbors who are relative newcomers.

I think the answer is tied into to the history and nature of Minnesota. Ever since Native Americans were forced out of the area in the 19^th century, Minnesota became a place for transplants—and this history goes back only a few generations. Some people rode in covered wagons from other states, and foreign immigrants sailed directly from Europe, especially Germany and Scandinavia. African Americans have been here since the pioneer era and the Civil War. The Twin Cities were further integrated in the 20^th century, during the Great Migration from Southern states. I recall that back in the 80s, it was common to see mixed race couples going out together in Minneapolis—something that could be dicey in many other parts of the country.  During this same decade, the state gained Hmong, Somali, South Asian and Latino immigrants. Minnesota had plenty of job possibilities, and local government leaders were willing to set up bilingual schools and daycare options. The philosophy was that giving people a chance to get an education and job would lead to economic success for everyone. 

Another unusual regional feature that influences Minnesotans is a strong sense of obligation to help people caught out in the elements who seem to be in trouble. Minnesota has the coldest winters in the continental US. This fact, over the generations, has shaped an awareness of the potentially fatal risks people face out on the street in the snow. To this day, you are cozy at home, but you can see a car stuck in the street in front of your house, you are expected to zip up your parka put and get out to help them. This was explained to me during my first winter as an adult homeowner in Minneapolis—even though it was already the age of cellphones and emergency car services. If it's your street--you keep the people on it safe.. 

Minnesota's Attorney General Keith Ellison has filed a lawsuit against the Trump Administration for Operation Metro Stop, just as several other states have done. Regardless of this, ICE will certainly keep on assaulting Minnesotans. It must be hard for them to understand that the more tyrranical they are, they will only inspire larger numbers to step in to fill the shoes of those they've taken away.

Ovidia--every other Tuesday

We celebrated the first work week of the Western new year by going back to one of our neighbourhood kopitiams (literally 'coffee shop' but more a collection of food stalls) which had been closed for renovations for some time.
We really like how it looks and feels now. Everything's brighter and cleaner and the ceiling even looks higher though I don't know how they could have managed this.
Plus we've just received our CDC vouchers (digital vouchers from the government to be used on food and household costs)

Here's what I spent mine on... $5 crispy noodles and a water chestnut drink! (Block 289 Bukit Batok St 25 in case you're in the area!)



It's almost worth the months of construction work that's going on. Which is something to remember now that our condo's currently in the middle of the government-mandated cycle of re-painting, re-grouting and re-tiling, meaning temporary barriers, exposed wiring, dust everywhere. It looks worse before it looks better. It always does.

But it's something you get used to if you live in Singapore. Something around you is always in the process of getting dug up, torn down or upgraded.
Residential blocks get upgraded. Schools, libraries, hawker centres are closed and reopened looking shinier and smelling cleaner.

But sometimes even this isn't enough. We tried to help with a neighbour's tripped circuit the other night--after ruling out all the visible appliances, we had to conclude the issue was somewhere behind the walls where aesthetically concealed wiring had fused.
That's the problem with things that look good--you can't tell when things are going wrong and everything looks fine—until it suddenly isn’t.
(They're getting an electrician in--it's hard to find one free now because they're always busiest before Chinese New Year. I stopped by a van in the car park to say 'you're blocking my car,' but before I could ask him to move up a little the driver handed me a card and said 'no more booking until after New Year'. The poor guy looked exhausted. I took the card and gave him a packet drink and yes, he moved the van.)

Of course we're also practical people here. You can see it in how fast Christmas disappears and Chinese new Year appears--the lights strung across building fronts and along roads are the same LED lights, but the little green Christmas trees have been replaced by little red lanterns and the 'reindeer' have lost their horns and become horses...

I like this season--it's cooler now across than the rest of the year. But it also feels like we're caught between the Western vs Chinese New Year.

In anticipation of the Year of the Horse, I've been clearing cupboards, repotting plants, cleaning out the turtle pond and fish tank filters--here's a look at the underside of some of the water plants. I'd not realised till now how pretty and delicate their roots are--



I've also been thinking that the whole thing about clearing stuff up regularly/ before New Year is about stagnant energy trapped in stagnant spaces and how entropy works on everything, from stuff we don't touch or look at to parts of our bodies and minds. I have so many books, projects and ideas that I don't want to work on yet am not ready to let go of!

