Carol Newman Cronin's Blog, page 23

One Design Sailing Fever: Curiosity, Commonality, Contrast

A few weeks ago, I was lucky enough to attend an event celebrating the Herreshoff Marine Museum’s 50th birthday, which gathered three classic one design sailboats together at the New York Yacht Club dock. Though they all make even my Snipe looks quite modern by comparison, each one was originally built to solve exactly the same problem: create a boat to be raced against others so similar, there was no need for a rating rule. Somehow, the HMCo assembly line turned out one boat per week, though only a few are still sailing. 

The organizers also invited a lovely little launch to crash the party. 

I was included so I could do the homework for a Seahorse article. And even though it was a fantastically inspiring event and I recorded several interviews, on the drive home I found myself wondering: what should this article be about? There were too many obvious answers: the boats, of course; their owners; the museum’s unique history and newly refreshed energy. Already, that’s way too many life-stories to fit into a single piece—and I had plenty of other thoughts as well. I needed to find a framework that would help filter out what didn’t belong. (Oh, that lovely launch.) 

Fortunately, I carry my most important tool with me at all times: curiosity. And what has continued to intrigue me about that evening and those boats is the ageless appeal of one-design racing—perhaps because I’m also working on another project that celebrates just that. I’m not yet sure exactly where this idea will lead, but I do trust that following my instincts will uncover a fresh story. 

One design boats are no longer made of wood (and most take more than week to complete), but my varnish-free 21st century Snipe shares a timeless goal with these three turn-of-the-last-century beauties: to provide even racing for whomever shows up on the starting line. The first boat to finish wins the race. Such a simple goal; and yet for over a century, so many people have spent countless hours and dollars in their pursuit of it.

By the time you read this, I will (hopefully) have come up with a more concrete plan for the story. But just in case I’m still searching for ideas… let me know in the comments below or by email what your most burning question is about any of these three one designs (and, of course, that lovely launch). You can also find out more by visiting the Herreshoff Marine Museum. Thanks—and here’s to one design racing, in any century!

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Good Morning! Fiction Writing Restart

A few weeks ago, I told you I was taking a break from working on my WIP. Late spring/early summer is always a chaotic time around here, since boat launchings have to squeeze into an already full schedule of work and play. This year in particular it seemed like there were never enough hours in a weekday morning, and I’ve had plenty of creative challenges with more immediately billable projects. It was, frankly, a huge relief to take one enormous time sink off my list for a few weeks.

Fresh perspective

Now that all the boats are commissioned (and the biggest regatta of the season, Snipe Nationals, is in the rearview), I’m getting back to work on the next book. Like any habit, it’s harder to restart than to just keep at it… but I’m also discovering a fresh perspective on what I’ve written so far. While my hands have been busy with other tasks, my brain has continued to check in with my imaginary world. 

It would’ve been all too easy to put off this restart for another week, or month… or even the entire summer. Fiction writing is, after all, totally optional. But I know myself well enough to realize: if this break stretched out too much longer, I’d feel like I was missing a limb.

Weekly Accounting

One spur that helped me start up again is a small accountability reminder that happens every Monday. Last December, after the Novel Planning class ended, one of the other students and I agreed to email each other each Monday morning with a writing plan for the week to come—and an accounting of what we’d actually accomplished the week before. We’ve both got plenty of other stuff going on, so there’s no judgment if we miss our target—and lots of celebration if we meet or exceed it. 

It’s the first time I’ve predicted to anyone else how many hours I plan to put into fiction writing—which is, remember, totally optional—and I’ve found it surprisingly inspiring. Even on mornings when I didn’t feel like writing, I’d think: “Better get a few hours in now, if I’m going to meet this week’s goal.” There’s a lot to be said for having a weekly check-in, even such a completely casual one.

