Lea Wait's Blog, page 284

Weekend Update: June 20-21, 2015

Next week at Maine Crime Writers there will be posts by Maureen Milliken (Monday), Kate Flora (Tuesday), John Clark (Wednesday), special guest Sarah Wisseman (Thursday) and Vicki Doudera (Friday).

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

From Kaitlyn Dunnett/Kathy Lynn Emerson: I’m off to the Historical Novel Society North American Conference in Denver on Thursday. Imagine it! Everyone who will be there is really into historical fiction. That’s a rare treat. So is the workshop I’ve signed up for, a three hour class in fighting with sword and dagger. Expect to see a post on that subject, hopefully with pictures, when I blog in July.

Kate Flora and Barb Ross joined Brenda Buchanan in Brunswick on Friday for a mystery discussion. Fascinating talk about choosing and shaping characters, why Maine as a location, and the challenges of being alone.

Wow, Kaitlyn, this sounds like fun!

 

 

 

 

 

Speaking of fun, last Sunday, Kate Flora, Lea Wait, and Dorothy Cannell were guests of the library in Liberty, where the librarian and library volunteers put on a spectacular “Death and Desserts” event. If you’ve never seen one of these, here are some snapshots, including a chalk outline of Dorothy’s grandson, Jack, which seems to have been run over by a car.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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: mailto: kateflora@gmail.com

Me? A Criminal?

Dorothy Cannell here: Bleak confession: Unlike my longtime amateur sleuth Ellie Haskell and, more recently, Florence Norris, I’ve never had any desire to stick my nose anywhere near police business, even if it involved nothing more ominous than a lunch break. The thought of a personal brush with The Law fills me horror, dread, panic and at least a dozen other (even loosely synonymous) emotions. Cowardice, not virtue, has kept me on the straight and narrow.

This goes back to my childhood when I was convinced that if I dropped a candy wrapper in the street a policeman would materialize out of thin air to clamp a hand on my shoulder and march me off to prison. After which I would find myself in the dock at the Old Bailey being pronounced guilty by the jury – to the hand-rubbing delight of the bewigged judge who would then don The Black Cap. This being the tip-off (I’d read mysteries with British courtroom scenes) that I was to be taken to a Place of Execution to be hanged by the neck until I was dead – as opposed, I supposed, to be left with a bit of a sore throat.

This past Tuesday morning began pleasantly with no foreshadowing of what was to befall – the fear, the ignominy, the shame. The blow fell when my husband Julian suggested we take our eighteen-year-old grandson Jack (staying with us for a few days) out for breakfast.

“We could go into Rockland,” he said, “you have to go in anyway to renew your driver’s license.”

True. My birthday is coming up and this was the expiration year. Or so I had thought. It occurred to Julian that it might be possible to take care of the matter on line. A task he kindly offered to perform. This necessitated my handing him my license with its hideous photo. A bellow followed.

“Expiration date 2O14!”

“Oh, surely not,” I soothed, as yet unable to face the severity of the case against me.

Where Dorothy feared she’d end up!

“You’ve been Driving Illegally for a year!

“Consequences?” I squeaked.

He disappeared to return with a fat manila folder and began rifling through the contents.

“What are you looking for?”

“Proof of citizenship.”

“Why?”

“This will necessitate starting from scratch, going through your entire life with a fine toothcomb. You’ll need your birth certificate, passport, proof of residence.”

“Will it help that I know my mother’s maiden name?” I strove to remain upright as we made for the car. I knew I didn’t deserve to be carried and did not relish being dragged by my feet.

During the drive to the Driver’s License Offices in Rockland (Julian at the wheel) I persuaded myself that a prison sentence was unlikely, but this optimism was dashed when we pulled into the parking lot and saw that the Department of Corrections was located next to the Department of Motor Vehicles.

“They may give you a break,” Julian consoled when I pointed this out, “and let you off with a heavy fine.”

“Or just make you take the test again,” said grandson Jack encouragingly.

“The driving part?”

“Perhaps just the written.”

