Lea Wait's Blog, page 241

The Class With All The Smart Girls

Kaitlyn Dunnett/Kathy Lynn Emerson here. I graduated from high school in Liberty, New York in 1965. Although I didn’t know this until many years later, we were known by some as “the class with all the smart girls.” I did know that nine out of our class’s academic Top Ten were girls because I was one of them.

In 1965, the concept of “girl power” was still a long way off. The lyrics “I am woman/hear me roar” was in the future, too. Females could not get a credit card (or a bank loan) in their own names. They needed a man to co-sign. That didn’t change until 1974. In 1965, abortions were illegal and extremely dangerous due to the unsanitary conditions under which they were performed. That didn’t change until 1973. In 1965, “the pill” was available for birth control, but not to all women in all states, even if they were married. A woman could not attend Yale or Princeton until 1969, or matriculate at Harvard until 1977. She couldn’t practice law in every state until 1971 or be admitted to astronaut training until 1978. She could not marry and keep her job if she was a stewardess for Pan American Airlines. She could be fired simply for being pregnant until 1978 and had no legal recourse if she was subjected to sexual harassment in the workplace until 1977. No woman could legally run in the Boston Marathon until 1972. Women couldn’t get a no-fault divorce until 1969 and in some states women could not serve on a jury until 1973. In 1965, there was just one woman governor and only two females were U. S. Senators.

Was I aware of any of that at seventeen? Not really. Like most teenagers, I was pretty self-centered. I was also appallingly naïve. Fortunately for me, although I didn’t appreciate it at the time, I was blessed with a mother who expected me to excel. I knew from an early age that I would go to college, even though neither of my parents had done so. I was also encouraged to think for myself. I went against the advice of our school guidance counselor, “Moose” Gerber, who told me that I shouldn’t consider applying anywhere but Albany State. Instead, I applied to William and Mary, where I made the wait list, Oneonta State for a “security school” and Bates College in Lewiston, Maine, where I was admitted under early acceptance. I also considered applying to Randolph Macon Women’s College because author Pearl S. Buck had graduated from there.

But to return to the top ten. We were in the same classes. Overlapping groups of us went to movies together, ate together at lunchtime, and participated the yearbook, the school newspaper, Senior Star, and productions of My Sister Eileen, Ah, Wilderness, and The Music Man. We went to each others’ pajama parties (at which, with great daring, we made crank calls to teachers). I don’t remember that we talked much about career goals in any of those settings. Feminism, women’s lib, and bra burning were still a few years away. On the other hand, I’m pretty sure we all shared the expectation that we would go to college and have a career afterward. We weren’t just going for four years of higher education to get our MRS degree.

For many years, I was out of touch with the other eight “smart girls.” Sara and Glenna are no longer with us, but thanks to reunions and Facebook a few of the old friendships have been renewed. To the best of my knowledge, everyone but me has retired, but at the twenty year mark Leslie, Cheryl, and Glenna were teachers and Judy had traded in that career in for a new one as a lawyer. Sara and Wendy were in banking. Mary Lou was in marketing. Eileen was a speech-language pathologist. Then there was the oddball—me. By then I’d taught at three levels—first grade, community college, and junior high, been a library assistant at the University of Maine at Farmington, and then taken the plunge to become a full-time writer. Nobody ever told me I couldn’t do any of those things. Then again, I wasn’t trying to break into a profession traditionally dominated by men.

Speaking of men, what about the one boy in the mix? As you can see from the photo, taken from our yearbook, in 1965 we thought it would be funny to pose as his devoted worshippers. Somehow, I don’t think we’d include this in the shoot if we took the photos today. Then again . . . . Michael, I should add, perhaps seriously and perhaps not, said that his goal was to become the first Jewish president of the United States. Twenty years out, he was an attorney specializing in international law. I don’t know what he’s doing now.

Women born around 1947 have seen the world change for the better and a lot of them played vital roles in making that happen. I look back fifty-one years with great fondness. That nostalgia is even playing a major part in the new mystery series I’m working on for a 2018 launch.

1965 came at the very beginning of a new era for women. A few years later, they used to say “You’ve come a long way, baby!” and it was true, but not everyone was happy when the glass ceiling got another crack in it. What we used to call the “male chauvinist pig” still exists.

