Lea Wait's Blog, page 301

How Much Danger is Too Much?

Kaitlyn Dunnett here. I recently had an interesting email exchange with a reader in Australia. Although she likes the Liss MacCrimmon mysteries, she feels I tend to put Liss in too much danger at the end of the books. She pointed out, as our correspondence continued, that Miss Marple and Miss Silver are rarely in danger. They discover the identity of the murderer but don’t risk their lives to do so. Then she commented that putting the sleuth in danger makes it seem that the  author doesn’t have enough faith in the interest and excitement of the story as it stands and has up the ante at the end to keep the reader’s attention.

Wow. Food for thought.

I responded that I felt most of my readers expect Liss to be in jeopardy before the villain is captured. If Liss is going to investigate a murder, she’s going to make an enemy of the murderer, who is trying to get away with his or her crime. That makes Liss a target. If she simply turns the information she finds over to the police and lets them make an arrest, the end of the book ending will seem anticlimactic.

The last chapters of my mysteries aren’t particularly violent. The most harm I’ve ever done to Liss is in Vampires, Bones, and Treacle Scones and even there she suffers no long-term damage. I wouldn’t consider the level of violence either excessive or gratuitous. But put my heroine in danger at the end of a book? Yes, I definitely do that, and deliberately, too. That applies to the historical mysteries I write as Kathy Lynn Emerson as well as to the Liss MacCrimmon series. To tell you the truth, I think I’ve always considered doing so to be a requirement of the mystery genre, whether we’re talking cozy or hard-boiled or police procedural. In fact, the covers of my Diana Spaulding 1888 Quartet all reflect this by picturing an “action” scene, although not necessarily one at the climax of the story. It’s the degree of danger and violence that differs from one sort of book to another. So, the question remains: how much danger is too much in a cozy?

I don’t see myself doing without a confrontation scene between amateur sleuth and villain in which the villain temporarily holds the upper hand. For one thing, without it, it is difficult to have what syndicated columnist Joel Achenback dubbed “the obligatory spilling of the beans” at the end of the novel. As Achenback put it, this is “where the villain explains his diabolical plot to rule the world, a moment of braggadocio that will lead to his downfall once the hero escapes.” This won’t  happen unless the villain plans to kill his or her listener right after confessing. I grant you that this isn’t the only way to manage explanations and tie up loose ends at the end of a mystery novel, but it is one tried and true device that ups both the stakes and the suspense. Of course we know Liss (or Diana or Susanna or Rosamond) will find a way to survive or the book wouldn’t be part of a cozy series.

Our email discussion also explored the acceptability of more violent endings when that violence is in keeping with the book as a whole. My correspondent found the endings of my books a bit more frightening than the rest of the stories warranted. This is a valid criticism and I’m going to have to take a hard look at this aspect of things at as I write the next one. Then she added yet another thought-provoking comment: my cliff-hanger endings arise out of the character of the heroine because Liss is “a bit too defensively sure of her own abilities on feminist grounds.”

I don’t think of Liss as a feminist, but I do write her as self-confident (except around her domineering mother), sometimes foolishly so. And she’s impulsive—her main character flaw. In the old days, there was a category called the “women in jeopardy” novel. It morphed into “romantic suspense” and along the way the kick-ass heroine emerged, a woman capable of getting herself out of danger. Sometimes she ended up saving her significant other, too. In these novels there is always a scene toward the end of the book where everything, even the heroine’s life, is at risk. I have trouble imagining writing a story without that climactic moment when the heroine defies the odds to thwart the bad guy.

But the question of how much danger is too much in a cozy mystery remains. In the most recent Liss MacCrimmon, Ho-Ho-Homicide, written well before this email exchange, Liss is definitely in danger of losing her life and she definitely experiences physical violence. I write about her fear but skip fairly delicately over her pain. I don’t want to read scenes with graphic violence, let alone write them. In next year’s entry, The Scottie Barked at Midnight, also turned in before this subject came up, Liss is again in danger, although this time it comes earlier in the book and it is not a threat of being stabbed, shot, or throttled. Instead, she ends up on her own in the middle of nowhere and is at risk of developing hypothermia if she can’t find her way back to civilization. Is she ever truly in danger of losing her life? Well, she certainly thinks she is. And that’s all I can say about it without spoilers.

I’m very glad one of my readers took the time to make her feelings known. Every once in a while it is good for writers to step back and take a long, hard look at why they structure their stories the way they do. Most of the cozies and traditional mysteries I read put the sleuth in some sort of danger at the end of the novel, but there are ways to maintain suspense and up the ante without doing so. As I start work on the tenth Liss MacCrimmon novel, I’m going to be considering all the possibilities.

A question of morale

 

Sometimes one is so tempted to take to drink

Kate Flora, here: A Maine writer attending the New England Crime Bake conference a week ago observed that she appreciated what we are writing at Maine Crime Writers because there is often useful advice for other writers. Since one of the goals of the Crime Bake is to create community among crime writers, her remark reminded me of this old column I wrote about writer’s block and keeping up our spirits when our publishing goals always seem too far away and what we’re writing feels like gravel.

We’re coming into the dark season now, and when the days are short and the weather gets nasty, it’s hard to keep our spirits up. So here are some thoughts as we all embark on winter.