That was the moment of true horror. The ultimate penalty. The Rules of the Road was not a book I had enjoyed and the thought of having to re-read it made the idea of incarceration quite pleasant.

As it turned out, all fears were for naught; when my number was called a very pleasant

But in the end, she went free….

woman informed me there was a grace period for late renewal. I even passed the vision test without being required to wear glasses. But on leaving I did assure Julian I had learned my lesson. My new photo was even more dreadful than the last. This seemed to cheer him a little although I did experience the dark suspicion that that it would have given meaning to his day if I’d been marched off in handcuffs.

Life should never be dull even in the non-fiction world.

 

THE ROAD TRAVELED

Vaughn Hardacker here. This has been an exciting period for me as my first published novel, SNIPER, was selected as a finalist for the 2015 Maine Literary Award in Crime Fiction along with Kate Flora (the winner), Paul Dorian, and John Corrigan (writing under the pseudonym of D. A. Keeley) and my second novel in the Mike Houston, Anne Bouchard series, THE FISHERMAN, was released on June 2nd. Driving back north from the Awards in Portland I began reminiscing about the road I took to get here. Like that taken by most published writers the road was bumpy in several places, however with the help of a cadre of people I was able to traverse it.

I wrote my first short story in seventh grade, being enamored of the B horror movies of the late fifties and early sixties I wrote a horrible vampire tale. I made the mistake of showing it to a couple of friends in my homeroom. I was shocked when Penny Montieth (nee Celino) read it aloud to the class. I learned at that young age why we read our work aloud and put that career aside post haste.

As it will, time went on and I acquired a wife and a daughter and life got in the way of living. I did little writing outside of college term papers and spent a great deal of my free time in my one fanatical avocation…reading. In 1989 I suffered through a severe bout of what I now know is PTSD and was at my bottom. I had come close to losing my family, my job, and I believe my sanity. After a month of intense in-house therapy, I reconnected with my family and came to realize that I hated my job. More importantly, I decided to write a novel. The result was ELEPHANT VALLEY, as of now a still unpublished pseudo-memoir of my time as a helicopter door gunner in Vietnam. The book didn’t go anywhere but served to make me realize that I could write a lengthy work (the manuscript was just over 100,000 words). What followed was THE WAR WITHIN, also unpublished, the book followed the life of a deeply disturbed teenager who grew up in the slums and became a war hero. I enetered the manuscript in a literary contest and won a $1,500.00 second place prize. Now I was certain that I could be a writer.

Enter a predator agent. A friend of my brother recommended that I contact this agent, so I gladly did so. The agent told me that since I was an unpublished author she charged a $2.00 per page reading fee. I knew nothing of the business of writing so, being fat, dumb, and happy–not necessarily in that order–I sent the manuscript and the check. I’m certain that by now reader, you know where this story is going. In return for my money I got nothing but a bunch of what I now believe were fake rejection letters from a bunch of publishers that she supposedly sent the manuscript to. (I have intentionally refrained from naming this so-called agent, but she is still in business.) Discouraged and disgruntled I once again put a writing career on the back burner.

Five years later my wife and I moved back to New England (the aforementioned incidents took place while we were living in Chicago) and I attended my 40th high school class reunion. I was confronted by Penny and several other women and asked: “Why aren’t we seeing any of your books in the book stores?” I looked to my wife for help but she just smiled and said, “Yes, why aren’t they?” It was then that I took the step that was to finally put me on the right road. I started by attending some author events at a local bookstore and at the same time began networking. I joined the New England Chapter of MWA and through it met a number of writers who were to become instrumental in my development.

