Lea Wait's Blog, page 102

A Mini Vacation To Blue Hill and Deer Isle

Kate Flora: I suppose there are those who’d say that if we already have a place in Maine on the ocean, why would we ever need to leave? It’s a fair question. Most summers, I am so busy with gardening, writing, and houseguests that I wouldn’t think of leaving. Then again, most years, we punctuate our lives by taking vacations, while since Covid arrived, vacations have been suspended. So when my husband suggested it would be fun to take a drive up the coast, I agreed. It was amazing what a treat a small getaway turned out to be.

We began our adventure with a stop at the Coastal Maine Botanical Gardens in Boothbay, just before the rain came. (In fact for a while we had to huddle under a tree during a shower.) But the gardens are always a delight and it was a nice start to an otherwise rainy day. The gardens are trying out a new dahlia garden, so I took a lot of pictures.

Then we drove on through the rain, stopping Rockland to visit the Farnsworth Museum. It was greatly changed from the museum I used to visit as a child, and as it was a rainy day, every tourist in Maine had the same idea, so our visit was short. I’m afraid, as a crime writer, I probably spent more time musing about the people than the paintings. Was was up with the small, sharp-faced woman who refused to wear a mask despite a dozen signs, or the older couple who ambled in a cut the long line–deliberate or inattentive? Was that a couple or a father and daughter? And why was surprised to see those tattoed bikers?

After a futile attempt to find lunch–everyone who wasn’t in the museum was in a restaurant, we got sandwiches at a take-out stand and ate in the car.

Then it was on to Belfast, which is a very different place from the home of a large chicken processing plant it had been when I was a kid. Lots of art galleries and crafts stores. We decided to grab coffee and a dessert, but found it was a dessert desert, until we found Darby’s. We ordered coffee and a brownie sundae to share and oh my! It was big enough for a family of four. And delicious.

A long drive through the rain brought us to Blue Hill and the Blue Hill Inn, where we spent a pleasant evening. The innkeeper suggested we have dinner at Arborvine, just around the corner, and it did not disappoint. After a year of very rare restaurant meals, a delicious meal in a lovely room with great service is such a treat. A stack of lobster and avocado? Pate? A pork tenderloin with macadamia nuts? Roasted ducking? A perfect martini? It was almost too much and even though we were only gone for two days, made it feel like a true vacation.

The next morning the rain stopped and we drove down to Brooklyn and Stonington, then across the bridge to Little Deer Isle and Deer Isle. The bridge was steep and narrow and scary. The seaweed a deep yellow. The vistas endless small, rocky islands with pointy evergreens, just like you see in so many paintings.

We took some short hikes, though the trails were basically rivers and swamps after all the rain. It was so nice to see towns I’d always heard of but never visited.

Even though the hiking wasn’t great, the moss was the most amazing green from this year’s rain, and as soft and spongy underfoot as a thick pile carpet.

We finished our drive back down the coast by driving to the top of Mt. Battie and looking down at Camden Harbor, followed by a delicious dinner at Franny’s on Chestnut Street.

A short but delightful break.

 

Signing off

When Kate Flora invited me to blog on this site a little over three years ago, I felt deeply honored to join so many excellent writers of Maine-based mysteries.  Indeed, I felt inadequate because I had published only three mysteries, a series featuring the amateur sleuth Julie Williamson.  At the time I joined mainecrimewriters.com I was at work on a fourth in the series.

Life intervened, as it has a way of doing, and it wasn’t until the end of 2020 that I was able to submit the work to my publisher.  The response was favorable, with the caveat that staff shortages and a number of accepted books in the queue already would mean mine might not appear till 2022.  I had taken long enough to write it that I couldn’t blame the publisher for taking a while to get it out.  So all well and good—until a short email from the publisher this summer brought the news it would not publish my mystery.

Rejection is rarely welcome, and I was frankly dazed at being so abruptly dropped.  Of course the editor who sent the bad news said she quite liked the mystery, wished they had adequate staff and resources, etc., etc.  Maybe just being nice.  I’ve begun looking at alternative means of publishing, but as things stand now I’m finding it hard to consider myself a Maine crime writer.  That’s why I’ve decided to sign off here.  If I do eventually publish the fourth book—and maybe another one beyond that—I’ll ask if I may rejoin.  In the meantime, I want to thank all the bloggers who make this site fun to read and be a part of, especially Kate Flora, and those who have read and commented on my posts.  It’s all been fun!

