Carol Newman Cronin's Blog, page 29

Protected: Sail Your Worries Away, part II

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Story in Motion: Book Trailer, Live!

I’m more of a reader than a watcher. Given the choice between a how-to post and a how-to video, I’ll almost always choose to absorb the information with my eyes.

But even readers like me enjoy watching stories unfold on a screen. Which explains why book trailers (and BookTube) are such a “thing.” Nothing captures a mood and a place like video. And that’s why we made a book trailer for Ferry to Cooperation Island, which just went live today!

Creative, not linear

I’m really proud of where we ended up, but like most creative endeavors it wasn’t exactly a linear progression from start to finish. Luckily, I had a lot of help. First and foremost is Paul Cronin Studios; their global headquarters share an address with my own firm, so creative collaboration is quite easy and fun. Paul has amassed an incredible video library over the past few decades, including several clips that look a lot like the imaginary Brenton Island.

We also had help with text animations from my nephew Sam Newman, who’s just graduated from Elon University with a degree in Cinema and Television Arts. (Anyone looking for a smart and friendly video assistant?)

So all I had to do was figure out what I wanted; how to capture the essence of a 376 page story in a 60 second video? That, of course, turned out to be the hardest part of all.

First, I watched several book trailers and found a few I really liked. Next, I created a storyboard of text that would accomplish the same job as the back cover copy—but in far fewer words, so each could be read in only a few seconds of screen time. Once we had an idea of what we were trying to express, Paul dug into his archives and put together a visual timeline. After adding background music (a time sink in itself, trying to find something that sets the right tone without being too distracting), the files went to Sam. Sam returned animated text examples, which quickly showed what “worked” and what was too distracting.

That’s when things got complicated.

After watching the video several times, I realized the words on-screen (even after another round of edits to increase clarity and brevity) just weren’t doing their job. Worst of all, trying to read distracted from the far more interesting video clips. How to get the story across, while still letting the magic of moving pictures shine through?

Fortunately, before I’d scratched my head for too long, I checked in with fellow author Alice Early. When I mentioned the almost-completed trailer, she said, “and of course you’ve included some of those great blurbs you got.”

We hadn’t! Damn.

Lightbulb moment

My favorite creative moments are when a key idea is sparked by a seemingly obvious and somewhat random thought—my own, or someone else’s. Alice suggested adding a few simple quotes on at the end, to close with someone else telling the viewer what a great book it was. But that thought led to this one: what if we replaced ALL the text with blurbs? That would be WAY more powerful.

Paul was a little skeptical at first, but he agreed to try another version. An hour later, I got a great text: “Come check it out, I like it.”

I like it too! Let me know what you think—especially if it inspires you to pre-order the book.

PS: Thanks for reading (and watching), and don’t forget to join the launch party conversation on June 18. Can’t wait to share my best story yet!

Protected: No Muse, part 2

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Sail Your Worries Away, part I

Welcome to the “before” of Ferry to Cooperation Island! One month ahead of that story, a surprisingly warm April afternoon proves too tempting for two sailors and they embark together on the first sail of the season.

Click on the cover image below to read part I, The Invitation. Enjoy!

Protected: Sail Your Worries Away

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She Woulda Been… What Soundbites Reveal

Recently, I was interviewed by Sean Dillon for his “Beyond the Mic” series. After fifteen minutes of digging into both books and boats (and an admission of how much he enjoyed Ferry to Cooperation Island), Sean ended our fun conversation with his signature “Rockin’ 8”: eight random questions designed to reveal “more facts than people knew before.” The only preparation was his instruction to say the “first thing that comes to your mind, no pressure.” So for once I tried to prioritize spontaneity over accuracy.

Most of the answers came easily. “What’s your favorite thing to cook?” (Artichokes). “What’s the last thing you bought?” (Groceries). “Most peaceful place you ever sailed?” (Hadley Harbor.) But two of his questions completely stumped me—and now that I’ve listened to the recording, I’m wishing for a do-over. To “Which character in your four books is the most like yourself?” I answered “Casey” (from Game of Sails). A more accurate response would’ve been “Spencer;” his casual sailing style is much closer to mine than Casey’s balls-to-the-wall approach.