As I stated I had come to the realization in 1989 and 1990 that I could write fiction, what was missing is that I didn’t know how to write. I was fully capable of putting words on a page, but the result was lacking polish and professionalism. The true turning point came in an email via MWANE. Paula Munier asked is I would be interested in joining a writer’s group that would meet at her house in Salem, Massachusetts. I agreed to join and prepared to dazzle everyone with my wonderful prose. (I’ll bet that by now you can see what’s coming.) On the first night I read a chapter and sat back awaiting the accolades I was sure were to be bestowed…WRONG! The group was composed of Susan Oleksiw, an accomplished editor, author and publisher, Paula Munier, a professional editor, and Skye Alexander, author of numerous works. They were very nice, but still gave me constructive criticism and lots of it. I went home and ranted about the fact that they didn’t understand my work. That what they said I needed to do would not make it better but worse. Again I appealed to my best friend, my wife, who said, “Why don’t you stop whining and try it?” So I did and ate a mighty meal of crow. Lesson learned: Your true friends tell you what you need to hear, not what you want to hear.

Not to belabor things, I continued attending the writer group, attending conferences, and listened to successful writers. I surrounded myself with them and after twelve years (yup, twelve years) I got my first novel published and was nominated for an award.

All this has led me to give three bits of advice to aspiring writers:

1. Start creating a writing network, include as many successful (by which I mean published) writers as possible.

2. Listen to advice from other writers, especially those who have been published.

3. Don’t give up. I’ve been told that from the moment that you determine you want to write and start working at it, it might take as long as ten years to learn how.

Maine–Finally

Hi. Barb Ross here. Finally coming to you from Maine.

My view as I am writing this post

Usually, we arrive in Maine in early May. Honestly, it’s not the best time weather-wise, but it’s a great time to get old house stuff done and settle in. This year, we were delayed by the good (my daughter’s graduation from UMass Boston with her MFA in Creative Writing), the bad (I had a knee calamity right before Malice this year), and the ugly (Fogged Inn, book 4 in the Maine Clambake Mystery series was due June 1–and got sent in June 15).

The ugly

So while I’ve been in Maine, I’ve been chained to my desk, both getting the manuscript done and getting caught up on the 1001 things that were put off “until after I had the book turned in.”

But, while I’ve been distracted, my husband, Bill Carito, has been getting reacquainted with Boothbay Harbor. I gave him an iPhone photography class for Christmas. (It was truly a Hail Mary pass. We don’t always give each other gifts, and we somehow intuitively know whether it’s an on year or an off year. But this December, he and my daughter were having way too many mysterious telephone conversations, and I started to panic. Since we were going to be in Key West for January and February, I contacted my friend, author Lucy Burdette, who writes the Key West Food Critic Mysteries. She recommended the iPhone class, which she’d taken and enjoyed.)

You never know how those things are going to go, but this one was a hit! Bill posted a photo a day to his Facebook while we were in Key West and has taken a bunch of online iPhone classes since. Anyway, here’s some of what he found walking around Day 1 in Boothbay Harbor.

Pretty cool, huh?

So happy to be back!

Skype With an Author!

Lea Wait, here, with a reminder: even if you live far from Maine, a Maine Crime Writer (or another author) can speak at your school, library, or book group. And no one will have to travel.

Authors of books for children have been making Skype classroom visits for some time now, so I was pulled into it early. Inviting an author to visit a school in person costs the school money (hard when so many school budgets have been cut in recent years) and costs the author writing time.

Visiting via Skype is one solution that brings students and authors together. No; it doesn’t replace “in person” school or library visits. But it’s often more viable, especially when the author lives across the country.

Down to details. I charge $700 + expenses for an all-day in-person visit to a school. (Many authors charge a lot more.) That day may include speaking to an auditorium full of students, or perhaps visiting several classrooms, or a combination of those possibilities. Sometimes I run a writing workshop or two. I often have lunch with selected students (and/or teachers,) and allow time to sign any books students or staff have purchased. I’ve found school visits are most rewarding for everyone involved if the students have read at least one of my books before I arrive. Often they and their teachers have prepared questions for me — I don’t need to see those in advance, but having a question planned encourages shy students to speak up.

