Kathy Lynn Emerson's Blog, page 36

So Many Books, So Little Time

Kaitlyn Dunnett/Kathy Lynn Emerson here. The title of this post could as easily apply to books that I’m writing as to those in my to-be-read pile, but today, while in the throes of revisions on two different projects, I’d much rather talk about other people’s novels. How do I find time to read, you ask? I’m honestly not sure, but I do know that when my own writing is going well, I also read a lot. That could, of course, have something to do with the lack of appealing shows on television. Right now the only two I’m watching regularly are Father Brown on PBS at 7 on Sundays and Charlaine Harris’s Midnight Texas at 10 PM on Mondays on NBC.

Every Tuesday, publishers release a swarm of new titles. Even if I restrict myself to books in series I already love and books written by friends, I almost always end up downloading more than one to my iPad. Sometimes I even splurge and buy a hardcover. That happened most recently with The Painted Queen, the final Amelia Peabody mystery, set in Egypt in 1912. It was unfinished when the author, Elizabeth Peters (a pseudonym for Egyptologist Barbara Mertz) died in 2013 and was finished by her good friend and fellow writer, Joan Hess. There was a lot of speculation surrounding who had been chose to complete it. Although I only knew Barbara slightly (from Malice Domestic), I have been friends with several of her friends, especially our own Dorothy Cannell, for a long time. I guessed, long before Joan’s role was made public, that she would be the one finishing The Painted Queen and I was betting she’d do a great job with it. I’m happy to report that I was right. Whether you’ve read other books in the series or not, this should definitely be on your TBR pile.

The very next week saw the publication of Rhys Bowen’s newest Lady Georgie adventure, On Her Majesty’s Frightfully Secret Service. What can I say? When it comes to historical mysteries, I like amateur sleuths who are a little wacky. That’s not to stay that I don’t enjoy more serious takes on history. I’m very much looking forward to James R. Benn’s next Billy Boyle World War II mystery, The Devouring, which will be out next month, as will Whispers of Warning by fellow Maine Crime Writer Jessie Crockett, writing as Jessica Estevao. I loved the first book in this series, Whispers Beyond the Veil.

August 8 was also a good day for contemporary mysteries. Kate Flora’s eighth Thea Kozak mystery, Death Warmed Over, hit the ebook shelves. So did Lea Wait’s new YA, Pizza to Die For. I was lucky enough to read a draft before it was published and it’s a great read for all ages. I’m reading Kate’s book right now and am thoroughly engrossed in the story.

 

Today is August 15. Yup—Tuesday again. Curiously, no books on my “want list” are scheduled for this date, but that doesn’t mean I won’t download anything. As I read other blogs and Dorothy L and Facebook I’m sure to come across a new release or two, or perhaps a book I missed when it was first published.

What else is on this “want list” of mine? On August 29, Mary Jo Putney’s Once a Rebel comes out. It’s historical romance by an author who really knows her stuff. I don’t read in a great many genres, but I do like to vary my steady diet of mystery with the occasional well-written romance and, occasionally, with a dash of the paranormal. On the pile of recent purchases yet to be read are Beauty Like the Night by Joanna Bourne (historical romance with spies), You’ll Never Know, Dear by Hallie Ephron (a stand-alone thriller), and Bless Her Dead Little Heart by Miranda James, the first in a series spun off from the Cat in the Stacks Mysteries. Coming up in September are J. D. Robb’s futuristic police procedural, Secrets in Death and Charlaine Harris’s contemporary cozy, Sleep Like a Baby. My October list includes Donna Andrews’ How the Finch Stole Christmas, Lea Wait’s Thread the Halls, and Patricia McLinn’s Back Story.

If, by some fluke, I run out of new titles, or am in the mood for something else, I have at least fifty and probably closer to a hundred as-yet-unread books downloaded in iBook and Kindle formats. I can’t help myself: offer the first in a series I haven’t read for free on Amazon and I tend to give in to temptation. While my TBR “pile” may no longer be tottering on chairs and tables, it sure isn’t getting any smaller!