When you get right down to it, calling us “smart girls” wasn’t really a compliment back in 1965. There are people out there today, some of them in positions of power, who would like to take things back to the way they were before 1965, when women were actively discouraged from going to college, working outside the home, or even thinking for themselves. Fond as my memories are, I wouldn’t want to be forced to live in the world of 1965 again. It would be almost as stifling as being transported back to the 1580s, the time period in which my Mistress Jaffrey Mysteries are set.

P.S. In case you’re wondering, the pictures in this blog were taken on the roof of the school. We had no business being up there, but there was this ladder . . .

Kathy Lynn Emerson/Kaitlyn Dunnett is the author of over fifty books written under several names. She won the Agatha Award 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 for “The Blessing Witch.” Currently she writes the contemporary Liss MacCrimmon Mysteries (Kilt at the Highland Games) as Kaitlyn and the historical Mistress Jaffrey Mysteries (Murder in a Cornish Alehouse ~ UK in December 2016; US in April 2017) as Kathy. The latter series is a spin-off from her earlier “Face Down” series and is set in Elizabethan England. In addition, as Kaitlyn, she is working on a new series, this one featuring a sixty-nine year old woman who returns to her old home town after fifty years away. Kathy’s websites are www.KaitlynDunnett.com and www.KathyLynnEmerson.com

 

Weekend Update: November 12-13, 2016

Next week at Maine Crime Writers, there will be posts by Kaitlyn Dunnett/Kathy Lynn Emerson (Monday) Lea Wait (Tuesday), Brenda Buchanan (Wednesday), Jen Blood (Thursday), and Jessie Crockett (Friday).

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

Many of the Maine Crime Writers are at New England Crime Bake from Friday through Sunday. With any luck, pictures will be added during the weekend.

From November 17-20, Lea Wait will be at Studio 53, 53 Townsend Avenue in Boothbay Harbor, Maine, as part of “Gifts for Giving,” a celebration of locally created art, crafts, jewelry … and, yes, books. She’ll be there from 11-4 on Thursday the 17th, from 11 until 8 on Friday the 18th (opening reception from 5 until 8!), from 7 a.m. (yes, it’s Early Bird Sale time in Boothbay Harbor. Shop in your PJ’s!) until 8 p.m., and Sunday, November 20, from 11 until 5.

Last Sunday afternoon, a bunch (a gaggle? a gang? a clutch?) of Maine Crime Writers gathered at Bull Feeney’s Pub in Portland for Noir @ The Bar, where each did a three minute reading from published or yet-to-be published work.  It was the inaugural Maine N@TB, and we were blessed will a full house of engaged listeners. Here’s a photo of the dozen who participated.

From left, Maureen Milliken, Bruce Coffin, Barbara Ross, Jessie Crockett/Jessica Estevao, Richard Cass, Brenda Buchanan, Julia Spencer-Fleming, E.J. Fechenda, Gayle Lynds, Jen Blood, John Sheldon and Brendan Rielly.

Watch for another Noir @ The Bar sometime in late winter, when we once again will need an afternoon of fellowship and laughs.

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. Contact Kate Flora

The Comforting World of Crime

Kate Flora, here, and yes, I really did mean that crime can be comforting. Let me begin with a story.

Several years ago…fifteen, to be more precise…we suffered a terrible national tragedy on a day in September when terrorists flew airplanes into the Twin Towers and the Pentagon. Shortly after that event, my friend Hallie Ephron had a book launch planned. She arrived at the book party a little bit late, and a little bit frustrated, having just come from doing a radio interview. In the course of that interview, the interviewer had challenged the legitimacy of holding the launch of a crime novel at such a terrible time. Didn’t Hallie feel guilty, the interviewer inquired, about promoting fiction that profits from violence and death?

Hallie’s reply was brilliant, and correct. She said that we should all wish that the real world was more like the world of a crime novel, where good guys triumph, bad guys get caught, and moral order is restored to the world.

I don’t know about you, but I am feeling a great need for order and comfort and morality right now. Which is why I am suggesting that you join me in taking refuge in reading crime novels.

It really doesn’t matter which corner of the big crime-writing tent you choose. Maybe you lean toward romantic suspense, with that double happy ending of crime solved or dastardly deed averted and a bit of happy ever after. Or perhaps you like the shoot ‘em up, beat ‘em up, casual violence of a Paladin like Lee Child’s Jack Reacher, books which provide a reliably American hero to root for who will always step up for the underdog. Maybe you like the mind-game contests between the investigators and the diabolical bad guys in one of Jeff Deaver’s brilliantly plotted thrillers? Or feel comforted by the idea of having Robert Crais’s Joe Pike watching your back? Personally, I’d like to hang out with Sara Paretsky’s V.I. Warshawski.