What do I talk about? Although I’ve visited classrooms from kindergarten through college, most visits I make are to 4th through 8th grades. My books for young people are set in the 19th century, so I talk about the research I do, often bring “show and tell” artifacts and research sources to share, and answer questions about … anything. What happened to Abbie after the book ended? What did you have for breakfast? How many books have you published? Which is your favorite? How do you get an agent? How many children do you have? How much money do you make? No question is off limits — and I answer all honestly. I always make sure I talk about research (not just Goggle and Wikipedia) and editing (even published authors edit — a fact that often surprises children.)

If a school can’t afford to have me visit in person, I’ll visit via Skype for 15 minutes for free. If they’d like a longer time, or more visits, I charge a little for that. I can answer a lot of questions in 15 minutes.

But Skype visits aren’t just for schools. I’ve visited book groups and libraries via Skype, too. Basically, the same rules: 15 minutes for free, and a nominal amount for time over that. And it’s best if my audience has read at least one of my books first.

If you’re an author who’s thinking of doing Skype visits, here are a few suggestions:

1) Explain on your website what you will do, what you will charge for your time, and any special topics you can cover. If you’re interested in speaking with students, point out how your visit will support the curriculum.

2) Remind groups that your visit will be much more memorable if the audience is familiar with your books.

3) Don’t schedule more than three Skype visits per day. You do have to prepare yourself (and your work space) and being “on” can be exhausting.

4) Schedule a time at least a day ahead when you can connect (on Skype) with the person and place you’re visiting, to assure that all technical systems are working and that you’re in agreement on what is expected from the visit.

5) If you are charging for a visit, ask for the payment in advance.

6) Before the visit, send promotional materials to the school or library or book group to help them get excited about meeting you. After a visit, send a thank you note, and perhaps a picture or bookmarks, or some other gift.

If you’re the person or organization inviting an author, make sure you both agree as far in advance as possible on the basics: the date, the time, the length, and the content of the visit. Let the local parent organization (for a school) or newspaper (for a library) know of the author’s visit. Parents may want to purchase an author’s book in advance, or local readers may want to join you for the Skype visit. Request an invoice from the author, if appropriate, and ensure it is processed in advance. Don’t forget to reserve an appropriate room for the visit, and alert the technical staff about the visit to ensure you are prepared.

And — for both authors and readers – enjoy the visit!

 

 

Summer Is Here – So Are The Tourists

Jayne Hitchcock here – is it just me, or did Spring turn into Fall then magically into Summer? What crazy weather! Even so, the tourists are flocking to my town of York. We live on the main road to the beach and see them flying by the house on the weekends. School is running late this year, but by June 20th traffic will be crazy as usual.

What I love most about this time of year is when friends or family come to visit, such as my husband’s daughter, her boyfriend and his grandmother, yesterday. They drove from western Massachusetts and as soon as they got here, we decided on what to do for the day. First was the Wiggly Bridge and Steedman Woods. Our Siberian Husky, Phoebe (who you all know as the Cyber Crime Dog) recently had cataract surgery, so with the “cone of shame off” we brought her along. We walked all the way across to John Hancock’s Wharf and the George Marshall Store & Gallery. They were taking pictures like crazy. My husband and I enjoyed being “tour guides.” It’s always kind of fun to see your town through someone else’s eyes.

We got some subs from Hannaford, ate, then headed over to York’s Animal Kingdom (I remember it being the Wild Animal Kingdom when I was a wee one) for a round of mini golf. Nothing like a little competition and people watching to get you going, ha ha!

After that, they wanted to shop for souvenirs, so my husband and I would wait outside the shops they went into and talked to local merchants we knew. All the while, I was people watching, cataloguing accents, phrases, clothing, attitudes, etc for possible future use in my writing. Who says writers aren’t always “on point?”

We caved in at the Kettle Boys and got some pizza flavored popcorn and bacon horseradish – should be interesting. Talked to the owner – he seemed relieved to talk to locals.

Do you get the same feeling where you live? It’s kind of like a secret society, isn’t it?

If you live in a touristy town, do you do the same thing when you have visitors? Have you used any of your people watching in your stories?

And people always wonder where I get my ideas from.

P.S. Phoebe is doing great – surgery went well and she can see again. We only opted for it because she was just eight years old. If you want to follow the whole saga, check out a page we did for her (and please share if you can).