Kathy Lynn Emerson/Kaitlyn Dunnett is the author of more than fifty traditionally published books written under several names. She won the Agatha Award and was an Anthony and Macavity finalist for best mystery nonfiction of 2008 for How to Write Killer Historical Mysteries and was an Agatha Award finalist in 2015 in the best mystery short story category. She was the Malice Domestic Guest of Honor in 2014. Currently she writes the contemporary Liss MacCrimmon Mysteries (X Marks the Scot—December 2017) and Deadly Edits series (Crime and Punctuation—2018) as Kaitlyn and the historical Mistress Jaffrey Mysteries (Murder in a Cornish Alehouse) as Kathy. The latter series is a spin-off from her earlier “Face Down” mysteries and is set in Elizabethan England. New in 2017 is a collection of short stories, Different Times, Different Crimes. Her websites are www.KaitlynDunnett.com and www.KathyLynnEmerson.com

 

 

When Writer’s Block Becomes Fun

John Clark sharing a serendipitous moment that happened back in May and what followed. Our younger daughter Lisa was home from New York and we had gone to Waterville for Indian food. After our meal, we decided to do a bit of browsing. Beth and Lisa were still looking through a book store when I wandered further down Main Street and a poster in the window of Framemakers caught my eye.

Since both Beth and our older daughter Sara are into art projects, the idea of buying a block of pine for a dollar and creating something unique sounded pretty interesting. Anyone could purchase one or two numbered blocks for a dollar each, decorate them in whatever manner they chose and Framemakers would exhibit them from July 8th through September 13th.

Last Friday we went to the open house, curious to see how many were on exhibit. I chatted with staff there to learn more about how the block project came about. Four years ago, another arts group in the Waterville area came up with the idea as a way to generate funds for an arts scholarship during the Christmas season. It was extremely successful. For whatever reason, the group moved on to different projects, so the folks at Framemakers which has been part of the downtown Waterville business community since the early 1980s, got permission to carry on the project. They decided to move it to the summer season as more and more cultural events were happening in the area (things like arts at Colby and the Maine International Film Festival).

Blocks are available for purchase at $45. the artist receives $30 and the remainder goes toward funding a $500 scholarship for a local student who is pursuing a degree in some branch of creative arts. Last year, blocks sold almost covered the entire scholarship.

Framemakers buys the lumber to make the blocks locally and passes all money from their purchases into the scholarship fund. There are no restrictions regarding age or medium. We chatted with sisters who looked to be about ten and twelve. This was their second year as participants and they had both sole their work.

In addition to the block art project, pieces by other local artisans were on display and available for purchase. Abbot Meader has a collection of paintings depicting scenes in and near Baxter State Park.

While I was waiting for Beth who had gone to the Brunswick Music Theater with friends, I noticed a fellow enter who looked wicked familiar. When I looked at the black and white photography exhibit in the window opposite the blocks, I realized who he was. Bob Lane and I worked together back in the early 1980s at AMHI. He was a bit smarter and left for a career at the Department of Labor, retiring six years ago. Beth had him as a student in her basic nursing skills class while working there. We had a nice chat, catching up on people we both knew. As you can see, he’s doing some pretty cool stuff in his retirement.

We’re already looking forward to doing this again next year. This time, we’ll have a whole winter to mull over ideas. Anyone care to guess which two blocks are mine?

Weekend Update: August 12-13, 2017

Next week at Maine Crime Writers, there will be posts by John Clark (Monday), Kaitlyn Dunnett/Kathy Lynn Emerson (Tuesday), Kate Flora (Wednesday), Maureen Milliken (Thursday), and on Friday there will be a special group post about our short stories in collections and anthologies.

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

Kate Flora and Lea Wait both have new books out! From Kate it’s the eighth Thea Kozak mystery, Death Warmed Over. And Lea has a new stand-alone mystery for young people, Pizza to Die For.

 

An invitation to readers of this blog: Do you have news relating to Maine, Crime, or Writing? We’d love to hear from you. Just comment below to share.