But I will.

And I've been pushed to relook at some old things recently, thanks to external factors--

This month, The Mushroom Tree Mystery is a Kindle Monthly Deal at $0.99 on Amazon US.



And the television series Aunty Lee’s Deadly Delights, based on my Aunty Lee mysteries, premieres on MeWatch on January 19.



Entropy never ends. But there's always the hope of rebirth and renewal!

Annamaria on Monday

First a little background from Wikipedia: Stendhal syndrome is a psychosomatic condition involving rapid heartbeat, confusion, hallucinations, and other phenomena and even fainting is allegedly occurring when individuals become exposed to objects, artwork, or phenomena of great beauty. The affliction is named after the 19th century French author Stendhal, who described his experiences with the phenomenon during his 1817 visit to Florence, Italy, in his book Naples and Florence: a journey from Milan to Reggio.

I have only experienced Stendhal syndrome once. I did not pass out, but I had pretty much all the other symptoms. That was around 30 years ago when I first visited the Duomo of Siena, pictured above. It wasn't its gorgeous façade that got to me. And I want you to know that before I first visited Siena I had seen many, many of the most beautiful churches on the planet.  They were and are spectacularly beautiful. But none of them surprised and thrilled me as the masterpiece I revisited a second time a few days ago.

The many pictures below do not at all convey the experience of standing in that place and being surrounded by its highly unusual and incredible gorgeousness.

The floor has been recently restored, and as you will see below, the images are now protected. Visitors there can no longer walk on splendid works of art.\

 

J

That's Mike Stotter between Ali Karim and George Easter

Jeff––Saturday

A week ago, Mike Stotter, the nonpareil editor-in-chief of SHOTS Crime & Thriller Magazine did me the distinct honor of publishing an essay I’d written summarily describing my journey thus far into the writing life. Titled, “How Did I End Up Here?” it briefly traces my youngster and lawyer related writing efforts, my successful (and continuing) 14-book Andreas Kaldis series (just released in fresh new covers from Severn House), and my soon-to-be-released debut novel, A STUDY IN SECRETS, in “The Redacted Man” series.  Here’s a slightly re-titled (with pun intended) version of my essay:

I think it’s fair to ask me, why after publishing fourteen critically acclaimed, Greece-based Chief Inspector Andreas Kaldis police procedurals I decided to create a brand-new mystery series for Severn House. One set in New York City featuring a Sherlock Holmes-worthy amateur sleuth possessing a complicated George Smiley retired-secret-agent past. A Study in Secrets is the debut novel in my “Redacted Man” series releasing on February 3^rd in the UK and US. 

Perhaps a bit more background on my protagonist and what he confronts in A Study in Secrets will answer why I’ve added this very different mystery series to my repertoire. 

Michael A is a true gentleman who lives a quiet, comfortable life since retiring from the intelligence services. Practically a recluse and partially handicapped, he spends his days imagining the lives of the anonymous people he watches in the park beneath the windows of his elegant New York City townhouse–number 221–his every need tended to by his housekeeper, Mrs. Baker. 

For decades Michael has taken great care not to get involved in the lives of those he observes…until one day everything changes.

Each morning for weeks he’s watched a girl sit in the park at dawn. Always alone. Always watchful. And when the sun rises, she vanishes, as if she were never there. One day her routine changes–and Michael realizes she faces terrible danger. For reasons unclear even to himself, he makes an uncharacteristic decision to abandon his solitude and help her. 

Soon, Michael finds himself confronting the New York City underworld in an unexpected search for a priceless missing treasure. He'll have to rely upon all the tricks of his former trade and resurrect long neglected relationships if he's to keep not just himself, but his new friend, alive. 

All of which leads me to ask, how can any mystery writer not love a protagonist like Michael A? Powerful story lines pack every decade of his life, vivid ancillary characters virtually spring to life in his wake, and deep-seated societal attitudes are explored and confronted without a bit of preaching required. 