Weekend Update: June 13-14, 2015

Next week at Maine Crime Writers there will be posts by Jayne Hitchcock (Monday), Lea Wait (Tuesday), Barb Ross (Wednesday), Vaughn Hardacker (Thursday) and Dorothy Cannell (Friday).

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

Sunday, June 14, (also known at tomorrow if you read this on Saturday) at 2 p.m. Kate Flora, Dorothy Cannell and Lea Wait will be speaking at the Liberty Library (in Liberty, Maine) as part of the library’s “Death and Desserts” program.  Shall we guess chocolate may also be involved? Plus, books will be available for purchase and signing.

Monday morning, June 15, Lea Wait will be taking students from the Bristol Consolidated School on a tour of the old jail in Wiscasset, and then leading them on a tour of Wiscasset locations that appear in her books for young people, especially UNCERTAIN GLORY.

Friday, June 19th, Barb Ross, Kate Flora, and Brenda Buchanan will be at the Curtis Memorial Library in Brunswick, Maine at 7:00 p.m.

Some photos for last week’s author adventures, including Maureen Milliken’s book launch at the amazing Press Hotel in Portland, and Kate Flora’s visit to the Jessup Library in Bar Harbor.

The wall of typewriters in the Press Hotel lobby

 

 

 

 

 

Maureen’s amazing cake, made by her sister

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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: mailto: kateflora@gmail.com

 

The Tao of Networking

Howdy, Maine crime folk! Chris Holm here. I’m glad I got all that awkward introductory stuff out of the way in my first post as a Maine Crime Writers regular, because that clears the decks for me to talk turkey (and, apparently, mix metaphors) today.

Paneling it up with Kate, Ann, Barbara, and Barbara.

At this year’s Maine Crime Wave, I was lucky enough to participate in a fantastic business-of-writing panel alongside MCW’s own Kate Flora and Barbara Ross, as well as agent Ann Collette and bookseller Barbara Kelly. And predictably, the conversation turned to social media and networking.

As writers, we’re told we need to be on Twitter, and Facebook, and KikSnap, and Tumblr, and Friendroid, and Tubesville, and okay fine I made a few of those up, although there’s still a chance your writing career is suffering because you’re not on them. But while our cup overfloweth with advice about how not to behave (most of which boils down to DON’T BE A HUMAN SPAMBOT—advice that too often goes ignored), nobody really tells us what we should be doing.

The best advice that I could give you about networking is STOP TRYING TO NETWORK. If the goal is to connect with people who like the sorts of things you like, just go be you and it’ll happen.

“But Chris,” you might reply, “that sounds kinda hippie-dippie, and doesn’t address the fact that WHAT I REALLY WANT IS THESE PEOPLE TO DO MY BIDDING MWAHAHAHAHA!” Well, Somewhat Maniacal Hypothetical Objector, I respectfully disagree; I think my advice actually is the best way to get folks on social media to do your bidding. And because my brain’s been warped by nearly four decades of obsessive pop-culture consumption, allow me to use an obscure fifteen-year-old indie rom-com to explain why.

In my whole life, I’ll never once look this cool.

In The Tao of Steve, Donal Logue plays a schlubby, pot-smoking underachiever named Dex who, surprisingly, has quite an active love life (read: he’s a pick-up artist with a knack for dating above his station). He owes his success to a philosophy he calls the Tao of Steve, which he gleaned from the holy trinity of Steve Austin (The Six Million Dollar Man), Steve McGarrett (Hawaii Five-O), and, above all, Steve McQueen. As Dex claims, “Steve is the prototypical cool American male… He has his own code of honor, his own code of ethics, his own rules of living, man. He never, ever tries to impress the women but he always gets the girl.”

His Tao of Steve strikes me as a good way to approach social media. It breaks down into three simple steps:

1) Be desireless. Dex insists potential partners “can smell an agenda like shit on a shoe.” So it is with fellow writers, agents, and editors on social media. The default assumption when someone friends or follows is that they want something. Prove that assumption wrong in the near term, and you’re already ahead of the pack.