No regrets

I’m really glad I took a conscious break, but it’s also a huge relief to get back into my morning writing routine. How about you? Got a project you can’t get restarted, or one that needs a change of pace? Let me know by email or in the comments below; maybe we can help each other complete another step in this incredible creative journey.

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Reading the Lawn of a Happy Sailor

Long before I was a homeowner, I was an ardent member of the Snipe Crew Union and always attended the annual Midwinter Championship in Clearwater. Each sailing day started with a fifteen-minute morning commute from housing to boat park, when my passenger eyes would be free to wander over perfectly manicured squares of lawn. One morning, my skipper pointed at a particular corner property and said excitedly, “Look, the perfect sailor’s lawn!”

Everything that should’ve been grass was covered instead with white rocks.

We both laughed, and the moment was forgotten… though I always flash back to that happy pre-race drive every time I hear the phrase repeated. Usually the speaker (between post-race sips) is referring to their own scruffy patch of grass, unmown and neglected back at home, along with all those other chores that don’t involve boats. Sailing season and lawn mowing season have way too much overlap, and at least for the folks I hang out with, getting out on the water is a much higher priority than a perfectly pristine lawn.

When we bought our house 25 years ago, Paul took on lawn responsibilities and I claimed the perennial beds and vegetable garden. Last year, locked down at home, both the grass and the flowers looked way better than they had in years. This summer, we’ve both got plenty of sailing on the schedule… and the weeds have already taken charge.

We sometimes joke about replacing all the grass with something like those white rocks, though that would look extremely odd here in New England. And we’d also be removing a key quality of life indicator. What looks like neglect (or laziness) to neighbors and passersby is really a visual fringe benefit of living our best lives—and that’s better than a freshly trimmed lawn any day.

So if you’re wondering what the lawn of a happy sailor should look like, just stop on by and admire the mangy side effects of a busy sailing season. Because even though it brings back a nice memory and makes for a lighthearted joke, we don’t plan on replacing all that patchy grass with white rocks any time soon.

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The Surprising Transformation of Re-reading

 I am lucky enough to belong to a really cool book group. One evening a month, 6-9 of us get together for a lively discussion about a pre-selected story. We even kept it going right through last winter, thanks to blankets and fire pits! (It seems like much more than a year ago when we discussed Ferry to Cooperation Island.) 

In April—once we regretfully wrapped up our discussion of The Invisible Life of Addie La Rue, by V. E. Schwab, a very hard act to follow—we couldn’t quite settle on what we should read next. Our only stated goals were something that would be a little easier to obtain than Addie but just as engrossing. And so I suggested The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Muriel Barbery. 

Let me just clarify: what follows is not a book review. Rather, it’s another chance to share a few surprises about the act of re-reading.

I read about a book a week, year in and year out. Most of them make an impression about as long-lasting as a low-tide sand castle. Only the best ones—those I want to spend more time with by reviewing, or by suggesting for book group—stay with me, though I usually forget many of the exact details. Hedgehog had made enough of an impression that it was easily dredged up from my memory banks, fifteen years after I first devoured it as a brand new novel. Once the group accepted it as our next read, I went looking for it on my bookshelves. 

Surprise #1: I no longer owned a copy.

I could picture the skinny blue spine, almost disappearing between the thicker novels either side of it, on a particular shelf where it had sat, ignored, for so many years… but at some point, I must’ve donated it to the Jamestown library. Hmm. Happily, it was easily available through inter-library loan. Maybe I borrowed back the same copy I’d donated; who knows?

Surprise #2: I wasn’t instantly drawn into the story. 

Some of that was the spring flurry of boat prep and sailing; after such a quiet winter, physical activity and catching up with friends were both very welcome. By bedtime, it was a battle to complete even a few pages before my eyes began to close. This writing is dense and requires complete attention; the opposite of a summer beach read. 

Surprise #3: The beginning was way too slow.

The plodding pace of the novel’s first third made me wonder: had my attention span shrunk? After so much work on my own writing, was I just more critical now of any story that didn’t instantly hook me? For whatever reason, I couldn’t achieve the joyous dropping-in that is the usual reward for rereading an old favorite.