Everything I write lately does feel like gravel and as I’m embarking on a new Joe Burgess book, it seems like I have no new or fresh ideas. After a chat with my artist friend, Pete, about how my spirits won’t lift and I’m getting very little writing done, I decided to look up writers and morale on the internet, and see what wisdom was out there. My first hit immediately lifted my spirits. I found this, from the UVic student writing guide:

As a noun, a moral is what you get at the end of a fairy tale.

As an adjective, moral means “righteous” or “ethical.” It is an example of an abstract word which can be abused.

Morale measures the level of your spiritual happiness, usually when you are at war or playing sports.

When I stopped smiling, I started to wonder: when I am writing, and my “spiritual happiness” seems to be a low ebb, it this war or sports? Some days it sure feels like war, like a perpetual battle of the writer against the editor, the agent, the bookseller, the other writers whose books are being chosen or purchased or lauded, and the tiresome postman who keeps bringing bad news or no news and rarely a check.

Other days, it seems like a sport, especially when I’ve scored a goal, or the equivalent of a goal in the writer’s arena of worldly success. Those goals are hard won, though, and they don’t come very often. The fact is that this is a hard business. Not as hard as being a cop or an emergency room physician, but hard. To get the work done, we must be solitary for long periods of time, and we have to be our own bosses. We are the ones who have to set our own schedules, keep ourselves in our chairs, and meet our deadlines. Often, we even have to create our own deadlines.

Sometimes, the rewards seem too fleeting compared to the time we spend working toward them. And for the aspiring writer, the beginner, there is often little more than faith in their own ability to sustain them. I’ve been sitting here today thinking about some of the writers I know who have struggled for years to achieve publication. Some of them, some really talented writers, have finally gotten discouraged and given up.

When I hear that another writer is feeling despair, I always wish I had more wisdom, after thirty years at

We try to be wise, but is anyone listening?

this, to share. More time and generosity to sit and listen, to pay attention, to notice when people I care about are looking pinched and broken. And I wonder if other writers have better answers to the question: What should we be doing for each other? How can we help each other remember that we’re writers because we love words, and using our imaginations, and telling stories. And that we don’t stop being writers because someone didn’t love our latest story or we got a rejection letter in the mail, or something we thought was done needs to be rewritten.

As I’ve said all along–if you want to be a writer, you have to have the hide of an alligator. And you have to believe in yourself because no one else cares as much as you do. You have to believe in your right to write. You have to protect your writing time for everything that would steal it. You have to find your joy in the relationship between your mind and the page. In the now and now instead of what may lie ahead.

My friend Pete closed the conversation by suggesting that when it’s all discouraging, he seeks renewed inspiration by going to a museum and looking at paintings by great artists. Maybe, he suggests, I should read a really good book. And I happen to have one right here. So when my Blogging “homework” is done, I’m going to reread Roxana Robinson’s Sparta, and study her storytelling and how she reveals her characters. And tomorrow, I know, will be better.

Something else I found while I was looking up writers and morale. On a site called Geist.com, I found a writing exercise labeled: Morale Exercise: Real Writers . . .

So next time you have a discouraged day, write this down: “Real writers …” and free write from this for 10 minutes.

Real writers drink bourbon, believe in rewrite, and try to use words more creative than those labeled by my mother as “ordinary swears.” This sometimes leads to some peculiar questions, as I try to improve my vocabulary. Real writers watch the world around them and wonder about it. Real writers listen in on other people’s conversations and pay attention. Real writers blow off the laundry and eat cold pizza because their characters are doing things they need to attend to. Real writers are willing to admit, even when they’re stuck in the unpublished writer’s corner, that they are writers, because on the good days, being a real writer is magical.

Well, gentle reader, who knows where this exercise will put you ten minutes later? Thanks for listening.

 

A Change of Plan

Hello again from Sarah Graves, who has planned for traveling but  has not been doing so. For instance: The 2014 Crime Bake in Dedham, Massachusetts was great, I hear. I was supposed to learn this in person, but with my bags packed, registration long accomplished, banquet ticket bought and bus fare in hand, I was instead felled by a virus of unknown origin pretty much as I walked out my back door.  While I might’ve attempted the trip anyway, I made the on-the-spot  judgment call that maybe a 6-hour bus ride was not such a good idea under the circumstances. So I pouted instead, which turned out to be just about all I could accomplish for the next 48 hours, and I’m still disappointed. I do, however, have a virtuous feeling about all the people I did not infect with an ailment whose intensity was matched only by its unpleasantness. You’re welcome, everyone.

This is a print of a sardine label, from back when people ate sardine sandwiches for lunch. I personally can’t even look at an anchovy. Popping a whole fish of any size into my mouth — and then, dear heaven, chewing it! and swallowing it! — just isn’t in my DNA, it seems. But at one time those sandwiches were as common as PB&J is now, and plenty of people on the Maine coast made their living by catching, cutting, and packing the small fish into tins, and labeling them like the one at right. Here in Eastport there were several “sardine factories” where mostly women (and children, wielding knives as long as their arms and standing on boxes to reach the cutting tables) prepped and packed the catch. Different factories had different whistles, so that wherever you were in town you knew when “your” factory’s load of sardines had come in, and you should hurry down to work.