“If you think I’m cute, please consider giving my book five stars on Goodreads.”

2) Be excellent. This one’s pretty self-explanatory. Do something awesome in your new social media friend’s presence. That could mean hyping his or her books, or simply saying how much you enjoyed them. It could mean sharing links to cool stories, or posting adorable pics of your teacup pig. Interpret widely, and have fun with it. But—and this is important—be mindful to never not be excellent. Don’t whine, spam, or talk smack. People notice. Try to keep your neurotic meltdowns (we all have ’em) offline.

3) Be gone. As Dex says, “We pursue that which retreats from us.” Make your interactions meaningful, engaging, and brief. If someone’s responsive to your overtures on social media, try not to inundate them with @ messages and Facebook tags. And if you find yourself wondering how much is too much, see points one and two. If you’re failing at either, you’re probably overdoing it.

You’ll note none of the above steps involve asking for anything. What they do is help foster relationships whereby people might be inclined to boost the signal when you do (sparingly) engage in self-promotion, or to say yes should you (eventually, politely) ask a favor.

It’s worth noting that, because The Tao of Steve is a romantic comedy, Dex (warning: fifteen-year-old spoilers follow) ultimately learns the error of his shallow pick-up-artist ways, and winds up ditching his schtick in an attempt to build a meaningful relationship. Ideally, we’d all do the same on social media. But if the number of auto-DMs (don’t do that) and unsolicited newsletters (double-don’t do that) I receive every week are any indication, I wouldn’t bet on it.

Chris Holm’s latest, THE KILLING KIND (coming in September from Mulholland Books), is a thriller about a hitman who only hits other hitmen. David Baldacci called it “a story of rare, compelling brilliance.” If you follow Chris on Twitter, or like his page on Facebook, he might remind you of that a time or two, but he promises he won’t auto-message you or anything.

Pounding Pegs—An Experience in Living History

Kaitlyn Dunnett/Kathy Lynn Emerson here. Not far from my home in western Maine is the Washburn-Norlands Living History Center, a working farm where visitors of all ages can experience what life was like in the nineteenth century. They can stay for an hour or two or participate in a live-in. School programs run regularly during the school year, giving young people the chance to take on the roles of farm children in a simpler time. The library is available to researchers writing about the period. Classes are taught in the one-room schoolhouse.

For many years, the historic buildings on this property, formerly the home of the Washburn family, consisted of a 1867 mansion, a farmer’s cottage, a 1883 library, a 1828 meeting house, and a 1853 schoolhouse. Following standard practice here in Maine, where you do not want to have to go outside in winter just to feed the animals, an ell connected the mansion to the barn. On April 28, 2008, a fire broke out in that barn. Only extensive pre-planning on the part of local fire departments prevented a worse disaster, but both the barn and the farmer’s cottage were destroyed.

There was never any question that what had been lost would be rebuilt. What took time was raising enough money for the project and finding the right people to create an accurate reproduction of what had existed in the nineteenth century. The farmer’s cottage was rebuilt in 2011. In late May of this year, work started on the barn. At the official barn-raising ceremonies, a number of the pegs to be used in the construction were pounded in by Norlands personnel, most of whom are volunteers.

Pictures, as they say, sometimes speak louder than words. In addition to the ones here, you can see more, and videos, at the Norlands facebook page

 

Fundraising continues, not only to rebuild the barn but also to continue the wonderful programs Norlands offers. This coming weekend, June 13 and 14, is the 5th Rally for Norlands, a Civil War Reenactment Weekend. This event features reenactors from Norlands and from the 3rd Maine Co. A and the 15th Alabama Co. G, as well as period crafters and exhibitors. There will be civilian and infantry encampments, a Civil War battle, a field hospital, field music, a blacksmith, a 19th century fashion show, storytelling, and a Town Ball game (the forerunner of baseball), plus all the permanent attractions of the living history center. Gates open at 9AM at 290 Norlands Road, Livermore, Maine 04253. For more information, the website is http://www.norlands.org

refreshments at the barn raising

 

library and schoolhouse from the deck of the barn

one of the few shady spots on barn raising day

When a book completely nails it

John Clark talking about the effect one book had on me a couple weeks ago and why.