Michael A is a character I’ve sought to bring to life for nearly a decade, all in furtherance of a storytelling desire that’s percolated within me for at least half a century. It was with me when as a child I found myself making up stories every night as I fell off to sleep. And it was there with me in high school when I thought I could make it as a writer … until I realized how unlikely I was to earn a living as one––leading me to become a lawyer.

Those years practicing law played an unexpected role in my emergence as a creative writer. And by that I don’t mean they taught me to be creative with the facts. Rather, they developed my style, gave me my voice, taught me how to write clearly, concisely and convincingly – and to do so quickly.

The practice of law also taught me how to graciously accept and channel criticism, a vital skill for one to develop if as a writer you wish to survive critical analyses of your work by your editors, critics and reviewers.

So, here I am, more than 20 years into the crime writing life; overjoyed by the many friends my wife and I have made in our new mystery-laden world and the host of plaudits my work has received from colleagues I deeply respect and admire. But most of all, I feel blessed that the dream I carried as a young boy to someday be a writer has come true. 

The big question now is, what happens next? 

Whatever it is, I’m looking forward to it, for I’ve no doubt it’s going to be an adventure. One of the more likely scenarios will soon see my Greece-based series come to life in the media. That should be fun. 

And speaking of fun, are you aware of the familial link I share with Sherlock Holmes? It’s a little-known fact I stumbled upon as a teenager devouring all things Holmesian. Since then, I’ve always had a soft spot for Sherlock, so titling the first book in my new series A Study in Secrets seemed only natural as an homage to the very first Sir Arthur Conan Doyle novel introducing Holmes and Watson. 

But before I reveal to you my little secret, perhaps you might answer this question: What is name of Sherlock Holmes’ father?

If you got that right, you’ve unearthed my secret, for his name is Siger Holmes. And he would much appreciate you buying a copy of the latest mystery novel to bear his family name on the cover. It’s available now for pre-order. 

 ––Jeff

Jeff’s Events (still in formation)

2025

All Live Events

 

Saturday, February 7, 3:00 p.m. CT
Murder By The Book
Author Speaking and Signing
Houston, TX

 

Wednesday, February 11, 6:00 p.m. ET
Mysterious Bookshop
Author Speaking and Signing
New York, NY

  

Thursday, March 26, 7:00 p.m. MT
The Poisoned Pen Bookstore
Author Speaking and Signing
Scottsdale, AZ

 

Friday, April 10, 6:30 p.m.
Mystery Lovers Bookshop
Author Speaking and Signing
Pittsburgh, PA

 

A few days ago, I was invited to attend a local book club, led by my dear friend Peggy (holding the book), who had chosen an anthology of short mystery stories as their January read.  All the members had agreed to read my contribution (“Her Dangerously Clever Hands”) plus at least two other stories for the discussion. When the meeting began, one of the first questions a member asked me was, “What is the difference between writing a short story and a novel?” 

Sharing the sidewalk shouldn’t mean sharing cigarette smoke

A Morning in Oviedo

One morning in Oviedo, a boy about sixteen or seventeen walked past me, taking long drags on a cigarette. For him, it was normal. For me, it mixed feelings of resentment about secondhand smoke and disappointment that someone so young was probably already addicted to cigarettes.

Spain has a huge, epidemic-level smoking problem. Smoking is everywhere. Coming from the US, you notice it within the first few hours.

I saw a young mother puffing away at an outdoor café while her baby slept in a stroller nearby. Was I the only one horrified by the sight of cigarette smoke drifting over the child? Surely, the young woman's two friends at the table weren't objecting on the baby’s behalf. In other scenes, smoking parents stroll casually with their children. 