It’s cold here now, but last week we were still enjoying the fool’s gold of early November. Leaves were raked and newly planted garlic beds were covered with straw while we asked one another if maybe it wasn’t too soon, because if it stayed this warm for much longer the bulbs would sprout early. We put the straw down anyway, though, because in our hearts we recognized what none of us wanted to admit, and now we’re nodding sagely at one another: we knew it all along.

I see these decoys in antique stores and think of the ones that used to be in our basement when I was a kid. There were big burlap bags full of them, all glass-eyed and painted to resemble the birds that flew in by the thousands to Horicon Marsh in northern Wisconsin. Near the bags stood the huge hand-built table with the shotgun-shell reloading press bolted to it. On the bench too were the bags of shot, the gun powder, the wadding disks and small bright metal primers. Often there were bags full of spent shells there, as well, and on Sunday afternoons we kids went down and reloaded shotgun shells for fun. I can still feel the heavy, solid ka-chunk! of the shell press coming down to mash all the contents together and crimp the end tightly closed. (I can still feel my tooth coming down on a stray bit of birdshot when we ate roasted duck, too, but that’s another story.)

One plan that has not changed is for WINTER AT THE DOOR, still due out January 6, 2015. I distinctly recall writing the first few words of this, feeling that stepping-off-into-the-void sensation of starting a novel, knowing there were 89,995 words of it left to write and that I had no idea what any of them were. I mention this now because, had I been at Crime Bake and had anyone asked me, I’d have said it’s the same whether it’s your first book or your many-eth: there is really nothing else you can do but go on. Page one is as blank for the old writer as for the new, the words as unknown until they’re written. Fortunately, the only thing you can do — keep at it — is also the main (some say only) requirement, when you get right down to it.

 

The Death of Local News, or if you want to get away with murder, come to Hartland.

As time goes by, I miss writing for the Sebasticook Valley Weekly more and more. It was a local weekly published in Newport and my first encounter with it was when Brenda Seekins, the editor, stopped by the library and asked if we’d like some copies. I said we certainly would and was she interested in a weekly library column. She was, and in short order, I was back to doing what I still believe is the best marketing tool a public library can have, writing a weekly newspaper column touting the things happening at the library as well as teasing potential borrowers with brief descriptions of new additions to the collection.

I knew from my five years of writing a similar column for The Boothbay Register while I was library director there, that plenty of people would read a few columns, develop a sense of comfort and familiarity with the library by doing so and then come in to get a card. It worked just as well in Hartland. It wasn’t long before I expanded my writing for the SV Weekly by doing an irregular feature called “Getting to Know Your Neighbors.” I’d spend an hour or so interviewing someone who I knew had an interesting background and then write it up with a photo or two. Over the course of a year or two, I met and profiled a local musician who was inducted into the Maine Country Music Hall of Fame, a true renaissance man who calibrated Norden Bombsights during World War 2 and interviewed the widow of a man whose demise was directly related to wild turkey poop.

At some point, I realized that almost every weekly columnist in the paper was far to the right, so far in fact, that reading an issue made my teeth hurt. When I asked the new editor (Brenda had moved on) when he was going to have a liberal columnist, his response was right to the point. “When are you going to start writing it?” I spent the following morning weeding our raised bed flower garden while running ideas for columns through my head. That afternoon, I sat down and started putting a few on paper and my second regular entry in the newspaper, “Right-Minded, But Left of Center,” was born. I can say with absolute certainty that writing it cost me some library patrons, but it also made me some new friends and was read by plenty of people in an area from Skowhegan to Milo. Heck, it was great fun to tweak the right wing on a weekly basis. Unfortunately, the paper folded, and after trying to write for a diminished web version that was focused on Lincoln and the surrounding towns, I dropped it.

Sadly, Hartland seems to exist in a news vacuum these days. Neither the Waterville Sentinel nor The Bangor Daily News consider us of importance. Consider the following events, all of them true or easily provable. A few months back, a young woman was walking home after visiting her sister. The specifics are cloudy and there are details I’m not at liberty to disclose, but the upshot is that she was run over around 11 at night in front of the fire station. The driver stopped, but immediately sped off. She suffered nine broken ribs and a busted collerbone. Nothing appeared in the newspaper and to this day, no one has been arrested or charged.

Last month, the siren at the tannery started wailing and before anyone knew what was happening, fire trucks from as far away as Skowhegan rushed into town. There was a brief teaser about a fire at the tannery on the Bangor Daily News website that promised further details. A thorough perusal of both the web and print versions the following morning yielded nothing. The bean hole supper, scheduled for the following evening in Winterport, however, did merit three inches in the State section. I followed up by asking one of my regular patrons who works at the tannery what happened. It seems that the town dodged a bullet. There are two large machines located at the end of the main tannery building which are used to oil and wax hides. The more efficient one was about to be cleaned when there was a major miscommunication. Person A neglected to turn off the heating element and person B started sending a cleaning patch through which ignited. Fortunately there was a sprinkler system which activated automatically, dousing most of the fire while closing a door leading to the adjacent room where the bulk of flammable chemicals are stored. If there had been a malfunction in the sprinklers, it could have been scary, as not only were the chemicals nearby, but newly installed industrial size propane tanks were right outside the building where the machine was located. It’s not out of the realm of possibility that a big part of beautiful downtown Hartland could have been flattened had things not gone as they did. As it stands, the affected machine is out of operation and will probably require specially machined parts to get back in operation. While I think this was definitely newsworthy, the two papers mentioned above did not.

