Carol Newman Cronin's Blog, page 24

Just Say ‘Yes’ to a Special Offer

Last summer, while everyone was trying to navigate our new pandemic world, I was lucky enough to escape to Maine for two weeks of competitive cruising. Even luckier still: our sailing paths crossed with Stan and Sally Honey, who were exploring Down East on their Cal 40 after their original summer plan—the Bermuda Race—was COVID-canceled.

The stories they told about various adventures on both small and big boats (they met sailing 5o5s) made me want to learn more, and when they returned to Rhode Island in September they graciously agreed to be interviewed for a Seahorse profile. It recently went out into the world, under a headline inspired by one of Stan’s many pithy comments:

“There’ve been times when I thought, this might be crazy… like setting out to do the Jules Verne with nine French guys that I’d never met, and I don’t speak French! But invariably I would think back and say, yeah, I’m glad I said yes.“

Seahorse has kindly granted me permission to share the article with you here—and also extended a special offer to my readers, if you subscribe for a year: 3 months of the print publication for $1! There are also fantastic deals on print+digital and digital only. It’s a real bargain for what Magnus Wheatley calls “the monthly bible of yachting.” He goes on (as Magnus does) to add a few comments I most heartily agree with:

“But it’s the extra bits that keep me coming back time and again for more. Andrew Hurst is the best editor in the grand prix world – his opening commentary is something that I have spat my cornflakes at for the best part of 25 years. He’s right though more often than he’s wrong and that’s a hell of a skill. And the ‘Snapshots’ section is just genius editing that quite frankly if you don’t read, there’s nothing more we can do for you in the sport.”

There’s much more in Deal of the Decade

Magnus says it way better than I could, but trust us both: take advantage of this spring discount and you’ll get a monthly smorgasbord of stories that take you behind the scenes, plus historical photos and great writing—you won’t regret it.

Subscribe to Seahorse

And here (at last) is the PDF of the Honey profile, Just Say Yes

Previous Seahorse profiles

Rod Davis: Why You Need His Wisdom in 2021

Rod Johnstone: An Amazing Legacy of Yacht Designs

A Final Conversation with Harry Anderson

Life Lessons from Dave Perry

Vince Brun Profile in Seahorse

Only One Jud (Smith)

The post Just Say ‘Yes’ to a Special Offer appeared first on Carol Newman Cronin.

5 Amazing Gifts from the Literary Lasses

As authors, we seldom take the time to savor what our books give back to us, once they’re out in the world. Today I want to acknowledge 5 incredible gifts that came my way courtesy of Ferry to Cooperation Island—and a bookclub that calls itself the Literary Lasses.

One of the Lasses had rented a beach cottage at Castle Hill, and on any other foggy April evening we probably would’ve crowded into the main room around the fireplace. Instead we sat in the beachfront yard in a socially distanced circle, bundled against a raw ocean breeze, sipping Cooperation Punch. And enjoying all the sights, sounds, and smells of Brenton Island, only four miles upwind of where we sat. 

When I first sat down, I was too focused on trying to remember eight new names to notice the handpainted sign that stood just outside our circle. Once I spotted it, my gaze returned to it again and again throughout the glorious evening, because it quantified where we sat in relationship to two very important landmarks: Brenton Island, and Newport’s Fifth Ward. (That’s the south end of town, originally home to the Irish servants who worked up the hill at the mansions; today, it’s where most of the Lasses live.) I’d found my people—not sailors, not writers, just readers who loved the world I’d created: a gift all on its own.

Here are five more.

1. The gift of gab

I’d never met any of the Lasses before, but they all knew each other quite well and we were never, ever at a loss for conversation—even before the punch and wine kicked in. We chatted about FERRY and other books and Newport real estate and what was in the delicious stuffies and chowder: an old-fashioned, comfortable, wide-ranging discussion spiced with laughter. That lifted my heart (and inspired this blog post). 