Weekend Update: September 11-12, 2021

Next week at Maine Crime Writers there will be  posts by William Andrews (Monday), Kate Flora (Tuesday), Brenda Buchanan (Wednesday), Kaitlyn Dunnett/Kathy Lynn Emerson (Thursday), and Susan Vaughan (Friday). Some Wednesdays from now on will be “Win a Book Wednesday” with giveaways, drawings, and announcements of winners. Be sure to stop by at mid-week to see what’s new.

In the news department, here’s what’s happening with some of us who blog regularly at Maine Crime Writers:

You can meet some of our alums at the Ellsworth Library Mystery Series:

https://fb.me/e/egaN4zaN0

Maggie Robinson will be speaking at the Curtis Memorial Library in Brunswick on Tuesday, September 14, release day for her fourth and final Lady Adelaide Mystery, Farewell Blues. She will also be doing book giveaways at The Romance Dish blog and the Facebook group the Romance of Reading on Thursday, September 16. Stop by!

Another chance to attend a Zoom panel, this time the topic is: Casting Call: How Writers Staff Their Mysteries.

Here’s the link:

https://us02web.zoom.us/meeting/register/tZMofu2hpjgsHtF7B7iLkohY2OiTfjiN1_3w

Meeting ID

875 9498 3645Passcode 397658

Kate Flora will be teaching a week long crime fiction class at the Maine Media Workshops in October.

Dates:
Oct 25, 2021 – Oct 29, 2021

Levels: All
Workshop Fee: $1095
Class Size: 12 (max)

Got a story idea lurking in your head that you never seem to get down on paper? Are you a big mystery fan who has always wanted to write one but never gets to it? Maybe you want to write a book but don’t how to start and the mystery structure is the answer? We all know writers write, but sometimes it takes a nudge, or a class, or someone giving you an approach to get you started.

These daily sessions will focus on some of the elements that go into crafting a mystery novel. We’ll cover the basics of mystery plotting—that all important framework on which we hang our stories—and we’ll work on creating credible and distinctive characters, both good and bad. We’ll discuss point of view, the importance of setting and the role it plays, review some strategies for planting clues, and examine how mystery writers create tension page-by-page. There will be daily writing assignments, and wherever possible, if the student has a story idea in mind, his or her story will form the basis for the day’s exercises.

More information is here: https://www.mainemedia.edu/workshops/item/crime-fiction-101/

 

 

An invitation to readers of this blog: Do you have news relating to Maine, Crime, or Writing? We’d love to hear from you. Just comment below to share.

And a reminder: If your library, school, or organization is looking for a speaker, we are often available to talk about the writing process, research, where we get our ideas, and other mysteries of the business. We also do programs on Zoom. Contact Kate Flora

Comforting the Living By Speaking For the Dead

John Clark with a slightly different theme today. Give me a funeral over a wedding any day. No expensive gift, no annoying DJ telling everyone who to dance with and when, nobody waltzing around snapping annoying photos, dress is usually more casual, and the food is often better.

With age, funerals come more frequently and are (sadly) often the only time you’ve seen anyone in years. I still remember my introduction to death. It was when I was six, of so and we received a phone call that our neighbor, Albert Dirion had just dropped dead in his egg room. He and Berta, his wife, were among many midcoast residents, my parents included, who raised laying hens back in the 1950s. Anyhow, I remember sister Kate and I trying to understand what had happened. Back then, TV wasn’t part of our lives, so we weren’t inured to violence and dead bodies like kids often are today.

My memories of funerals early on remains hazy, but are still crystal clear regarding my father’s and mother’s memorial services. Dad’s was months later, held on the same spot by Sennebec Lake where Beth and I got married 44 years ago. Kate and I led off, followed by old family friends who remembered their best memories of Dad. Mom’s took place at the Methodist Church in Union, complete with one heck of a pot luck meal by the ladies of the church. Again, Kate and I led off, me by saying that Mom was probably the only person anyone in attendance ever knew who deliberately shot a manure pile with a sixteen gauge double-barrel shotgun. Kate contributed something similar and we were followed by a mix of sentimental and downright funny, best exemplified by Paul the Goat Boy telling everyone he collected interesting and unusual friends with Mom at the top of his list.