The two teens, aged 13 and 14 who did an estimated $6,000 in damage to the elementary school, the new town pool and a couple houses in town, did merit an article in the Waterville paper, but Bangor ignored them. These little darlings were released to their parents and are free to wander about town, generally without adult supervision.

The as yet unidentified individual who ransacked two cars in a friend’s driveway before going upstairs and ransacking an apartment and then spray painting obscenities on the side of their house while the family was in the living room watching television also failed even a mention in the police log, nor have there been any leads regarding the perps.

We have what even the village idiot can see is a shooting gallery within 500 feet of the elementary school (as I understand it, this should be felony territory), but no arrests have been made. I have another friend who used to go there to get high before he straightened his life out and at least one individual overdosed there.

Finally, there’s the copper theft that wasn’t. This is a real head scratcher. The tannery annex is behind my house and I kept hearing a lot of what sounded like sawing and pounding going on out there. It turns out that someone was cutting and carrying off the copper piping. When they were caught, charges were filed. These had to be dropped when they got to court. Why? Because the building was officially abandoned by whomever got ownership after the current tannery operators decided not to use it any longer. If there’s no owner, there’s no crime. Once again, this eluded the local news establishments as did the fact that some local teens broke in and had one heck of a fight, using the fire extinguishers.

The tannery annex from an earlier time when it was a thriving corn cannery.

So, good people, I’m betting that if you wanted to knock someone off, you couldn’t pick a better town to do it in that Hartland, Maine, the town that news forgot. However, if you do so, please let me know so I can put it in my next short story.

Photo of a painting given to retired game warden John Ford.

Weekend Update: November 15-16, 2014

Next week at Maine Crime Writers there will be posts by John Clark (Monday), Sarah Graves (Tuesday), Kate Flora (Wednesday), Kaitlyn Dunnett (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:

Kate Flora: Just got an e-mail from my publisher with this news about Death Dealer:

“Award-Winning Finalist in the “True Crime: Non-Fiction” category of the 2014 USA Best Book Awards” – DEATH DEALER: How Cops and Cadaver Dogs Brought a Killer to Justice (9780882824765) by Kate Clark Flora

And Kate adds this, from Joshua Bodwell at MWPA:

MAINE CALLING BOOK CLUB Don’t forget that Roxana Robinson’s “Sparta”—winner of the 2014 Maine Literary Award for Fiction—is the November pick for MPBN’s Maine Calling Book Club. Read the novel and tune in for the discussion at 12pm on Wednesday, November 26. *As an added bonus, we hear that Kate Flora—winner of the 2013 Maine Literary Award for Crime Fiction—is going to be one of the panelists for the Nov 26 discussion!

http://news.mpbn.net/programs/maine-calling

Finally, at the risk of making this update too Kate-centric, here are two little YouTube videos of me reading from my two new books at my book launch party on Thursday:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8vIQSc-Z7tQ KATE FLORA #09 11/13/14

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pq3HSewjnig KATE FLORA #11 11/13/14

Lea Wait:  Reading this on Saturday, November 15? Live near the Maine Mall in South Portland,

Maine? Then com’on over and say hello! I’ll be signing copies of my UNCERTAIN GLORY at the Islandport kiosk from 3:00 until 5:00 this afternoon. Next weekend? I’ll be signing copies of my recent books (including SHADOWS ON A MAINE CHRISTMAS and UNCERTAIN GLORY) at Studio 53, 53 Townsend Avenue, in Boothbay Harbor, Maine from 5-8 Friday night, November 21, from 7-11 Saturday morning (early birds!) and from 1-2 Sunday afternoon the 23rd. Studio 53 also has wonderful art, high end crafts, and jewelry — a great place to start (or end!) your Christmas shopping.

 

 

Kaitlyn Dunnett: I’ve just heard from my agent that the title I picked for next year’s Liss MacCrimmon mystery, The Scottie Barked at Midnight, has been approved by the powers that be at Kensington Books. Yea! It will be out in November 2015. To my surprise, it’s already listed at Goodreads, which is where I’ve been concentrating my social media efforts lately. If any of you good folks reading this are also on Goodreads I hope you’ll visit my author pages there. I have one as Kaitlyn Dunnett and another as Kathy Lynn Emerson and both of us are always glad to accept new “friends.” I keep my reading list at Goodreads, for those of you curious about what books I have recently read. Most of the list is on Kathy’s page, but I’m gradually dividing my reading by putting traditional mysteries on Kaitlyn’s booklist while the historical and paranormal novels and the nonfiction stay with Kathy. And yes, sometimes it is confusing having a split personality!!

Barb: This week I was thrilled to learn that Boiled Over was nominated for an RT Book Reviews, Reviewer’s Choice Best Book Award–Amateur Sleuth. So pleased! http://www.rtbookreviews.com/award/2014/amateur-sleuth

Also, it must be title approval week at Kensington, because my editor and I also agreed on the title for the 2016 Maine Clambake book–Fogged Inn!