And a reminder: If your library, school, or organization is looking for a speaker, we are often available to talk about the writing process, research, where we get our ideas, and other mysteries of the business. Contact Kate Flora

Giveaway-Whispers of Warning

Jessie: On the coast of Maine, moving once more towards a September 1 deadline.

I’m not sure why it is but for some reason, over the past six years I have had five September 1 deadlines. For some people having the summer to finish up a book would be ideal. Teachers perhaps. Or students.

For me, it hasn’t been an easy cross to bear. We live at the beach every summer and my office is on the front porch of our small cottage. The sound of the beachgoers trundling past my window smelling of sunscreen, boogey boards tucked under their arms just leaves me feeling crotchety and envious.

It doesn’t help matters that the salty breeze floats up and teases me with the reiminder of all I am missing as I sit at my desk putting my head down and conconcentrating on the task in front of me.

Making things even more challenging is the fact that my kids are home from school all summer and my regular work schedule is thrown into disarray. It is hard to focus on work when your nearest and dearest are thinking only of play. Or of what is or is not available in the refrigerator.

In the end though, all of those summers have been memorable and satisfying. The books, and the work it took to produce them, are a large part of what made those summers something to remember. Somehow, some way, the books have all gotten written. And as difficult as it is for me to believe, in just over a month, on September, 19, the second book in my Change of Fortune mystery series, Whispers of Warning, will be released. Last year at this time I was frantically trying to finish the manusript in order to turn it into my editor by the agreed upon date.

To celebrate the journey I would love to give away a copy of Whispers of Warning to one commenter who leaves a memory of something that took a great deal of effort at the time but was worth it in the end.

 

 

Planetary Protection Officer or Global Drinks Ambassador???

Hey all. Happy August to you.

During an insanely busy year, book #2 in the Michael McKeon series is finished, in which we meet The Prodigal, the world’s first private nuclear power. I’m very excited about a new book I’m writing with a whole new cast of characters and a protagonist who not only must race against an external ticking clock, but one inside him as well. More to come.

In the meantime, here are some bizarre news stories perfect for your late summer amusement.

Seven priests walk into a bar…start of a killer joke, right? Not in Cardiff, Wales, where the bouncer thought they were a bachelor party in costume and refused them service. When the manager realized the error, he bought them a round.

Scottish whisky company Grant’s is recruiting a new global drinks ambassador. The only thing better might be that NASA is now taking applications for Planetary Protection Officer.

Perhaps best of all, in response to NASA’s open application announcement, nine-year-old Jack Davis from New Jersey applied. He is “great at video games” and has watched most of the alien movies except Men in Black. Most importantly, “My sister says I am an alien.”

Courtesy of NASA

Speaking on behalf of brothers of sisters everywhere, good luck Jack! When he’s 21 and done protecting the planet, I hear there’s a global drinks ambassador opening. Just don’t dress like a priest.

The Post Where I Announce We’re Moving to Portland

by Barb Ross

Yes, we’re going to be full-time Mainers! Both Bill and I are excited about this next chapter. The plan (there’s always a plan) was to sell our house in Massachusetts (check–you can read about it here), and then come up to our home in Boothbay Harbor and stay until we leave for Key West mid-December. We weren’t going to rush into anything. We definitely weren’t.

But I was keeping tabs on the Portland real estate market, just to educate myself, I said. Bill and I went to a few open houses whenever we were passing through. Casually, I told people, we’re exploring.

Then, in mid-June, when our whole family was up in Boothbay for the weekend, I found a place online that seemed perfect. Our home wasn’t even on the market. It was too soon. Nonetheless, I shot an inquiry off to the listing agent, could we maybe see it on our way home to Massachusetts?

That didn’t work out and between putting our house on the market and helping our son and his family move from Connecticut to Virginia, we didn’t make it back to Maine until after July 4th, the Friday before Books in Boothbay, in fact.