Is this safe? Depends which way the wind is blowing These aren’t outlier examples; they’re the daily texture of life in Spain in 2025. The general attitude I sense toward smoking in Spain is one giant, appalling shrug by both smokers and, apparently, non-smokers. I cannot wrap my head around having to inhale cigarette smoke in a public space such as Oviedo's spectacular park, Campo de San Francisco. Man smoking in San Francisco Park The Economic Cost of Smoking in Spain Meanwhile, the Spanish government is missing a great opportunity to curtail smoking in its young citizens before it ever starts. They could target people like the 16-year-old I described above with a robust multi-year campaign. Spain is losing time, money, and opportunity. In 2024, Spain spent $8.8 billion on all tobacco-related illnesses. Using statistics from E&S, CDC, and others, we could conservatively say that if Spain could cut daily smoking by roughly 700,000 people over five years, it could plausibly save around €0.8B in public healthcare costs within five years—and roughly €3.5B within ten. But those are countable, tangible figures that don't account for the daily repercussions of smoking: disability, missed hours of work, clinic and ER visits for asthma and recurrent COPD attacks, and hospitalizations. Why Cigarettes Hook Fast — And Where Spain Falls Short What makes cigarettes addictive (in one minute): Nicotine hits the brain in ~10 seconds, triggering dopamine, the reinforcement messenger that trains the brain to crave another hit. Engineered delivery: smoke chemistry (free-base nicotine, burn rate, sugars → acetaldehyde) boosts dependence. Conditioned cues: branding, rituals, and environments (terraces, bus stops) keep cravings alive. Where Spain falls short (compared with France/UK/NL): The cigarette prices are too low, making uptake and relapse easier. No plain packaging, so branding attracts teens, makes it look "cool," and sustains cues. In contrast, the Netherlands, France, and the UK pair higher prices with plain packaging (logo-free, standardized packs) that reduces tobacco’s visual allure. The colorful array is no accident Plain plackaging in France Retail access is too easy: at many outlets, supermarket presence is not curbed like in the NL. Outdoor exposure persists: terraces, bus stops, and public parks (see above), where nonsmokers must tolerate secondhand cigarette smoke.                                Double trouble: two young women smoking a few feet from a cafe entrance The no-smoking-in-restaurants rule is somewhat of a joke because many smoking customers are within easy puffs' reach. Spain’s policy says one thing. Daily life says another A private break with public consequences Spain has a national tobacco plan (2024–2027) and a draft law to extend smoke-free spaces outdoors (terraces, beaches, bus stops, playgrounds, stadiums) and to tighten rules on vapes. On paper, fine. In practice, non-smokers still inhale smoke at doorways and on terraces, and kids still see cigarettes as normal. Until rules are passed, implemented, and enforced, “policy” is just paperwork. Why Spain Trails France, the UK, and the Netherlands Campaigns people actually notice: France’s Mois sans tabac (month without tobacco), England’s Stoptober, and the Dutch Rookvrije Generatie keep quitting visible year-round. Spain’s messaging is patchy and easy to miss. Outdoor protections you feel: France applies national outdoor restrictions with fines. Spain’s stricter outdoor rules are pending; if they are in effect in other cities, I have not seen any evidence of them where I am in Oviedo. End-game urgency: The UK is pushing a “smoke-free generation” (age of sale rises every year). Spain has goals, but no comparable end-game law. Low pricing: Spain still allows branded packs and keeps prices comparatively low—exactly what sustains youth uptake. Smoking in Spain: Skin Ravage vs. High-End Skin Care                                      Self-sustaining loop: smoking outside, skin serums inside In Spain, the "farmacia" green cross is everywhere. It doesn’t just mark prescription access—it signals a dense retail ecosystem built around dermocosmetics. Spain has roughly one community pharmacy for every 2,200 people, which is about twice the per-capita density of the U.S. and several times that of Sweden. These farmacias aren’t American-style drugstores with a pharmacy counter tucked in the back; they’re regulated health shops whose prominent and eye-catching displays often feature retinoids, serums, and SPF creams. Added to that are the striking numbers of dermatology and aesthetic clinics—lasers, peels, injectables—now woven into the urban fabric. The irony is hard to miss: a culture where cigarette smoke remains routine, paired with an unusually dense marketplace devoted to counteracting what smoke and sun reliably destroy. It is a curiously inverted logic, a reversal of common sense: wreck my skin now, try to repair it later when it's probably too late. By the numbers Spain: ~**1 pharmacy per 2,200 people** U.S.: ~**1 pharmacy per 4,700 people** Sweden: ~**1 pharmacy per 7,500+ people** Sources: Consejo General de Colegios Farmacéuticos; INE (España); The Lancet Oncology *All images by Kwei Quartey unless otherwise stated ⭐ Don’t forget to follow me on Instagram for more content: @kweiquarteyauthor