Perhaps your cup of tea is more in the vein of Agatha Christie? Less blood, more social norms. Right now, it can be very comforting to spend time with people who have good manners and obey social conventions. A bit of Margery Allingham, perhaps, and the very proper Albert Campion and his manservant Lugg, or the charmingly bumbling Lord Peter Whimsey, with his impeccable servant and the insightful and witty Harriet Vane? Even when we learn that Harriet has committed the shocking act of cohabiting before marriage, she is still a model of good manners and decorum.

Maybe the wearying cycle of bad news just makes you want to get out of town. Go someplace different where you can steep yourself in the landscape and forget about the state of the country. For that, you could go west with Tony Hillerman, or into the wilds of Wyoming with Craig Johnson’s Sheriff Longmire, or up to the wilds of Minnesota with William Kent Krueger. Or you could spend more time in Maine with Barbara Ross’s Clam Bake series or Lea Wait’s Shadow’s series.

If you really need to get out of town, there are mysteries set all over the world, and you could just set up a twelve-month calendar and visit a different venue every month.

Personally, right now, I would love someone to have my back…one of those kick-ass sidekicks who do bad stuff and break laws and compel cooperation and answers from the reluctant? If you’d like to explore sidekicks, we did a blog post here a while back on the subject. Here’s the link: http://mainecrimewriters.com/group-post/whod-have-your-back Stephanie Plum, perhaps? She might loan you Ranger. Or you can make up your own sidekick, which might be a fun way to spend another afternoon avoiding the news.

Feeling dystopic? How about Ben Winter’s The Last Policeman?

Or if you want to be transported by descriptive prose, go back to an old Mary Stewart romantic suspense, or make your way through John D. MacDonald. Both will have some dated social conventions, and some rather old-fashioned versions of the male/female relationship. But right now, that doesn’t seem half bad.

And guess what?

The good guys win.

So, dear reader, if you are going to escape into crime fiction, what will you be reading? (I am so hoping it is my new Joe Burgess)

Between now and December 9th, folks who leave comments will be eligible to win a bag of goodies perfect for your mystery reading escape–tea and biscuits! (Actually including Effie’s Oatcakes, which are perfectly heavenly. And perhaps some shortbreads?)

Every Time I Pass An Empty House

John Clark reflecting on an unusual opportunity Kate and I had as kids and what happened afterward. We weren’t ten yet, I guess, when Mom and Dad signed up for the IFYE program (http://ifyeusa.org/). Over a four year period, we hosted three young men and a young woman from foreign countries.. This was at a time when Maine was whiter than white. The only time we saw anyone with a different skin color was when Black people worked the carnival rides at the Union Fair. Nobody knew about Franco-Americans and my idea of a minority was Nancy Simmons, the only Catholic in my class.

Sampson Magsudpor was from Iran, Krishna Laldas was from Pakistan and Perveez Rustamji and Verendra Singh were from India. Not only did we kids get a fabulous cultural education from having them live in our farmhouse for four consecutive summers, but we got to learn foreign words, tasted new cuisine and got major bragging rights when at least one of them visited our elementary school classrooms for an uber show and tell.

IFYE group photo with Sampson.

In return, these young people learned to swim in a Maine Lake, cook American style, pick blueberries, take care of chickens, garden and discover how different American country life was. Given that this happened some 50+ years ago, my memories aren’t that clear, but I suspect at least a couple of them came from wealthy families and there was a certain amount of culture shock. Still, their stays were a good time for all and my parents kept in touch by mail with them for years afterward. Perveez even sent Mom a sari that we found in a drawer after she died.

I’ve often wondered what happened to them after returning to their respective countries and how the experience affected them in later years. For me, at least, it defused any unease I had about people from foreign countries. That sense of comfort remained with me when I went to Arizona State, a school that had students from all over the globe. My first friend freshman year was George Castano, a fellow who had come to ASU from Colombia to study architecture. I later made friends with students from Thailand, Sweden and Saudi Arabia, as well as Mexico. In hindsight, I don’t remember any racial, cultural or religious animosity on my part.