Memorial services have increased considerably in the last couple of years and in the process of attending and honoring deceased friends, I’ve noticed something that should have been obvious a long time ago. Many families don’t know how, or are unable to speak about their deceased. Even when they are, the perspective of non-family members is often a healing moment they desperately need.

When my bookseller friend Lynn Oliver died in 2018, his memorial service was in North Anson on the same day as that of my high school classmate Donnie Hills. While they were scheduled two hours apart, the distance between them was such that I could only attend one. I went to Lynn’s because we had a more recent connection. I shared my friendship with him as well as the fun I had bringing books to his house and watching he and his partner, Joan silently debate what to offer for them. Even though a stroke limited his speech in his last few years, I always appreciated his cynical sense of humor, along with our mutual dislike of conservative politicians. I was one of three who spoke that day.

When I attended Harold Emerson’s service a year later, I was the only person to get up and speak, but the handshakes and hugs from his family as I was leaving, told me I’d spoken for many of them as well.

Earlier this summer, I attended three such gatherings in one week. Two were long time AA friends, Guy P. and Libby S. I worked with Guy at AMHI for over 20 years and we attended the same Sunday AA meeting in Coopers Mills until Beth and I moved to Hartland. Guy’s wife, Mary-Ellen taught our daughters to drive. Their oldest daughter was so grateful for the three of us from AA who shared memories of Guy and Mary-Ellen. It was an added bonus when the former wife of the best man at our wedding came up to say hello and we caught up on her Ex and our four daughters. I hadn’t seen her in more than 40 years.

Libby’s service was much the same with my getting to tell her grandson how much I liked and missed his grandmother. Once again, there were a couple old AA friends in attendance that I hadn’t seen since we left the area.

The writer in me is fascinated by some of the undercurrents that happen at these events. At one, I learned how much the brother-in-law held a son-in-law of the deceased in contempt. Saying that he was a self-serving blowhard. At another, everyone was apprehensive about the possible arrival of a grandson who was actively abusing alcohol and drugs.

I share this with you in hopes you will take the opportunity to stand and share tour memories of a friend, or acquaintance sometime in the future. You’ll never know how much your words will comfort the survivors.

I’m now a blogging member at Young Adult Outside the Lines. Check my review of a recent book about Washington County from last Sunday. http://yaoutsidethelines.blogspot.com/2021/09/downeast-five-maine-girls-and-unseen.html

Falling In Love With Fall

I know it’s not autumn yet but it feels that way. The temperatures here in Maine are quickly dropping, especially at night. It’s noticeable because this past summer has been one of the hottest on record. So this Sunday after mowing the lawn and hitting the gym, my wife, my daughter and I headed to the country to get us some apples and blueberries. Having completed two manuscripts this summer, the rest of my day was clear and free. There would be no writing today. It would be all about the apples—and blueberries. Oh, and riding mountain bikes down Sunday River.

It was a beautiful day. We climbed in the car and drove the forty-five minutes out to the country. The smells of grass and cow manure filled the air. We arrived at the farm and immediately took in the rolling mountains and greenery. Come October, the colors would be more spectacular than they were now. But it was still quite beautiful. For once it was nice not to have to think about murder and deceit.

We climbed out of the car and got shuttled by golf cart to the main entrance. In the distance I could see rows upon rows of apple and blueberry groves. The day was festive and many people had already showed up. A two-man band played a Van Morrison song inside a tent-covered patio. Little kids danced in front of the two band members, along with their parents. The aroma of fresh beer, apple cider donuts and brick oven pizzas filled the air.

There were sweet varieties of blueberries and tangy blueberries, although we all agreed that the sweet blueberries were the tastiest. Three quarts tasty. Then we proceeded to the apple groves where we filled a large bag with Courtlands, Macs and Golden Delicious.

A great day of family fun. If only our son was home from college it would have been better. But we sent him the pics. Better hurry before they run out.

Then we went to Sunday River, rented bikes, and flew down the mountain. It’s much fun until you crash, which I did. But the scenery is so beautiful. In another month it will be that much better.

Have a great fall, everyone!