 

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. Don’t forget that comments are entered for a chance to win our wonderful basket of books and the very special moose and lobster cookie cutters.

 

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

 

KILLER THANKSGIVING RECIPES

Susan Vaughan here. Yes, I know Thanksgiving comes later in the month, but sharing these killer Thanksgiving recipes allows time to shop for ingredients.

Thanksgiving is my husband’s favorite holiday—family and friends, great food, but no pressure about gifts—so we have the complete Thanksgiving turkey dinner, no matter it’s just the two of us. Back in the Dark Ages when I grew up, the only cranberry sauce I knew was a tasteless jelly that came in a can (sorry, Ocean Spray). One spoonful and I decided this side to the turkey extravaganza was not for me. As an adult, I shunned even homemade sauce, thinking it would be no better. It wasn’t until I married that I learned to love the real thing. At my in-laws’ home for our first Thanksgiving as a married couple, of course I couldn’t turn down my mother-in-law’s homemade whole-berry cranberry sauce. Yeah, it’s a cliché in novels when an author describes taste as exploding on the tongue, but that was exactly my experience. At last, a cranberry sauce that made my taste buds dance. Every Thanksgiving since, I’ve made her killer recipe and am sharing it with you in her memory. The recipe can be adjusted for different amounts of berries.

Whole-Berry Cranberry Sauce

 

MRS.VAUGHAN’S CRANBERRY SAUCE

Ingredients: 12 ounces fresh cranberries, 1 ½ cups of water, 1 ½ cups of sugar.

Combine all in a saucepan and heat on stovetop. Stir until sugar is dissolved. Bring to a boil and boil about 20 minutes. Let cool slightly, then pour into a bowl or mold. Chill. The sauce jells nicely and looks pretty, almost too pretty to eat.

Next up is a to-die-for pumpkin pie recipe. It’s a lower-fat version of the classic dessert, but no one ever notices the difference (and I’ve kept the low-fat secret from my husband for years).

LOWER-FAT PUMPKIN PIE

Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Ingredients: 3 eggs or 4 egg whites, 1 can pumpkin, 1 teaspoon cinnamon, ½ teaspoon ginger, ¼ teaspoon nutmeg; 1/8 teaspoon cloves; ½ teaspoon salt, 1 can (14 ounces) Eagle Brand Fat Free Sweetened Condensed Milk, a nine-inch unbaked pie crust.

In a large bowl, beat eggs slightly. Add pumpkin, spices, salt. Beat until well blended. Slowly add the condensed milk and mix well. Pour into pie shell. Bake at 425 degrees for 15 minutes. Reduce oven heat to 350 degrees and continue baking for 25-30 minutes longer, or until a knife comes out clean. Serves 8.

Anyone who would like printable versions of these recipes, email me at shvaughan.author@gmail.com. Put “Thanksgiving recipes” in the Subject line. And Happy Thanksgiving to all!

*** Watch for sales of my Task Force Eagle books, NEVER SURRENDER, ONCE BURNED, and TWICE A TARGET, coming soon on Amazon. You can find more information about my books at www.susanvaughan.com.

Best New England Crime Stories 2015: Rogue Wave–the Maine Connections

Hi, Maine Crime Writers Blog readers. Barb here. Last weekend was the New England Crime Bake and with it comes the launch of the latest Level Best Books anthology of crime stories by New England authors.

The latest entry in the series is Best New England Crime Stories 2015: Rogue Wave. You can buy it from Level Best here, or from Amazon (paperback or Kindle) here, or order it from your favorite independent bookstore.

As we have here on the blog for the last five years, we’re looking at the Maine connections. As always there are some familiar faces and some exciting new voices. I will say that when all the submissions are counted, Maine acquits itself very well. Only Massachusetts, with 5 times the population, sends in more stories. So from amongst that crowded field, here are the Maine authors included.

Vicki Doudera: One of the familiar faces is MCW’s own Vicki Doudera. Vicki is the author of the Darby Farr Mysteries (Midnight Ink) featuring a crime-solving, deal-making real estate agent. The latest (and fifth) is Deal Killer. A top-producing realtor in Camden, Maine, Vicki wrote the best-selling guide, Moving to Maine: The Essential Guide to Get You There and What You Need to Know to Stay, and is researching Death on Katahdin, a non-fiction account of fatal mishaps on Maine’s tallest mountain. “Bebe Bamboozles the Missus,” her story in Rogue Wave, features a modern day domestic servant who must figure out how to handle a difficult mistress following the sudden demise of the master.

Kathy Lynn Emerson: As readers of this blog know, Kathy Lynn is the author of the Face Down series, set in sixteenth century England, the Diana Spaulding 1888 Quartet, the Liss MacCrimmon series (w/a Kaitlyn Dunnett), the forthcoming Mistress Jaffrey Mysteries, and How to Write Killer Historical Mysteries, winner of the Agatha Award for non-fiction. Her story in Rogue Wave, “The Blessing Witch” takes place in sixteen century England and is about a woman who may or may not be a witch, but who solves a mysterious death using other abilities.