Because it was for book group, I persevered.

Finally, about a third of the way through this not-very-long book, the unique characters began to interact and move their story along. Mixed in with plot, Barbery’s rich philosophizing made me want to turn down several page corners to mark a particularly distinctive thought—but usually I’d find a previous reader had already done so. (No, it wasn’t me, because I don’t actually do that.)

Surprise #4: I had completely forgotten the ending.

Like rain drops dripping into a bucket of water, Barbery’s wise words gradually collected into a beautiful story. And while I won’t spoil the ending, it does seem like it should’ve stuck with me through the years; way more memorable than a sand castle.

Despite my many surprises, I was very glad that I’d persevered—and very eager to hear what the rest of the group thought. Unfortunately, due to the chaos of May, I missed our monthly discussion; book group happened to fall at the close of a long and leaky launching day, and something simply had to give. I hear the book—as usual—inspired a lively exchange—and that I wasn’t the only one who thought it was a touch slow. 

Books meet us wherever we are in the moment, whether it’s amid the seasonal flurry of painting and launching and sailing or the quiet contemplation encouraged by a long New England winter. That makes re-reading a different experience, each time—especially with stories like this one. I would definitely encourage you to read The Elegance of the Hedgehog—but don’t bring it to the beach. Its deceptively thin appeal is much better suited to the more leisurely brain waves of February, when we have the time to really appreciate its depths. 

Got a book you’ve re-read that surprised you? Tell me about it in the comments below, or send me an email. I read every single one, with gratitude.

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Asking Exactly the Right Question

Everyone thinks they want answers. But I’ve learned to value the right question, because that’s what sparks a discussion that leads to insight and learning.

A recent Snipe clinic includes a perfect example. Kim and I hadn’t been in the boat for several months, so both our sailing muscles and instincts were rusty. During a pause between races, she asked: “What do you feel like you need to work on in the gym before the next regatta?”

One personal weakness was already apparent on that already steamy morning: “Heat tolerance,” I responded. It didn’t seem like something I could really work on—until we discussed it. Kim’s idea (working out in the middle of the day, instead of my preferred early mornings) kept me thinking about the issue, long after I’d driven back to the relative coolness of a Rhode Island spring. And then on a paddle a few days later, I came up with an easy solution: Overdress for my morning SUP sessions. 

My usual instinct is to avoid sweating whenever possible, so as both water and air warm up in the spring I gradually shed those cold-weather layers. By Memorial Day, I’m usually wearing shorts and a lightweight shirt. This year, though, I’m still wearing neoprene, embracing the sweat rather than trying to avoid it. Consciously acclimating to the heat we’ll have at the Snipe Nationals in Annapolis would never have occurred to me if Kim hadn’t asked her key question.

Asking the right question is a large part of coaching, even when the coach doesn’t already know the answer. As Rod Davis put it in one of his many excellent Seahorse columns, “Collectively all the expertise and answers already exists within each of the individuals on those teams. I ask the questions that bring out that expertise.” (Later he adds, “In the end, it’s like practicing psychology without a license.”)

Even working with a coach, none of us will always be able to come up with the right questions ourselves. That’s why I so enjoy sailing with a smart teammate—as well as picking the brains of other Snipe sailors in pre-race fleet discussions. Asking exactly the right question requires a unique combination of perspective, knowledge, and spontaneity—and often tackles a surprisingly mundane topic (like heat tolerance).

So here’s to a little extra sweat.

PS: For those of you who also have trouble with heat tolerance, Hammer Nutrition’s Endurolytes are my magic brain pills. For more details, send me an email or leave a comment below. I read every single one, thank you!

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Pause for Percolation: The Writing Brain

I have a confession to make: Finishing the next novel is taking longer than expected. That shouldn’t be so much of a surprise (either to me, or to you), because the previous four books also took me much longer than I thought they should. But I remain forever hopeful that improving as a storyteller will eventually lead to a faster, more efficient process. 