We looked at the place on our way up and, surprisingly, it was even nicer and more perfect for us than the photos. Even more compelling, given all we had been through in the spring, it needed almost no work, not even paint. We drove around the neighborhood, which we kind of, sort of, knew and liked it. (It seems to be in an area of shifting designations, most recently I think it has been called the India Street neighborhood.)

I was still burbling about it the next day when I saw Lea and Kate.

By that point our house in Massachusetts was under contract, but it hadn’t closed, which meant we didn’t have the money in our pockets to go around buying condominiums in Portland, or anywhere else. So though we loved the place, we waited. But both of our thoughts kept returning to the house.

Finally, everything came together. (Knocking wood furiously. We don’t close on it until this Friday.)

Barb’s study, where the magic will happen, starting fall 2017

It’s a four story townhouse, with an elevator, handy because the kitchen is on the third floor. My favorite part is that Bill’s study is on the first floor, and mine will be on the fourth. I love him, but… No water views, sadly, though last time I was there I glimpsed a tiny sliver of Casco Bay through the chimney tops.

Bill’s study, where the magic will also happen, three floors away from Barb, a relief to them both

It all feels a little impulsive and crazy, but also thoughtful and well-considered. We’ve always loved Portland, since we started coming there in the late eighties when we used to camp at Sebago. Portland’s future was just a glimmer at the time, but we still thought it was cool. Also, we’re city people at heart. Neither of us has ever had dreams of quiet country nights.

The kitchen and dining areas. By the way, the rooms in all these photos were professionally staged. Enjoy. They will never look so polished again.

But, it will be an adjustment, no doubt. We’ve never lived in a house less than 100 years-old, this one was built in 2007. And we’ve never lived in a condominium association. Because there are some ongoing issues, we were given all the minutes of the past year’s meetings prior to close. There were some passages I found hilarious, but maybe I won’t when I’m in the middle of it?

So, we’re going to be Portlanders, or is it Portlandites? Surely not Portlandians, that’s the other coast, right? So much to learn! I’ll have to rely on my Maine Crime Writers friends to find dentists and doctors, hairdressers and mani-pedi places. Things I haven’t changed in years. It’s a little daunting. But as my business partner used to say, you should always be moving toward something, not just away from something, and that’s what it feels like to us.

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Those Visitors From Away …

August in Maine! Pardon for making a very large generalization … but August and September are my two favorite months in Maine. Not TOO hot, not TOO cold … not TOO much rain … pretty much, just right.

Other people agree. People from Texas, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Vermont, Ohio,  Florida, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, New York, Nova Scotia, Virginia … and those are just the license plates I saw this morning in a Damariscotta parking lot.

As my husband sometimes puts it, “They’re here.” Parking lots and restaurants and grocery stores are full. Yes, there are sometimes lines to get over the bridge in Wiscasset because of so many people crossing Main Street there. (In Maine, cars are required to stop when pedestrians are in a crosswalk.) Freeport and Kittery, outlet towns, are full to bursting. You might drive around for twenty minutes trying to find a parking space there.

Now — don’t misunderstand.  This is not a bad thing. Tourists and vacationers and those who choose to divide their years between Maine and some other state (usually more southern, but sometimes — would you believe Vermont?) also bring jobs to Maine. They buy art and crafts and tee shirts and antiques and lots of lobster rolls. They eat at restaurants. They take boat trips and visit botanical gardens and wineries and historical sites; museums and islands and beaches and parks. They shop at those outlets … and at souvenir shops and jewelry stores and book stores.

Those of us who live here all year do those things occasionally, too, of course. But many of us work in summer months (sometimes more than one job) to earn enough to winter over. And … even when there’s back-to-school shopping to be done, why hassle an outlet town in August when the same store will be there in October?

Tourism has changed since I was a child. Then summer was (almost officially) the Fourth of July until Memorial Day. Many visitors to Maine rented cottages for two weeks (the two week vacation – remember that?) You could count on traffic being heavy on the Maine Turnpike at the beginning of July, the middle of July, the middle of August, and Labor Day weekend. Those were the “changing of the guard” dates for summer rentals.