Judith Green: Readers of the Level Best series will know Judy Green. I believe she is the only person to have a story in all twelve anthologies. As a former Adult Education Director for an eleven town school district in western rural Maine, Judy has written twenty-five high-interest/low-level books for adult readers. “A Good, Safe Place” published in the 2010 Level Best anthology Thin Ice, was nominated for an Edgar® Award. Judy’s story in Rogue Wave, “The First Thing That Comes Back,” gives us another chapter in the long and interesting life of Margery Easton, wife and mother in rural Maine. (Note from Barb: I am still waiting for a major publisher to collect these. They are that good.)

Maurissa Guibord: Maurissa Guibord is new to Level Best. She lives on the beautiful coast of Maine. She is the author of two fantasy books for young adults (Warped, 2011 and Revel, 2013, Delacorte) as well as numerous stories for both adults and children. She has been a finalist for both the Rita award as well as the Agatha Award. In her story, “Stroke of Genius,” an artist creates a novel mode of expression.

Dale T. Phillips: Dale Phillips studied writing with Stephen King at the University of Maine, and has published over thirty short stories and four novels, three in the Zack Taylor series. He’s appeared on stage, television and in an independent feature film. He competed on two nationally televised quiz shows, Jeopardy and Think Twice, and lost spectacularly both times. His story in Rogue Wave, “Automat” tells us what happened before, during and after the moment evoked in Edward Hopper’s iconic painting of the same name.

Karla M. Whitney: Karla Whitney’s publications include textbooks, non-fiction articles and illustrations. Her second mystery novel and a slew of single-paned comics are in the works. She’s a member of SinC, MWA and the Portland Museum of Art. In her first published fiction story, “More to the Point,” a tormented neighbor sets her sights on revenge.

Gregory William Allen: Gregory William Allen/Bill Carito is a lifelong resident of Greater Boston who became a Red Sox fan in 1961, the year after Ted Williams retired. Before he started writing, Bill Carito spent his professional life working in politics, consulting on campaigns, lobbying, and operating a political technology company. He’s a graduate of the University of Pennsylvania and lives in Somerville and Boothbay Harbor, Maine with his wife. They are the proud parents of Kate Carito, and her brother Rob.

If all that sounds a little familiar, it is because Bill is my husband. He submitted his story, “Ted Williams’ Dreams” anonymously and didn’t reveal his identity until after his story was chosen. Though after reading the story and hearing the reveal, my fellow editors response was, “Aren’t you afraid to sleep with that guy?” I found the story delightfully creepy.

Kate Carito: And we’re keeping it all in the family, because Rogue Wave also marks my daughter’s first publication. Kate is an MFA candidate in fiction at the University of Massachusetts Boston. She is the former Editor of the Breakwater Review and Assistant Editor at Novella-T. In 2012, she received an MA with Distinction in Creative Writing from London Metropolitan University. Prior to her studies, she worked at O, The Oprah Magazine. In her story “Baptized at the Casino,” a thirty-something slacker and her wheelchair-bound grandmother attempt to rob a casino, until it all goes hilariously awry.

I hope you enjoy these stories–and all the other stories in Best New England Crime Stories 2015: Rogue Wave–as much as I did.

Fifteen Things You Probably Don’t Know About Me

Lea Wait, here, taking deep breaths after two weeks on the road … and more than two weeks of major computer problems that resulted in my not being on line and therefore not receiving (or answering) emails. (Who has telephone numbers for people? not me!) Since I missed all that sharing time on emails and social media, today I decided to come clean, and share some things most people (maybe you?) don’t know about me.

No explanations, by the way … just the facts!

1. I don’t have a cellphone. Neither does my husband.

2. I’ve never been a heavy drinker … but I do have a DWI conviction (shudder) in my distant past. My favorite cocktail is a sidecar … and I love fine champagne.

3. Sometimes I volunteer to go to the grocery just so I can buy (and devour) a chocolate bar. My husband once said he’d never seen me buy one. (Secret splurge kept secret.)

4. The house I live in was built in 1774. In 1832 it was moved from an island to the mainland. I’ve never seen a ghost there, but sometimes a television set in an empty room turns itself on. Often to a French channel.

5. I come from a female family: I’m the oldest of two sisters. Between the three of us we have seven daughters; no sons. Grandchildren? I have eight; five are girls. On the other hand, my husband is the oldest of four brothers. Together they produced four boys and one girl.

6. My youngest daughter has now been engaged for 12 years. She and her guy seem happy, although I doubt she can fit into the wedding dress I bought her in 2003.

7. First when I was in college, and  later, in New York City, I did improvisational theater.

8. When I was twenty-five I married a television comedy writer who worked for Johnny Carson and Dick Cavett, among others. He also invented Rodney Dangerfield’s “I don’t get no respect” line.

8. Bob, the wonderful man I’m married to today, took the pictures at that wedding.

9. I was thirty years old and single when my first daughter came home. She’d been born when I was 25.

10. The books that most influenced my life were Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women and Little Men. I read both books dozens of times, and, without realizing it, I patterned my family after Jo March’s.

11. I love the smells of freshly mown grass and burning leaves and mud flats.

12. I have (full) floor to ceiling bookcases (note the plural) in every room of my home (except the bathroom.) And I still have about a dozen cartons of books I have no space for. One room is just for mysteries.