For now, though, my writing brain still works more like a coffee press than those far more efficient drip machines: dump a bunch of fresh-ground ideas into the bottom of a pot, pour on filtered perspective—and then go do something else. All those words need time to steep and absorb, in order to develop their full flavor. 

That’s why I recently hit pause on my WIP.  Overloaded brains get clogged, which prevents the best ideas from bubbling up to the surface. And unlike launching schedules, regattas, and work projects, this work is completely within my own control. 

Sometimes a pause can be the best way to move forward, especially now that travel is on my schedule once again. I’ve written before about an overheard snippet of conversation that sparked a fresh thought, which—eventually—led to a significant turn in the story. With so few new experiences last year, I need time to build a new stockpile of happenstance that can be dripped and pressed through my imagination. Only then will all the swirling details of this next story come together—into a truly satisfying “cuppa,” as Courtney would put it.  

We are so lucky to be putting 2020’s swirling, invisible stress behind us, getting back to a normal newly topped with gratitude for what we used to take for granted. (Thank you, science.) Meanwhile, three decades of research have not yet led to a writing “vaccine” that will speed up my personal percolation. So, since conscious pauses remain a key piece of the process, I’m going to try to enjoy this next phase—even though my mouth is already watering in anticipation, ready for the rich robust flavor of the freshly brewed story that’s already percolating deep within my writer’s brain. 

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Boats Meet Books: The Small World of Odd Bedfellows

Recently, diving into a research rabbit hole, I discovered that a skipper of a forgotten America’s Cup challenger had been married to one of my favorite authors. Could Books meet Boats in any more obvious way? So I did some more digging into both of them, not exactly sure why I cared—but certain that such instinctive curiosity is always worth following. 

Who He Was

The skipper was Peter Scott, born in 1909. He married novelist Elizabeth Jane Howard in 1942, six years after winning an Olympic bronze medal in Kiel. (Their marriage would prove to be far less podium-worthy.) Scott was best known as a conservationist (he designed the World Wildlife Fund’s panda logo), but he found time to skipper the British 12 Meter Sovereign to a win in the 1964 America’s Cup challenger series—and then lost four straight matches to Constellation, the much faster American defender.

During the challenger series, Sovereign had to replace her faulty titanium mast tangs (which had been welded to the aluminum mast) with heavier but more dependable stainless steel. A New York Times article on August 13, 1964, paraphrases Scott: “The British do not know a great deal about titanium, he said, and he is not sure that the Americans know much more.”

After the racing, which Sports Illustrated called “LESS A RACE THAN A GHASTLY ROUT,” Carleton Mitchell reflected on Sovereign as historical footnote: “Her crew was deployed on deck, their red shirts reminiscent of the red coats of an earlier invasion in this same locality.”

Yet another footnote: Scott was president of the IYRU (now World Sailing) for fourteen years—the longest tenure in that thankless post under any of its various names. 

Who She Was

Elizabeth Jane Howard, known as Jane during her lifetime, was born in 1923 and didn’t become a prize-winning author until after she left Scott and their infant daughter, in 1946. She would marry and divorce twice more; in Slipstream, the autobiography she published in 2002, she said that “the only thing I was sure of was that I wanted to write.” She is best-known for the Cazalet Chronicles, a family saga that she completed in the 1990s; two of the books were eventually adapted to both radio and TV.

(Though none of her tales are as cozy as they might appear, this five-book series does hold a permanent spot on my bedside table. I explained why in last week’s post.)

Why They Still Matter

Right now, I don’t have any idea how learning about these two people might prove useful—there’s definitely nothing here that will help my Snipe sailing. So it’s possible that my curiosity has, for once, led me down a completely useless rabbit hole.