And although there were people who summered in Maine and wintered in Florida, most of the summer visitors were from New York New Jersey, Massachusetts, Connecticut, and, sometimes, Pennsylvania.

Today the pattern has changed. It isn’t unusual to see a license plate from Washington State or Utah or even Alaska, and Texans definitely claim a place in the summer order, as do people from both the Carolinas. And those are just people who drive here; those who fly, and who rent cars, are more invisible.

The “two week rental” hasn’t totally disappeared, but “one week” is more common, and it’s possible to rent a house for only a few days. People take long weekends. They work from their vacation spots.  Many people don’t come to the same place every year (although, of course, some do,) but choose to “tour” — driving each night to a new town; a new motel.

The season has been extended, too. People who spend the whole summer here now may arrive as early as April. By Memorial Day the state is in full summer swing … a swing that lasts through Columbus Day.

One reason? Public schools in southern states end classes in late May, so families from the Carolinas or Virginia head to Maine then. (Schools in more northern states don’t end until about the third week in June.) On the other hand … young families from the south head for home about the first of August, because schools start up again then. New Jerseyans and New Yorkers stick around until close to Labor Day.

And then there are the visitors who plan their vacations for September and October. They tend to be people without school children. They include, but aren’t limited, to the leaf peepers – some of whom may come from as far away as Australia. Locals (quietly) call visitors at this time of year the “newly wed and the nearly dead.”

No insults are intended: these folks without young children tend to spend more money than those who arrive in July and have less frenetic schedules. We welcome them, as we do visitors who arrive earlier in the season.

Maine’s license plates claimed the nickname “Vacationland” beginning in the 1930s. Tourism is still a major industry here. Com’on down and claim your lobsters and Maine tee shirt! The state is open for business … and would love to see you!

Thanking the Mentors

I’m riding the crest of feeling very supported lately by excellent blurbs from good friends and fellow authors (see the kind words here) as I get ready to launch In Solo Time, the prequel to Solo Act, and thinking about Bruce’s words of gratitude. I’ve also been considering the great influence of mentors in my writing life and what I owe them. I hope that when I have an opportunity to help someone up, I will be as generous and gracious as others have been to me. Here, the small tale of one of my great mentors:

Why I Tell the Truth

I didn’t meet Tom Williams the first time I was supposed to. In September of 1989, I entered the writing program at the University of New Hampshire, a thirty-eight year old graduate student with one published short story to my credit. The summer before I went to Durham, I read The Moon Pinnace, the only one of his novels in the library.

It didn’t move me, but I suspect it was more my failure than the novel’s. A month before classes began, a note from the English Department chair advised me that Mr. Williams wouldn’t teach that semester. This was the summer, I later learned, he was diagnosed with the lung cancer that killed him.

When I met him finally, it was February, his final semester of teaching. He limped into our group’s first meeting in the attic room in Hamilton Smith Hall, in the deep heart of a New Hampshire winter. I expected to hear that he’d fallen on the ice. He explained, not without smirking at the melodrama, that he’d broken three ribs coughing.

Tom’s most compelling quality was his honesty. It was central to his concept of himself and thus to the face he turned to the world. He did not fear saying uncomfortable things and that made him difficult for some people to be with, though I never knew him to be unkind.

That honesty might have given him disciples, except he maintained a distance between what he expected of himself and what he expected of you. He was honest about the costs of honesty, and did not disapprove if you couldn’t pay them. The few times I saw anyone emulate him, he seemed embarrassed.

The gift of his teaching was the ability to locate the heart of an unsuccessful story, the germ that even the writer had not recognized, and lay it bare. One student writer submitted a story about a white man eating Thanksgiving dinner in a black neighborhood restaurant in Hartford, Connecticut, complete with waitress speaking homilies in urban dialect. Tom calmed those of us who mistook the story for its writer’s politics, then showed us that the story’s core was the connection between the waitress and the man, the writer’s only fault in obscuring that connection. No story was a cliché unless it was badly told.