So Long, Farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, Good Night

One week from today, the fourth and final Lady Adelaide Mystery, Farewell Blues, comes out, and I’ve been thinking about past release days. I don’t think any writer gets jaded about them, no matter how many books they’ve published. There’s a mix of excitement, dread, and uncertainty. You wonder if you’ve done too much or not enough. You know you’d still tweak the story if you could, and think of the perfect scene far too late. You promise yourself not to read the reviews but do it anyway. You Google the book title, refresh Amazon every hour to see your stats in Hot New Releases, and post on Facebook and Twitter all day until people are pretty sick of you and your damned book.

But nothing tops my very first “book birthday,” all the way back to April 27, 2010. On Saturday, April 24, I brought my husband John to the hospital emergency room early in the morning. He was in acute pain and gastric distress. By that evening, a surgeon had removed 18 inches of his colon and clapped on a colostomy bag. The doctor’s diagnosis was Stage 4 rectal cancer, delivered around midnight in a matter-of-fact way to my oldest daughter and me in an empty visitors’ room. She wasn’t sure what it meant, but I was. I went home and contacted our other kids, friends, and online writing friends I’d never met in person but who had supported me every word of the way. I was totally numb.

By Monday, the lab results came back, and oops. NOT cancer. The colon had wrapped itself around something and the mass formed a blockage. We were incredibly relieved, though kind of angry at the same time for the two days of deadly depressing death-thoughts. But now all four kids were home, and it wasn’t for a vigil.

The day after I found out my husband was not going to die a gruesome imminent death, the book debuted. There was no champagne. I was still in an exhausted fog without it, and all of the promo stuff on Twitter and Facebook you’re supposed to do was taken over by my wonderful critique partners and writing friends, for which I cannot ever thank them enough.

That Tuesday, I was so relieved John was going to be all right, I went out and bought a house on a lake that he’d looked at. And by looked at, I mean he walked around the outside once and stared in the windows. He didn’t even know how much I paid for it until he came out of his drugged stupor days later. We toured the inside once he got out of the hospital. Fortunately, he liked it and thought I got a good deal.

We moved away from the lake two years ago, and other release days have been much less momentous. Next week, there might even be champagne. My writing friends will cheer me on again, and I will be filled with gratitude for eleven more years of marriage, mayhem, and the mysteries of life and publishing.

Tea in London. Inadvertently both in purple.

Maggie Robinson is a former teacher, library clerk, and mother of four who woke up in the middle of the night, absolutely compelled to create the perfect man and use as many adjectives and adverbs as possible doing so. A transplanted New Yorker, she lives with her not-quite perfect husband in Maine, where the cold winters are ideal for staying inside and writing historical mysteries and romances. A two-time Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice nominee, her books have been translated into French, German, Portuguese, Turkish, Russian, Japanese, Thai, Dutch and Italian. Maggie is a member of Sisters in Crime and Maine Romance Writers.

Weekend Update: September 4-6, 2021

Next week at Maine Crime Writers there will be  posts by Maggie Robinson (Tuesday), Joe Souza (Thursday), and John Clark (Friday). Some Wednesdays from now on will be “Win a Book Wednesday” with giveaways, drawings, and announcements of winners. Be sure to stop by at mid-week to see what’s new.

In the news department, here’s what’s happening with some of us who blog regularly at Maine Crime Writers:

You will find several MCW writers at Books in Boothbay on Saturday, September 11th

Saturday, September 11, 20219 a.m. – 12 p.m. & 1 p.m. – 4 p.m. Boothbay Railway Village Museum Admission to book fair is always FREE!

Author Line-Up*
Morning Session 9:00am–12:00pm
Kerri Arsenault, Danielle Bannister, Hilary Bartlett, Sarah Carlson, Richard Cass, Matt Cost, Irene M. Drago, Fran Hodgkins, Peter Ilgenfritz, Susan T. Landry, Mary Lawrence, BJ Magnani, S. Lee Manning, Sandra Neily, Anne Britting Oleson, Maria Padian, T. Blen Parker, Barbara Ross, David Sloan, Kevin St. Jarre, Lara Tupper, Caitlin Wahrer, James M. Wright

Afternoon Session 1:00pm–4:00pm
Cheryl Blaydon, Ellen Booraem, Charlene D’Avanzo, Jean Flahive, Kate Flora, Cheryl Gillespie, Jason Grundstrom-Whitney, Vaughn C. Hardacker, Gerry W. Hawes, Tom Huntington, Len Mattano, Dave Patterson, Dale T. Phillips, Lynne Schmidt, Bette Stevens, Thomas Urquhart