2. The gift of education

I always learn something from readers. That evening, I picked up several interesting new “facts” about how others see my characters and their island, including two gems about food:

It’s chourico, not chorizo (that spicy sausage that heats up the Portuguese version of kale soup).“All they eat is bluefish! What about rice pilaf, or growing a few vegetables?” 3. The gift of passion

One Lass asked a question about a minor character’s journey—and I was embarrassed to realize that I’d forgotten who she was. Fortunately, another Lass quickly jumped in with the answer, sparking a discussion about whys and should haves and could have beens. Meanwhile, I just sat back and smiled, a fly on the wall, while my characters were brought to life by others. 

4. The gift of ideas

I always ask readers who their favorite characters are, and some of the answers surprised me. “I loved Joe,” proclaimed one Lass. “Couldn’t you bring him back in the next book?” That led to a free-ranging brainstorm about ways to include Joe in future stories—flashbacks, dreams?—something I hadn’t thought about before.

5. The gift of inspiration

At the end of the evening, I was invited to bring the beautiful sign home —though I think there was some surprise when I accepted with such enthusiastic gratitude. The distances and directions are no longer accurate from here on the west side of Conanicut Island, but even so I mounted the sign so it was visible from my desk because I know it will provide a much needed gift for many years to come. Anytime I think that the hard work of writing isn’t worth it, all I have to do is look up and remember: I have friends who believe in Brenton Island, and they’re all only a few miles away.

The post 5 Amazing Gifts from the Literary Lasses appeared first on Carol Newman Cronin.

Road to Gold: How to Improve at Sailboat Racing

Sailing journalist and broadcaster Andy Rice has always been fascinated by what makes Olympic athletes tick, and he travels the world to interview sailors at the top of their game. That’s why he’s a valued Seahorse contributor. It’s also why he interviewed me for his podcast, and why our infrequent chats always feel way too short.

When his usual travel abruptly halted last spring, Andy followed up on a chance discussion with super-sailor and coach Hamish Willcox. Over a series of Zoom calls, the pair developed Road To Gold (RTG), a step by step online course to improve racing skills. 

A few weeks ago, I caught up with Andy (still locked down, in the south of England) to learn more about this new program. We had yet another invigorating chat—even though both of us were already quite tired of talking about sailing, and hungry to just go do it. 

A program for all levels

Though it has attracted a slew of elite-level sailors, RTG can help everyone improve—no matter what level you’re starting from. A free downloadable training kit includes 3 PDFs that will help analyze personal strengths and weaknesses, and then help structure your training (both on and off the water) to maximize learning. I wish this course had been around when I was training for the Olympics… but it is already helping me to get ready for the upcoming Snipe season.

I started by working through the priority checklist; from step #1, “Getting on the Right Road,” down to #12, the very last one—Racing. “It’s a very sequential learning course,” Andy explains. “So many of us get distracted by bright shiny objects like a brand new set of sails, or you look across the boat park and you see somebody else who’s got a different type of mast and you think, I want one of them, it looks shinier than what I’ve got. There are so many different approaches, you don’t really know which way to look.” Sailors of all levels have found RTG’s structure and clear pathway very reassuring, he continues.“Hamish’s process takes you by the hand and says, Well, first ask yourself this bunch of questions. And be honest with yourself.”

Hmm. My honest answer to a question in step #2, Fitness and Nutrition (“Are you the right weight/strength for your class?”) is a very definite NO. I found several other “gaps” in my campaign, but that’s the only one I really can’t do anything about. (Because the answer to “Are you sailing with the right partner?” is a definite YES.)

Though RTG can help anyone looking to up their sailboat racing results, the timing of the program’s launch—pandemic limbo, a postponed Olympics—attracted several top-level coaches and sailors looking for a way to keep their heads in the game. Santiago Lange (who survived lung cancer to win a gold medal in Rio, at age 54) has been supplementing his single-boat Nacra17 training in Argentina with Road to Gold, Andy tells me. “Santi said, ‘Take this damn course down, because everyone’s going to be doing the right thing now!’” He laughs. “I could’ve reached through Zoom and kissed him when he said that.”