Knowing Tom was a hunter and a fisherman, I brought him an essay I’d written about hunting for a local magazine. It was slight, but one of the first pieces I’d published, and I thought I’d captured my ambivalence about killing for food or sport. One day, I found it in my wooden mailbox in Hamilton Smith with a note attached, as if he had not wanted to mar my copy with writing of his own. “Very nicely done,” he wrote in pencil. “Not that any words of explanation will penetrate the holy sanctimony of the Friends of Animals.” I’ve thought of framing that note, but somehow it feels inappropriate, a little dishonest.

I knew he’d gone back into the hospital in October, but I was unprepared to hear he’d died. On that rainy leaf-blown day, I pulled a slip of paper out of my mailbox expecting a meeting notice. A secretary in the English Department had photocopied the news of his death three times on a piece of paper, then ripped each sheet into thirds. As an economical man, I think Tom would have approved.

A memorial service in the UNH Alumni House attracted well-known writers – John Irving, Andre Dubus, Ernie Hebert – but two speakers moved me more than any of the stars. Tom’s son Peter read a poem his father had published in Esquire:

The giraffe is disappearing

    from the world

without a word

Who are we to say its legs

    are mismatched

and look as if they are on backwards

How it runs graceful as a rocking chair

escaping in a dream

Think of a lovely girl who has

    six fingers

on one of her hands

You must let that strange hand

Touch you

Because Tom generally spoke seriously, I did not think of him as having a light side. That he was capable of such a delicate line delighted me.

Later, a lifelong friend spoke of encountering Tom on a river in northern New Hampshire. Tom was sitting on a rock, smoking a cigarette, and when the friend asked how he’d done, he said he’d caught his limit. Seeing only nine trout laid on the wet river grass, the friend questioned his arithmetic, until Tom opened one of the gutted trout to show a tiny one inside. To have spent time with him and not known him capable of silliness made his loss even worse.

One of my favorite poems is James Wright’s Lying in a Hammock on William Duffy’s Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota. The last line, turning all the beautiful imagery back on its head, reads “I have wasted my life.” It was fear of failure that kept me from writing about Tom for so many years. I feared not being able to say honestly what his teaching meant to me.

What made it possible was remembering a comment he once made about why he wrote fiction: “Nobody is going to listen to what I say anyway, so I might as well try to tell the truth.” This is the lesson I learned from him, that the attempt to be honest, more than its success or failure, makes the difference. He speaks it over my shoulder every day.

I invite you to think of your mentors, past and present, and offer a bit of thanks.

Weekend Update: August 5-6, 2017

Next week at Maine Crime Writers, there will be posts by Dick Cass (Monday), Lea Wait (Tuesday), Barb Ross (Wednesday), Brendan Rielly (Thursday), and Jessie Crockett (Friday).

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

From Kaitlyn Dunnett: For the month of August, the ebook of The Scottie Barked at Midnight will be on sale for $1.99. Here’s the Kindle link: Scottie ebook. It’s also a BookBub pick. This is the 9th book in the Liss MacCrimmon series and involves Scottie dogs, a “live” reality/competition show, a ski resort only a short drive from Liss’s usual stomping grounds in Moosetookalook, Maine, and, of course, murder. Other books in the series are also discounted in August, although not as much.

From Kate Flora; Here are a few of the Maine Crime Writers and alums from the MWPA mystery party in Tess Gerritsen’s garden last Saturday.

Brendan Rielly by the sea

Maureen Milliken and her wonderful mom.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bruce Coffin in conversation

 

 

 

The very photogenic Dick Case

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

An invitation to readers of this blog: Do you have news relating to Maine, Crime, or Writing? We’d love to hear from you. Just comment below to share.

And a reminder: If your library, school, or organization is looking for a speaker, we are often available to talk about the writing process, research, where we get our ideas, and other mysteries of the business. Contact Kate Flora

Summer Soundtrack

By Brenda Buchanan

I’ve paid special attention to my senses when writing this summer. Regular readers of this blog might have guessed as much when I wrote in July about summer’s indelible scents. Today I want to talk about the richness of the aural backdrop, the sounds that bring the world (real and fictional) to life.