But I don’t think so. Somehow, I’m certain that this odd intertwining of two historical strands—one nautical, one literary—will one day prove significant. Even if it doesn’t, it’s already been a significant reminder: that the curious marriages we find between different segments of our lives—Where Books Meet Boats, for example—are where the biggest magic always happens.

Want to go down your own rabbit hole? See below (if I haven’t already lost you to one of the links embedded above). Meanwhile, thanks for reading—and let me know by email or in the comments below whether you’ve enjoyed this slightly odd bedfellow post.

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The Strange Comfort of The Cazalet Chronicles

Our local librarian refers to a certain type of pre-sleep reading as her “beddy-bye books.” Whenever I’m most in need of a book-hug, there’s one particular series I turn to: The Cazalet Chronicles, by Elizabeth Jane Howard. I discovered this well-known collection sometime in the mid to late 1990s, because I distinctly remember rereading the first book, The Light Years, to help fall asleep during the crazy uncertainty right after 9/11. Since then, the four books that I thought were “all she wrote” have stood on my bedside table, half-forgotten, a kind of beddy-bye backup.

Then, over the winter, I unexpectedly stumbled onto Howard’s name via a sailing search. Her first husband (of three) was Peter Scott, an Olympic medalist and America’s Cup skipper. (You’ll learn more about each of them next week.)

My bedside bookshelf includes another group of personal beddy-bye favorites: Ruth Moore’s novels about Maine (far left).

That discovery led me to Howard’s autobiography—a surprisingly familiar read, since many of the details in the novels are closely based on her own life. I also realized that she’d published one final Cazalet book, in 2013, a decade after she’d written the previous four—and the year before she died, so I bought a used copy. All Change is the kind of book authors write when they want to explore where the decisions of all of their wonderful characters (both good and bad) have led. 

Howard’s writing is never judgmental. Like a kindly aunt, she treats all of her characters—the tall and the small, the wicked and the gifted—as imperfect but still lovable, helping us to see that they’re all just doing their best. Though All Change skims a little too much (to cover another generation, as well as bringing us up to date on the older folks), this unexpected follow-up dropped me right back into Cazalet world—while providing several evenings of pre-sleep book-hugs. I don’t mean to imply that these books are all cozy fluff—they dig out plenty of human frailty and unpleasantness. But there’s something immensely soothing about Howard’s “long view” (the name of one of her other novels, which also graces my bedtime shelf).

The world had changed between the 1990s and the 2010s, almost as much as it had between the 1930s (when the first Cazelet Chronicle took place) and the 1950s. It’s strange to think that a world-rocking event (9/11) that inspired me to re-read the series opener might have also helped to inspire her to finally write the series closer. 

Howard’s novels are my favorite beddy-bye books because she shows us that the more everything changes, the more consistently humans behave. Regardless of significant world events, people will live and die and in between will cheat on spouses or remain too stubbornly faithful to a childhood memory. Some folks are selfish, and some are generous to a fault. All we can do is observe and admire, while appreciating the gentle certainty of the world she created. 

Howard didn’t lead a perfect life, and she admits in her memoir that she really didn’t like sailing—even long before she took up with her first husband, an avid racer. But while other novels come and go from my bedside table, these five remain in place—for whenever I might need another book-hug.

Got a favorite book or series that never seems to get old? Share it by email or in the comments below, and thanks for reading.

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Offline, On the Water: Fresh Perspective

If you’re looking for me this weekend, you’ll have to get on a boat. Weather and details permitting, we’re heading off on Paul’s Archambault 31 for the first cruise of 2021. That means a welcome break from the many spring chores still on my list, like weeding the garden and varnishing Matsya and replacing that windblown downspout hanger and… you get the idea.

It won’t, of course, be a completely chore-free weekend. Paul worked really hard over the winter making improvements, and there may well be some bugs to work out. But somehow even the jobs that just don’t stay done, like cleaning, never seem nearly as much like work on a boat. Perhaps it’s the limited space; on a thirty-one footer, it’s impossible to change paths and avoid a cobwebbed corner, a skill I perfected over this past house-bound winter. Also, boats are members of the family. If we take care of them, they will take care of us.