Personal progress

Hamish Willcox and David Barnes set a new standard in the 470 back in the 1980s. As an Olympic hopeful in those days, Andy says he was a big “fan boy.” Now, RTG is helping him understand the mistakes he made that kept him from achieving his own Olympic dream. “I wrote myself off too early. I didn’t think I was good enough, and I thought that gap was a talent gap. It didn’t occur to me that actually there are ways of getting from here to there. The way Hamish describes it, talent is your entry ticket… what gets you into the game. But it’s not what wins you the game. The simple lesson is that hard work and smart campaigning wins out over natural-born talent.”

What’s next for Andy Rice

When we spoke, Andy was still hoping he’d be able to get to Tokyo in July so he could cover another Olympic sailing event. Meanwhile, he’s looking forward to getting back in his Musto skiff and maybe pulling off another successful port tack start. “That’s one of my few speciality tricks. I can’t keep it together around the whole race track, but I’m hoping with what I’ve studied on Road to Gold, I might be able to get myself together on that.”

PS Listen to the entire conversation on Andy’s site.

For more information and to download the free training kit, visit roadtogold.net

The post Road to Gold: How to Improve at Sailboat Racing appeared first on Carol Newman Cronin.

Creativity in a Pandemic: Out from Under the Bed

Anyone who reads writing blogs (or listens to writing podcasts, or just talks to a random fellow writer) has undoubtedly given thought to the pandemic’s effect on creativity. A year ago, I predicted that “all this free time for writing” would allow me to make steady progress on my next novel. (What can I say; I’m an optimist.) My 2020 hindsight reveals—as usual—a more complicated reality.

It’s not exactly a mathematical equation, but compared to a “normal” year (one that includes travel and racing), I estimate that a lower production of words that will eventually carry forward to the final draft. Turns out, I write best when living my best life—and that has just not been possible for the past year. A change of scenery sparks my brain in ways the same four walls (nice as they are) can never do. And not-thinking about writing (for me, best achieved by the combined mind and body challenges of sailboat racing) is often the best spark for the alchemy required to build worlds and get to know characters. 

Creativity is shy; It only comes out to play when It feels safe. Worries of any sort (money, infection, grocery shopping) keep It hiding under the bed, head hidden beneath a paw. Some mornings I can coax It out by just showing up and putting my ass in the chair. But on too many mornings this past year, no matter how many tempting treats I set out for It, Creativity didn’t even bother to open one eye. 

(Maybe I should’ve joined It under the bed, rather than trying to write through all that uncertainty and despair.)

Despite that ongoing challenge, though, the year was definitely not a waste. Last September, I got to channel my annual back-to-school energy into a virtual 12 week course on Novel Planning. That forced me to think about my story in a new way, added several new tricks to my writer’s toolbox, and—by providing a peek into the minds of ten other authors—made me appreciate the uniqueness of a story only I can write. So the pandemic brought me fresh and unexpected gifts of both education and community, even as it scared Creativity deeper into Its safe space. 

Hopefully, thanks to science and government, it will soon be possible to live our best lives again. Already, spring has inspired Creativity to emerge (yawning, rubbing paws into sleepy eyes; “now, where were we again?”) on most of my ass-in-chair mornings. Perhaps, looking back a year from now, I’ll tell you that the pause of 2020 led to a 2021 burst of productivity, balancing out—or even pushing positive—the productivity equation. 

More likely, this year’s reality will be a little more complicated, too.

How has the past year of uncertainty affected your brain space? Share a thought in the comments below, or send me an email. I read every single thought, and I really enjoy our conversations. 

The post Creativity in a Pandemic: Out from Under the Bed appeared first on Carol Newman Cronin.

Need a New Compass for 2021?

In case you haven’t already noticed: it’s April Fool’s Day. This year (like everything else) it feels different, because I’ve been feeling pretty foolish for about thirteen months now. Most of my best-laid sailing plans were laughed out of the boat park by an unseen virus. I’ve realized that planning ahead more than a month or two involves an assumption that life will go on pretty much the same, which hasn’t turned out to be true. I’ve had to acknowledge that I was unwilling or unable to accept (or just plain oblivious) to how long it would take us all to get back to normal travel and sailing. Head in the sand? Yup, that’s me. I feel like I need a new compass to navigate forward into 2021.