Sampson with Me, Kate and Sara

I mention that because of the climate of unease, fear and distrust surrounding us these days. Our daughters, Sara and Lisa were active in the Latin and German clubs at Cony High School. Sara spent a week in Europe, while Lisa hosted a German student for two weeks and then spent two weeks staying in Germany as part of the German-American Partnership program. She maintains contact with several members of the German contingent to this day. We also hosted a Russian teen and two teen girls from Japan for shorter periods when the girls were in high school. In addition, they had classmates who had come from several foreign countries including Cambodia and the Dominican Republic. Both girls entered adulthood free of racial prejudice and homophobia.

These cultural experiences made three generations in the Clark family better citizens of the world because we were exposed to foreign cultures early on. These days, all too many Mainers (of all ages) are more likely to be fearful and hostile at the idea of immigrants or refugees coming to the Pine Tree State. I believe we should be aggressive in encouraging people from all lands and cultures to come here. At least two articles have appeared in Maine newspapers recently regarding the dilemma older Maine farmers are facing regarding who will take over when they’re no longer able to work the land.

Think for a moment. How many refugees farmed at home before having to flee or before being displaced. I bet the number is high…AND they sure weren’t doing it with anywhere near as good equipment as Maine farmers have. What if we matched some of them with elderly farmers, subsidizing them until they were able to start building equity by producing crops. I bet there are plenty of immigrants who would find freezing weather beats the hell out of dodging bullets and getting burned out of their homes.

Every time I pass a house that’s been for sale for any length of time or has been abandoned and is in danger of going past the point where it can be repaired, I wish we could offer it, along with support and training, to a refugee family. Doing so would not only revitalize our rural communities, but offer our kids the same cultural opportunities my family enjoyed, not to mention creating that work force we’ll need if we have any hope of attracting new jobs to rural Maine.

The Day After

Brendan Rielly: I’m not sure how I drew the short straw of blogging the day after Election Day. Since I’m writing this in advance of Election Day, I could make predictions and see how close I get. But that would either reaffirm what I’m already happy about or pour salt in a very open wound. Instead, I’ll just post two things.

First, to all who love books, read, buy, check out, borrow the books written by the wonderful authors blogging on this site. I have read many of their books. They are unique and a joy. And, writing this several days before Election Day, it is reaffirming to know that heroes have flaws but still win.

 

Second, watch this video of a dog absolutely flipping out when his owner dresses up as his favorite toy. We all need a good laugh.

Dog Video

Cheers! See you on the other side.

THIS CAMPAIGN NOT THE NASTIEST?

Not even close, according to several articles I read. Never fear. This won’t be an historical treatise, thick with party platforms and wide-ranging political details. We’re going way back in U.S. history, to take a look at nineteenth-century mudslinging.

Forbes.com claims 1800 gave us the first, pitting President John Adams against Vice-President Thomas Jefferson. As in many contemporary elections, a lot of the insults were left to surrogates.

An Adams supporter, the president of Yale University publicly said that if Jefferson were to become the president, “we would see our wives and daughters the victims of legal prostitution.” And a partisan Connecticut newspaper warned that electing Jefferson would create a nation where “murder, robbery, rape, adultery and incest will openly be taught and practiced.”

Jefferson’s partisans fought back with wild claims by hiring a writer to sling insults—James Callender, an influential journalist of the time who had been imprisoned by the Adams administration for violating the Sedition Act (a 1798 bill criminalizing making false statements critical of the federal government). Callendar wrote that Adams was warmongering, a “repulsive pedant,” and a “gross hypocrite” who “possessed a hideous hermaphroditical character.” Jefferson won. One wonders what his opponents would think if they could see his likeness on Mount Rushmore. After such a nasty election, Congress passed the Twelfth Amendment, no longer permitting the nominee with the second-highest number of votes to be elected vice president.

Almost thirty years later came the next dirty campaign, between President John Quincy Adams and Andrew Jackson. J.Q. Adams must have learned a bit about harsh campaigning from his father.

Adams had begun his career in diplomacy, eventually becoming America’s ambassador to Russia. The Jackson side spread the rumor that Adams had sold his wife’s maid to the czar for sexual services. Adams, they claimed, owed his success in Russia to his pimping prowess. He was further accused of having a pool table in the White House paid for with government money. As the mud flew back and forth, Adams attacked Jackson’s military successes and campaigns. When this fell somewhat flat, Jackson’s marriage became another weapon.