And then Sean asked: “What career would you do if you could start all over again?” 

(Cue the Jeopardy waiting soundtrack.)

My panicked thought process ran something like this: it’s gotta be near the water, because that’s where I’d want to be. And it also has to be a job that’s quickly understood by a non-sailing audience. “Sailboat rigger” and “boat nanny” would both require explanation; “outboard mechanic” holds absolutely no appeal. As the seconds of radio silence piled up, I desperately cast about for a non-boatyard shoreline job—and blurted out the only one I could think of: “Lifeguard!”

This answer obviously pleased Sean, because he included it in his closing remarks—which is when I realized just how ridiculous it sounded.

The Stress of Soundbites

Because we tend to dwell on the “wrong” things we say, I now find myself overthinking this answer. Does my unexpected choice tell me something about myself, reveal “more facts than people knew before”? Does it dig up a secret desire, hidden until now, which should make me glad it was finally ferreted out by a random interview question?

Or is it, as I suspect, just a fun but totally misleading soundbite?

I do like the idea of lifeguarding: giving back and saving lives, spending my workdays on a beautiful beach, paid to go swimming. In this fantasy world of starting fresh career-wise, my workplace would be shark-free and always boringly sunny and warm. And all the visitors would be both smart and respectful (and hence never get into any real trouble). I would start each day with a refreshing swim before climbing atop a shaded lifeguard chair to read #coastalfiction and blow the occasional whistle. What’s not to like?

Of course, none of that is any more realistic than the fantasy of starting over.

All of this overthinking reminded me of one crystal-clear self-truth, though: how difficult it was to come up with an occupation I’d enjoy even more than what I actually do. I’m so lucky to spend each workday creating my own worlds and editing stories (both fact and fiction) that include boats. And while that’s not the spontaneously revealing soundbite Sean was looking for… it’s much, much closer to “fact” than the first memorable detail he used to close of our conversation: “She woulda been a lifeguard.”

Fortunately, he included two others that are quite true: I am a strong believer of the Oxford comma. And the last thing I bought was (of course!) groceries.

There’s much, much more to this fun 21-minute interview, and the rest of it still rings true. Before you listen to it, let me know in the comments (or send an email) if you, too, believe in the Oxford comma—or if you think I would’ve made a good lifeguard.

Protected: No Muse, part I

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Save the date: June 18!

Okay, I’m anxious. And since writing a blog helps me work out stuff, I’m gonna talk this through with all of you and hope I feel better by the end.

Here’s the gist: Ferry to Cooperation Island publishes 27 days from now. The book’s getting some great reviews, and I’m throwing a launch party on June 18 come hell or high virus. But I’m worried: that either no one will show up, or that everyone who does will go away disappointed. Yup, pretty petty anxieties in the current state of our world. But realizing that doesn’t erase my concerns.

If you feel like this has been a long time coming, you’re right; I first announced the book’s publication sixteen months ago. I’m really excited to finally share this novel with you, because it’s quite simply my best book yet. I can’t wait for you to lose yourself in the world of Brenton Island for a few hundred pages. (376, to be exact.)

We’d planned a party here in Jamestown, and several out-of-towners had already made plane reservations. All of that, of course, has been sacrificed to the virus gods. So like every other author (and musician and yoga instructor and schoolteacher), we’re taking this party online. Ready?

Save the date: June 18, 6:30 p.m.!

That’s the easy part. 

The hard part is all the party-planning details. What to offer those of you who make the effort to sit down with your screens for a virtual party? How interactive should it be, which is closely tied to how many attend (2, 20, 200)? What should I talk about/share on the screen?