And yet… what difference would it have really made to know in advance that twelve months later, we’d still be wondering whether regattas are worth the risk of travel and congregating? Maybe there’s a blessing in only being able to see a month or two into the future, to make plans a little more on the fly, to let go of all those assumptions about a locked-in vs. locked-down future.

I’ve learned a lot about myself in the past year, and while I don’t like all of what I’ve figured out I am even more grateful for the ability to find joy and laughter in the little things. One of those “little things” is April Fool’s Day, when SnipeToday co-editor Pietro Fantoni and I publish a few inside jokes. For the past eight years, we’ve probably laughed harder ourselves than anyone else has at what we produce… but no matter how outlandish our stories are, at least one reader has been fooled into thinking at least one post is true. It’s a great chance to imagine what could be, if sailors were even more creative about breaking the rules (of both class and universe).

So today, I’m going to re-share one of my personal favorites. The idea was originally inspired by cocktails at the 2015 Snipe World Masters regatta in Nassau, Bahamas, and the picture below lived on my desktop as a reminder for the next six months—until April Fool’s Day, 2016. It highlights Mad Martha, a talented entrepreneur who’s done a great job this past year adapting to the challenges of pandemic retail. Even if you don’t think the post is at all funny, please support this great local business (even if you’re not a local).

I do hope you get a quick chuckle out of it, or even a full belly laugh. To tide us over, until we can all share a joke over cocktails again.

(P.S. Be sure to check SnipeToday for more entertainment.)

Introducing the ChestTick®

In a unique cooperation negotiated by Martha Parker, owner of Team1Newport, Patagonia and Raymarine have just launched the all new ChestTick®, a bra-mounted compass perfect for a male skipper and female crew. 

Designed especially for double-handed boats like the Snipe, Martha says the new product will put tactical information right where skippers are already looking.

“The ChestTick Micro is low profile and can be worn by anyone,” Martha said in a recent interview. “The Macro will be available only in C-D cup sizes.”

In addition to placing tactical information right at your—ahem—fingertips, a chest-mounted compass also relocates weight right where you want it—out on the rail. ChestTicks may eventually be outlawed, just as water weight was back in the late 1900s, but until the next RRS update in 2020, the ChestTick will be a straight line speed advantage as well as a tactical one.

Although crews themselves will not be able to see the ChestTick, they will know whether the boat is headed or lifted from their skipper’s expression. (A scowl means the numbers are too small.) And since there’s no limit on the number of compasses each team can carry, well-heeled skippers (or crews) may choose to supplement the chest-mount with a regular boat-mounted compass.

When asked to confirm that future models will also indicate chest size, Martha replied, “If there’s enough demand, I’m sure it will be developed.” That, of course, would also make the device illegal on the Snipe.

For more information or to test out this innovative product at your next regatta, contact Martha Parker’s executive secretary. 

Another April Fool’s joke

Here’s a post I wrote in 2014, which was apparently the last time April Fool’s Day fell on a Thursday. Enjoy, and here’s to another day of foolishness!

Tired of Email? Try Pid-Me

The post Need a New Compass for 2021? appeared first on Carol Newman Cronin.

Book Review: The House in the Cerulean Sea

I downloaded The House in the Cerulean Sea from libro.fm because a bookseller I trust recommended it, proof that such personal connections can still help us choose the right books from a “sea” of published titles. And I’m so glad, because this audiobook provided a lovely escape from a winter of sheltering in place—while also reinforcing the power of metaphor.

Like Harry Potter, we first meet protagonist Linus Baker trapped in his own version of Muggleness. A 40 year old overweight case worker, Linus has spent his entire working life as a cog in the wheel for the highly regimented and regulated Department in Charge of Magical Youth (which isn’t at all magical). It’s only when he is ordered to investigate a super-secret (“classified level 4”) orphanage on a sun-drenched island that he discovers his own secret superpower—he can help improve a world that, while magical, looks an awful lot like our own.