13. I once smuggled drugs into India. (In case someone reading this is with the DEA … the drugs were legal in this country, but importing them to India was forbidden. They were for several orphanages.)

14. For three (long) years my business card read “Engineering Manager – AT&T.”

15. My daughters and I once appeared on Good Morning, America.

And I love Christmas and hot chocolate. What more is there to know?

Terror On Smuttynose Island

Smuttynose Island

VAUGHN HARDACKER here. Once again I am returning to the realm of true crime. The Islands of the Shoals lie six miles off the coast of Portsmouth, New Hampshire and many people believe that they are in New Hampshire, However, the island group consists of nine islands, five are in Maine and four in New Hampshire, and were named by English explorer Capt. John Smith after sighting them in 1614. The first recorded landfall of an Englishman was that of explorer Capt. Christopher Levett, whose 300 fishermen in six ships discovered that the Isles of Shoals were largely abandoned in 1623.

Islands of The Shoals

 

Smuttynose Island, at 25 acres, is the third-largest island. It is known as the site of Blackbeard’s honeymoon, later for the shipwreck of the Spanish ship Sagunto in 1813, and then for the notorious 1873 murders of two young women. The latter is recalled in the story, “A Memorable Murder”, by Celia Thaxter, in the 1997 novel, The Weight of Water, by Anita Shreve (and in the film of the same name), and in the song, “The Ballad of Louis Wagner” by John Perrault.

The terrifying events outlined by Thaxter and Shreve took place in the early morning hours of March 6, 1873. The island was inhabited by a single couple, John Honvet and his wife Maren, who arrived there from Norway in 1868. John was a commercial fisherman and he would sail his schooner, the Clara Bella, to the fishing grounds, draw his trawl lines, and then set sail for home in late afternoon. His industriousness earned him respect from his friends and neighbors on other islands (whose population rarely surpassed fifty).

Louis Wagner was working solo, barely eking out a living fishing the waters off the Isles of Shoals when he met Honvet. For two years John and Maren took Wagner, a dark muscular Prussian with a thick accent, under their care, seeing that he was never in need of food or clothing and even went so far as to include him in John’s prosperous business. During the two plus years they were acquainted it is said that Wagner and the Hontvets became as close as brothers and sister.

Though content with their new lives, the Hontvets missed their families in Norway. Maren cherished her small cottage, but often her only companion during John’s absences while fishing was her small dog, Ringe. In May 1871, Maren’s sister, Karen Christensen, arrived from Norway and within a few weeks obtained a position as a live-in maid with a family on nearby Appledore Island (the largest of the Isle of The Shoals islands).

By June of 1872, John’s business had prospered to the point where he was able to hire Wagner, giving him a room within his home. However, in October of that year John found himself with more help than he needed. His brother, Matthew arrived from Norway with Maren’s brother, Ivan Christensen and his wife Anethe. All five family members lived together in the Hontven cottage and Ivan and Matthew went to work with John.

Wagner stayed on for five weeks after Ivan, Matthew, and Anethe arrived and then booked passage as a hand on the Addison Gilbert, a fishing schooner, in November. His luck took a turn for the worse. The Addison Gilbert was wrecked and he found himself reduced to working along the docks in Portsmouth, New Hampshire. He barely made enough money to pay his board. By March of 1873 he was destitute, his shoes and clothes were worn and tattered, and he was behind in his rent.

John, Ivan, and Matthew had set sail early on the morning of March 5, 1873. They placed their trawl lines, intending to sell the catch in Portsmouth and buy bait there, they met a neighbor and asked him to stop by Smuttynose and inform the women that due to a change in the wind direction they would be sailing directly to the mainland.

The women, Maren, Anethe, and Karen (she had left her position on Appledore and taken one as a seamstress in Boston) who was visiting, got the word in the late afternoon.

When the Clara Bella docked in Portsmouth in early evening, Louis Wagner was on hand to help tie the vessel down. He inquired if John and his crew would be returning to Smuttynose that evening. He learned that it depended upon whether or not the bait they wanted to buy was delivered on time. If it was they would return, if not they would stay in port and return home in the morning.

Wagner was last seen in Portsmouth at 7:30 that evening. He learned that the bait had not arrived and decided to burglarize the Hontvet’s home. He stole a dory and rowed into the harbor and out to sea. The feat of rowing twelve miles to the Isles of Shoals and back was difficult, but not impossible and Wagner was a skilled oarsman, driven by desperation.

The three woman had waited for the men and by 10 PM decided not to do so any longer. They changed into their night clothes and made a bed for Karen in the kitchen, where it was warmer. Maren and Anethe retired to an adjoining bedroom.

Rather than go ashore in the cove where John kept the Clara Bella, Wagner rowed to the far side of the island and disembarked on the rocky shore. He observed the cottage for several hours after the inside lights had gone out. Confident that the women were asleep he made his move. He quickly found the kitchen door unlocked and stepped inside. He jammed a piece of wood into the latch of the bedroom door. His movement aroused the dog and it barked, waking Karen. She asked, “John, is that you?”

Maren then awoke and called to her sister, “Karen? Is something wrong?”