Missing library events? You can sign up to Zoom this Making a Mystery Event at the Athol, MA library:

Athol Public Library is inviting you to a scheduled Zoom meeting.
Topic: Sisters In Crime – Making a Mystery
Time: Sep 14, 2021 07:00 PM Eastern Time (US and Canada)
Join Zoom Meeting
https://us06web.zoom.us/j/81845635516

Meeting ID: 818 4563 5516
Passcode: 171700
One tap mobile
+16465588656,,81845635516# US (New York)
+13017158592,,81845635516# US (Washington DC)

A reminder that the New England Crime Bake is on for this coming November. A live event is still planned but there is also an exciting week of programming if they have to go virtual. Check it all out here: https://crimebake.org

This week, we are asking our readers the question: What would you like to see us blog about? Do you enjoy book reviews? Want to see where we write? Are you interested in craft? In research? Are there topics you’d love to see that we never seem to write about? Comment here to let us know.

An invitation to readers of this blog: Do you have news relating to Maine, Crime, or Writing? We’d love to hear from you. Just comment below to share.

And a reminder: If your library, school, or organization is looking for a speaker, we are often available to talk about the writing process, research, where we get our ideas, and other mysteries of the business. We also do programs on Zoom. Contact Kate Flora

Travel, Then and Now

Kaitlyn Dunnett/Kathy Lynn Emerson here. Last weekend many mystery fans and writers expected to gather in New Orleans for Bouchercon, the largest of the annual fan conventions. A month or so beforehand, it was cancelled due to Covid concerns and rescheduled for a future date. It turns out this was a good thing, since New Orleans ended up being in the path of a major hurricane and attendees would have had a difficult time getting home again.

During the past few months, other annual gatherings have either been cancelled or had already switched to virtual programming. Was I planning to attend any of the in-person ones? No. But it wasn’t all that long ago that I would have been, and in common with those who were registered, I regret that plans had to be changed. For writers, conferences, especially those organized by fans, are a big part of publicizing their work. They’re also a lot of fun. That’s probably why, today, I’m waxing nostalgic about past gatherings.

Maine contingent, Malice Domestic 2015

I can’t say I was ever a big fan of the travel involved, especially if it meant long hours on a plane, but back when I first started going to conferences, even that part of the trip was much less of a hassle. Both before and after 2001, my husband would drive me to Portland Jetport, but in the beginning we’d get me checked in and then go upstairs to the restaurant for a leisurely meal while waiting for the call to board. He could accompany me to the gate to say goodbye and then stay in the waiting area to watch my plane take off before heading home. It was a pleasant, relaxing way to start a trip.

my critique group, Romance Writers of America conference in NYC in 1994

You know what airports are like now. And the planes themselves are less passenger-friendly, too. For the last five or six years, unless I could afford to splurge and fly first class, arthritis and other health issues made even a short flight physically uncomfortable for me. It didn’t help that seats are closer together than they used to be. You want proof? Try lowering the tray table if you carry your weight in front of you. I’d end up arriving at my destination already hurting, and if the conference hotel also required a lot of walking, the fun factor took another hit. At the last few conferences I attended, the hotels didn’t even a nice big lobby bar to hang out in. If you only see fellow attendees when you’re attending the same panels, it really limits the socializing.

how to meet friends at Malice Domestic 2014

A lot of my best conference memories took place in lobby bars, where groups of us pulled chairs together around a table and talked about every subject imaginable. It didn’t matter that most of us only saw each other at those conferences. We could pick up right where we left off the year (or two) before. Thank goodness e-mail and Facebook have made it possible to stay in touch even without the physical conferences. They are a poor substitute for meeting face-to-face, but better than nothing. What’s sad is that far too many friends from the earliest days of my career are no longer with us.

lobby bar, Novelists Inc. conference in Vancouver in 2000

The very first conference I ever went to was the Amherst Children’s Literature Conference in 1987. Thanks to a mutual friend, I was invited to stay at Jane Yolen’s home. Jane was a very big deal in children’s books and wrote a how-to on writing books for children that I still have. One of her best bits of advice was that you don’t have to have children to write for them. You don’t even have to like children. You just have to remember what it was like to be a child.