It’s August (sigh), so let us consider the noises that define the warm weather months.

August sunset

Fireworks in the distance are one defining noise of the season. We live only a few miles from Hadlock Field, where the Portland Sea Dogs celebrate every home run with a brief explosive display. Some nights also feature full-on fireworks shows, which we can hear but not see.  Boom. BoomBoom. BOOMBOOMBOOMBOOM.

Sometimes there’s a big fireworks display after the game.

Missing out on the visuals is not an issue around the Fourth, when local backyard pyrotechnicians go crazy on the two summer days when it’s legal to set off fireworks in our city.

I’m as patriotic as the next gal, but am always glad when July 5 rolls around and the sound of black cats, fountains and roman candles no longer punctuates the midnight stillness.

Driving with the car windows wide open invites other people’s summer songs into my life, and allows me to share mine with them. This year the hit that seems to wafts my way at every stoplight is the cool and catchy Desposito by Luis Fonsi & Daddy Yankee.

I rarely crank the radio myself, but when The Lovin’ Spoonful’s Summer in the City comes on, the volume knob gets a big twist. I’m dating myself, I know, but (like Desposito) it’s got a great beat and you can dance to it . . .

Summer in the City – Lovin’ Spoonful – YouTube
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m648v...

Sometimes a longstanding summer sound disappears. The ice cream truck that cruised our suburban neighborhood in summers past must be plying other routes this year.

Make mine with jimmies

There are a lot of kids on our street—shrieks and whoops from the nightly game of tag or soccer carry through the back yards that adjoin ours—but the jangle of Pop Goes the Weasel is absent this year. Don’t get me wrong, I can live without the tinny tune distracting me from my work. But I do ponder the mystery of where the treat truck has gone.

Speaking of potential distractions, a baseball game (okay, a Red Sox game) is a constant background sound at our house on summer evenings. The announcers’ voices are a low drone until a big hit brings the Fenway crowd to its feet. Though the 37,000+/- roaring people are 100 miles from of my house, their voices sometimes waft up the stairs to my study.  This happened often the night I wrote this post, when the Sox beat the Indians 12-10.

A Lesser Yellowlegs, contemplating its breakfast.

Bird music is an especially lovely summer sound.

The cottage we visit in Brooklin shares the cove with a flock of Greater Yellow Legs. They busybody along the water’s edge, chattering at each other as they go. Dew-dew-dew, they proclaim. Dew-dew-dew. We spend the sunset hour eavesdropping on their conversations.

A hermit thrush entertains us from a high branch in the woods behind the cottage while we do the supper dishes. There’s a broad window over the kitchen sink through which we bask in its ethereal, multiple-phrased song. Here it is for your listening pleasure, with credit and thanks to Garth McElroy:

The rumble of thunder and crackle of lightning are classic summer noises, taking me back to my parents’ screen porch, a favorite childhood perch during electrical storms. Almost as exciting as the storm itself was the anticipatory rush of wind through trees, mimicking the sound of rain.

Is there a sound that evokes the nascent swing toward fall more than crickets chirping their little hearts out?

I wasn’t ready to hear them yet—this summer has been such an on-and-off affair—but one night last week when I stepped onto the deck after dark there they were, madly rubbing their wings together, hoping to get lucky.

I always hope that for them, too.

Commenters: What are your favorite summer sounds? What noises could you do without? Is there a summertime tune that causes you to turn up your car radio?

Brenda Buchanan’s Joe Gale mysteries feature an old-school reporter with modern media savvy who covers the Maine crime beat. The first three Joe Gale books—Quick Pivot, Cover Story and Truth Beat—are available in digital format wherever ebooks are sold. Brenda can be found on the web at www.brendabuchananwrites.com, on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/BrendaBuchananAuthor and on Twitter at @buchananbrenda