(The same applies to houses, of course, but until the roof starts leaking or a railing rots, their needs are much easier to ignore; see “change paths to avoid”, above.) 

Fully vaccinated, and with both flowers and people busting out all over after our long New England winter of quarantined hibernation, this weekend will be even more special than the usual first cruise of the season. I’m especially hungry for the return to prioritizing weather, currents, and other natural events that are out of our control but relatively easy to predict. Three days offline, gaining a fresh perspective; what would the world look like if everyone went sailing this weekend?

There’s a quote that I can’t find attribution for, though I like to think it was Olin Stephens who said something like this: “If our global leaders could only sit down below on a boat and share a glass of rum, they would be far more likely to find a way to solve the world’s problems.” Maybe that seems too simplistic for our complicated world, but you simply never know where a change of perspective might lead.

Are you going sailing this weekend, or maybe you know who’s responsible for the quote above? Send me an email, or share your thoughts in the comments. I promise to read every single one—once I’m back at my desk again.

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How to Find Writing Inspiration and Ideas

Writers talk a lot about inspiration: where it comes from, how to find it when it gets lost, and how it’s absolutely no use at all without a subsequent application of “perspiration.” When asked where I get my ideas, I usually delve into the rewards of playing hooky or the perils of eavesdropping. If asked, I’ll follow up with something quite specific: the leaf blowing down the street that inspired Oliver’s Surprise, or the beach walk where I first spotted Courtney’s oyster shell.

Over the winter, a very different beach walk sighting provided another random flash of inspiration—which has, in turn, inspired this latest attempt to explain how suddenly my best ideas appear. Once I’m already knee-deep in a WIP, any sort of “field trip” can provide unexpected insights into a particular character. So here’s another example… and don’t worry, there are no spoilers here. 

The roses on the beach are very red

On a cold but sunny late-winter Sunday, Paul and I went for a walk on a gorgeously unspoiled stretch of south-facing beach. Sun rays were sparkling off even the smallest of breaking waves, and small birds darted out onto the damp sand as soon as each breaker retreated again. We were relishing the unexpected warmth (in the sun, out of the wind) when we both spotted something odd; a bunch of too-red roses that had been either dropped in anger, or scattered with regret. And even though I hadn’t been consciously thinking about my WIP, I immediately realized that my main character would’ve hated the sight—because they were red. That sparked a new scene idea, which—combined with some medical research, back at my desk—has now explained her erytophobia (fear of red). 

One spark like this is not enough to propel an entire novel forward, but the right inspiration—combined, of course, with lots and lots of perspiration—can definitely be fanned into a flame. Now that I am confident such sparks lead somewhere, it’s easier to stop worrying about how my brain works and just follow its crazy path to the “logical” conclusion.

In 2016, after a similar experience of stumbling onto something equally small that sparked another big idea, I put it this way: “I may not have yet figured out everything about this character, but I’ve definitely learned to spot brainstorms when they appear—even if the spark shows up in a completely unexpected way.” (from Listening In, Outside)

More ideas (about ideas)

I’ve written many times before about where I find inspiration, and below are two of my favorite previous attempts to explain this crazy idea-getting process. Meanwhile, thanks for reading and let me know by email or in the comments below where you find your own sparks—don’t be shy. 

“The best [ideas] are the mad stepchildren of experience gathered haphazardly together on a page—sparked into distinction by something as ordinary as an October leaf blowing down the street.”

Stirring Stories from the Mental Melting Pot

“This process would never get started if I didn’t put myself in situations that enable a skin-tingling sense of discovery. And while that is its own reward, I’ve also learned to trust that I might eventually build something completely unexpected from what I find in the real world.”

Filling the Ideas Tank

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