Jackson’s wife Rachel was a divorcee, having married him after escaping an abusive marriage. Jackson was accused of adultery and living in sin, no small accusation in 1828. A pamphlet called Rachel Jackson a “convicted adulteress” and said she was prone to “open and notorious lewdness.” Andrew Jackson won the election, but sadly, the mud-slinging campaign took its toll on his wife. Shortly after her husband’s election, she died, due to “unknown reasons.” Jackson was devastated and blamed her death on the attacks by the Adams camp. He refused to make the traditional visit to the outgoing president.

The final contest I’ll address features U.S. Senator James Gillespie Blaine of Maine against Governor Grover Cleveland of New York. Mainers know Blaine’s distinguished career—journalist and the owner of the Kennebec Journal, Speaker of the Maine House of Representatives, twice U. S. Secretary of State, and U.S. Representative, serving as the 27th Speaker of the House.

Just as an aside, I’ll add that in 1862 Blaine purchased a large Augusta home as a present for his wife. Given to the state by their daughter after World War I, the house was established as the official residence of the governor of Maine. Blaine’s was such a distinguished career that many may not know about the scandals bandied about in the Blaine/Cleveland campaign.Rather than on party platforms, the campaign focused on the candidates’ morality and personalities.

Cleveland’s supporters raised an old scandal against Blaine, of shady dealings with the Union Pacific Railroad. Letters surfaced that confirmed he knew he was involved in corrupt business. On one of the most damaging, he had written, “Burn this letter,” giving his opponents the rallying cry “Blaine, Blaine, James G. Blaine, the continental liar from the state of Maine. ‘Burn this letter!’” Blaine described these attacks as “stale slander,” but the letters made his denials implausible.

To turn the tables, Blaine’s backers found reports that Cleveland had fathered an illegitimate child. He fully supported the child, although another man, his law partner, was also involved with the woman. The rallying cry this time was “Ma, Ma, where’s my pa?” After Cleveland was elected, they added, “Gone to the White House. Ha! Ha! Ha!”

Harsh words, wild accusations, outright lies, and nastiness, yes, in all three of those elections, and in others I didn’t address. Nineteenth-century attacks and ugly cartoons were printed in newspapers and pamphlets and circulated daily or weekly to the reading public. 2016 accusations and nastiness are shared hourly, even 24/7, in a constant barrage of print, social media, and television coverage. Who can say which is worse or more damaging? In the past, the nation has recovered from election nastiness—well, most of the time—and moved ahead.

Counting the Ballots

One day before Election Day! Details and developments in this year’s election, presidential and local, have filled news networks, newspapers, conversations, and lawn signs for over a year

Tomorrow (we hope) it will be over. Decided. Finished. At least for 2016.

One of the many differences between this election and previous ones is the allegation by one of the candidates that the results are rigged. Maybe people vote more than once. Maybe dead people vote.

And, it’s true, voting machines do occasionally break down or malfunction. Not often, and usually quickly fixed, but it does happen.

But not in my home town.

My town (Edgecomb, Maine) has approximately one thousand registered voters, divided fairly evenly between Republicans, Democrats and Independents … with a liberal sprinkling of Green Party members. In past presidential elections about 80% of registered voters exercised their civic right and duty and showed up at the Town Hall on election day.

But there are no voting machines in Edgecomb. We vote the old-fashioned way. We count ballots by hand, and we double and triple check each other. And there have been no accusations of voter fraud. Ever. This year, I’ll be one of those counting.

I wrote that on Facebook a couple of weeks ago and one of my friends said voting by paper ballots was “quaint.”

Maybe so. But it works. Maybe not in a large city, where it would take days to count the ballots. But in a small town? Absolutely.

Registered voters walk into Town Hall, where a volunteer locates their name in a large ledger and checks the name off. Rarely, the volunteer asks the person who they are. Most of the time he or she knows. We’re all neighbors. No proof of identification needed.

Handed a paper ballot and a pencil, the voter goes to one of several open “booths” at the side of the room and fills in the oval next to the candidates of his or her choice. They then fold their ballot and slide it into the slot in a pine box on a table at the end of the room. (There are two boxes: the wooden box, used on election day, and another, blue metal, box that is locked until the polls are closed, which contains absentee and early voting ballots.)

No one remembers for how many years that wooden ballot box has been used – but estimates start at “at least a hundred years.” So — ballots for Roosevelt (maybe both of them) may have been placed in that box.