Looking back, perhaps one of the quotes that best describes the ’60s for me would be the opening lines of A Tale of Two Cities. “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity…” I was impulsive, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, because it netted me some amazing experiences and the memories to go with them.

During the summer of 1969, I was home from Arizona State and part of a crew painting the old draw bridge in Bath that spanned the Kennebec River. Most of us working that summer were college students, liberal, no strangers to recreational drug use and into rock music. When one of the crew brought a flyer to work advertising a three day music festival in Woodstock, NY, a bunch of us bought tickets and when the time came, we cut work on a Friday morning and took off for New York around midnight on Thursday.

We got there relatively early and were able to park pretty close to where the entrance gate was located. After handing over our tickets, we grabbed programs, bought blotter acid and headed for the stage area. That afternoon, we were able to sit very close to the performers and I remember feeling extremely mellow about half an hour after letting the acid dissolve under my tongue. It was warm, sunny and the rapidly swelling crowd was in a terrific mood. At one point, someone announced that there was a batch of brown acid going around that was pretty bad and should be avoided. A couple moments later, some dude five rows behind me flipped out and cartwheeled through the crowd, landing with his head by my feet. I remember looking at him and saying something profound like, “Got one of the bad hits, eh?”

At the beginning

When the festival closed for the night, we headed back to the car and I ended up sleeping in the trunk with the lid down, but not closed because it was raining. When we headed back the next morning, the crowd had swollen to a point where it was almost impossible to stay together as a group. I lost contact with the rest of the bridge crew, but there was so much going on and the energy level was so high, I wasn’t concerned and, besides, I knew where the car was. Big mistake. By the time I went looking for the it that night, it had been moved and with the crowd now at half a million, there was no way to find anyone. Even then, it didn’t really matter because I was having the adventure of a lifetime. The music was live and nonstop, comprised of almost every group I could possibly want to see. Sweetwater was awesome (I saw them later that fall when they were the lead act for the Doors and they stole the show), Joan Baez was equally mesmerizing, Joe Cocker, Mountain, Richie Havens, Ravi Shankar, the list went on and on. One of my most vivid memories was sitting on the hill above the stage, sharing a joint of homegrown with a guy from North Carolina who was AWOL from the army and watching the White Rabbit cavort around in the night sky while Jefferson Airplane played. That was followed very closely when Country Joe MacDonald stopped everyone in their tracks when he stepped up to the mike and hollered “Give Me an F.” The only other thing I’ve ever heard that sounded anywhere near as powerful as that crowd doing the Fish Cheer is the live start of a NASCAR race.

Since I had no way home and the music was going to continue, I went over to where the Hog Farm folks were and volunteered to help get food ready. The feeling of camaraderie, coupled with the sheer size of the crowd and the good vibrations everyone was sending out, made it almost impossible to worry about anything. I remember when the crew filming the festival ignored us as we were frantically working to make sure everyone got fed, we started our own, very loud ‘Bullshit’ chant. I also got to hang out by the Dayglow bus where Ken Kesey and the Grateful Dead were. It put real meaning in the saying “You’re either on the bus, or off the bus.”

Still true today

Late on Saturday, I was walking through the patch of woods that divided where the Hog Farm was and the field where the performers were. I heard someone call my name and looked up to see two guys I hung out with who were from Camden. They had hitched down to the festival. We made arrangements to meet at intervals by the Hog Farm area so we could return to Maine together.

I have never seen as sudden and wild a storm as the one that passed over us on Sunday. The clouds were roiling so fiercely that they seemed to have their own malevolent intelligence. When it started to rain, there was no possibility of staying dry. People began dancing around a giant mound of garbage in the field, getting soaked and muddy, but having a ball. I joined in and it didn’t take long to feel like I was part of something cosmic and far bigger than myself.