The next year I attended the International Crime Congress in New York City. That was where I first met many mystery writers who later became friends. At an open house at one of Manhattan’s four (yes, four) mystery bookstores, I also met a reader who is still one of my best conference pals today.

It was 1991 when I first attended Malice Domestic, in the third year it was in existence, and also went to the annual Romance Writers of America conference. That year it was held in New Orleans, my one and only visit to the city that is so much in the news today. What do I remember? That it was summer and hot and humid! And that over lunch and a drink called a Hurricane, I pitched the idea for a time-travel romance to my editor. She loved it! In fact, she was sure Echoes and Illusions would be my “breakout book.” It didn’t quite turn out that way, but I treasure the memory.

Speaking of hurricanes, of the weather variety, I’ll never forget one memorable Novelists Inc conference. We met in White Plains, New York and were wrapping up when we started hearing about cancelled flights. Fortunately, I’d traveled by car with two writer friends, one from Maine and one from New Hampshire. Going home, we made room for an additional passenger, a writer from New Brunswick who was stranded in New York as Hurricane Sandy approached. The other Maine writer took her as far as Bangor and her husband drove there from Canada (in those days, border crossing was easy!) to pick her up.

I could go on. By a rough count, I’ve been to at least ninety writers’ conferences since 1987. Some years I was traveling somewhere on an average of once a month from the spring through the fall. Will I ever attend another in person? Only time will tell. It would help if someone would hurry up and perfect transporter technology. Post-Covid booster, I’d have no hesitation at all if I could be beamed from my house directly to a conference site.

Kathy Lynn Emerson/Kaitlyn Dunnett has had sixty-four books traditionally published and has self published several children’s books and three works of nonfiction. She won the Agatha Award and was an Anthony and Macavity finalist for best mystery nonfiction of 2008 for How to Write Killer Historical Mysteries and was an Agatha Award finalist in 2015 in the best mystery short story category. She was the Malice Domestic Guest of Honor in 2014. Her newest books are Murder, She Edited (the fourth book in the contemporary “Deadly Edits” series, written as Kaitlyn) and, as Kathy, I Kill People for a Living: A Collection of Essays by a Writer of Cozy Mysteries. She maintains websites at www.KaitlynDunnett.com and www.KathyLynnEmerson.com. A third, at A Who’s Who of Tudor Women, is the gateway to over 2300 mini-biographies of sixteenth-century Englishwomen, now available in e-book format.

 

Am I Lazing on the Porch? Or Plotting?

Kate Flora: As seems to be its habit these days, summer arrived too slowly and now seems poised to flee just as we are settling in to enjoy it. I object! While it’s true that official fall doesn’t arrive until later in the month, the sudden onset of early darkness and a hint of melancholy in the air confirm that it is coming.

Every year, I, like many, think that I will spend long summer days curled up in a porch rocker, my nose buried in a book. Last summer I even toyed with the notion of retiring, of never again sitting down at my desk and typing: Chapter One, and then seeing what my characters would do. I failed to successfully retire, though I did perhaps succeed in slowing down.

When I find myself feeling jaded, after thirty-five years at the desk, I often try to write something different. This summer, I thought it might be fun to convert a half-finished short story called “Unleashed Love” into a romance novel. (Those of you who remember that I vowed never to try romance again, where were you when I needed a reminder?) Anyway, as is usually the pattern when I set out to write something, what I’ve planned when I was plotting the story in my mind is pretty often not what happens when my characters start feeling their oats and misbehaving. “Unleashed Love” is supposed to be the story of a woman’s adventures when, recovering for a terrible breakup, she adopts a rescue dog and her dog turns out to be an excellent matchmaker. I intended the book to be sweet and light, but apparently that’s not my style. The story has gotten a lot deeper as I’ve explored Sarey’s relationship with her complicated and demanding family and the retired psychiatrist who is her dog walking companion and subtle advisor.

I may complain, but in fact, I love the adventure of seeing my characters start directing my stories, reminding me that while I am supposed to be in charge, at least on some subconscious level, the story is writing itself. Or I am making all these things happen but unaware that I am.