Tradition!

Polls in Maine close at eight p.m. Ballot counters (including my husband and I) will get to the Town Hall by 7:45, ready to work. (One of our fellow local ballot counters this year is, by chance, certified as an international election monitor. She’s monitored elections in the Middle East and Africa. So — in case of an unforeseen problem – we have an expert on hand!)

Ballots are removed from the two boxes, unfolded, and put in piles of fifty.

Then pairs of two voters (one from each major party) take each pile and place the ballots between them. Using the “verbal concurrent” method, they count the lot together, each keeping a tally sheet. One reads the office and the choice of candidate and marks it on his or her summary sheet. His partner repeats the office and candidate and enters the vote on her summary sheet. When the team completes all fifty ballots, they compare their totals. If tallies do not agree, they must recount.

No comments on results are permitted.

Each pile of fifty counted ballots and the two tally sheets are given to the Town Clerk, who checks that the tally sheets agree, bands the ballots with one tally sheet, and uses the other as input to a “grand tally” of town votes. Tally sheets are sealed in a tamper-proof container with the voted ballots.

Edgecomb Town Hall

The same procedure is done for referendum issues. (This year Maine has referendums on marijuana legalization, funding public education, firearm background checks, raising the minimum wage, and ranked choice voting. All important issues.)

Paper ballots are not valid if the voter signs or initials them, puts a symbol on the ballot that could identify him or her, adds a comment or statement, or votes for more than one candidate for one office. Stickers may not be used to vote for write-in candidates.

I don’t know how long it will take us to count the ballots tomorrow night. It will be my first time. I’m told by more experienced counters that sometimes they finish by 9:30 — other times not until 11:00. News bureaus sometimes call to check results. County police are on call during the process, and move between voting locations to ensure no problems arise.

It’s all a part of the democratic process in the United States. And, no matter what the results of the election, in my town, state, or even in the country — although I have preferences about what I’d prefer as the results — I’m proud to be part of the continuum of ballot counters that have kept our elections honest since the beginning.

It’s what we do in this country.

See you at the polls!

Weekend Update: November 5-6, 2016

Next week at Maine Crime Writers, there will be posts by Lea Wait (Monday) Susan Vaughan (Tuesday), Brendan Rielly (Wednesday), John Clark (Thursday), and Kate Flora (Friday).

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

from Kaitlyn Dunnett: As Kathy Lynn Emerson, I have a short story, “Lady Appleton and the Creature of the Night.” in the December Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine, which will be in stores November 11. This is something of a departure for me. It’s historical, and as accurate as I could make it in all respects . . . except that there’s this supernatural creature in the woods near Leigh Abbey. I’ve played with this idea for a long time and I think I finally managed the right blend of reality and fantasy. I’ll be curious to see what readers think.

Bruce Robert Coffin: will be reading from his novel, Among the Shadows, at Books in the ‘Brook, Saturday, November 5th from 4 – 5 PM. Also appearing is award winning novelist Shonna Milliken Humphrey. The event will be held at Continuum for Creativity, 863 Main Street, Westbrook. Copies of both author’s books will be available for purchase.

Lea Wait will be speaking with the “Memoir Café” at Rockland Senior College on Wednesday, November 9. The class as been using Lea’s Living and Writing on the Coast of Maine as a text.

Lea Wait and Barbara Ross will be speaking and signing at Sherman’s Maine Coast Bookshop and Cafe in Damariscotta, Maine on Saturday from 1:00 to 3:00.

Maine crime and mystery writers read from their work at Bull Feeney’s in Portland, Sunday, 3:00 to 5:00.

 

And many of us will be heading to Dedham, Massachusetts, Friday the 11th through Sunday the 13th to speak at and participate in the New England Crime Bake, a conference run jointly by Sisters in Crime of New England and Mystery Writers of America – New England branch. Barbara Ross, Kate Flora, Lea Wait, Jen Blood, Bruce Coffin, Jim Hayman, Maureen Milliken, … and many other authors and fans. Should be a great weekend!

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. Contact Kate Flora

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The Perfect Game

Seriously, Cass? More baseball stuff? Well, feel free to move along if you don’t have a yen for The Perfect Game but if you stick around, I’ll try to connect it to something closer to our hearts.

The great Rogers Hornsby, famous baseball player and manager, was once asked how he amused himself after the baseball season was over. “I’ll tell you what I do,” he said. “I stare out the window and wait for spring.”