When the three of us decided to start back to Maine, the number of people who were trying to find a ride was so large, we ended up walking miles before any cars passed us that weren’t filled to the gills with tired and very odiferous people. We were fortunate in that we made it back home after only three different rides. I was toasted, but had the people who were heading to Camden drop me off at the bridge where I more or less dozed as I sat in the safety boat, waiting for someone to fall into the river.

 

Hello Muddah

That music festival made it extremely difficult to get excited about any concert for years and I remember parts of the weekend as if they happened yesterday. A few weeks ago, I read a review of a new young adult book, Three Day Summer by Sarvenaz Tash that was about two teens whose paths cross at Woodstock. I was particularly intrigued by one review that raved about how well the author re-created the atmosphere surrounding it, so I ordered the book. If anything, the reviewer understated how well that aspect of the book is. This is particularly impressive because she was born in the Middle East and is in her mid-twenties. I’ve included my review below so you can understand why I’m so impressed. In fact, I re-read it yesterday afternoon on the train from Vancouver to Kamloops and liked it more the second time. If you were a part of the Woodstock generation, treat yourself by reading it. If you weren’t and want to get an excellent feel for that piece of American culture, I suggest this as a great way to understand it.

I have to say right up front that this book was like my own personal time machine. As with Michael, the male protagonist, I had no clue what would happen when I heard about this awesome three day music festival in New York State.

Michael is piloting his mom’s purple Chrysler, his bossy girlfriend Amanda and a couple friends with him. He’s already ambivalent about his relationship, but hasn’t had a chance to get it together and break things off. He’s also conflicted about the war, his relationship with his parents and whether he wants to go to college. The closer they get to the festival, the more they begin realizing that this is way bigger than anyone ever imagined. The car overheats, so they abandon it in the middle of the road and hike the last five miles to Max Yazgur’s farm.

Meanwhile Cora, who lives right near the festival site, entertains dreams of becoming a doctor, but knows that there’s a big prejudice against female physicians, something even her father shares, She’s going to volunteer at the medical tent with a nurse she helps in her role as a candy striper. She’s got a lot on her mind. Ned, the boy she gave her heart to, broke up with her a while ago, but works on her dad’s farm, so he’s never far from her thoughts. Wes, her younger brother is involved in the anti-war movement, while her older brother is in the military in Vietnam and every letter he sends to his siblings sounds more desperate.

The man was awesome!

When Michael takes a hit of brown acid, he flips out and his friends bring him to the medical tent where Cora is assigned to monitor him while he comes down. Over the several hours it takes to get him close to clear-headed, something happens between them, partly sparked by his hallucinations, but also my the way each listens to the other in ways both crave, but seldom get from others.

Cora is so busy she doesn’t have time to ponder the effect Michael had on her at first. Michael, on the other hand, is feeling a surreal connection because of the way he saw her while tripping. Besides, he’s lost his friends and despite his best efforts, can’t find them in the huge crowd. He returns to the medical tent at seven, the time Cora gets off duty and invites her to stay and listen to some of the music with him. She’s about to say no when her ex-wanders up, asking if she’s ready to head home.

Cora’s no becomes a yes, signaling the beginning of behavior that’s completely out of character for her, as well as a relationship with a guy who already has a girlfriend and lives a couple hundred miles away. Add in her father’s going ballistic attitude toward the concertgoers, Michael’s incredible knowledge of most of the bands playing, completely ‘you are there’ vignettes from the event and you have a super story about two likable teens at the biggest concert ever.

I loved this book, not only because of the chemistry between the two main characters, but because on almost every page, something happened that took me back to the moment it was capturing. I heartily agree with the reviewer who said that the author brought the festival to life. She absolutely nailed it as far as I’m concerned. I’d love to see this book in as many public and school libraries as possible because it brings to life an event that most teens know nothing about as well as highlighting many of the tensions families faced during the Vietnam era. The amazing chemistry between Cora and Michael is another big plus for this book.