We first hear about the order that will change his life from his supervisor, who marches up to his desk (in an endless roomful of co-workers, all toiling away on useless files that no one will ever read). She, her underling, and Linus all assume he’s done something wrong, though neither know what it might be: 

“You’ve been requested,” she said slowly, “to attend a meeting tomorrow morning with Extremely Upper Management.” 
He hadn’t expected that. Not in the slightest. In fact, of all the things Bedelia Jenkins could have said at this exact moment, that had been the least likely option. 
He blinked. “Come again?”
She stood upright, crossing her arms underneath her breasts, gripping her elbows. “I’ve read your reports. They’re marginally adequate, at best. So imagine my surprise when I received a memo that Linus Baker was being summoned.”
Linus felt cold. He’d never been asked to meet with Extremely Upper Management in his entire career. The only time he’d actually seen Extremely Upper Management was during the holidays when the luncheon occurred, dishing out dried-up ham and lumpy potatoes from foil trays, grinning at each of their underlings, telling them they’d earned this fine meal for all of their hard work. Of course, they had to eat it at their desks because their fifteen-minute lunch break had been used up by standing in line, but still.
It was September. The holidays were still months away. 
Now, according to Ms. Jenkins, they wanted him personally. He’d never heard of that happening before. It couldn’t possibly mean anything good.
Ms. Jenkins looked as if she were waiting for a response. He didn’t know what to say, so he said, “Maybe there’s been a mistake.”
“A mistake,” Ms. Jenkins repeated. “A mistake.”
“Ye-es?”
“Extremely Upper Management doesn’t make mistakes,” [her underling] Gunther simpered. 
There was that, yes. “Then I don’t know.”
Ms. Jenkins wasn’t pleased by his answer. It struck Linus then that she didn’t know any more than she was telling him, and for reasons he didn’t want to explore, the very idea gave him a nasty little thrill. Granted, it was tinged with unimaginable terror, but it was there nonetheless. He didn’t know what kind of person that made him. 

Linus might not understand himself, but he is quite good at obeying orders. So he takes his cat and boards the train, riding it to the end of the line. When he gets off, he’s met by a wonderful sprite who takes him, via ferry, out to the island. 

There he meets the six distinctive and supposedly dangerou children, who are lovingly guided by Arthur Parnassus—the man Linus was sent to investigate. Instead he finds himself drawn into their world, because they all “see” him; he’s always considered himself invisible. The conclusion is both happy and somewhat foregone, but the detailed descriptions of both landscape and characters sing the praises of being different—as well as the childhood joys of growing up in a supportive household. 

Those descriptions did seem a bit too thick in the beginning (part of what inspired my post about Telling vs. Showing). But once I settled into the novel’s pacing (deep rather than fast), I fell in love with the characters and laughed out loud at some of their remarks. I wanted to move to this magical island, where the Sea is always Cerulean and the characters don’t know how to be anyone but their own special selves. 

Other reviews call this book a love story and celebrate it for promoting diversity. While it is certainly rewards love in all its guises, I see it as a more general celebration of inclusion and acceptance. Each of us is unique, and though our difference might not be obvious to anyone else, we have to be truly “seen” and accepted to really feel at home.

The narrator did a fantastic job capturing all the voices, and each character was immediately recognizable even before he/she/it was identified. Even so, I might not have made it all the way through the entire 12 hours and 12 minutes if not for the story’s very steady bass drum of metaphor that beat away in the background, imparting lessons from this magical world that definitely apply to our own. While I have no direct knowledge of orphanages, cubicles, or missed commuter busses, I’m sure others will recognize the universal “truths” that lie behind those details. I can better relate to the joy of an adventure to a sunlit sea, and to Linus’ conundrum of working in a paradise where others would go for a vacation. (It reminds him of his office mouse pad, a picture of a sunlit beach that asks, “Wouldn’t you want to be here?”) I also nodded along with the curmudgeonly ferry captain, who’s determined to keep to a schedule despite his passengers’ lack of punctuality. Though there’s no sailing in this book, islands are viewed as an oasis. And that’s a truth that definitely hits home for this coastal fiction reader.