Well, by the time this post appears, the 2016 World Series will be history and regardless of who triumphs, all of us who are fanatic about the game will sit down to stare out the window until spring . .  training . .  arrives. In the spirit of that, I’ve been contemplating how much trying to write a book reminds me of playing a baseball game.

The first and most obvious resemblance is the air of utter uncertainty at the beginning of things. Entering the ball park, you are confronted with the tabula rasa of the emerald field, some of its features standard from park to park (pitcher’s mound to home plate, the distance between the bases) and some unique (the Pesky Pole in Fenway, the brick outfield wall in Wrigley). Is there another sport where the ground rules change from venue to venue?

Within all that blank and unruly space lies the possibility there is in the game—either game—and all the uncertainty of how to begin and where to go. For an instant, before the work begins, everything is clean and hopeful and perfect. And then . . the first pitch. The first sentence. And if you read a lot, other writers’ first sentences can stall you right there. You want to throw a strike.

“None of the merry-go-rounds seemed to work any more.” (John Dunne, True Confessions)

“Sunday morning, Ordell took Louis to watch the white-power demonstration in downtown Palm Beach.” (Elmore Leonard, Rum Punch)

“Jackie Brown at 26, with no expression on his face, said that he could get some guns.” (George V. Higgins, The Friends of Eddie Coyle)

You launch into your book with no more idea what is about to happen on the field than the peanut vendor high in the left field bleachers. You hope you can write a sentence that draws like one of those. The game begins. But slowly. Thoughtfully.

From the first pitch, the first words set, you are now the impatient victim of incremental progress. Each ball, each sentence, sends you deeper into the construction, the whole you will not see before it’s done. You lay your words in, make your pitches and take your at-bats, bit by bit, moment by moment, each one building on the ones that came ahead of it and those that might come after. But ever so slowly, with much staring and spitting and rubbing up the tools of your game. Each tiny mote of effort lives in and of itself and at the same time, contributes to a whole.

What is beautiful about this incremental process, though, what makes it both difficult and addicting, is the endless possibility. With each pitch, each word, idea, and sentence you throw out, you create a further place of possibility. What comes next? A bunt? A full swing? Fast ball or slider? A bit of dialogue, some description, a little backstory? Each bit sends you in a new direction, into more possibility, and more, until the possibilities begin to limit themselves by what has preceded them. And then you can only bet on certain acts, certain words, to take you to the end in sight.

And hovering over the whole, always? Failure. The best hitter in baseball—Ted Williams, please; Joe me no DiMaggios—only hit the ball safely four times out of ten. Most writers I know would accept that rate of success in a heartbeat. And truly? Isn’t that part of why we continue pitching the balls, swinging the bat, moving the pen? Nothing in what we do is perfectible and if it were that easy to succeed, everyone would want to do it. And none of it would mean as much.

I had a student tell me once she wished to have written a book, by which I understood she wasn’t yet willing to commit to the plodding, necessary, sometimes nasty work of shaping her ideas, building her story, learning her characters. I hope she eventually learned what she would have to do to bring her wish into the present.

Because the final similarity is this: really, no one much cares what you’re doing. It’s at bottom, a game—an important one, but still only a game—and when the stands are empty, when you type The End, your pleasure is likely not in the product you’ve ended up with, but with the time you’ve spent inside the game. The process, folks. Much as we love the sunshine of fame (minor or major), the win, we have to love to play the game even more.

Introducing Eggnog Murder and Christmas Traditions

by Barb, who’s finally admitting the days are getting shorter, the temperatures colder. Sigh.

This is official Kensington release week for Eggnog Murder in hardcover, ebook and audiobook. The large print edition is coming in early December. Eggnog Murder is getting some great reviews, including a starred review from Publishers Weekly!

The book is a collection of three holiday novellas all set in coastal Maine. The other stories are by well-known cozy authors Leslie Meier and Lee Hollis. We were all given the same assignment by Kensington– 25,000 to 35,000 words, and the words “eggnog murder.” It’s fascinating to see where each of us went from there. Since this is a Maine blog, I thought it might be interesting to find out where each of us found the holiday traditions for our towns.

Leslie Meier is the New York Times bestselling author of over twenty Lucy Stone mysteries and has also written for Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. She is currently at work on the next Lucy Stone mystery. Readers can visit her website at www.LeslieMeier.com. Leslie’s novella is titled “Eggnog Murder.”

