Mary Anna Evans

Jun 2023 14

World War II, Stereotype-Busting Women, and Pleasure Reading

2023 Articles, Mysteryrat's Maze

by Mary Anna Evans

Like most novelists, I can’t really tell you where my ideas come from. It feels like I’ve spent my life putting experiences and knowledge and cool nuggets of information in a magic bag that lives in my brain somewhere. When I need a story idea, I reach in the bag and a story comes out. Or, probably more accurately, the germ of a story comes out. After a lot of writing and thinking and editing, the germ becomes the story, and it’s a story that only I could write.

Apr 2016 18

Land of the Flowers: An Earth Day Mystery Short Story

2016 Articles, Going Green, Mysteryrat's Maze, Terrific Tales

by Mary Anna Evans

Garrett Levy already knew more than he wanted to know about composting toilets. Environmental engineering had sounded like a glamorous career when he signed up for it, but the reality had been…well, he should have known that cleaning up a planet wouldn’t be a walk in the park. Garrett had spent his years in graduate school learning how to treat various forms of toxic sludge, which meant that he’d spent an entire semester researching the intimate workings of composting toilets.

Aug 2015 22

Isolation By Mary Anna Evans

2015 Articles, Cynthia Chow, Mysteryrat's Maze

by Cyntha Chow

Faye Longchamp-Mantooth is digging holes. This isn’t too surprising, considering that Faye is an archeologist fascinated with her own family's history on Florida's Joyeuse Island. Faye, though, is also digging to escape. A recent miscarriage has driven her away from her husband and her son, and even her adopted daughter isn’t allowed to share in their mourning.

May 2014 8

Starch: A Mother’s Day Mystery Short Story

2014 Articles, Mysteryrat's Maze, Terrific Tales

by Mary Anna Evans

In those days, on-duty nurses were addressed by their last names, so I was known as “Crain.” I liked the notion of dispensing with “Mrs.” and “Miss,” and all the social baggage that separated women outside the hospital into single girls, married ladies and old maids. The doctors we served were, without exception, male, and we were expected to stand when any of them entered the room, just as gentlemen outside the hospital rose out of respect for ladies. I positively reveled in this perversion of the prevailing custom. If anyone was ever born to be a nurse, I was.