I recommend this book to those prepared to learn truths from a magical fantasy. It could also be a great read for anyone who feels like they don’t quite fit in. And like the Harry Potter stories, adults will get as much—if not more—out of it as the age group it’s written for will.

Already read this book (or have another recommendation)? Send me an email or add a comment below. I read every single one and always appreciate hearing your thoughts. Thanks!

The post Book Review: The House in the Cerulean Sea appeared first on Carol Newman Cronin.

How to Thank Your Supercrew, Again

A year ago, when I wrote a post declaring March 19 Thank Your Teammate Day, I never suspected that we would need to celebrate this special day again one year later. But here we are. So, all together now: have you thanked your teammate recently? If not, maybe you should do something special on March 19—especially if (like me) you are not able to go sailing that day.

Traditionally, we say our thanks at prizegivings—and whenever someone asks what went well after a good day of racing. For those of us currently without that option, we need to find other opportunities—because traditionally, crewing is a thankless job. Hence the creation of a special Day to recognize these superheroes. 

To overcome life’s many hurdles, I recommend befriending a supercrew like Kim Couranz or the oh-so-wise Connie Commette. Photo: Taylor ScheuermannMore than their share

On a Snipe or any other doublehanded boat, it might seem like there should be an even division of labor—but that’s definitely not the case. While skippers usually carry more stress from owning the most visible mistakes, supercrews take their responsibilities quite seriously too—all while performing a job that is much harder physically. Those of us in the back of the boat can’t possibly be appreciative enough of the special skills required: a unique combination of athleticism, agility, focus, and determination, overlaid with an endless tolerance for wave-blocking, gear shifting, and of course skipper brain farts. In my case, you can also add in Kim’s unique ability to crack a one-liner, just when I need to lighten up. 

Last year marked my 10th season of almost-exclusive Snipe sailing with Kim, which is two years longer than the average marriage (never mind the average Snipe team). And even though 2020 wasn’t exactly the highlight it was supposed to be, Kim continued to support and entertain despite the geographical separation of our office-homes. On one of my darkest mornings of this pandemic winter, I awoke to an email listing the spring Annapolis fleet schedule. Yet another example of her great crew/friend instincts, providing just the information needed to get me back on track. 

Looking forward

My goal for this season is to sail more regattas than we did in 2020—which shouldn’t be hard to achieve. If all the vaccine stars align, we might even be able to swap tales with some of our international friends at the Western Hemisphere and Orient Championship in September. But if this year has taught me anything, it’s the folly of making long-term plans. So instead I’m simply looking forward to my next chance to hang out with such a great forward teammate.

And if you’re wondering where I’ll be on March 19, try the boat shop: cleaning and polishing Kim’s area (as well as my own), getting our boat ready for the upcoming season. (And also singing her praises, to anyone who will listen.)

Have you thanked your teammate yet this year?

If not, consider March 19 your special chance to do so. Start by sharing your thoughts about your own supercrew’s super-strengths in the super-comments below.

The post How to Thank Your Supercrew, Again appeared first on Carol Newman Cronin.

Telling vs. Showing: The High Wire Act of Writing

Every writer has heard the adage to “show, don’t tell.” I’ve been thinking a lot about this advice (both in stories and in real life), and my conclusion is this: the best stories are a high-wire balancing act between the two.

First, here’s a quick example of each:

Telling: “She went sailing that afternoon.” 

Showing: “The waves lapped against the hull as she reached across the Bay, a steady dose of salt spray drying to a crisp on her skin.” 

Devil’s in the details

Showing lets sensory details do the work, which should help a reader really drop into the story. But a constant barrage of such detail can become a distraction, sending the reader skimming down the page in search of what happens next. 