In any case, I was going along quite happily following Sarey’s adventures, with several

Coastal Maine Botanical Garden

more chapters plotted out, when I was reminded that I’m supposed to have sent the next Thea Kozak mystery to my publisher, and I’ve barely started writing it. I’ve been playing the avoidance game because I’ve put Thea—and myself—in a very difficult situation. After years of talking about a baby, Thea and Andre finally have one. Not only is it a challenge for them, as new parents. It is a very big challenge for their creator. Thea is used to being an independent woman, frequently called out, sometimes into dangerous situations, in the service of her client schools or people who need her help. But larking off to a client school, or setting out to help someone, as Thea the Human Tow Truck puts it, “broken down on the highway of life,” isn’t so easy with a tiny baby.

So while the book opens with Thea, while running a quick errand, finding herself facing what appears to be a desperate young mother whose baby has been kidnapped, she uncharacteristically hands the desperate girl over to the police. Thea might want to help but she has a newborn. Babies need to be fed and changed and rocked and none of that can conveniently be done on the public street or at a police station.

Thea Kozak series, book 1

Saying no is not part of her character, and I am alternately cursing, and embracing, the challenge of how she’ll go about solving a mystery without doing much away from home detecting. There is also the challenge of all the new baby gear that people have these days. My youngest is thirty-eight, but luckily, there are two recent babies in the family, and I’m sure the mothers won’t mind advising Aunt Kate on the latest innovations.

So…in closing, a question for our readers: What would you like to see Maine Crime Writers blog about? Process? Where or how we work? Where we get our ideas? We are always eager to hear your suggestions.

Revisiting Julia Spencer-Fleming’s Post: Are You a Mainer?

Today, the last day of our Blogcation, we’re sharing a post from Julia, who addresses the perennial question: How do you tell if someone is a Mainer? What would you add?

I’m writing this from Bouchercon, the World Mystery Convention, an annual event that moves from the west coast, to the middle of the country, to the east in a three-year cycle. This year, it’s taking place in Albany, NY, a scant 165 miles south of where I was born (Plattsburgh) and only 45 miles away from the Washington County town my ancestors settled in 1720. Being back in what is arguably my home turf got me thinking about what makes a New Yorker – and, by extension, what makes a person a Mainer.

How do you know when to call yourself a Mainer? Can you lose your Mainer status? Let’s find out by taking some questions from totally imaginary people.

1. I moved to Maine four years ago. I volunteer at the local clam festival and I know the location of the secret Sheepscot bypass, which gets you past the Route one bottleneck in Wiscasset. Am I a Mainer?

No. And don’t blab about the bypass, you’ll alert the tourists and ruin it for the rest of us.

2. I married a Mainer, and have lived here for twenty-six years. I can spell ‘Damariscotta’ without looking it up and am a selectman on my town board. I’m a Mainer, right? You got elected as a selectman?

After only twenty-six years? That’s impressive. But no, you’re not a Mainer.

3. My parents aren’t Mainers, but I was born and raised in Portland. I’m a Mainer, right?

Only in coastal southern Maine between Camden and Kittery. North of Augusta and east of Bucksport it’s best to simply say, “I’m from Portland.” However, when out-of-state, you can claim your Mainehood all you want, especially if you’re wearing a flannel shirt and scuffed-up Bean boots.

4. I love Maine! I’ve come here every summer since I was a kid. A few years back, I made a killing on Wall Street and bought an ocean-view house to enjoy with my own kids. I like to hang out at the local lunch counter and swap stories with my fellow Mainers.

We’re pretty polite here, so no one’s going to contradict you when you refer to yourself as a Mainer (especially if you own a place that’s pumping major bucks into the town’s property tax fund.) But honestly, we sometimes laugh about it when you’re not around.

5. I’m from Massachusetts and–

No.

6. I was born and bred in Rumford, and my family goes back over a hundred years. I’m moving out-of-state, however. Will I still be a Mainer?

Living away from Maine does erode your Mainehood. The pace of de-Mainification depends on where you’re relocating. In rural New Hampshire, for instance, you can remain a Mainer in good standing for years. On the other hand, you can lose it within a week if you’re living in Las Vegas or Los Angeles. (However, if you become famous, we’ll gladly claim you as one of our own again.)

7. I come from Machias, and my last name is Beale/Eaton/Skillin. I went to high school with thirteen of my cousins and I lost my virginity out by the old quarry.

Yep, you’re a Mainer. Pour yourself a glass of Allen’s Coffee Brandy, kick back in the La-Z-Boy and tune into the Red Sox game to celebrate.

And remember, folks – we can’t all be Mainers, but we can all enjoy The Way Life Should Be.