Leslie: The Lucy Stone Mystery Series draws heavily on holidays, and I do rely on the holiday celebrations that take place in my town, Harwich, Mass. as well as ones in Maine, where I vacation every summer, and also my own family traditions.  Candy Corn Murder was inspired by the Pumpkin Fest in Damariscotta, Maine, which is the next town from Bristol, where we always stay in a cabin owned by family members. I must confess I never actually attended the entire Pumpkin Fest in Damariscotta, as it takes place in the fall, but they have a nice website that was very helpful.

I also worked for some years as a small town reporter for local weekly newspapers on Cape Cod so I have covered and written about many local festivals, which have popped up in my books. One of my favorite characters, Corney Clark, is the executive director of the  Tinker’s Cove Chamber of Commerce, and she is always working hard to promote business in Lucy’s fictional home town. Corney came up with the idea for a Christmas stroll, which was an important part of my novella, “Eggnog Murder,” and my husband and I always enjoy the annual holiday strolls in our town of Harwich and in nearby Chatham. I always hope for a little light snow to fall for the strolls, and some times it does. Fortunately for us, nobody has served poisoned eggnog — not yet, anyway!

Lee Hollis is the pen name for a brother and sister writing team. Rick Copp is a veteran film and television writer/producer and also the author of two other mystery novel series. He lives in Palm Springs, California. Holly Simason is an award-winning food and cocktails columnist living in North Carolina. Together they write the Hayley Powell Food and Cocktails Mystery series. You may visit their website at www.LeeHollisMysteries.com. their story is titled, “Death by Eggnog.”

Holly (one half of the team behind author Lee Hollis): “Death by Eggnog” in Eggnog Murder is set in our hometown of Bar Harbor, Maine. We love using real Bar Harbor traditions, events and places in our stories. In “Death By Eggnog” we used a little fact and fiction creating the event/venue where all of the excitement happens.

Bar Harbor has many, many restaurants but at the end of the season, as the last tourists leave, there is just a small handful left open for the winter months, so we created the Restaurant Association dinner at the Masonic Hall where our murder takes place.

There isn’t exactly a association dinner but there have been local restaurants getting together for a good cause and creating some of their favorite dishes that people can sample for an admission fee that helps out a good cause.

The Masonic Hall is a real venue used by locals for birthday parties, anniversaries, baby showers, dances (like our Hayseed Ball we used in another book) and I even had the privilege of judging a chocolate competition there when I was working for the local newspaper, The Mount Desert Islander.

We have school children singing Christmas carols at the Jesup Memorial Library which is true during the holiday season when the local pre-school stops by, but they are better received then how the children were in our story.

We have also used the town’s annual Christmas tree lighting in another one of our books that was set during the holidays.

We love taking fact and mixing it up with some fiction and our readers have let us know that they love it too. Some say they feel that they are in the story right along with our characters. This make us very happy to hear and we just love our hometown and the people in it.

One quick note, Rick and I have an agreement that if a murder takes place in a local establishment we won’t use the true name. We always make up a new name for it. We would hate for someone to think there was some truth in the story. Yikes!

Barb shopping in her pajamas

Barb: My story is “Nogged Off.” I’ve never written a Christmas story about my fictional town of Busman’s Harbor before, and I was thrilled to do it.

I used a combination of real Boothbay holiday events, like the Saturday everyone shops in their pajamas (I’ve written about that here) and Men’s night. I’ve called it Gentlemen’s Night in the novella, because it evokes the feel of time when men only had to buy one present and their wives took care of the rest. (My father had a strict policy of only buying gifts at places that gift-wrapped. “I will shop, but I will not wrap,” he’d say.)

Boothbay does have a Festival of Trees, but the one I describe in “Nogged Off,” is much more like the one at the Navy base in Newport, Rhode Island, where my friend Vida and I used to take our kids when they were little. Other traditions, like the Snowden’s “cookie day” came from my own life.

Because the novella takes place over four days, the timeline for all the local events is compressed. In real life they start before Thanksgiving and continue through December. The biggest holiday attraction in Boothbay, Gardens Aglow, at the Boothbay Botanical Gardens, just started last year, and was too new to make it into the book. I guess that leaves me something to include if I ever get another chance to write about a Busman’s Harbor Christmas.

We hope you enjoy Eggnog Murder, and we hope you agree we’ve captured something of the holiday in Maine.

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