I have decided on the recommended beverage: Cooperation Punch (it’s called Brenton Punch in the book, but I like this name better). Which means I will have to figure out what’s actually in it, besides rum. (Adding that to my to-do list.)

3 things you can do right now to help

1. Pre-order the book, either through bookshop.org (which supports a designated independent bookstore) or on Amazon. These last few weeks before the book comes out can make or break longer-term sales and online visibility, and most paperbacks seem to be arriving on schedule—a comfort in these strange times. (Read more about Why Pre-Orders Matter )

2. RSVP for the party (June 18, 6:30 p.m.) by sending me an email. I’ll add you to my VIP guest list (benefits still TBD, I admit). Feel free to share your party ideas!

3. Share your perfect cocktail recipe for Cooperation Punch, either via email or in the comments below. Here, I’ll get you started: “Add a healthy shot of rum to a glass and…”

Okay, sharing my anxieties worked; now I’m getting excited! Thanks, all—for listening, and for your support of me and my work. I can’t wait to share FERRY with all of you.

Protected: No Muse, part 4

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Living with Uncertainty: A Sailing Analogy

If life is a sailboat race, what’s life with the Coronavirus? For me, it’s as if a steady summer seabreeze started pulsing straight down out of the sky, a constant and exhausting buffering from what sailors call helicopter puffs. Throw all those forecasts and assumptions overboard, because almost all the expertise we’ve accrued no longer applies.

Windshifts are critical weapons in winning sailboat races, so being able to predict the next one is a superpower. Several years ago, I tried to capture in sailors’ language what causes various types of shifts and how to put them to use. Helicopter Puffs, I wrote, “are usually fairly random in their location and frequency. As escapees from a different breeze aloft, helicopter puffs will spread out as they hit the surface as if they were actually spun off a rotor. This instability means two things: 1) the puff won’t travel very far down the course, and 2) the breeze angles will change drastically within the puff.” 

Helicopter puffs are the hardest shifts to predict, because from sea level they seem completely random. But zoom up to 10,000 feet and look down on our race course, and it’s obvious they appear wherever clouds aren’t. Just like a virus, they follow the least-obstructed path.

In such unstable conditions, the only constant is uncertainty. Will that puff that just doubled our competitor’s speed ever get to us? If so, will it affect our wind the same way? Will it last long enough that we should make a headsail change, or should we just try to hang on and ride it out? 

The best race strategy with helicopter puffs is to race along their edges, where you are most likely to find the best pressure—and often a lift. It’s easy to see that the virus equivalent of a “lift” is staying healthy (both mentally and physically), but I have no suggestions for a virus-equivalent to “race along the edges.” Unless it’s the directive we’re all so tired of heeding, to stay home—which seems so counterintuitive, considering that strategy’s complete lack of adrenaline-spiking excitement.

l do know that we need to remain ready for yet another shifty puff to hit us. And that living in a constant state of uncertainty provides endless opportunity. And that it’s exhausting. All we can do is not get too locked into any plan, or hit a particular side of the race course too hard. Each of us has to find our own course “center” and do our best to adjust our sail trim, even as yet another puff rolls down the course from a totally different direction.

I prefer competition that takes place within the strict guidelines of a race course, with an agreed-upon time frame and visible finish line. But for now, the only way to “beat” this virus is to work together for as long as it takes, to acknowledge that our personal health and well-being depends on the health and well-being of everyone else on this planet. Cooperative competitiveness (the idea that we all improve more quickly by sharing our best practices) isn’t just the way forward for one design sailors; it has to be our new normal.

The virus didn’t read the 2020 forecast, so we won’t know until it’s all over how long this enormous life-shift is going to last. All I know is that we’re all in this together. And if life is a sailboat race, I can’t wait to find our collective way around the next mark.

Learn more about helicopter puffs (and other predictable wind shifts) in Reading the Shape of the Wind.

How are you dealing with all this uncertainty, especially as summer’s temptations arrive? Let me know in the comments below, or send me an email (if you have the energy). Thanks for reading!