Image by Myriams-Fotos

In fiction and in real life, the ideal use of showing vs. telling is a carefully considered balance between the two. Too much telling will be dull and dry; too much showing will make it difficult for readers to focus on what’s really important. Using both as needed carries the reader along for the ride, revealing what’s important through showing while moving the story forward through more efficient telling. “She went sailing” (a simple, direct, statement of fact that covers an entire afternoon with three words) might be all that’s needed for one story. If that sail will change the character’s next step, though, it probably deserves the added detail.

Balance, baby

Like other balancing acts, it’s not always obvious how much we need to “lean” in one direction or the other. Details that would distract from one story will be eagerly lapped up and rewarded with five-star reviews by the readers of another. Each writer has to find the right center for each book—once it’s clear exactly what the story really is. 

Game of Sails example

I often include too much detail in my early drafts as a way to really experience a scene. (Also, I don’t yet know exactly what story I’m trying to tell.) I try to edit my way to the right balance between telling and showing, but what started me thinking about this topic was a distracting over-show in my third novel, Game of Sails. (I’m currently recording the audiobook.)

In Chapter 24, Casey and Spencer have just finished a test regatta with a new fast sail Spencer designed; local hotshot Grant wants one. (I’ve edited this just slightly for clarity.) Read it through, and then I’ll share my hindsight thoughts:

“Nice sailing, Casey,” Grant said.
“You too,” I replied automatically.
“Not really.” He cocked his head at Spencer. “I couldn’t match his speed. Too bad my new Briand mast was held up in customs—I was hoping to use it for this regatta.”
Spencer unlatched the back door of the trailer to pull out his covers. “How were you going against Flavio and Everett in Miami?”
“I never got to line up with them. But Noddy trains with Mr. Lane. Y’all were both faster than him.”
Spencer dropped his mast cover.
“Noddy Nugent trains with Alex Lane?” I repeated.
Grant nodded. “They decided to work together after Miami. Mr. Lane was planning to sail this regatta, but I guess his new boat wasn’t ready in time. That’s why Noddy got out of school to come here.”
“Huh.” Spencer unrolled his top cover and snapped the shock cord around the rails. “I’m surprised Lane would train with someone so inexperienced.”
“Noddy’s got a whole slew of sails,” Grant said. “He was the only one here using a brand new Lane. But your sail’s much nicer—so smooth! Know where I could buy one at?”
“It’s still in development,” Spencer replied. “I’m hoping to have it on the market this summer, in time for people to train with before the Trials.”

Spencer eyed Grant, and I knew just what he would ask next.
“Could you help me load this?” Together they flipped over Spencer’s boat and lifted it on top of Gordo’s trailer.
“Casey’s ready too,” Spencer said. “D’you mind?”
“Not a bit. I live here, so I’ve got nothing to pack.”
The three of us flipped over my boat, bench pressed it up to the van’s roof racks, and slid it on from the side.
“Thanks Grant,” I said. “That’s a lot easier with three people.” Grabbing straps out of the van, I climbed up the back ladder onto the roof to tie my boat to the racks.

What’s wrong?

The goal of this scene is to reveal that Noddy Nugent (another competitor) is a front-man for rival sailmaker Alex Lane. I also wanted to show that other competitors have noticed Spencer’s fast new design. That means the entire section after the line break (loading both boats) is just clutter.

I was trying to show one of the many aspects I love about dinghy sailing: even at the Olympic level, competitors help each other. But because the level of detail is exactly the same as the text before it, it drowns out more important information. In hindsight, I should’ve told the same information in one simple declarative sentence, like: “Grant helped us load my boat on the roof of my van.”

I’m sticking to the original text for the audiobook, because matching texts allows for syncing between the two. But as I work to include tasty details in my WIP (or relate a few choice specifics about my day to my husband), I’m going to keep reminding myself: sometimes, telling (not showing) is the best way to capture and keep an audience’s attention. Like so many aspects of life and writing, the key word is balance.

The post Telling vs. Showing: The High Wire Act of Writing appeared first on Carol Newman Cronin.