“John scared me!” With that Wagner reached for a chair and struck a incapacitating blow. Karen screamed as he continued his assault.

Karen struggled to her feet and tugged at the bedroom door. Battered and bleeding, she freed the latch and fell at Maren’s feet. Wagner rushed again, now swinging at and hitting both women. Maren managed to pull Karen out of his reach and closed and barricaded the door.

Anethe watched the attack from a corner of the room. Maren implored her to run and hide. Anethe climbed out the bedroom window and stood barefoot in the snow, frozen with fright.

Wagner gave up his assault on the locked door and left the house. In the light of the quarter moon, Maren could see who their attack was. He closed with Anethe and grabbed an axe from its place on the woodpile and with a single motion drove the blade into Anethe’s head. Her lifeless body fell as he continued to strike her. During this horrific attack, Maren was so close that she could have reached through the window and touched him.

Realizing that she could do nothing to help Anethe, Maren turned her attention to saving her sister and herself. She begged Karen to run. Karen, however, was on the verge of fainting and was unable to do anything. By this time Wagner had returned to the house with the axe. Believing both she and her sister would be killed if she remained, Maren wrapped herself in a heavy skirt and, when she heard Wagner return to the house, climbed through the window and ran. She headed for the cove hoping to find Wagner’s boat there. When she did not see it, she ran along the shore to the far side of the island. As she passed the cottage she heard Karen shout in agony. She crawled between two rocks near the water’s edge where the surf obliterated all other sound.

Karen tried to escape through the window but was so weak that it was too much. Wagner finally broke into the room and swung the axe, missing her and hitting the sill, which broke the axe handle. He then twisted a handkerchief around her neck and strangled her until she was dead.

Bloody footprints showed his search for Maren and where he dragged Anethe by her feet into the kitchen. He was exhausted and brewed a pot of tea, leaving blood on the handle, and ate food he had brought using a plate, knife and fork from the Hontvet’s kitchen. He ransacked the house, finding only fifteen dollars and departed, leaving Anethe’s body on the floor beside a clock he had knocked off the mantle—its hands were stopped at seven minutes past one.

It was after eight in the morning when Maren got the attention of the children of Jorge Ingerbredsen, who were playing beside their home on Appledore Island. Jorge rowed across the quarter mile of sea to rescue her. He returned her to his home and with several other men they returned to Smuttynose.

Finding no one on Smuttynose, the men returned home and searched there. A few hours later the Clara Bella was sighted on the horizon and they signaled her. Matthew and Ivan rowed a skiff to Appledore and John sailed the schooner to her moor on Smuttynose. When the men found Maren at the Ingerbredsen house and heard the horrific tale they rushed to Smuttynose, arriving the same time as John. They found the bodies and searched the full contents of their destroyed home, before sailing the schooner to Appledore. That afternoon, John and others carried Maren’s tale of terror to the authorities in Portsmouth.

The stolen dory was found in Newcastle, where two men who knew Wagner reported they had seen him about six o’clock on the morning of March 7, near a place called the Devil’s Den. Wagner had returned to his boarding house, changed some of his clothes and took a 9 AM train to Boston. Wagner was arrested that evening at a boarding house where he had stopped to see some women that he knew. He offered no resistance.

The following day he was transferred from Boston (where a jeering crowd followed—the crime had been widely reported throughout the east coast) to Portsmouth (where a crowd of 10,000 narrowly missed tearing him apart).

Smuttynose falls under the jurisdiction of Maine so Wagner had to be tried there. Three days after arriving in Portsmouth, he was moved from the jail to the train where a lynch mob of over 200 fishermen were waiting. The police escort drew their revolvers and a company of bayonet-wielding Marines were called from the Navy base, but the mob was not easily subdued. The escort was showered with stones and bricks.

Louis Wagner’s trial began in Alfred, Maine on June 9, 1873. It took nine days of testimony and 55 minutes of deliberation for the jury to find him guilty as charged. He broke out of jail within a week, but was recaptured in New Hampshire. On June 25, 1875, 27 months after the crime, Wagner was led into the yard of the state prison in Thomaston, Maine, and hanged. Wagner maintained his innocence to the very end.

Maren and John Hontvet were never to live in the Isles of Shoals again. They moved to Portsmouth, where John continued working as a fisherman. There are two small houses on the island. One of them, the Samuel Haley house, was once believed to be the oldest structure in the state of Maine. Smuttynose is not populated today.

Our Coverage of the Crime Bake continues…

 

Another fun day at the Crime Bake with an opening panel exploring the many faces of the mystery genre, including a room full of crime writers line dancing at the cowboy banquet:

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Jonathan Shapiro, dressed as an old west hanging judge, and the Hon. Michael Ponsor, author of The Hanging Judge

Detectives answer questions at the Ask the Experts round table session

Craig Johnson signing a book for a fan

True crime panel with Margaret McLean, author of Whitey on Trial, PI John DiNatale, author of The Family Business, Deborah Halber, author of The Skeleton Crew, Eric Rickstadt, author of The Silent Girls, and Michael Blanding, author of The Map Thief

 

Opening panel with Sheila Connolly, Brendan DuBois, Craig Johnson, Hank Phillippi Ryan, Jennifer McMahon and Steve Ulfelder