8 Reasons for Late-Winter Gratitude

After my grousing about a sailing-free winter a few weeks ago, I’m determined to focus on my life’s many, many positives this week. Here’s a random sampling: 

Paul and I are healthy, and vaccinations are in sight. I’ve got plenty of work to do from a fantastic home office. I also have an alternative midday seat out on the front porch, in the sun and out of the wind, whenever weather permits such an escape.March has arrived. Though this lion-lamb month usually seems to promise more warmth than it actually delivers, that means my sailing-free winter will soon be in the rearview mirror. I’ve already fit a TON of great sailing into a life well-lived, and my memories are still fresh enough to raise a smile. (Or, in some cases, a grimace.)Though memory can’t provide new experience, imagination can. I can escape for a quick sail in T-shirt and shorts, anytime I want—no matter what month it is.We live close enough to salt water that I can stay in tune with its moods. Watching it change color and texture makes me feel a lot less claustrophobic; even in the middle of a snowstorm, Narragansett Bay stays blue (with a strong shot of gray). Readers continue to enjoy my work, inspiring me to keep at it.Even when ice shuts down outside activities, I’ve got exercise options that keep me sleeping well most nights. (Shoutout to Island Heron Yoga and their flexible, virtual, classes.)

Of course, I’m also grateful for several important basics that many other folks don’t have; a warm house, a full belly, a life partner who “gets” me. 

Okay, my glass is recalibrated back to its usual half-full setting again. How about you; what are you grateful for as winter loses its icy grip?  

The post 8 Reasons for Late-Winter Gratitude appeared first on Carol Newman Cronin.

Odd Writing Quirk: Author Time vs. Novel Time

I like to think I’m more than halfway through a first draft of the next novel, and I have to say: the process and brain-space required are completely different than revising a story that’s already made it onto the page. That’s hardly news—I’ve written before about story-parenting and the different hats required of writers to complete a story anyone else will want to read. But I’ve just noticed a strange personal quirk of my own first-draft phase: when I get to the end of a scene and the next part of the story won’t happen until later that evening… without conscious thought, I stop writing until the next day.

You might be tempted to label this habit procrastination or writer’s block, but it feels completely different. I know what’s going to happen next, and I’m even excited to write about it; but somehow, before the characters can take their next fictional steps, I need to live through some time off-screen as well. 

(Cue that Jeopardy thinking-time sound track.)

Here’s the scene that forced me to acknowledge this time-quirk: a man and a woman working through a business deal feel an unexpected romantic spark. On impulse, the woman decides to stay in the area overnight; her excuse is that the man needs time to read the paperwork she’s presented. (Spoiler alert: he’s dyslexic and won’t read it, no matter how much time she gives him.) When she shares this plan he asks her to dinner, and she accepts. The scene ends with expectant smiles (for all three of us). 

And yet, instead of carrying those smiles forward to their evening meal, I close the project—that’s all for today. I can’t/won’t/shouldn’t write that next scene until tomorrow. 

This makes no sense, of course. If author-time and novel-time moved in lockstep, it wouldn’t have taken me so many years to write Ferry to Cooperation Island, a story that starts in May and ends the following September. And the momentum of knowing what will happen next should NEVER be wasted when writing a first draft, just in case the idea flits off before it can be captured in words. 

But no matter how irrational this behavior is, I couldn’t force myself to write that dinner scene. Somehow, my imagination needed to drum fingers through that long afternoon—in author-time, not just on the page. 

(So instead, I’m writing this blog post.)

As I go through the rest of my day, my subconscious will be enjoying the anticipation of an evening date between two unexpected lovebirds; the pure potential of what they might say to each other (about those unsigned papers, as well as more important things). And tomorrow, I’ll rewind a mental playback button and “transcribe” what was said the night before, across a white tablecloth, by two characters that exist only within my head. 

Drafting novels requires a removal of the self-editor we all carry within. Apparently, it also requires removing expectations about my imagination’s own time frame. I need to allow it the freedom to choose its own pace—even when I can’t wait to learn exactly what will happen next. 

The post Odd Writing Quirk: Author Time vs. Novel Time appeared first on Carol Newman Cronin.